Roses in the New Garden

To delight the heart and feed the soul
Consolation for the Lost Garden

Picking Apples, amongst other things.....

Today was the day for the Big Machinery to come and dig out the bank at the back of the house, in readiness for the new garage.


Two nice golden delicious apple trees had to be sacrificed to the Big Machinery, in order to make room for this new garage, - as a matter of fact we have never owned a garage before!!!


This called for picking the apples from the trees before the afternoon's carnage. I am very sensitive to the destruction of trees, after the wholesale removal of the trees my husband had planted in the Lost Garden. However, I am also fond of picking apples, - have always found it a most pleasant occupation. Especially when the sky is blue, the clouds are white and fluffy and there is a hint of fall in the air, even though the sun is benignly warm.


When I was a child I read a book about an annual apple picking day at a boarding school, - for some reason I found the description of this day particularly appealing. I don't know if this influenced the way I felt about having an apple orchard and the pleasure of picking in it, - I certainly thought that boarding schools must be a great deal of fun .


I was up early and out with a bucket, having decided a picking bag was beyond me at my advanced age. First bucket was a breeze, - second bucket was still fun - third bucket filled up the box, and I looked at it with great satisfaction.


The second box was a little wearing on my shoulders, - by the time I had picked four boxes my eyes lit up and my heart lightened when I saw David, our grandson, trudging up the hill towards the house. Sent by his father.
I was so grateful for his help.....


I disappeared into the house to collect the coffee for a mid morning break, and while I was gone the young one was busy filling up the rest of the boxes, both big buckets and a large yellow plastic bin.







In the meantime Husband was doing what he does best now, - making order out of chaos with the tractor.












While the little dog ran around, delighted to be outdoors and invited to the party.












Until, alas, he stepped on something that pierced his foot, and in the process of having it removed also got a bit of a haircut.

Whining and complaining all the while!!








In the late afternoon we all went for a drive and took this pretty picture of an all together different apple orchard.









Who can help but love September!!!

Musings whilst bent over a table taking teeny, tiny stitches

Not a pasttime of my choosing, but nevertheless a labour of love.

When I offered to order the altar cloth and find some lace for it my ego had expanded to such a degree that it had caused me to forget that I am 81 years old, that my eyesight isn't all that great and that my back aches after 15 minutes of bending over. I did have enough presence of mind to realize that I COULD NOT crochet eight yards of lace, even though I would have liked to think I could undertake such an ambitious task.

I contented myself with finding some suitable lace, and faced with a tableful of ladies who claimed no familiarity with needle and thread, I rose to the occasion and offered to sew the eight yards of lace all around the beautiful Belgium damask altar cloth, - by hand, and with teeny, tiny stitches as befits a beautiful Belgium damask altar cloth.

I did ask for a deadline, knowing well my propensity to procrastinate.

The altar cloth is to be dedicated this coming Sunday in memory of a dear and faithful friend of all those ladies who sat around the table.

I started the project by extending the dining room table, finding the needles and pins and scissors and thimbles, and a large white linen cloth to lay this exquisite damask on. Then I rummaged around and found a gorgeous recording of Bach's music to inspire me, and to make the needle fly.

As I pinned and stitched the teeny, tiny stitches my thoughts were with Isobel, the friend we are honouring with the donation of this cloth to the Church which she loved so steadfastly.

I remembered her sincere and faithful friendship, her amazing generosity of spirit, her mischievous sense of humour - and the delight of being in her company.

I remembered the spirit of adventure that took her to far flung places when she was young, and the wonderful curiosity and intellect that sparked the endearing stories she told. I remembered a certain sweetness she carried with her, and her concern for those in need, and for those who yearned for love and friendship.

I remembered the way she served her church, in every possible way she could. And I remembered the great pleasure she took in doing this, - and all the funny times she shared with her friends. The laughter, and the dear stories she told. Her appearance on her 80th birthday in a baseball cap captioned "80 gives you 50" referring to the mileage and kilometre ratio.

Eventually my thoughts strayed to other friends who were close and cherished, and who are no longer with us. And I realized so many of our memories, as we grow older, are peopled by dear shades of the ones we laughed with, and sorrowed with - danced with, shared with - dreams and food, music and precious intimacies. The ones we grew up with, and the ones who guided our growing up time.

These friends live in our hearts, and will survive as long as our memories of them linger, either in our own minds, or in the presence of those with whom we share the memories, - on and on and on.....

Still two yards to stitch with teeny, tiny stitches and time grows short....

P.S. September 24th

Senior Moments

I hesitate to write about Senior Moments. I hesistate even to acknowledge that such things exist. However, there are some things too blatant to ignore, and last Sundays's experience, whilst readying myself for Church, made me face up to an unpleasant truth.

I DO have SENIOR MOMENTS - I do have times when the wires just don't connect, or the attention slips (just fractionally) and one is (just slightly) chagrined.

I'm not too bad at remembering names and birthdays but at what point of our lives certain things happened I score badly. Too much confusion, too much busyness, too many children doing too many things. I have to remember children's birth dates and then count forward until I come to the approximate age of the child when certain things happened.

Well, I have learned to cope with that, and I'm pretty good at covering up other faux pas I might make because of faulty memory. I usually put the salt and pepper back in the cupboard and the milk in the fridge and the laundry pretty well always ends up in the right place. My husband might disagree on some points, and I guess last Sunday's experience puts him on pretty stable ground.

On Sunday I went to church in a rosy haze!! Sundays are usually pretty relaxed days, with an early morning start at getting spiffed up, music rounded up and off we go. I was just putting the finishing touches to the getting ready program, - was all dressed, powdered, rouged and curled. I reached for the hair spray, applied it liberally, and as I replaced it on the counter noticed it was the Rose Linen and Room Spray, rather than the hair spray.

I slumped over the counter, head in hands. Husband, alarmed, sprang to attention! Why had wife, (who he cherishes and who gets his breakfast, lunch and dinner) collapsed???

He was relieved to find it was not a physical problem, just a mental aberration.

Off to church, smelling mighty lak a rose, up to the organ, well away from the congregation. I played through the service in perfumed splendour. Everyone was polite at tea time, - but daughter, (endearing child that she is) when we got home, threw up her hands in horror, - overcome by the rosy fumes.

The only thing that consoled me was remembering a friend, (when we were much much younger) arriving late at a meeting because she had picked up the shaving foam instead of the hair spray.

Ah, Senior Moments, - may they be few and far between and not too apparent to any except oneself.

It was cold comfort to hear husband muttering darkly from the kitchen that he had even forgotten how to set a mouse trap.

The Lost Manual

Underlying all the other things we are doing daybyday is the frantic search for the lost Manual for a Massey Ferguson Diesel Tractor.


Here is a picture of the Massey Ferguson Diesel Tractor along with its diligent Owner.

This was taken at a time when all necessary information for repair was stored in the Owner's diligent brain.

However, a situation has arisen where the Owner requires the manual to guide him in his delicate work with the wiring, - in short, he requires the schematic which is displayed in the Massey Ferguson Diesel Manual he has owned for forty years (both tractor and manual).

The Tractor sits in plain view in the back yard, displaying its innards. But the Manual has been displaced, shifted, hidden, become invisible, - in short, the Manual is lost. The Owner knows where it was in the old house (I know where things lived even in the house before that) but it has escaped and is hiding, somewhere on the new property.

When things get puzzling for me I often consult Google, and so I thought there might be some advice on finding things tucked away in a remote corner of the Web.

I found there were 52,000 results online when I googled the subject, - "searching for lost items"
This was a tad daunting, but some of the entries soon caught my interest. There are myriad methods of regaining lost objects.

I found that you can do this through Prayer Cards, - or you can do it mathematically. There is a more esoteric method - I ran across a thesis on finding lost objects which involved investigating the real world and the nature of what losing an object really means.

There are a number of patented devices or systems for locating lost objects, and one Web page which promised to reveal how people currently find lost things was clicked on, and the Page came up "NOT FOUND".

I found a method of locating lost items through a complicated astrological system, and one which recommended praying to St. Anthony.

I found a most interesting Spell which guaranteed success.

Supplies required:

• Mirror
• Orange candle
• Black candle
• Small Magnet

Procedure:

Cast your circle and invoke the Elemental Guardians. Light the black candle (for solving mysteries, and drawing away the negativeness of the loss), and then the orange candle (for luck and precious objects). Visualize the lost object(s) in the mirror as already being found. Place the magnet between the two candles and stroke it towards you as you say the following three times, substituting the name of the lost object for "(lost object)":

By the wavering flame of this black light,
Grant to me of my (lost object) a sight.
By the power of this orange flame,
Give me luck to find the same.
In this mirror the (lost object) I see
Make the magnet draw them to me.

Close the circle, but leave the candles burning with the magnet between them until the candles burn down.

I haven't tried this yet, but I was drawn to Professor Solomon's book on the Twelve Principles for finding lost objects. Even the Thirteenth Principle, which when all else fails recommends resignation, a shrug of the shoulders, and a resolve to Call off the Search. However, I doubt if the Owner would be happy with this solution.

Calling off the search and starting a new search for an old manual that some other Owner may have tucked away could be a way of solving the problem. Everyone knows that when you lose one glove and then replace the pair, the lost glove immediately turns up. There is even a Grook attesting to the truth of this theory....

CONSOLATION GROOK by Peter Grook

 Losing one glove

is certainly painful,

but nothing 

   compared to the pain,

of losing one,

throwing away the other,

and finding 

   the first one again."

It reinforces the Rule which reads "To find something lost, Replace It".

Probably the theory which both mystified and appealed to me was that advanced
by the Numerologists, and the first spare moment I have I'm going to try it.

One of the numbers (which are obtained by addition of random numbers) claims
"It went out with the garbage; you will not be able to retrieve it. It's covered
by dirt, and it will soon disintegrate"

Pray this is not so!

I was bemused with what a lot of things turn out to be loseable.....just a few

Lost Time
Lost Sheep
Lost Chord (and also the Lost Cord which turns out to be connected to Spinal Cord 
Rejuvenation.
Lost for words
Lost Prophecy, from Harry Potter
Paradise Lost
Losing one's grip (and not referring to luggage)

This little exercise has not contributed anything to finding the Lost Manual, but it
has kept the Owner's wife entertained for an hour or so, and hopefully it will
entertain the Owner too, and provide a little distraction until the Lost Manual 
decides to surface.

On the Subject of Procrastination I am an expert.

"I love DEADLINES. I like the sound they make as they go whooshing by."

I can spend a whole days doing frivolous things - feeling guilty about it, but nevertheless finding entirely irrelevent things to do which will prevent me tackling the job I am trying to avoid.

I have an application to make, and an accompanying letter to write. I probably have another two weeks before panic sets in and I am forced to sit down and DO this chore. Right Now!!!

I will spend that two weeks in guilty avoidance of the file sitting on my desk. I will pretend that I am turning over in my mind what I will say, and the best way of saying it. But the truth is that the job which would once have been an enjoyable challenge has become just another mundane chore.

Unfortunately when I say I like the sound of deadlines whooshing past, that's just not something I could do. It's wishful thinking. It is a most inviting idea, - to be carefree enough to be able to ignore a deadline!!! What an indulgence....but one not available to me, alas.

It takes a certain amount of charm to be able to avoid a deadline without making any number of people cross with you!!!! A dab of derring-do, and a careless insouciance to carry off a total avoidance of responsibility with any suavity....

I can procrastinate, day after day, but when push comes to shove I will always come through with the goods!!! I am of the the "salt of the earth" clan which is viewed with just a hint of condescension by the dreamers and the fiddlers.

How boring, - I'm not a charming butterfly or a grasshopper after all - procrastination is as far as I can stray from the straight and narrow.

My only hope of hearing deadlines whoosh past with any degree of glee is if, in old age, I hearken back to childhood days and forget the responsibilities of adulthood. I see certain signs of that forgetfulness overtaking me.......

Smoky Days


This afternoon husband, dog and I went for a drive through the Lower Similkameen Valley (where we live) and here are some of the sights we saw.

The smoke is from the Tripod Fire in the State of Washington, seeping up over the border through the Cawston Valley from the south, and from the Tatoosh Complex Fire on the U.S. side of the border in the Pasayten Wilderness inundating the valley from the West.

My husband tells stories about a previous fire in this same area which resulted in him working as a Licensed Log Scaler in the Pasayten country, on the Canadian side of the border. They were cutting burned timber which was left by this fire when it crossed the border into Canada. Because of the restriction which evidently bans the use of heavy machinery in fighting forest fires in wilderness areas in the U.S. this fire eventually had to be fought back with heavy duty machinery on the Canadian side, thus augmenting the Kentucky mule skinners, picks and shovels which were being used in the U.S. Pasayten wilderness to attempt to contain the fire.

I question the wisdom of preserving wilderness areas, only to have them destroyed by uninhibited fire. And I question further the damage to the health of many who are susceptible to smoke. How much second hand cigarette smoke would equal the smoke that is now inundating thousands of square miles because of what appears to be inadequate fire fighting techniques?

It gives me pause to consider the disadvantages of the National Park which is being proposed in the Similkameen Valley. The Kelowna fire of recent years ravaged a National Park left unkempt and neglected, flaunting too much of a temptation for natural causes. Whereas now it is once again in a state of re-birth it hardly compensates for the damage which was inflicted on neighbouring communities.

My husband and I discuss this situation, and consider the orderly logging in these hills sixty years ago, and the stewardship of the ranchers and farmers in the area.

We see that the trees in the logged areas are once again mature. My husband tells me of skid roads and trails which were disturbed by these logging operations, resulting in a soil ready to receive moisture and seeds, and to generate new forest trees. He tells me also of disturbing the soil in treeless areas on the open slopes of the Similkameen valley to a depth of two or three feet with a cat, and turning up charcoal from ancient fires. These are the areas which may take centuries to recover from fierce fires.

Well, those are the thoughts I had as we traveled through this smoky valley, and these are the comments which resulted from our conversation....

September - most glorious of months

Across acres of old pastures, where the goldenrod are taking over, late August and early September turn the land into a tumbling sea of the richest yellow. The fields are awash with waves of goldenrod that flow across the slopes and break against the stone walls and the woods.
Edwin, Way Teale

In the days when we raised sheep and I was enthused about spinning and dyeing wool the goldenrod and rabbit brush drew me into the hills and along the roadsides to gather
great baskets of yellow gold that with the proper mordants gave me the soft and subtle greens and tans and buttery colours to weave blankets that still keep us warm at night and lay over chairs for afternoon naps.

The first day of September, and we enter my most favourite month of all. September is like New Year's Eve to me, - it holds all the excitement of new beginnings. We come from a languid summer, full of zip and great expectations. It has been this way for me always, but more so when I was sending children back to school. I wasn't breathing a sigh of relief, - I just wanted in the worst way to go with them!!

When it finally came my turn to go back to school it was one of the most exciting times of my life, and I loved every minute of it.


Today has been glorious. Cool breezes, warm sun and blue skies. The intense heat of summer has retreated. The hills are still smokey, and the sun set tonight - a spectacular red ball against a smokey sky.



I spoke in a previous post about the curious anomoly that we depression children harbour and the guilt we feel when we indulge in the things we love to do. There is a need to find a practical reason for everything we do. It plagues me when I pass my weaving room, and much as the loom beckons and the unfinished warp scolds, there always seems to be something else that should be done. If I can fool my mind into thinking that I am weaving to make presents and save money at Christmas and Birthdays, then all is well and I can weave guilt free.

I had no hope of ever conquering this feeling until today I read of a wise woman's effort to change "should" to "could".

I said it over to myself, silently. It opened up possibilities, and so I said it out loud.

Try it, - what a wonderful release, - changing a negative to a positive. I COULD go and weave this morning. Or I COULD clean out the fridge. A great decision making opportunity, and permission to choose what appeals most (always keeping in mind that the fridge is going to continue to need to be scrubbed and polished and re-arranged) Perhaps a morning will come when that is the activity which really turns me on!!!!! Clean fridges do have a certain appeal!

Well, this way of looking at things opens up possibilities, and what better month to try it. Imagine, waking up to a morning of choices! I will feel like a butterfly, - a grasshopper. Certainly not a trudging ant. I will banish "SHOULD" from my vocabulary.

Of course there is still "MUST", but MUST places no burden of decision upon us, - it doesn't encourage us to procrastinate. It is purely and simply a fulfilment of an obligation, a commitment

I go into September with lots of enthusiasm and a light heart!!!

A reminder from the front of my fridge,

which is somewhat in danger of becoming invisible even as I grow older, and prone to the habits it warns against.

17th Century Nun's Prayer

Lord, Thou knowest better than I know myself, that I am growing older and will someday be old. Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion. Release me from craving to straighten out everybody's affairs. Make me thoughtful but not moody; helpful but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all, but Thou knowest Lord that I want a few friends at the end.

Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point. Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing, and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by. I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoy the tales of others' pains, but help me to endure them with patience.

I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility and a lessening cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken.

Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want to be a Saint - some of them are so hard to live with - but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the devil. Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places, and talents in unexpected people. And, give me, O Lord, the grace to tell them so.

AMEN

Dr. Crippen's Blog

Tonight I have been putting in time before I can decently take my book to bed, reading Dr. Crippen's Blog. And finding it extremely interesting, - not just the topics contained therein, but also Dr. Crippen's response to the events that happen around him, daybyday, and his response to them. I like his humour and his commonsense, and have marked his blog as a favourite.

Mixed in with my admiration for Dr. Crippen's Blog, and his lifestyle, is a fair amount of envy. So many things to write about!!! And he does it with such style.

I had lots of things to write about at one stage in my life, - well, a pretty long stage, to be honest. Life is still fun, and interesting, but the umbrella is definitely closing on my sphere of activity. And the things that I can talk about are remarkably limited.

Dr. Crippen can talk about anonymous patients who cross his path daily. At this stage of my life I have only family and close friends who cross my path daily, and it is pretty hard to dissect them in a blog, or talk about their more familiar traits. Not an awful lot of them are liable to run into my blog, but they would certainly be amazed and astounded if by some chance they should, and found themselves publicly acknowledged for some innocent event in their lives, or a comment on their idiosyncracies.

Best to be diplomatic and confine one's thoughts and comments to the mundane, or at least to private opinions on uncontentious subjects. Safe, but boring.

Perhaps I should find a pseudonym and go on a wild and wicked spree, and run my stick along the fence - now I am old.

Shedding the illusion of central position

God help us, there is very little of that particular illusion left at this stage of the game. Which, I think, is as it should be.

A measured sense of self is most important in achieving maturity, and when we become parents the responsibilities we feel for our children are inclined to give us the illusion of control. This continues at least until the last child leaves the nest, and in some parents there is great difficulty in granting children true freedom to be adults and in charge of their own lives. A mother's constant worry about adult children is really a failure in faith, and a clinging to a feeling of responsibility and control

I speak from experience, and I have been a long time reaching the point in my life where I can shed the worry and the feeling of being responsible for everyone's happiness, everyone's safety.

I think this lack is an indication of what is currently known as a "control freak", and control freak's have a really hard time acknowledging that probably everyone can do just as good a job as they can in making decisions and living the good life. And some can do it a whole lot better!!!

I strive to age graciously, and have found that "the old folks" inspire love and respect, but woe betide them if they think they have any control over the events that happen in their children's lives, - or their children's response to these events.

What a happy freedom acceptance of this concept brings!!! It's like being newly weds again, - just to have each other to care for and to consider, and the familiarity of years of marriage to smooth the path. And besides, there is that constant movie of family life that we can sit and watch (and mostly enjoy) without any sense of responsibility. Furthermore, most of the things you get to watch are the pleasant events, - nobody tells you about the things they think might upset you, or on the other hand, might upset them!!!

WOW - so much for the illusion of central position, - hurrah for the seats on the sidelines!!! Let the parade continue!

Breakfast conversations

For many years my husband and I depended on rising early and having breakfast together before the children swamped us. After we found ourselves with an empty nest we still had busy days and it was the one time we could be alone together to talk about the important things, and the not so important things, trade news, ask advice, receive advice (you would understand this aspect of our conversation if you were familiar with my husband) gossip a little, and forge the bonds that have kept us together for 61 years.

Now we are not so busy, and the retirement years are upon us, breakfast conversations are still an important part of our day, but they have changed somewhat in content. They involve a recital of the hours we spent in bed.

Sleeping well - not so well.

No comfortable positions - aching knees.

Mind refused to shut down - didn't sleep all night, just hovered on the edge.

Did you hear the dog woof - did you catch the faint odour of skunk passing through?

Couldn't breath properly, - could it be dust mites?

But after good nights a contented relating of unbroken slumber, and a sigh of relief.

The topic turns to items in the paper which is now spread out before husband. Main priority goes to political topics, and these can engender a fairly passionate conversation, but luckily we are of the same persuation, and the heat is equal on both sides of the table. Eventually the newspaper loses its hold - I go to make breakfast and listen to the occasional comment floating out into the kitchen.

When breakfast is done, and we linger over coffee, then we can look forward to the day.

I have often wondered how boredom can hold sway with so many people? There is so much to do, even in retirement. And such a choice - how will we divide the day to do all the things we want to do. More often, because of the work ethic neither of us seems to be able to shake, it is "how will we divide the day to do all the things we feel it is necessary to do?"

I have neglected to mention the part the little dog, Caspar, plays in this breakfast ritual.

There is the traditional throw and fetch game of ball and the feeding of bits of toast, but he doesn't come in to his own until our daughter arrives for coffee and a visit after her morning job.

She and Caspar have a routine. He sits on his little hind end, waves his front paws in unison, and talks for treats. He used to sing for treats, but Caspar is like the rest of the family, - growing old and losing some of our most endearing charms. He also has a nasty little habit of nipping at toes if they come too close to his sleeping bod and startle him. He is variously loved, liked, accepted or frowned upon, depending on who in the family is expressing an opinion about him.

Well, it is time to do the night-time ritual and go to bed.

Main purpose - to garner breakfast-time topics for tomorrow's conversation!

Time to play Scott Joplin

When we begin to feel dismay at the slowness with which we work, and we bemoan the aches and pains that accompany tasks that were once accomplished with ease and pleasure, - and when we start to feel weary and irritated and the joy of each day doesn't buoy us up, - that's the time to stop practising hymns for the organ and start to play Scott Joplin!!!!

I know that the Elite Syncopations or the Pineapple Rag will elicit a positive response from my husband, no matter what he is doing.

Music is such a wonderful "pick-me-up" - or "calm-me-down" - whichever is required. Our emotions are attuned to the lilt and the rhythm, and the memories evoked by favourite tunes seem guaranteed to lift the spirits.

We don't dance around the kitchen much anymore, but the dance tunes of the era we grew up in, and the songs of wartime and the years immediately after, can make us feel young again and full of spunk.

And so I play Scott Joplin for our enjoyment, - with fingers that have stiffened somewhat and don't play with the same sureness they once did. But the magic is still there, and half an hour of Rags can put a little spring in the step and a little hope in the heart.

And for melancholy times there is always Joplin's beautiful and haunting Solace.

Whilst August yet wears her golden crown,
Ripening fields lush- bright with promise;
Summer waxes long, then wanes, quietly passing
Her fading green glory on to riotous Autumn.
- Michelle L. Thieme, August's Crown

The new garden in August, - joyous and fulfilling all hopes.

The hands still find comfort in the soil,
and the heart in the promise of another year.

Calling for Rain




Traditionally the last two weeks in August are a tenuous time to plan holidays in the Okanagan/Similkameen, but instead of the rain that often comes at this time of year the sky is heavy with smoke from the Tripod fire in Washington, seeping across the border and up the lower Similkameen, through Cawston and into the main valley. On a positive note the smoky skies are rendering the sun's rays less powerful and keeping the ripening apples from scalding.

We have been haunting the fruit stands, looking for over-ripe peaches to bring home, slice up and enjoy at each and every meal. Not the same as sending a child out to pick a pailful off a heavily laden peach tree, but age must make it's concessions and we are thankful to live where fresh fruit is handy.

I had a lesson in humility yesterday as I tried to download a program under a grandson's patient supervision, and via Windows Messenger. Sometimes the selenoids fail, and the networks just don't connect up, but we were successful in the end, and that was a fine compensation for a frustrating struggle. Probably what I appreciate most about the whole endeavor was my grandson's sweet patience, and that he resisted taking over my computer to do it for me. Hands on is a great way of teaching, and one that stays with you if you are smart enough to take notes. And then not forget where you put the notes!!!

We have been in this new house almost a year now. In the rush of moving boxes get put up on shelves and things get tucked away in unfamiliar places. With our daughter's help I have been able to investigate the contents and delighted in finding yarn I had forgotten about, pictures I had thought lost, and even last summer's shoes that got packed into a box and shoved under the house!

This morning I heard my husband exclaim, (as he went through an airforce file) "here is a letter with all the names and addresses of the members of 170 Squadron"! Sadly out of date, alas, - the date on the letter was August 8th, 1945.

One of the compensations of growing old, - having the time for memories, even if the short term ones aren't as sharp as the childhood remembrances.

Take the goods the gods provide, and don't stand and sulk
when they are snatched away.
- Mary McMullen

Lost Garden Part 3

Fall in the Lost Garden


"The garden is a mirror of the heart."

We come from the earth, we return to the earth, and in between we garden."

"Darkening nights are drawing in Log fires are lit, the curtains close Gardens wait for the year to begin Inside gardeners warm their toes."
~ By David Squire

"Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts."
~ Rachel Carson

"But now in September the garden has cooled, and with it my possessiveness.
The sun warms my back instead of beating on my head ...
The harvest has dwindled, and I have grown apart from the intense midsummer relationship that brought it on."
~ Robert Finch, Poet

Lost Garden, part 2

Summer in the Garden

How grateful I am that we were given all this beauty and the opportunity to help in the creation of such loveliness.

"When the world wearies and society ceases to satisfy, there is always the garden." ~ Minnie Aumonier

"A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in."
--Greek proverb

"Cares melt when you kneel in your garden."


"But each spring...a gardening instinct, sure as the sap rising in the trees, stirs within us. We look about and decide to tame another little bit of ground."
-- Lewis Gantt

"You can bury a lot of troubles digging in the dirt."

"Gardening is a way of showing that you believe in tomorrow

"In the Garden, my soul is sunshine."

"Where but in a garden do summer hours pass so quickly?"

"If you have a garden and a library you have everything you need."
~Cicero

"I garden, therefore I am."

Memorium for a Lost Garden

Spring in the Garden

When we moved to the Back Pasture we left behind five bedrooms and our treasured garden. The new owners are fine people, but Garden Philistines. We went to capture some seeds from the perennial sweet peas along the fence line at the old place and I mourned the flowers and shrubs, struggling to get through this hot summer without adequate water. The house has been made into apartments, - perhaps one of them will be rented to a gardener who will take pity on the honey suckle and trumpet vines, the magnolia tree and all the plants in the border along the fence.

The sweet peas we want to perpetuate were planted on the orchard that my husband's grandfather started when he returned from the Alaska Gold Rush, and they still grow on the original orchard. We have carried seed carefully from place to place, and they grow tentatively in their first year in the new garden, here on the pasture.

Our new garden has been a delight to create, but in my memory are all the wonderful hours I spent, early in the morning and in the cool of the evening, revelling in the care of the flowers, - the roses and iris and phlox and daisies. I remember with love all the trees that my husband planted, - dozens and dozens on the three acres that made up the property. Almost all gone now, - yanked out to accommodate a market garden or fruit trees. Alas, alas....