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

This Post is Linked To:

Saturday's Critters

What Lies Within Us

 

Type, backspace, type, backspace, type, backspace… I might as well go back to bed at this rate.  It’s come to my attention, by me, that I lack that vibrance that sets me apart from six feet under. 

I’m sitting at the deck table after toting the laptop, laptop stand, mouse, foam support with the keyboard, three cushions (Falling backwards and landing on my tailbone – don’t ask 😒), foot stool, reading glasses, one glass of ice water, and cellphone, in case I take a spill, haha.

I’m not looking forward to the hour when I wrap it all up, the hour just before the cockroaches under the deck start eyeing the sliding screen door’s sliver of space as the entrance into Yvonne’s inner sanctum. 

I’ve grown accustom to these little creatures that bring dread to this being when spied - not outside, but inside. 

 

There seems to be plenty of examples lately:  

(1) a cockroach in my kitchen, caught in the act as I flipped on the light switch - drats!  Disappeared, but next morning it appeared to have been a cat toy and was begging for a toilet flush right out of existance. 

(2) opened the knife drawer and both I and that dance-all-over-the-silverware bugger were completely surprised. 

(3) the one upside down in the bathtub taking a siesta was easy-peasy to take down. 

(4) climbing into bed with calming music, and a cockroach on the ceiling over my head enjoying the peacefulness of my bedtime routine.

Let’s just say I’m not a fan of living with tiny things that know no boundaries.

Wow!  That’s quite a mouthful of things.  I hope you didn’t nod off for a quick snooze.  I was going to just say things that know no boundaries, but I live with cats 😏, need I say more. 

Anyway… back to my dilemma.  I’m so afraid of falling down, and for good reason; I seem to have made the four walls of my adobe my prison, and the garden the prison yard.  I so need to change this, but to what?

Okay… change of scenery to this very moment as a frog is croaking loudly by the dogwood tree that was watered earlier in the day due to temperatures in the 80’s F and no rain for a while.  I may hear it, but finding it seems to be impossible this day.

Wind is picking up, lifting the canopy above me, jerking the umbrella back and forth as it announces the weather is changing, with rain in the forecast by morning.  We shall see.

A carpet of last year’s leaves and a handful of freshly plucked weeds from the deck pot of common sage are at my feet as I step out from under the umbrella to view the sky.  It’s the temptation every gardener has when they view work that has not yet been done.  I just couldn’t help myself when I hit a lull in my writing.  A bit of dirt under the nails never hurts any writer.

Last summer my husband saw two opossums, each one on a different segment of the road through the subdivision to our home, hit by a car.  We had no more visits to our feeder, so we assumed they probably were our regular visitors.

We were pleasantly surprised to find near the end of April this year, another opossum has found our feeder.  Isn’t it funny how a little thing as simple as this can make someone so very happy.

Vic has brought dinner from Arby’s, as we aren’t too hungry; then the birdbaths and feeder will be refreshed.  A little red wagon would sure come in handy to cart all this paraphernalia and bric-a-brac back inside to my writing room… the room where thoughts are rarely put to print.

From this little bird who feels like she’s living in a cage tweeting away; life is just days, weeks, months and years slipping away; so I guess Mr. Emerson said it best.

“What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.”

Love You. 

Wildflower hunting during early spring car ride

Not clear enough to be sure what wildflower this is.

Bent tree limbs with dogwood growing underneath.

Fern-leaf Scorpion-weed, Phacelia bipinnatifida 

Mayapples, Podophyllum peltatum

In the garden...

Upper Photo: Blue Jay

Lower Photo: Common Grackles

I scare away any large flocks that roost in the trees 

to feed in the feeder.

We always have a smaller flock that stays during the summer.

North America Wild Hyacinth

Christmas Fern Fronds uncurling 

Redbud Tree

My Trusty Side-kick 😎

Mockingbird with Mourning Dove

Incoming Goldfinch

joining House Finches and Mourning Dove

Female Cardinal

American Robin

Pregnant

She will sit in the feeder for half an hour, eating.

Bird Watching

Is there an end in site?

Nope!

Above Photo

Celandine Poppy, Stylophorum diphyllum

Below Photo

"My Mary' Azalea

These Trilliums were rescued from a garden being destroyed,

so I think a Prairie Trillium, Trillium recurvatum

Large flower Bellwort, Uvularia grandiflora

Pallids Dalmatica Iris

Grape candy fragrance

Lonicera sempervirens Honeysuckle

Fothergilla Gardenii

Eastern Columbine

I think this is Little Sweet Betsy, Trillium cuneatum,

also rescued from a garden being destroyed.

Layers of Flowers

Type of wild geranium

Blackhaw Viburnium flower petals fallen into the bird bath.

Monarda bradburiana, Beebalm-Eastern, Bergamot

Grown in tall double-walled pots.

After flowering, 

the leaves will hang down the sides of the pots as they grow.

Convergent Lady Beetle, Hippodamia convergens

This Post is Linked to:

Saturday's Critters

My Corner of the World

I know these photos are out of focus,

but does anyone know what this bird is?

It appeared to be larger than a Robin.