We grow closer to the cusp of Summer

When there's new growth bursting out all over,

everything fresh, green and flourishing,

the plants are little rockets of success

going off every time you look at them! Jacquiline  Heriteau

Before I even press the little red button to set the coffee perking in the morning

I open the back door to the sun room.

Callie runs out ahead of me

through her little cat door, 

and I open the door to the deck and look around me with delight!

Well, most mornings, - we have had a run of really pleasant weather...

warm in the daytime, cool at night, blue skies scattered with

beautiful white clouds (as I will show you)

and a great  green explosion in the garden!!!!!

Occasionally the bucket under the eaves trough is full of water,

indicating a night-time shower, and small drops

may still remain on the leaves and the blossoms.

I scurry in to turn on the coffee, to wash my face and don a robe,

and when the coffee is done we are out back for the

first cup of the day, and morning inspection.....

Oh look, the delphiniums have grown another six inches

and they tower over the newly opened peonies and iris, 

which in turn have crowded the blue flowered monarda

 and the white  bleeding heart.

Every plant is three times larger than it was last year,

and of course I should have realized this would happen 

(as they thrive on the compost)

and been more of a minimalist when I first planted this small space.

Somewhere in there the Bee Balm has reached three feet

and I see that a branch of the Mister Lincoln Rose

has snaked through the undergrowth and come up 

in the midst of a peony!!

The small Bridal Flower shrub that I bought for our 65th anniversary

has suddenly burgeoned into  a full grown bush

and will have to be moved elsewhere!!

Oh dear, oh dear - I feel Charles shaking his head

and admonishing me,  and I say in reply 'I know, love, but, but........

I will enjoy all these glorious summer flowers 

and attend to the situation in the fall.

Here are some pictures.......

and then of course, there are all the pots of annuals and veggies

which I will save for another post!!!

But here is the lovely summery sky!!!

May has been marvelous and I open my arms to June.

"Oh, that it were with me

As with the flower'

Blooming on its own tree

For butterfly and bee

Its summer morns:

That I might bloom mine hour

A rose in spite of thorns.

Oh that my work were done

As birds that soar

Rejoicing in the sun:

That when my time is run

And daylight too,

I so might rest once more

Cool with refreshing dew."

Christina Rosetti, A Summer Wish, 1880

The Trembling Aspen

ABC Wednesday
May 28th, 2014

The letter is T, for the Trembling Aspen, 

sometimes called the quaking aspen, 

but I like Trembling much better.  

The Aspen has nothing to fear and quake about, 

but much to bring on a delicate spell of trembling with delight 

- a slight breeze, a bit of sunshine to turn her lovely round leaves into golden coins!

One of my favourite trees.

In spring it has a lovely woolly catkin

In  summer it rustles a small song and shimmers in the
aspen groves as the 

 winds move through the straight white trunks.

Autumn turns the leaves golden 

and paints large gleaming expanses or colourful waterfalls in the hills

 where this deciduous tree is most at home.

These aspen (below) along the road to Penticton are more of an ecru colour (and have been photoshopped, which probably accounts for the darker colour of the trunks)

Here is a lovely young grove of trembling aspen that we passed just before we came upon 

The Columns (which trip I will tell you about soon!)

High in the hills they had not yet leafed out

but stood white and ghostly around

a small waterfall and stream.

Beautiful - they reached out and clutched at the heart!!

For more wonderful Ts do trip over here to ABC Wednesday

where Roger and Denise have some terribly trendy

or totally traditional treats for you.

Summertime

ABC Wednesday
The letter is S, which stands for.....

SUMMERTIME

in all its glory

David Garrett and accompanist

A musical celebration

would you like violin and piano

or trumpet?

for more interpretations of the letter S

click here to reach ABC Wednesday

and the postings Roger and Denise

have gathered for your pleasure.

Essays

A small encounter with the flu has me being gentle with the day, and instead of cleaning out the fridge I have taken pencil in hand and spent the morning on the sofa with Chris Arthur's Irish Nocturnes, - reading and re-reading, and pondering the human condition.

It is the type of book that can be read in spurts and starts, picking up at any chapter that tweaks your fancy, or that you have marked to read again and note the wise words and the elegant way they are intertwined.  I read somewhere how fitting the genre (essay) is to the development of a subject or an idea, and I have to say it is my favourite way to stimulate a little thought, a little learning.....

Professor Graham Good, Professor of English at UBC, says ...."[Chris] Arthur's aim in his essays is to move from immediacy to immensity, from the vivid concrete particulars of an incident, an object, or a sight, to the most universal ideas; the human condition, the infinity of space and time,

 the complexity and connexity of the world"

This morning I read the essay on Linen.  And not for the first time.  I am particularly interested in linen, having woven tablecloths and a pair of  pillow slips with this fine thread, although Charles found them to be not as soft as he would like to lay his sweet head upon until they had been washed innumerable times and polished with a hard iron. And even going so far in my young and curious and uber-enthusiastic days to growing flax, retting it in a little stream and eventually trying to spin with it, but my curiousity was larger than my skills and the venture was not a great success.  Chris Arthur points out that the water the flax is to be retted in must be waist deep and stagnant, so perhaps that is where I went wrong...  I am content now to have the beautiful sky blue flax growing in my garden along with the poppies and the iris.

In his essay on linen Arthur extracts first the story of his blue-eyed great-grandmother and the piece of linen, drawn worked and meant to sit under the platter of meat to save the tablecloth from being soiled during the carving - called a 'carver'.  

He expands his essay to follow another thread, another story of the hardships endured by those who worked in the production of linen in Ireland, and further into the source of the flax seed and the extreme dependency the evolution of man has had on the plant world....."in a sense we start below the ground with plants (and will return there again).  We are as dependent on them as we are on our mother's milk.  As we sit in our cars or at our computers, apes far removed from the trees that gave them sanctuary, lost in illusions of power and independence, it's worth reflecting that for all the might of our industry, for all the sophistication of our technology, we are still in thrall to plants.  If, one year, the movement of pollen should somehow be embargoed, if the wind didn't blow or the insects didn't come, or the plants withheld their bounty, the outlook for us would be bleak".pg 15

He goes on to describe the way in which linen is produced, in Ireland and elsewhere, in the old, laborious way and in the new technological way.  He describes the way the plant has 'woven important concepts into our vocabulary' - spinster, distaff, retting, scutching, rippling, and not least "line" , which connotation has had such an influence on our notions of straightness.  He asks if nature had not provided anything to spin thread from, would we have understood 'lines' the way we do now?  Despite our alienation from the earth much of our vocabulary has its roots sunk deep in nature, and sometimes it is good to recall such origins.....

I put down the book and think about the things that Arthur has said,

 and the long, long line of linen history.

I have an especial fondness for the flax plant and for linen.  

While I was still young and working in the City 

at lunch time we used to haunt The Irish Linen Shop, 

although we didn't have the money to buy, - just admire.

Rhubarb

ABC Wednesday
May 14th, 2014
The letter is R, for Rhubarb

I wake early and lie in bed, waiting for the pale blue sky to brighten with the rising sun, thinking lazily of today's agenda - of ABC Wednesday and the letter R.

And then I think of Rhubarb and the splendid great plant that lived at the edge of the farm garden, next to the water tap, and I immediately think of

Spring    Spring    Spring

From the first search for tiny crimson stubs, pushing through the chilly March soil.

the retrieval of the rhubarb forcing barrel with small holes in the top

to tease the long, slender stalks upward toward the sunlight.

(My youngest son tells me that this year on the Meadow where he lives a

chipmunk has taken up residence under the barrel

and gets most perturbed when the occasional

examination to scan progress is made, and the barrel is lifted).

There comes a day when all is good and the first gathering occurs.

That faint pop as the stalk is pulled away from the root, and we carry the first pale stalks into the kitchen. What the children don't break off and dip in sugar for a crunchy treat

is made into a delectable pie or crumble.

Sometimes there is only enough left to chop the stalks and stew them -

is there anything else that is that beautiful delicate pink

that tastes so much of spring and freshness

and hope and anticipation!!!

THE PLANT immediately gets busy to replace what it has offered us.

This is a busy and productive Rhubarb that thrives on the compost

of the leaves we stuff around its roots when gathering.

It's leaves are spectacular!

Large enough to provide cover for a least seven small fan dancers!!!

Eventually a wonderful flowering stalk shoots up from the middle,

but if we foil the plant in its reproductive stage it starts all over again, and we have

rhubarb all summer long.  Not as tender as at first

and we don't get quite as obsessive over it,

but still......

Here is a nice basic recipe for Rhubarb Crumble.

It can be fancied up with strawberries, or ginger, or orange juice

but whatever, it is wonderfully juicy, tart and sweet at the same time

and it speaks to us of spring, summer,all those warm and precious days

and even of winter when it provides summery memories

if one has been wise enough to pop a few bags in the freezer.

Rhubarb Crumble

1 cup light brown sugar, firmly packed

1 cup all purpose flour

3/4 cup quick cooking rolled oats

1/2 cup melted butter

1 tsp cinnamon

combine in a bowl and mix until crumbly.

Press half of this mixture into a buttered 8 inch baking dish

top with 4 cups of chopped rhubarb

In a saucepan cook until clear

1 cup granulated sugar

2 tbsp cornstarch

1 cup water

1 tsp vanilla

Pour over the rhubarb and covered with the remaining crumb mixture.

Bake at 350 for 45-55 minutes.

And for your entertainment while you are enjoying it

Visit here at ABC Wednesday for more takes on the letter R

with thanks to Denise and Roger and any

Rowdy helpers who assist them.

Morning - May 12th, 1945

Can this person be re-captured???

Leaps and Bounds

A wonderful soft rain overnight to dampen the seeds I planted yesterday - some Cleome, a patch of Nicotiana and some Evening Scented Stock (small and insignificant, but such a fantastic memory-stirring fragrance)!

Each morning when I go out into the back garden I am amazed at the growth from the day before - great fronds of green and a plethora of pregnant buds, and small, slower emerging plants pushing through (along with millions of tiny chamomile seedlings).  It's been a wonderful spring, - lovely warm days interspersed with cloudy, damp weather and night-time showers.  The blue bench cushions play musical chairs, - in at night, out in the sunshine!  Come with me and see what's growing!!

The sweet Bridal Bush I bought to celebrate our anniversary a few years ago, transplanted from the old garden and still as lovely and pure and fragrant as ever.

The Bleeding heart is three feet tall, and behind it the new white variety hides in the shade of an enthusiastic peony, begging to be moved into its own space.

The Oriental Poppy makes its intentions clear - 

and along the side garden the quince blossoms along with that pretty shrub whose name I do not know.

The lilac blends in with the mountain ash blossom, lending that old familiar perfume - a drive 

through the valley is like a trip through heaven with the lilac and the lingering late apple blossom.

A few of the early pansies I planted when nothing else was available in the garden shops.

Another tree (a type of Elder?) blossoming its little heart out!

No shortage of violets, - unfortunately many are the kind that don't blossom, - just 

grow with great exuberance amidst all the other flowers, but here

and there are sweet white and purple blooms.

Oriental Poppies, prepared to Pop!

And the Abraham Darby, with tender new buds.

In a little corner of the front garden, by the gate that leads down the utility lane,

there is a small patch of modest Solomon's Seal, with it's pure white bells tinged with a tender green.

Beside it one lone tulip, enormous, spreading its petals in the sun like a lovely butterfly

Suddenly some of the peonies are tightly budded, and showing their crinkled crimson papery interior,

along with a few visiting ants.

A newly planted pot on the front steps

and the lightness of the new growth on the evergreens that stretch over the neighbour's fence.

The Chinese Underground Railway is running behind schedule, but there are advance passengers

showing up all through the garden, along with the ubiquitous buttercups!!!

I take my coffee and some music out into the garden

and sit in wonderment and quiet communion.

ABC Wednesday
May 8th, 2014

This week's letter is Q

For quaint, quirky, querulous quixotic  but also for Quips and Quotes, and the difference between the two.

A Quip is a clever, witty remark one makes, often prompted by the occasion - off the cuff, so to speak.

a Quote is someone else's clever, witty remark that hits the nail on the head.

Woody Allen's Quip, which I Quote - "In California they don't throw their garbage away - they make it into movies..."

And I guess that's all I have to say about Quips and Quotes.

For more takes on the letter Q visit here at ABC Wednesday, with thanks to Roger, Denise and all other quirky helpers.

A Quick Weather Update

A Quick pictorial update on the weather

Nevertheless I see a small patch of blue off to the East. and that is enough to encourage me to find a dry spot, gather up all the petunias and lobelia and other stuff I couldn't resist, and go to 'POT'.

Note the lovely new birdhouse hanging in the back yard - another item I couldn't resist!!!! 

Oh, the first of May, the first of May! 

 How lovely it is, as Calli sits and watches in the sun, beside the tulips.

And I stir up dirt, a little bit of this, a dab of compost, some potting soil, 

a smidgin of vermiculite 

and a thimble full of 'Feed and Forget.

 I make up a pot of yellow begonias, pansies and sweet alyssum

to take to my daughter across the lane.

Tuesday, when it was our elder daughter's birthday and it was still April,

we drove along to Ginty's Pond with the camera

and were mesmerized by the beautiful greens

and the sun shining on last year's candled rushes.

and the neon green clump of grass reflected in the still waters.

I went to visit the hill garden, - up the lane 

lined with the beautiful curly willow

that Charles rooted and planted and watered and nurtured -

a sweet remembrance of him

and to the garden shop for some blue lobelia....

Transfixed with spring I found two lovely poems

from the days when I was young and romantic, - when

I loved Sara Teasdale, and was in awe of Goethe.

A delicate fabric of bird song

Floats in the air,

The smell of wet wild earth

is everywhere,

Oh I must pass nothing by

Without loving it much,

The raindrop try with my lips,

The grass with my touch;

For how can I be sure

I shall see again

The world on the first of May

Shining after the rain?

Sara Teasdale May Day

How fair doth Nature

Appear again!

How bright the sunbeams!

How smiles the plain!

The flow'rs are bursting

From every bough,

And thousand voices

Each bush yields now.

And joy and gladness

Fill ev'ry breast!

Oh earth!--oh sunlight!

Oh rapture blest!

Oh love! oh loved one!

Goethe, May Song

And most wonderful of all!  

Just tonight I have news of the birth of our fifth Great Grandchild!

What more glorious for springtime and the first of May!!!

The Diplomatic Platypus

ABC Wednesday
April 30th, 2014

The letter is P this week...

Amongst the many poems dedicated to The Duck-billed Platypus I have chosen THE DIPLOMATIC PLATYPUS by Patrick Barrington, the 11th Viscount Barrington of Ardglass (1908-1990).

Patrick Barrington was famous for his humorous verse, popular in Punch in the 1930's.

He was unmarried, and upon his death in 1990 the peerage he held became extinct.  But the Platypus lives on to entice poets with its inviting name and curious attributes.

The Diplomatic Platypus

I had a duck-billed platypus when I was up at Trinity,
With whom I soon discovered a remarkable affinity.
He used to live in lodgings with myself and Arthur Purvis,
And we all went up together for the Diplomatic Service.
I had a certain confidence, I own, in his ability.
He mastered all the subjects with remarkable facility;
And Purvis, though more dubious, agreed that he was clever,
But no one else imagined he had any chance whatever.
I failed to pass the interview, the board with wry grimaces
Took exception to my boots and then objected to my braces,
And Purvis too was failed by an intolerant examiner
Who said he had his doubts as to his sock-suspender's stamina.
Our summary rejection, though we took it with urbanity
Was naturally wounding in some measure to our vanity;
The bitterness of failure was considerably mollified,
However, by the ease with which our platypus had qualified.
The wisdom of the choice, it soon appeared, was undeniable;
There never was a diplomat more thoroughly reliable.
He never made rash statements his enemies might hold him to,
He never stated anything, for no one ever told him to,
And soon he was appointed, so correct was his behaviour,
Our Minister (without Portfolio) to Trans-Moravia.
My friend was loved and honoured from the Andes to Esthonia,
And soon achieved a pact between Peru and Patagonia.
He never vexed the Russians nor offended the Rumanians,
He pacified the Letts and appeased the Lithuanians,
Won approval from his masters down in Downing Street so wholly, O,
He was soon to be rewarded with the grant of a Portfolio.
When on the Anniversary of Greek Emancipation,
Alas! He laid an egg in the Bulgarian Legation.
This untoward occurrence caused unheard-of repercussions,
Giving rise to epidemics of sword-clanking in the Prussians.
The Poles began to threaten, and the Finns began to flap at him,
Directing all the blame for this unfortunate mishap at him;
While the Swedes withdrew entirely from the Anglo-Saxon dailies
The right of photographing the Aurora Borealis,
And, all efforts at rapprochement in the meantime proving barren,
The Japanese in self-defense annexed the Isle of Arran.
My platypus, once thought to be more cautious and more tentative
Than any other living diplomatic representative,
Was now a sort of warning to all diplomatic students
Of the risks attached to negligence, the perils of imprudence,
And, branded in the Honours List as 'Platypus, Dame Vera'
Retired a lonely figure, to lay eggs in Bordighera.

For more entertaining and educational P's visit here at ABC Wednesday with thanks to Roger, Denise
and all who visit and maintain this most Popular meme.

How I spent Sunday....

Out in the garden first thing in the morning, getting all squiggley and dirty, 

mixing soil and planting potatoes in the potato planting bag I bought last spring, 

 - just like this one only orange.....

You will notice the nice little flap at the bottom of the bag that enables you to  feel around

for those first small baby potatoes that are so delicious

with a bit of mint!

I had a few nicely sprouted potatoes left, so found a little spot at

the bottom of a bird house my

son-in-law made for the back garden

and tucked them in with a pat on the head and

a nice covering of potting soil and compost.

Time for coffee and a shower, and then I dressed

for an afternoon event.

The 100th Anniversary of the establishment of the Royal Purple Lodge,

an adjunct to the Benevolent Order of Elks.

I have belonged to the Purple for many years, and have many dear

friends amongst the organization.  It suffers from a lack

of new memberships among the young as so many

of the old institutions do.

New generations and new ways of doing things.

As a result we are small in numbers, but the bonds are strong.

To celebrate we had a Friendship Day, inviting friends in other Lodges to attend;

coming, if they wished, in fashions of a century ago.

I wore a big hat, white gloves, a nightgown ensemble I fashioned into a tea dress. and carried an old fashioned bag.

Many others came in similar costumes, although I think mine was the only nightgown there!

We had a delicious old-fashioned tea with fancy sandwiches and welsh cakes

and strawberry shortcake, and then played games that were popular in the parlours 

of the country one hundred years ago.

Snakes and Ladders, Pick up Sticks, Tiddly Winks and Dominoes, 

   and I have to say, considering the age of these ladies, 

                      most appropriate in that they were not too mentally strenuous 

            that they interfered with conversation!!

We all had a perfectly lovely time and I came home and had a small drink of

Orange Brandy and a pleasant dose of Reminiscence.