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Sunday, August 26, 2012

Timeless Treasures

I get so inspired by reading beautiful decorating books.
Ideas that are timeless and tested, and in a world of throw-away products, solid, furniture is a treasure.

I think back to my grandmother, who furnished her home with quality furniture, lasting her a lifetime.
It seems our grandparents knew the value of well-made pieces. 
                                   
                                         

Step inside the pages and you are transported back, to a slower, gentler time.

    





















I know not how it may be with others
Who sit amid relics of householdry
That date from the days of their mothers' mothers,
But well I know how it is with me
Continually.

I see the hands of the generations
That owned each shiny familiar thing
In play on its knobs and indentations,
And with its ancient fashioning
Still dallying:

Hands behind hands, growing paler and paler,
As in a mirror a candle-flame
Shows images of itself, each frailer
As it recedes, though the eye may frame
Its shape the same.

On the clock's dull dial a foggy finger,
Moving to set the minutes right
With tentative touches that lift and linger
In the wont of a moth on a summer night,
Creeps to my sight.

On this old viol, too, fingers are dancing -
As whilom--just over the strings by the nut,
The tip of a bow receding, advancing
In airy quivers, as if it would cut
The plaintive gut.

And I see a face by that box for tinder,
Glowing forth in fits from the dark,
And fading again, as the linten cinder
Kindles to red at the flinty spark,
Or goes out stark.

Well, well. It is best to be up and doing,
The world has no use for one to-day
Who eyes things thus--no aim pursuing!
He should not continue in this stay,
But sink away.

Thomas Hardy's : Old Furniture

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Morning Mist



Morning Mist

In the morning, skies so gray,
Before the sun lights up the day,
I chanced upon a morning mist
That left the leaves and grasstips kissed
With the aqua of the dew,
It left a feeling with me, too
Something old and something new;
Something that comes with the mist again,
Never what, but always when.
Author Unknown

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Oliver Love


"Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains un-awakened"
~Anatole France

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Summer Chores



"Spring flowers are long since gone.
Summer's bloom hangs limp on every terrace.
The gardener's feet drag a bit on the dusty path and the hinge in his back is full of creaks."-

~Louise Seymour Jones

Sunday, August 5, 2012

A Little Break


Taking a little bloggy break, chores are piling up :)
Be back soon.

In the meantime, I hope to pop in and visit with you.
Be well !
~Jo

Friday, August 3, 2012

Late Bloomer


The Sedum is in bloom.
It's always a sign that Summer is waning, since it is one of the later plants to share it's flowers.
Not a showy plant, but instead, one that requires very little attention, drought tolerant and will literally grow on a rock.
Border Sedum or Showy Stonecrop is a must for every perennial garden.
The sturdy stems, succulent leaves and clusters of flower buds are attractive all season ...

                          
                         


We had an unexpected visitor to the garden last night, he appeared from under the Foxglove plants, as The First Sergeant was watering.


He literally ran as fast as his little turtle legs would carry him,  to take a bite out of this tomato, and promptly gobbled it down.


The Lantana is the only plant that thrives in the Summer heat. It will continue to bloom until the first frost.


The Bluebirds moved out of the nesting box, and little Jenny Wren moved in.
She's quite the decorator, Blue Jay feathers, Oliver's cat hair, twigs, moss, even the odd piece of twine, all neatly woven into the most intricate of weaving patterns.


Late bloomers are always welcome.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Summer's Gold

                               

"Fairest of the months
Ripe summer's queen
The hey-day of the year
With robes that gleam with sunny sheen
Sweet August doth appear."

~ R. Combe Miller