It all is so fragile in life and a garden.

 

I was a bit south of oldish.

The house my dad rebuilt,

with all those memories as

a youngster, teenager, adult -

our home, was sold with

most objects of a child’s life

my life, still within its walls.

The flight to save whatever

was left in that old house

of me and my childhood

that could be boxed and shipped

ended in bittersweetness

of new memories of a past

wiped out as life moves on.

One last look,

under the orange glow of a sunset -

a final farewell to all that had been.

Glass insulators collected along

the old pole line road by my sister;

a small collection of my favorites

of mom’s collection in her youth

of her favorites; a cookie jar

that once held raisin rough cookies,

,

our favorite, baked by mom;

a child’s worn-out marching boots,

my boots, minus the once red feathers;

old marbles; and the sadness of

old gifts I had given her

coming back full circle to me.

They all followed me back to the east.

All those cherished items mom kept,

The ones I created in my youth,

the ones I so happily took with me,

the ones I thought I would keep forever,

became the ones I discarded, one by one

until there were almost none.

They weren’t even me anymore.

Moved from one room

to another, then another, then…

the floor of my writing room,

guarded by a handful of dust bunnies,

it sits, gridlocked by indifference.

A vintage glass SILEX Fresherator jar

holding the sand of my childhood,

the sand I walked barefoot on

as a child, the sand that at one time

held the roots of the lawn above it

that we laid down on in the shade of apple trees

to name the shapes of clouds

as they silently changed shapes

while moving above us.

This jar reminds me

how fragile my existence is

from my childhood to old age.

The sand will endure the aging of time.

I will not.

Mom had the cute Flower Skunk 

before I was born.  She brought home

from the variety store this orange 

hand blown vase with little bubbles 

down each rib.  With her, in my teens, 

I brought home the hand blown 

multi-color vase in the third photo down.    

One of a pair, mom always had.

Mom's pottery horse, and my boots - 

I haven't a clue as to how I ever got my feet 

into those flat toed things.

They each came with a red fluffy feather - 

the quill end stuffed into the tiny 

triangle pocket on the side.They look like marching boots,

and I did have a baton at one time to play with.

Glass, glass and more glass insulators.

My youngest sister collected them, but somehow 

they became mom's property.

Nevada sand from the yard I grew up in.

It's place of honor.

Fragrance teases my nose with every rush of breeze that provides coolness.  The azalea is on its downside of glory, but her flowers still give me pleasure.  Every day when the rains leave, Vic cleans up her fallen flowers that have blanketed the patio at her feet.  It will be a long wait until she graces the garden with her blooms once more next year.

Professionals pruned all our trees and the oldest twenty-foot tall Blackhaw Viburnum shrub that suffered a slight butchering at the hands of Vic.  Its dead wood was removed making it look splendidly better.

Appalachian Mock Orange has burst into bloom with the most beautiful cup shaped white flowers; like little maidens lined in a row waiting to dance in the breeze.

I have discovered, upon much stretching of the neck to look through the dogwood and viburnum branches full of leaves, there are occupants in the woodpecker box.  Starlings!  So much for Vic being the monitor of the three birdboxes.  (sigh)  I would have perferred ones native to this region.  

The small raised bed was planted with lettuce seed.  The compost Vic bought had so much bark and wood chips in it, that the straight line dug with a screwdriver zig zag out of control creating quite a mess and uneven planting depths.  Then Vic watered the seeds in too well causing many to find their way to the surface.  Oh, well_ we're starting over again by sifting whatever that stuff is before using it.

I’m listening to the road tire - string trimmer – squeaky Vic chair blues as the gentle breezes become a little pushy.  Soon it will be time to close shop and move inside, as it still gets a bit chilly in the evenings.  We seldom see sunsets, as the horizon for the garden is the rooftops of the houses on the next street over.

Evening will soon be here, and all that I love about this garden will be closed off behind a glass sliding door.  I shall miss her tonight.  While she has unyeilding tenacity to fight back at every turn, when we work together as a team, she has a way of opening the floodgates of peace to my wellbeing.  She is so unperfectly perfect.

THE

GARDEN

   

Above: Robin in birdbath

Below:  What is left of a long ago Sapphire Berry Shrub 

 Philadelphia Fleabane (Erigeron philadelphicus)

Left side:  Beautyberry

Middle front:  Bearded Iris

Behind the Iris:  Grey Owl Juniper

The Winterberry branches seen to the right

have gradually, over many years, pushed the tower

into a leaning position.  

Pachysandra procumbens, Allegheny Spurge

The old growth flowers in early spring, 

then dies back as the new growth rises up.

In front is one of the older types of smaller Hostas

Cumberland Rosemary, Conradina verticillata

This is actually related to the mint family.

Right:  Aquilegia canadensis, Eastern Red Columbine

Center front and back:  Greater Belwort

Bottom left corner:  Looks like Osmorhiza claytonii, Sweet Cicely

Female Cardinal

  

Appalachian Mock Orange

Lyre-leaf Sage growing at the edge of the low juniper.

Field Madder, Sherardia arvensis

It will be removed, as it can be invasive.

Shoots of Joe Pye Weed in the wet area 

beginning their journey to becoming eight feet tall. 

Robin at the birdbath

Always when something is spotted, one must investigate,

or the opportunity to see an amazing visitor might be missed.

Hover Fly

Toxomerus geminatus

Another name is: Eastern Callighrapher

on Dandelion flower

I'm a work in progress.

I think the photography will improve in time ... I hope.

Always brightens my day to have a visitor, and

I do hope you enjoyed your visit here.

Yvonne

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