Subscribers to this publication, as well as its regular readers, are by now wise to the fact that something’s afoot here in RGG land. In my role as publisher of The Renaissance Garden Guy, I occupy the unique position (at least for now) of, among other things, shoving a lot of my own tiresome ephemera down subscribers’ throats on a monthly basis in The RGG Newsletter. And in that august publication’s September edition, I waxed true to form and bored the hell out of everybody who opted to open her up and have a read. But while doing so, I made more than a couple of references to the fact that some very substantial changes are on the horizon. These are changes that will affect both The Renaissance Garden Guy as a publication, and yours truly on a very personal level. These changes are good. In fact, they’re better than good. They’re ideal. They’re amazing. They’re sublime. And, at least for right now, they’re under wraps.

Since I’m no good at playing coy, I’ll distract you from the inscrutable and hit you with its results in the form of a handy dandy syllogism: A) I’ve been busier than hell lately processing these referenced changes and, as a result, I’ve had – and continue to have – no time to do anything else. B) The act of writing my own new material (and publishing new material written by others) takes at least a certain amount of time. C) There has been, therefore, little to no publishing of new material of any kind in The Renaissance Garden Guy since the genesis of these changes.

There it is. The new pickins here have been slim. Slim to none, even. So, the question is, when faced with such a paucity of new material to publish, what’s a guy in my position (as-of-now-still-sole RGG publisher) to do? Answer: Regurgitate! Birds do it. Bees do it. Why can’t I do it? I’ll answer this one for you, too. There’s no reason that I can’t. So, I do.

Lately, any number of features previously published here in The RGG are finding themselves alive and well in re-issued form on various social media platforms, including X and Facebook, via links and social media cards that I and, more and more often, others, post and re-post there. By providing a steady stream of links to older, existing published RGG material on platforms like X and Facebook, I’m able to keep the excellent past work of the many exceptionally talented contributing RGG writers in front of an ever-expanding base of social media-savvy readers and subscribers. And many times, for better or for worse, this social media linking results in the upchucking of a bedpan-sized volume of my own bilious, previously published writings.

Of course, The RGG Newsletter, published monthly, always offers a review, with links to the individual pieces, of the previous month’s publishing schedule. And a link to the latest edition of the newsletter itself gets posted on social media, too. It’s all stuff from the previous month, but it’s still great stuff – particularly the work of those aforementioned exceptionally talented RGG contributors. But since in life we must often take the good with the bad, there are also links in the newsletter to the reverse peristalsis-inspired projectiles that represent my very own written RGG offerings (hey, since I’m still pulling the publishing strings here all by my lonesome, I don’t think it’s unreasonable for me to believe that subscribers and regular readers are expecting at least some degree of self-directed nepotism). Like I said, the good with the bad…

The phenomenon of this article’s titular action of the bringing up of stomach contents, as it applies to previously published RGG written features, exists in the form of two subsets. The first of the two, since it pertains to the work of RGG contributing writers, can’t really be considered regurgitation at all. In fact, when I think of this work being once more made available to social media platform-surfers, or to RGG subscribers, etc. in newsletter packaging, a numismatological parallel is, for me, inescapable: the re-release of the past work of RGG contributors is like the re-striking of a venerable, valuable gold coin. When links to this excellent, previously published work are made available, that work is re-minted rather than regurgitated. BIG difference there. ENORMOUS difference.

The second subset of written regurgitation, however, is of an entirely different consistency: it pertains to MY written work, and, truly, it can only be legitimately described as regurgitation. Here, it’s important to note that I’m using the term “regurgitation” to describe the re-manifestation of my work (via, as always, link form) rather than “vomit.” Regurgitated particulate, as it applies, for example, to the case of a mother bird feeding her young, or a worker bee regurgitating nectar during the honey-making process, has at least some value, be it nutritional or otherwise. I like to think that my own regurgitated writing likewise possesses at least a modicum of value. For instance, if a reader decides to send a regurgitated example of my stuff to their Laser Jet as a print job, the resultant output is at least recyclable. So, some value… but still regurgitated.

Anyone reading this article who happens to be astute enough to distinguish a house cat from a bison is going to recognize the fact that, with it, I’m stalling for time. Once the looming big changes I’ve referenced herein are actualized, The RGG’s publishing schedule will resume at not just its previous pace, but at a much more expansive and accelerated one. There are a host of new contributors who’ll be featured here along with their excellent work. RGG management, administration, and publishing efficiency will be optimized. The publication will exist in bigger, badder, and better-than-ever form, and the excellent material RGG subscribers and regular readers have come to expect will, as if by magic, proliferate, and will exist in exponentially greater quantities. Good things are coming, guys and gals, good things.

This article’s featured image comes courtesy of mycologist, writer, and regular RGG contributor, Ann Simpson. It’s a photo of a decidedly regurgitated-looking fungi species called Byssonectria terrestris. Ann points out that “It’s actually an ascomycete fungi instead of the more commonly found basidiomycota fungi species.” Ann’s photo is beautiful, her knowledge is remarkable, the info is fascinating, and this particular species of fungi is, in every way, brand new to The Renaissance Garden Guy. Since this strange and surreal life form is a genuine first-timer here, not even its photo can be considered re-minted, and, although its appearance might suggest otherwise, it’s definitely NOT regurgitated.

Cheers, and Happy Gardening!