Anakana Schofield – Author of Bina, Martin John and Malarky


I had good fortune yesterday. I went in search of plants on a whim and the place I went to was giving them away for free as they were on the turn, or certainly headed that way. They were also a motley crowd. Very odd plants that I will have to google or just wait to see if they survive.

I took my clogs to my sad plot at the community garden and heaved a few of my rambling strawberry plants, attacked the invasive buttercups and basically lashed the new friends into the ground. On account of being the single person in Canada who cannot grow fennel, I took as many fennel starts as I could fit into my tray.

If after this effort no fennel survives I will take to the podium as the lone person who cannot grow fennel. Heck I see people everyone trying not to grow fennel, growing it.

Why you may ask would you want to so desperately grow fennel? Because I have two hefty pudding sized guinea pigs who would eat an acre of it. I think fennel is catnip to a guinea pig. They nearly do a dance when I feed them it.

Guinea pigs if you’re wondering are a great source of consolation. Need some consoling? Adopt a guinea pig or two. Or learn the cello. Or knit.

We are collectively pining for Kauai. It doesn’t need to be spoken of. We just look at each other, sometimes we assess the present tense aloud and recognize we’ve returned to this present tense and then laugh out a lick of a look-back at our wonderful week. For me the quiet moments stay with me, my trots, the birds, the flowers while my boogie-boarding boys, who were as elevated as Tour de France cyclists over the afternoon waves, give rise to a smile.

I still have to comprehend the entirely original weather patterns witnessed there. Many times I woke in the night to the reassuring sound of the trade winds between the trees and in and out a window.  Then there was the on-off switch of the rain and the built in mop up of the humidity.

During our last hour in Hanalei I examined Robin’s garden, she had told me something of the complexity of gardening — an insect or bug that attacked certain plants. I must read up and remind myself what it was since the height of everything suggested a robustness that anything planted would head skyward. I also didn’t see a single bee while there, but was assured they have massive bumble bees.


Another fog forecast this night, with an overnight low of 6 degrees, which I think it our lowest nighttime low so far this season.

In other news: The Greenhouse contraption is thriving, sort of. There are cucumbers in there, sort of. And each day a new bean greets me. It’s dotey my little contraption and has been happy with the recent light. Mad cap projects on a whim highly advised!

The leaves on the streets are so delightful this week, they being of the dry variety, rather than the treacle they turn into when it rains.