A gardener's diary

There’s a newness all round… a fresh new coolness under imperturbable skies in the bluest of summer colors, and I found myself watering the garden this morning clad in my old pink sweater. I was also able to sit down for a while outside without having to fling open the big patio umbrella. What marvelous marvelous whether we’re having, and such fine change from the detestable heat of the past few weeks.

Two of the Crepe Myrtles in our garden are heavy with buds ready to bloom in another succession of marvelous mauves and amethysts. I am anxiously expecting the other four I had planted his spring to show their jewels; particularly the Acoma Crepe Myrtle, which is to gift us with blooms of perfect white pearls.

 A friend, I wonder which one among so many, left me a very special gift in the garden the other morning… hidden amongst leaves of emerald, just for me to find it and be delighted...

Sometimes when I’m working in the garden I feel the nearness of the Great I Am very close… I would stop whatever I may be doing, and look around… and listen—giant trees high above reaching the heavens with stretched arms, as their shaggy green heads bend together… in prayer, I ask?, and sway gently in the breezes above my thoughts… In wonder and admiration I keep listening… humbleness and wonderment filling my very being like a precious butterfly, making me feel beautifully free, and wholly… my spirit outstretched, twirling in the wind forever. 

The other day I was watering the only climbing rose I have embellishing my newly established garden. Kneeling down by it, as I removed dead leaves and such, all of a sudden I felt the gentlest of touch caressing my shoulder… I immediately knew what it was even without having to lift up my eyes… a thing alive, a thing with a heart and soul, I should say. And it was so familiar this touch, so well-known like the nearness of a dear friend you haven’t seen in a while, that in that very moment I realize how very much I had missed them… my thoughts flew to the house in the roses like a little bird escaped from the soul in that very moment… Yes, it was the rose caressing my shoulder… the rose, perhaps vending down upon me to show its appreciation? I miss my roses profoundly… but I keep on dreaming...

Seasons are pretty much like the days of our lives, we have to watch them come and go by us and try to enjoy the mystery behind its fleeting moments. All that's left of them is the memory and whatever emotion we attach to them. So Alas, we must enjoy every moment...

The summer garden is a poet’s palettes of sensations, feelings and emotions written in colors.... pretty soon, with the arrival of fall, it will be like waking from a dream and stepping out into the world once again. But for now... mud on my feet, sunshine tattooing my skin, the smell of fresh earth in my body, in my hair; freckles, blameless wrinkles, and then... then there is this freshness; this glorious newness all around—the second spell of summer, I called it.  Flowering trees and bushes are in full bloom again, indescribable gorgeous marvelous... I can hardly recognize this place from what it originally looked like when we bought it.

Strange little surprises along the garden... a sign, an invitation to enchanted places. Every hour is a new bird, a new song, a new sprout, new blossom... the sweet smells of things growing, life unfurling—predictable things.... unpredictable happenings.  Things that always, always, know how to enchant and take your breath away.

And now, off I go, to catch the enchantment of quiet evenings… I had noticed that as the season progresses, so do the night lanterns, the fireflies, lessen. Still, there’s a new beauty to the dark of nights… I want to capture it all and hold it in my heart.

Until next time my lovelies...   

peace, love and a pinch of imagination 

to carry you over life's rainbow!

LINKING TO:
FISHTAIL COTTAGE GARDEN PARTY
FLORAL FRIDAY FOTOS
TODAY'S FLOWER

Some photos of my kitchen

In my kitchen:

Keep it simple in the kitchen

If you use quality ingredients,

You don't need anything fancy

To make food delicious

Just a knife

A cutting board

And some good nonstick cookware
And you're set...
(Curtis Stone)

Oh and don't forget to do this: 

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. 

Keep rosemary by your garden gate. 

Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. 

Plant roses and lavender for luck. 

 Fall in love whenever you can. 

 - Practical Magic.

See you soon!

Cielo

LINKING TO:
SHABBYLICIOUS FRIDAY
FEATHERED NEST FRIDAY

The little gypsy girl

It was wash day among the woman in the gypsy camp… once a month they all gathered under the giant willow—old and young as well. Their baskets slung upon their heads, the younger ones carrying theirs in the hollow of their arms, bobbing against their young hips… 

They parted from the giant willow clad in their colorful dresses and jewelry.  In their baskets—clothes, old towels and handkerchief linens… garments the colors of nature softened with rain and mist… all to be washed in the tepid waters of Rio Alegre. 

They were gypsies… have been for centuries. Grandmothers, mothers, daughters, sisters and friends walking together the way a vine grows over a gate through generations… and as they walk towards the river, they chat about everything under the pale blue sky… all of them lovely and natural as morning dew, regardless look or age. Because beauty is not a thing of the outside… 

As they walk, and talk, and laugh, the little gypsy girl stops in her path… her big brown eyes searching for unseen signs in the sky above their heads… it will rain—she whispers. You see, although nothing can really foretell what’s about to happen, or that the sun soon will shrink under menacing clouds and heat will turn into rain, she knows it. She possess it… the capacity to see. To imagine and so to recognize the hidden story, the hidden life that speaks in charms and whispers and will not show its face, save halfly… 

She hurries through the path of wild flowers down the river… the others follow. Trees above them lean low and heavy across the path… witches’ broom hang from their heavy boughs-like strings of lace floating from trees, which seem to dance under the sun…

She trod on the damp grass... the trees shifting, cracking in the light breeze…

and down at the river they wash...

Rainbow veils and shrouds and mantles and shawls and winding sheets later let dried by summer breezes….

Colorful garments drying in the sunshine, dancing in the wind. 

All lively and colorful... all lovely

Some the sunset colors, some bright and others muted, the luster of silk and apricot glow of the setting sun through the shadows of the forest behind…

 And once they're dry, she knows how they will smell of sunflowers and Queen Ann's Lace and they will feel warm and fabulous from being outside all day.  But they must hurry if they don't wish muddy rain to soil the washed.

 The little gypsy knows it...

There is a golden glow all round that is more nostalgic than sad...

a glow that finds the beauty in shadows and turns it into rain...
They must hurry!

And she was so right! You see, as the little gypsy girl hurried to collect her pretty veils, from the clothesline the sky had so darkened around them that suddenly they were cast deep into shadows…

They all made it back to their gypsy camp safely just in time before the first crash of thunder split opened the heavens bringing a heave of rain…  just as the little gypsy girl had prognosticated..

Back to the pleasant warmth of their cozy gypsy tents, now embellished by freshly washed garments with the scent of sunshine… 

That night they all gathered by the warmth of their gypsy campfire.  To tell stories of their lineage of centuries back, to laugh and dance in spite of their worries, in spite of their fears and sorrows, and heartaches… because they knew well how beautiful life is and how it needed be lived each day to its fullest…

PS: We have been camping in the Smoky Mountains for the last two nights and half day… ridge upon ridge of forest and a wonderful diversity of wildlife up there… I have much to tell and show, but that will be until I can weaved everything into yet another story for you… for now, may you be happy and may you always remember that a grateful soul is rich in contentment… appreciate what you have.

The sultry days of summer

It's lazy dog days of summer for sure. But fortunately for us, rain has been working its magic around here in marvelous ways. Rain has accompanied us for the last few days consecutively, making everything lush and wild, and the colors of the garden are fresh emeralds, and pea green and greens like jade and bottle green and sea greens... 

Everything is alive and thriving, including, I should say, all those noxious weeds that know how to keep me beyond busy without a day of rest in my brain. 

The music of locus has been quieting down as summer journeys the earth and days become heavier and tired and sometimes, I hear new songs too… new birds that have been enjoying the deliciousness found in the thicket of privets and maples and I think, of water oaks too, and willows. It is a glorious thing to work out there while listening to such lovely repertoire of melodious notes. 

Morning glory seeds have been transported by ways of wings and winds throughout the garden. I’ve been most diligent removing little shoots wherever I see them growing without my permission, or think they shouldn’t be. But perhaps, I am going against nature and I should not persist in grooming it the way I like it, or think it should look, and just let it be? 

I mean, leave things where they like to be and let the newly established beds be adorned with the purple jewels of morning glories?  That’s if they decide to show up, I should say, because where I had intentionally planted the morning glory seeds they haven’t put out a single flower yet. An abundance of leaves, but no flowers. The same is happening with the Moonflower. I find this to be most annoying. 

I have planted two varieties of zinnias—a bright, happy sight in my garden. The indications on the plant said that they’re annuals, but they were reduced to only $1.66, and I’m hoping they can reseed themselves and come back again next spring without having to be replanted… 

They were still on their pots and already a yellow butterfly was hovering over the flowers…

Those are the glories I’m envisioning...

And I have left the best of best for the end…

Can you believe it.... my first very lovely bouquet of roses!!

Roses from my very own garden!

In a Mason jar I spray-painted and decorated.

I cannot be more excited and blessed.

Hope you're having a glorious day my friend! 

LINKING TO:

Craft Berry Bush

Thursday Favorite Things
Brambleberry Cottage
From my porch to yours