Saturday, October 15, 2016

No man is an island

For whatever we lose, like a you or a me, it's always ourselves that we find at the sea . . . . one of the best things to find at the sea is your own special island, for me this summer that island was in Maine.

Monhegan, 10 miles out to sea, a million miles from the voices of the rest of the world,  just for now.

A smaller island, uninhabited now, sits across from Monhegan, creating a quiet harbor for the boats . 

"MANANA - a mountain hidden by the sea, her secret body descends in depths unmeasured , touching the floor of time." - Kate C Chappell

The houses and cottages settle into the rock, their faces turned expectantly towards the open sea.

"Here, on the cottage deck, beneath the flag. petunias, white as gull's breast, flap against cerulean sky"- ISLAND MORNING, Frances D. Vaughn

Oh, you wont know why and you can't say how, 
Such a change upon you came
But once you've slept on an island, 
You'll never be quite the same.  - Rachel Field

Small tokens from the beaches and the woods, pencils sketches in my journal, ways to save and to savor the memories.

The days may end with sunset or fog, 
but the memories linger on and on.

Saturday, August 20, 2016

Summer Madness

How quickly the natural world returns to it's own order after we have passed through, shouting our names - Pocketful of Names, Joe Comer

Returning from a two week "vacation", my garden greeted me with less than a welcome and I found myself looking out and down, mostly down as I went straight to work on the weeds that had flourished on neglect. The days were hot and muggy, I was hot and muggy, and I grumbled more than I hummed.  August, I mumbled to my self, not a favorite time for this garden!

When I finally straightened up my beds and my body, satisfied that I had conquered the encroaching wilderness, I looked up and out and I saw the zinnias . . . and the swallow tails, and . . .how had I missed all that?

The basil was enormous, full of blooms and bubble bees, perfuming the air all around it.

All the hydrangeas seemed to be abundant with blossoms

The Chinese lanterns had never been so bright and unblemished

Even the phlox were brilliant, no mildew in sight.

The petunias literally glowed, I think they had doubled in size while I was away.

Soon the tapestry of my late summer garden took hold
 and I headed to the garden shed for my flower snips . 
 August after all is the best month for gathering bright and beautiful bouquets.

Friday, July 22, 2016

Cicada Serenade

Cicadas and katydids
Sing from the branches of the lilac bush
And whippoorwills call 
From the lacy green weeping willow tassels

And fragrant buds unfurl their petals
While owls hoot to each other
And the Moon looks silently on
While Fairies dance and sing

- Marian

Its July and the hot nights are filled with the sound of the cicadas singing in the trees.  It's the song of summer here in the Midwest, one I have heard for as long as  I can remember.

We called them locusts as kids, and I was slightly terrified by the empty shells I found clinging to the rough bark of trees. The angry buzz of a live insect can still startle me, but my fear has evolved into fascination and I've discovered this noisy insect in some unexpected places -like France.

The Cicada motif can be found everywhere 
in Provencal France, even in the fabrics!

These weighty little clips are used to keep the picnic cloth from blowing away

This ceramic wall vase holds a handful of garden blooms

Souvenirs from trips to the south of France are sure to include some cicadas, especially in pottery. 

My favorite "soap on a rope" in the shape of a cicada with the scent of lavender is only a memory now, but the serenade of the cicada continues to evoke memories of summers gone by.

Sunday, June 12, 2016

Pining for Peonies

"This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready to break my heart as the sun rises, as the sun strokes them with his old buttery fingers."
- Mary Oliver

I pick May as my favorite month in the  garden, and Peonies are no small part of that decision.

There are more than 30 species and many hybrids and cultivars to choose from, but my peonies have all chosen me, shared by friends, rescued from forgotten gardens and transplanted from the backyards of parents and grandparents. Some day I am  going to figure out just what varieties I do have, but when the peonies begin blooming I usually find myself lost in the task of  just enjoying them .


Early in May the tree peonies bloom, with blossoms so blowsy and big the stems can hardly hold them up. 
Happy in a partly shady spot, they stand tall and graceful above the newly unfurled ferns .

The month long parade of blossoms in my garden is lead by the deepest shades of magenta, this one's delicate silken petals open
 to reveal centers of powdered gold

Pinks of every hue soon follow, until finally there armloads to gather and  buckets full  to  share. 

As cut flowers, peonies are outstanding, with strong stems and intense fragrance. Vases are filled and brought into the house to add beauty and fragrance (and an occasional hitchhiking ant) to every room.  

As May comes to a close, the last peony to bloom in my garden is this beauty, thick with blush satin petals touched by tiny cerise kisses 

The peony is a flower surrounded by tradition and sentiment, and in the garden it's one of the longest-lived and most dependable perennials. Drought tolerant and pest free, it's the flower you are most likely to find blooming away for untold years in old cemeteries and abandoned farmsteads. With colors from deepest burgundy, magenta, pink, coral and  yellow to the purest white, and unmatched fragrance, it's no wonder peonies have been a cherished favorite in gardens for hundreds of years.

As a wedding flower, if you are fortunate enough to pick a date in May, a bouquets of peonies combining fat buds and full blown blossoms is exquisite.

I'm sorry to see then go as summer continues into June, but the memories remain, and this year my peonies were the privileged participants in a beautiful May wedding celebration - An honor for the flowers and for the gardener who lovingly grows them.

Saturday, June 11, 2016

NO Buttermilk Required

Martha says . . . . .     

  1. Paint unglazed terra-cotta pots with yogurt, buttermilk, plant-food solution, or beer, then rub with earth; keep pots moist by planting something in them and watering. In three months they'll look centuries old.

 I have actually looked for a recipe to create moss on my pots, yearning for that green and mossy look that speaks to me of the English gardens. 

And speaking of English gardens, how about the days of drizzle and gray skies overhead, all evoking the feeling of a verdant countryside, laced with stone walls and hedgerows teeming with wild roses and softly chirping birds.

Well I have it right here in the Midwest, moss and all!  

                The dove does look handsome 
                 with his mantle of green.

            And my miniature village is looking
            appealingly ancient .

Moss and Lichens are even growing on this garden seat - a tapestry effect that only nature could create.

If I sit still long enough , will moss grow on me?

Saturday, January 3, 2015

Undecking The Halls

There are only two days in the year 
about which nothing can be done.
One is yesterday, the other is tomorrow.
But today . . . . . -dalai lama

 The glitter was great, the candles were aglow, 
but all glitter must eventually go –
 and I’m not at all sad about it. Well, maybe I'm little sad about the red wax on my tablecloth . ..

Sweeping away all the shiny bright from the mantel – 
and in it’s place a new vignette, simple, a little austere, but welcome. Now an  homage to books and reading, 
my favorite January indulgence.

The little feather tree is cleared away and on the table some blooming narcissus and the first stack of plant catalogs 
are ready for savoring. 
Because what follows the Holiday season?  
 Spring of course,with a few filled precious winter months 
to plan  and anticipate it.

  Back to the inspiration board with dreams of projects , paintings, and whatever else captures me .

There’s something about a clean slate, isn’t there?

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

What Do The Flowers Say?

The occasion called for a Tussie Mussie - 
so many do you know , and the garden was happy to oblige.
I like to begin each of these little nosegays with a single red
or a group of small pink roses at the center.
The rest of the herbs and flowers are wrapped around in sequence, each one chosen for it's meaning

This pink and pretty rose is fragrant as well as beautiful. 

                   It doesn't matter the name or variety,
                               as long as it fits the bill.

Herbs and flowers are clipped and the stems trimmed. 
All grouped and laid out to begin.
Thyme, marjoram, sage, feverfew, rosemary, scented geraniums and mint.

The paper lace collars,  green floral tape, ribbons and reference books complete the picture

The finished Tussie Mussie is tucked into a little vase 
and ready for delivery.
A card with the meanings of all the herbs
and flowers is attached.

I have here made a
Nosegay of culled flowers,
And I have brought nothing of my own
But the thread that

Ties them together – Michel de Montaigne