Tuesday, June 26, 2018

Unfolding

“How does the meadow-flower its bloom unfold?
 Because the lovely little flower is free
 Down to its root, and in that freedom bold.”
 
~ William Wordsworth 
 
  

  
 
 
 
Coneflower: Wild Swan
 

Monday, June 25, 2018

Sunshine Lovers

Over the years, we have grown red Canna Lilies.
Last year my daughter shared her yellow variety with us, bringing a spot of sunshine and color.
Their tall majestic foliage and colorful blooms add interest to the garden, demanding their own space and attention.
A deer fence had to be erected, since they seem to love them, just as much as we do *sigh*.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Monday, June 18, 2018

Hotter Than A Pepper Sprout

The heat and humidity is relentless today, even the birds are staying inside their nests.
The head gardener has been house-washing for the past three days, quite the job I can tell you.
My job consists of window cleaning, and keeping a watchful eye out on the worker, as he negotiates the steep roof.
I believe this is more stressful, than doing the actual work !
Well...…not quite.
 😺
 



 
 

 
 

Monday, June 11, 2018

Porch Days

Incredible blue skies and sunshine today. Lots of the stuff, it surely feels like we are in the midst of summer with this 90 degree heat.
True to form, my dearest decides to landscape, in this blazing sun, he tolerates the extreme Southern heat and humidity much more than I do.
Norseman's blood runs through my veins, after the temperature rises above 80 degrees I'm wilted like a head of week-old lettuce.
I do very well cleaning off the porches, with a little shade overhead, so with my trusty feline companions by my side, I'm scrubbing tables, and chairs, and being the cold water-runner, when I see the gardener flailing.

 

                                                                                🏡

Thursday, June 7, 2018

Sweet Wild Rose


 
 
 

  My Wild Rose.

I had a garden, which I kept
With busy hands and tender care;
And once, while carelessly I slept,
Fanned softly by the drowsy air,
A wild rose to my garden crept,
And blossomed there.

O, sweet surprise. It seemed to me,
Some fair hand, my heart to bless,
Had brought it there, from wood or lee.
It came unsought 'twas loved no less;
I stooped and touched it tenderly,
With soft caress.

I grew to love it passing well;
While strange exotics, rich and rare,
With heart of gold and crimson bell,
Paid grudgingly for constant care,
My wild rose, as in a woodland dell,
Bloomed fresh and fair.

I watered not, I did not prune,
I tied it not with cord or thong;
Yet, morn by morn and noon by noon,
Through days of summer, hot and long,
And underneath the midnight moon,
From branches strong.

Hung clustered blossoms sweet and red;
And day by day and week by week,
I trod the path which toward it lead.
Whate'er my mood. I did not speak,
But close against bowed my head
And pressed my cheek.

I think of it with sudden thrill.
Now wide lands lie, deep water flows,
Smiles many a vale, looms many a hill
Between me and the garden-close;
Yet fondly I remember still
My sweet wild rose.

~ Ellen P. Allerton. Walls of Corn and Other Poems 1894

 

Sunday, June 3, 2018

Sunday Repose

 "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 Ingalis Wilder