Wednesday, October 21, 2020

Cottage Love




cottage small be mine, with porch
Enwreathed with ivy green,
And brightsome flowers with dew-filled bells,
'Mid brown old wattles seen.

And one to wait at shut of eve,
With eyes as fountain clear,
And braided hair, and simple dress,
My homeward step to hear.

On summer eves to sing old songs,
And talk o'er early vows,
While stars look down like angels' eyes
Amid the leafy boughs.

When Spring flowers peep from flossy cells,
And bright-winged parrots call,
In forest paths be ours to rove
Till purple evenings fall.

The curtains closed, by taper clear
To read some page divine,
On winter nights, the hearth beside,
Her soft, warm hand in mine.

And so to glide through busy life,
Like some small brook alone,
That winds its way 'mid grassy knolls,
Its music all its own.

Love in a Cottage ~ Daniel Henry Deniehy 1828-1865
                                                            

Monday, October 19, 2020

Slowly Changing

 
 “Autumn...the year's last, loveliest smile."
John Howard Bryant



 
 
 
Autumn has well and truly arrived.
Cold frost-laden nights, and sun shining brighter than a new penny by day.
Flower pots are emptied and stacked in the potting shed, and leaves are continually raked.
Hearty stews and soups have taken the place of lighter fare, and the fireplace has been lit more than once, this past week.

I entered this world on a cool autumn evening, day's such as this are like a coming home of sorts, a kinship to my genetic roots.

Friday, October 16, 2020

Time For Tea ....

When you are raised in a culture of hot tea-drinkers, from the time you are old enough to enjoy a  milked-down version in your baby bottle, through infancy and youth and young adulthood.
Continuing throughout your life into senior days, you rarely pay any attention to your daily habits until someone points them out.

The first thing that most English people do when people stop by the house, is to put the kettle on. Tea mostly, or coffee if you prefer, it's embedded in our DNA.
We were watching re-runs of Downton Abbey today, I couldn't help but smile as I watched the offer of "tea ?" being suggested at every twist and turn. 
When a visitor drops by, when good news is received, after bad news is received, when a helping hand is needed, or a little encouragement is welcomed.
 
Tea drinking in many cultures is the centuries-old tradition and universal language of civility, and social nurturing, a little more partaking these days would be a good thing.





"THE CUP FOR ME.

"Let others sing the praise of wine,
Let others deem its joys divine,
Its fleeting bliss shall ne'er be mine,
Give me a cup of tea!

The cup that soothes each aching pain,
Restores the sick to health again,
Steals not from heart, steals not from brain,
A friend when others flee.

"When sorrow frowns, what power can cheer,
Or chase away the falling tear
Without the vile effects of beer,
Like Pekoe or Bohea?

What makes the old man young and strong,
Like Hyson, Congou, or Souchong,
Which leave the burthen of his song
A welcome cup of tea.

"Then hail the grave Celestial band,
With planning mind, and planting hand,
And let us bless that golden land
So far across the sea;

Whose hills and vales give fertile birth
To that fair shrub of priceless worth,
Which yields each son of mother earth
A fragrant cup of tea."






Thursday, October 15, 2020

Seasons Changing

Over the last couple of days, the remains of hurricane Delta has taken away our sunshine.

The dark clouds linger overhead, making for dark and dreary days. If I didn't know the difference I would think we were in the depths of winter, even the house has taken on a different hue.

The days are noticeably shorter,  dark by 7:00pm now, the wild turkeys lead their flocks to the nightly roost late afternoon, and the last of the hummingbirds are leaving for their winter homes.

Orange pumpkins and Chrysanthemums are replacing summer blooms, now fading fast.

 
 

Monday, October 12, 2020

Missing You

How I miss this beautiful face, it would have been his kitty-birthday today.

Happy Birthday in the land of the Rainbow Bridge, to my precious boy, you are missed beyond words.




💔

Saturday, October 10, 2020

Rain-Filled

Our day is dark and rain-filled, the looming remnants of Hurricane Delta .
It's hard to imagine the destruction a fierce storm unleashes on the coastline, when inland, it's remains fall softly to the parched ground, a welcomed sign of relief.

The house-painters worked on the outside of our home yesterday, not the best timing with a hurricane looming in the Gulf, but we've been on the waiting list for quite some time now.
Beggars can't be choosers.



 

Wednesday, October 7, 2020

Holding On

The arbor- trellis roses are still blooming their little hearts out.

Perfect sunny days, and mist-laden, cool nights, affording them once last chance at a flush of beauty, before the first frost appears.










'Tis the last rose of summer
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;

No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
To give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.

Thus kindly I scatter,
Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
From Love's shining circle
The gems drop away.

When true hearts lie withered
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit,
This bleak world alone?


The Last Rose of Summer:  Thomas Moore 1805
 

Monday, October 5, 2020

Pottering

A little early Halloween decorating....
Just to get in the "spirit" of things.



 

Wednesday, September 30, 2020

Goodbye September

The most perfect of Fall days. 
A mere seventy one degrees, sunshine and NO humidity, which is rare as hen's teeth for this part of the country.
Tom-Tilly is chasing leaves around the garden, she seems to have accepted that Oliver is off on his travels, wherever they may have taken him...... 


 An early American writer described Indian Summer well when he wrote, "The air is perfectly quiescent and all is stillness, as if Nature, after her exertions during the Summer, were now at rest."
      ~ John Bradbury 1817

Tuesday, September 29, 2020

Season's End

The first time I laid eyes on this incredible English landscape painting, was in my hometown museum, I was smitten.

Depicting the ordinary, mundane chores of a gardener, at seasons end.
It reminded me of watching my grandfather, as he put his garden to rest after a successful growing season,  piles of now-spent rhubarb leaves, and endless stacks of  withered flowers.
I couldn't have been more than four years old at the time, but what an impression those days left on my early life.
A season ending, to begin again anew in just a few short months.
 
 

                                                                     Evening_Brockham
 
               Edward Wilkins Waite  (14 April 1854 – 1924)
 

Saturday, September 26, 2020

Early Autumn Days

These early days of Autumn, a little decorating, a little gardening, a little relaxing.                       Nights are drawing in fast, dark before the clock strikes seven now.

Our days are still seasonally warm, in these Southern United States, giving the opportunity to finish those end of summer chores, before Old Man Winter sets in.

Kiddies are worried their Halloween trick-or-treating may be a "no go" this year, life as we knew it....on hold.





Wednesday, September 23, 2020

Ode To Autumn



 

There is a subtle change in the air.
Cool mist-filled mornings, and daytime temperatures are seasonably pleasant. 
Trees are slowly changing from greens to oranges and browns,  Autumn has unmistakably arrived.




 


"Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells."

~ John Keats



Monday, September 21, 2020

Goodbye Sweet Summer

  

 " When summer gathers up her robes of glory, and like a dream of beauty glides away. "
 
~Sarah Helen Power Whitman
 
 
 
 









 

 
 

 
  

Friday, September 18, 2020

'Til They're Clean And Sparkly



 
The most beautiful of late September days today. Cooler temperatures and mild breezes.
I've spent the majority of the time cleaning away Summer's dirt and grime, 
Windows are washed, and porches swept, late afternoon I baked two loaves of banana nut bread, one to keep, and one to send home with my visiting granddaughter.
A simple day, to be savored.

Wednesday, September 16, 2020

Tea Party Jabberwocky







I had a little tea party
This afternoon at three.
'Twas very small-
Three guest in all-
Just I, myself and me.


Myself ate all the sandwiches,
While I drank up the tea;
'Twas also I who ate the pie
And passed the cake to me.




~ Jessica North Nelson

Sunday, September 13, 2020

And The Rains Came

Deluged with rain today, bucket loads of the stuff, the town creek has flooded, and water is standing everywhere.
The flowers look bedraggled, water-logged in fact.
This picture of the Autumn Joy Sedum was taken mid-week, it's finally in bloom, and turning a delicious shade of crimson.
Autumn is just around the corner.




Thursday, September 10, 2020

Summer's Bounty

Enjoying a taste of the last Summer strawberries.
I'm freezing the remainder, to indulge in, on a cold Winter's day.
Topped with a dollop of clotted cream, or maybe use them to make a  lovely batch of strawberry scones.
Accompanied by a nice pot of tea.
*grin*
 
 
 

Tuesday, September 8, 2020

Little Things That Make Me Smile

 "As the years pass, I am coming more and more to understand that it is the common, everyday blessings of our common everyday lives for which we should be particularly grateful."
                                                  ~Laura Ingalls Wilder