I was out back in the orchard awhile ago. The sun was about thirty degrees from setting and the afternoon glow was in full bloom. So were the flowers on the Kahaluu avocado. It's in that stage where half the blooms have opened and the rest will come open within a week. Its a frenzied pollination party. Flowering panicles (much branched inflorescence) exuding scents that remind the common house fly (musca domestica)  of some kind of died and gone to heaven jihad. Counted twenty three flies on one panicle. They get right on top of the delicate little florette and stick their suck tube (technical jargon) into the tiny little nectar puddle hidden just beyond the anthers (balls). Stimulating the balls thusly causes the release of pollen which in turn finds its way to the stigma (a hairy tube connected to the ovule) and delivers its half of the key to the life of an avocado keiki. I have to say that this particular avo has been an enigma to me. It has held a bumper crop only once in the thirty odd years since planting. Other years, bupkiss. I mean maybe a dozen or two. The mystery is that it always sets thousands of small fruit, which is a complete gas to see, but then as the days go by, one by one they fall to their premature demise before even a dream of being smeared on toast with a fried egg and touch of mai ploy (maybe some grated Havarti). Sad really. So I just stood there, head tilted upward, gazing lovingly at this natural wonder. Ballet like, breeze swaying the branch, flies hopping from bloom to bloom, shiny new leaves fluttering, sunlight making it all vivid. The choreography, flawless. There was a nice exchange going on, with the tree seeming to sense that I was trying to find the right "words" of encouragement. Anything to get it to just hold on. To let those tiny avo embryo's develop into buttery red stemmed beauties ready to fill a couple of five gallon buckets a week for weeks on end with plenty left over for above mentioned open faced sandwich. I felt like a proud papa with his ear to the tummy of mummy feeling the life force expressing itself in no less significant a way than if it were my own offspring because, and lets face it, its the same messy little miracle going on ad infinitum. Super sized or small we are in the thrall of life expressing itself with a relentless and delicate fury. And no dish fee. Nurse Hillary of Tribe Van Hof departed the rancho to the chagrin of all present. Disgruntled over her former wwoof digs, she arranged to take refuge at the rancho for the remainder of her stay, and so she did. A farm girl head to foot she added a natural grace to the hard work she's born to do. She arrived with a full head of dreads framing her dutch features, which she decided to remove while here. These Wwoof's, you just never know what they're gonna do next. So the other day she comes out to where i'm working (?), tenderly cradling her dreads in her arms as though approaching an alter to offer a sacrifice. She felt that it would be appropriate to put this very expression of her individuality in the compost where it could merge with natures web and go on to feed a banana clump that would incorporate on a molecular level all that is Hillary in its luscious fruits. So we did. There it sits, layered into the slow cook compost where, by the time she returns next summer will have fed that banana (a double stalk Mahoy keiki I just got) and perhaps be eating fruit charged with essence of Van Hof. Thanks Hillary, your wonderful laugh resounds in the ripples in the pond. Been doing a bit of re-visioning at the rancho. Really just an evolution in a way. Frrinstance, used to be we had two separate enclosures for one group of leghorns and we'd shift them back and forth according to season and forage etc..Now we've done a couple of things. We've taken down the lower area, opening up lots of space and put the girls in their permanent digs up above where they are less bothersome in terms of morning noise and simply occupying space that had past its use as bird habitat. The other thing is that we opened up an old garden space used for easily stung crops. This space also had been chicken world, so well endowed. Used to be connected to a fence going to a gate, both of which have been eighty sixed, leaving a nice open space walking up and down the path between houses. No more bottlenecks. Just like that, a whole new feel and lots of potential where there really wasn't much happening. Here's one way that i'm an idiot. I never really document any of this stuff. I mean we did get some shots of the pond installation, but this would have been a dramatic before and after effect. Here's what it feels like. Before: walk into fenced in, low slung deer netting roof, crab spider webs fucking everywhere, ducking down in an alley way separating an atemoya tree and a mango tree, avoiding roosts to get up into a bigger area with more fucking webs where bending down to get around was imperative. Big fun. After: Stroll between the above mentioned trees with head held high, not a web in sight. Walk with an ease unknown for years around an area ripe for designing. Breathe deep the potential. Good call. Now the fun begins because we have a sizeable area in which to grow more food. An area that has been years in the fertilizing, and although rocky (what else is new) richly endowed with cultured poopage. We can only do our best to move forward while embracing what has past. In so doing the farm takes on a more dynamic vision which continues to grow and refine itself. Open spaces, happy faces. The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp p.s. first party of the season set for the 13th of April. The theme: disparage the tax man. Come dressed as an accountant. fiveish, pot luck.