tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12760578171763824472024-02-02T15:05:25.511-08:00Creating a Garden of WordsGrowing thoughts on my interwoven world of flower farming and creative writing.Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-76642962909504985652011-07-21T12:55:00.000-07:002011-07-21T20:51:45.925-07:00AwarenessMy post-bee attack strategy is to be more aware in the garden. . . It is not a good idea to weed in the evening, after the sun has gone down, but even so, I should've heard the buzzing as the bees went in and out of that hole in the ground. I've been back to the scene of the attack several times, and they are easy to see and hear as they go about their business. I must've been in some kind of ZenLisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-31393621932877651412011-07-02T15:33:00.001-07:002011-07-02T19:50:02.470-07:00Bee attack This past week I was weeding in the flower garden one lovely evening, when I heard a little buzz in my ear. I brushed it away, as I would any annoyance, but then numerous stings on my body occurred. My first thought was red ants, but then I saw it was bees. Down my shirt, down my jeans. A planned attack! I must've plunged my weeding tool into their nest in the ground, or damn near it. . . I justLisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-69704825956355367512011-06-20T13:10:00.000-07:002011-06-20T13:29:21.149-07:00New Ground My blogs have been few and far between this past year, but I vow to post more regularly. . . This spring we broke new ground on the flower farm. Fresh earth for happier flowers. But we are planting more and more native perennials so that we don't have to upturn/upset the earth every year. . .Let the flowers and insects and birds do what they do to disseminate the seed. . . Everything seems Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-17528929685054116452011-02-03T07:27:00.000-08:002011-02-03T09:17:23.237-08:00The Garden in White The garden in white, lying in wait, like a bride preparing for her wedding day,Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-62214232972350195242011-01-06T15:26:00.000-08:002011-01-06T16:45:46.525-08:00Happy New YearIt is amazing to me that my last blog was back in April. Although not that amazing, when I think of how busy we were on the flower farm this past season. On top of all the weddings we provided and designed flowers for, our herbal body products really took off. So we were either in the field or kitchen all season long, planting, designing and creating--which I believe we do every day in our mindsLisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-50726841583523993652010-06-22T14:48:00.000-07:002010-06-22T14:57:23.060-07:00A weed is a weed is a weed. . . Or is it? I have blogged about this before. About the ability of some weeds to so closely imitate the actual flower. This is a picture of False Queen's Lace (Ammi majus), which is the cultivated variety of the native Queen Anne's Lace, which some people refer to as the true weed. . . But mixed in here is False, False Queen Anne's Lace--a weed that resembles False Queen Anne's Lace. Can you tell Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-52756205716556622052010-04-26T09:16:00.000-07:002010-04-26T18:39:40.428-07:00Tulip TimeApril is tulip time here on the flower farm. We dig thousands of tulips that we planted in the fall, bulb in all, and store them in our shed until market day. This year they were taller than ever--maybe it was all that snow that blanketed them this winter. . . The flowers bend and sway on their stems like graceful ballerinas performing their spring dance. It makes me smile to think of so many of Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-71303713978549578452010-01-10T18:21:00.001-08:002010-04-26T09:43:21.456-07:00Snow on the Sand I have always loved the beach during the off-season. The serenity, the vastness, the ability to retrace my lone footprints in the sand. But I most love it when it snows, the white powder drifting across the sand, melting into the sea. It is so lovely, and, yet, seems so out of place; and it is this feeling of displacement that I so identify with. As a writer, I am a drifter. And, yes, the flowerLisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-24178278616639369172009-12-22T15:07:00.000-08:002009-12-22T16:32:01.706-08:00Happy Holidays My father’s mother, my greatest inspiration, passed away on December 8th at age 91. So this season has been one of introspection and reflection for both Don and me. I’ve been thinking a lot about her life and what it was that made her so very special. She was definitely the hardest worker I have ever known, running a dairy farm with my grandfather, outside of Scranton, PA for over 50 years, and Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-3961143547773162032009-12-03T12:39:00.000-08:002009-12-03T12:52:43.839-08:00UnclutteringToday I did something that I've been putting off for awhile: I gathered up the volumes of notepads and notecards and journals and audio tapes that constitute my novel in the making, and packed them all away in a huge plastic tub upstairs. This does not mean that I've given up on getting my novel published--I just needed to clear the way for the new. I am now working on a short story cycle set Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-17180472968950839772009-11-12T10:10:00.000-08:002009-11-12T10:30:03.136-08:00Kitty in the Straw It is that time of year to cover the flower beds, to put them to rest under a warm blanket of straw, which our black kitty Neil thinks is just for him. W call Neil "the butler" as he is always in the driveway, waiting to park your car, then greet you and give you the garden tour. He is also known as "walky talky," as he is our most vocal cat with a perfect "meeeeow." Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-59615990127318288072009-10-20T07:53:00.000-07:002009-10-20T11:58:44.350-07:00Fall Harvest The flowers are at their most vibrant this time of year--the deep velvet purple of the salvias, the dark wine burgundy of the dahlias, the pink, phosphorescent glow of the celosias. . . Part of the magnificent symphony of color before winter closes in. I could never live where this rush of color was always upon me, somewhere like Fiji or Mauii--it would spoil me, maybe even desensitize me. . . ILisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-53640686292474775472009-10-05T14:07:00.001-07:002009-10-05T14:17:13.669-07:00Going NativeThis is a lovely flower, native to the eastern shore of MD: Eupatorium perfoliatum, 'Boneset'. We are making a transition to cultivated natives here on our flower farm, not that we have never used native flowers before. When we first started out, ten years ago, I would send Don out to gather flowers in abandoned fields, or along the roadside (where he had to explain what he was doing to more Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-33259350974668455642009-09-30T09:41:00.000-07:002009-09-30T11:18:32.872-07:00Living ArtThis is our garden truck that, you can see, hasn't been used in a while for gardening. When my husband brought it home many years ago, it was love at first sight for me. Look at that torquoise color! And such a big expressive face! What personality! And, now, in its ripe old age, it has become a veritable work of living Art--a lovely vine winding its way through the windows, over the roof and Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-7665827674296530232009-09-21T19:35:00.000-07:002009-09-21T19:48:19.658-07:00Publishing Good news from an e-mail last week--a story of mine has been accepted by The Main Street Rag, a literary journal out of N. Carolina. You'd think I would've been elated, but it was met with mixed feelings at first, as I was just about ready to tear into the piece again, make it better. . . But then I realized, I had set it free; I had felt it was strong and good enough to go out into the world . Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-85313494925500786362009-09-03T21:08:00.000-07:002009-09-03T21:20:07.996-07:00latest treasureYou can see who's claimed my latest treasure--twenty-five bucks from an antique store here in Galena. It's not sturdy enough for most humans, but will do just fine for my felines. . .Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-65916004775225807932009-08-24T18:03:00.001-07:002009-08-24T21:39:00.035-07:00AugustThis is a month I've gradually come to love here on the eastern shore of MD. It is so thick with heat, so teeming with life that one is forced to slow down, to listen. When the nights finally cool down at the end of this month, and the windows can be opened, there is nothing so amazing as the symphony of bugs in the evening. They give everything they have, and I am reminded of the orchestra that Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-6527470081777939952009-08-10T08:38:00.000-07:002009-08-11T09:39:56.247-07:00The GuestsI am Ben Ames, Aunt Lisa’s nephew. The boy on the left is me. I am 10 years old. I live in Catonsville, Maryland, near Baltimore. Aunt Lisa is inviting me and my two sisters, Ella (7), and Josie (4), over to her flower farm. My mom, Nicki Ames, is my Aunt Lisa’s sister, and so we get to sleepover at her house for a few days in August. We’re going to be here for three nights, and so we always do Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-79181692055036338182009-08-06T21:08:00.000-07:002009-08-06T21:17:28.144-07:00FocusLook closely to see that amazing colorful worm attached to the fennel. I wear my reading glasses now when I harvest, the bugs so closely mirroring the flowers, holding on for dear life. It's what we see when we look closely that is so amazing, that takes our breath away. So much missed in this precious life as we rush through our days. I remember a writing mentor at VT College once said to me, Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-55808890350551379092009-08-03T15:53:00.000-07:002009-09-18T11:44:27.704-07:00Ordinary PointOrdinary PointShe was a typical younggirl, it said in the paper,who loved music anddancing, but her lovefor the Lord wasunusual for someoneher age, a waketossing her bodyfrom a power boatinto the river wheremy husband and Inow sail.Surely, then, she isin heaven, with her Savior;surely, then, we haveno right to grieve.But it is hard not to noticethe heavier cadence in themovement of the river,Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-63152772106281379072009-07-24T14:20:00.000-07:002009-07-25T19:03:12.167-07:00The GatheringLast week I attended The Gathering literary conference in La Plume, PA. It was an amazing four days of lectures, workshops, wine receptions and delicous food. I met wonderful people and was inspired, humbled and awed by the talks of Greg Maguire (author of Wicked); poet Nancy Willard; Loung Ung, who wrote the memoir First They Killed My Father, from a chilling five-year-old perspective of her Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-32614735274750697422009-07-14T10:02:00.000-07:002009-07-19T20:23:23.751-07:00Finding TreasuresI am dedicating part of this summer to finding treasures to add to my flower garden. Last Wednesday I went to the auction in Crumpton Md and found this lovely brass table topped with shards of blue glass. When the sun shines it sparkles like bits of saphire--and only for ten bucks. It truly is the little things in life that make it all worth it. Lunch with an old friend. A kayak down a still Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-35478965996188463352009-07-02T12:44:00.000-07:002009-07-19T20:26:33.347-07:00Frog HeavenLook closely and you'll see the little frog that has taken up residency in our garage for the summer. He has become the favorite play-toy for our four cats (they are ever so gentle), and he is a wonderful late night companion when I am shuttling flowers back and forth from our kitchen to the flower shed outside. At each passage, he hops along beside me, boldy staring up at me with those big, darkLisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-5088651743580919072009-06-13T14:00:00.000-07:002009-07-19T20:29:31.273-07:00Visualization Let me introduce you to Jonathon J.J. Sebastian Cabot Kitty (aka The Fud, short for Fuzzy Wuzzy, which turned into Fudda Wudda). Two years ago it had been five years since Don and I lost our last orange cat, and I was thinking it was time for an orange kitten, much to Don's dissent, as we already had three cats. But I kept seeing this orange kitten in my mind and looked on-line at all the littleLisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1276057817176382447.post-33127019165240928492009-06-05T15:04:00.000-07:002009-06-05T20:20:48.146-07:00AudienceSo I received my first rejection from one of the agents I pitched at the Writing Conference in NYC. She said she read the first 50 pages of my novel and came to this conclusion: young girls in their twenties wouldn't be interested in it, because it was written in present tense and about a young girl in the late eighties, not gritty enough for current days. And women in their forties and fifties Lisa Lynn Biggarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00287865837736833098noreply@blogger.com0