Tales of a British expat, transplanted into the lush Tennessee countryside. Lover of old, time-worn, and antique. Tea-drinker, flower-grower, animal-nurturer.
Showing posts with label Garden gate. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Garden gate. Show all posts
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Down By The Garden Gate....
Yesterday , as I was away working, my dearest the "First Sergeant" hung my little old gate and created a new piece of rock wall to partner alongside.
It leads into the back of the woods, which I fondly call the gateway to the "hundred acre wood" joshing of course ;)
We had purchased the fencing a couple of years earlier, from an old family homestead, seventeen original picket-fence panels, and one little gate.
We have used the fencing, all around the property, since there was not enough to completely fence the entire area.
It works well, a piece here, a few pieces there...

I understand the triumph and the truth
Wrought into these walls of rugged stone.
They are a miracle of patient hands,
They are a victory of suffering, a paean of pain;
All pangs of death, all cries of birth,
Are in the mute, moss-covered stones;
They are eloquent to my hands
O beautiful, blind stones, inarticulate and dumb!
In the deep gloom of their hearts there is a gleam
Of the primeval sun which looked upon them
When they were begotten.
So in the heart of man shines forever
A beam from the everlasting sun of God.
Rude and unresponsive are the stones;
Yet in them divine things lie concealed;
I hear their imprisoned chant:
~ The Song of the Stone Wall by Helen Keller 1910
It leads into the back of the woods, which I fondly call the gateway to the "hundred acre wood" joshing of course ;)
We had purchased the fencing a couple of years earlier, from an old family homestead, seventeen original picket-fence panels, and one little gate.
We have used the fencing, all around the property, since there was not enough to completely fence the entire area.
It works well, a piece here, a few pieces there...

I understand the triumph and the truth
Wrought into these walls of rugged stone.
They are a miracle of patient hands,
They are a victory of suffering, a paean of pain;
All pangs of death, all cries of birth,
Are in the mute, moss-covered stones;
They are eloquent to my hands
O beautiful, blind stones, inarticulate and dumb!
In the deep gloom of their hearts there is a gleam
Of the primeval sun which looked upon them
When they were begotten.
So in the heart of man shines forever
A beam from the everlasting sun of God.
Rude and unresponsive are the stones;
Yet in them divine things lie concealed;
I hear their imprisoned chant:
~ The Song of the Stone Wall by Helen Keller 1910
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