The gypsies

On a beautiful Saturday afternoon, the gypsies decided to go out for a ride.  Blue, clear skies and in a land where Nature gifts itself abundantly and trees grow as tall and as wide as the sky, they felt encouraged to go on and find the magic; to live outside, and go find the open spaces where God resides.  And thus into the wild they went, loosing their way, finding their soul.

They set camp by a beautiful lake on a perfect May day...

With camp fire burning and comfy chairs for reading and enjoying each moment spread out on the grass.

Here is a gypsy caravan lived by a family of two:  That Fisherman and his lady the wild-hair girl.  

The house is about 25 feet long, and it is built completely to enjoy.  Easy to set up, easy to store, easy to use.  The roof is flat, the walls are laminated seamless fiberglass.  The linoleum floors are swept clean, and it boasts stunning appeal and loads of features centered around convenience and practical comfort, with queen size insulated bunks at either end where four can sleep comfortably. The dining table folds down to make a small bed for additional sleeping arrangements, and it comes with a small fridge, a sink that can be hooked up to running water, a furnace that runs on propane or can be hooked up to electricity, and a two burner stove.     

The lady's quarters in the caravan-house is always the pretties, the one adorned in colorful veils, pillows, flowers, and little lamps.  And she dreams she lives in a Harem somewhere in Egypt or Istanbul, the seat of the Ottoman Empire.

The family possesses three comfy blankets and the biggest portfolio of pillows and gypsy veils you can dream of.  

Food for a year, tableware, cookware, bowls, pots, pans and countless travel utensils for camping, hiking picnic and more.

 The Fisherman cooks...

The lady nurtures her soul with Nature 

Earth's crammed with Heaven and every common bush, afire with God.

And later patiently waits for her Fisherman to do his favorite thing...

Along the banks of the crystal clear lake the family likes to go on a nature's walk.  

There is a rapture on the lonely shore.  I stop by the 'magical tree', which feeds on waters, and wonder what his secret is... 

How can roots feed on water while arms still reach the sky? 

What a lovely, lovely weekend we had.  The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched - they must be felt with the heart.

Thank you for coming along with us!

Thumbelina in my garden...

Today was watering day.  Because it hadn't rain in the past couple of days, watering needed be done.  Watering must be done by hand around here every other day or so.  It is a labor of love, and one that I truly enjoy doing, because it give me reason to get acquainted with each of my plants individually; know what they like or dislike, what may be affecting them, or what they may need, what the sun or shade can do to them, and what they can do to my soul. 

Just as you never do get to thoroughly know people unless you have lived with them, so neither do you get to appreciate your roses well, unless you have dwelt where they dwell and water them individually.  No in-ground sprinklers other than a hose and your hands.  

It was also weeding day today... "o," said the little blades of grass, growing up; "o, how the sprig hours pass, Butter-cup!"    And they do!  Weeds grow by the minute 'round here.  As you pull them out another one of those annoying little thing will be already popping up the ground before your very eyes.  Whenever I have the time to do this, I'd also remove weeds by hand.  It is more effective than spraying, and in an odd way, I enjoy doing this task as well.

That is why... "with some people flowers are a fixed fact, a necessity; and thence follows endless pains-taking, tireless patience, and wonderful success. They are the people for whom everything grows." Anna Warner.

I want to be a feral cat.  Whenever I'm out there in my garden, I would be very still under the great sky... ears listening, eyes observing, heart awaiting for one of them to show up... 

...then finally, quietly strolling the pea-pebble paths in their reassured feline way, one of them will appear... White-black-orange going deep into the woods, under bramble and prickly bushes, wandering the deciduous floors on an environment teeming with all sorts of creatures and whatnots. Always roaming freely over a wide variety of habitats.  My heart is a feral cat.

Today, I also weeded the flowerbed under the round umbrella-like, white-flowering Crepe-Myrtle in the front yard.  Because of the density of low branches, I actually had to crawled under the tree to do the job, and on doing so, I discovered a most magical place...  a soft, cool bed of green.  Cushy and restful, and I wanted to make me a home there and live in it, and all of a sudden I was Thumbelina.... once upon a time, a lonely old woman was given a seed by a good witch. Once planted, the seed grew into a flower, and a tiny girl emerged from inside the blossom, no bigger than the old woman's thumb.

I wish I could capture the natural light of the wood, but as much as I've tried, my camera falters, and it can only captures images devoid of the real magic perspiring there.  Soft, gentle light filtering through branches and green leaves carpets the wood's floors in itsy-bitsy, dazzling stars that, when they touch the waters running through, twinkle and flicker, turning the woods into an enchanting place of magic, and fantasy untold.  

And Thumbelina listens... listens to the enchanting sounds coming from the woods, the breaking of branches by some unknown creature out there, the sounds of birds foraging for food. She hears the blackbird in the woods, the locust in the bramble and, like the fabled hunter's horn, old tunes her heart plays... 

“In the beginning, God created the earth, and he looked upon it in His cosmic loneliness.

And God said, "Let Us make living creatures out of mud, so the mud can see what We have done." And God created every living creature that now moveth, and one was man. Mud as man alone could speak. God leaned close to mud as man sat up, looked around, and spoke. Man blinked. "What is the purpose of all this?" he asked politely.

"Everything must have a purpose?" asked God.

"Certainly," said man.

"Then I leave it to you to think of one for all this," said God.

And He went away.” 

―Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle

Garden and walls issues

I was finally able to get some Roundup.  So today after I got home from work I sprayed the pea gravel paths, which had already started to get decorated by Nature with weeds—this type of a weed that looks like a sea star with flimsy arms that stretch out in the four cardinal directions and, which I profoundly dislike because it is a hustle to remove by hand due to the way it grows—flat and sealed to the ground.

I also sprayed all rose bushes with Neem oil; soaked them to their pores with it to prevent the roseslugs to reduce their lovely green leaves to lace.  This annoying pets, which aren't really slugs at all, but actually the larval stage of a sawfly can turn an entire Knockout garden into lace skeletons.  They skeletonize leaves by chewing tissues between veins, leaving foliage lace-like.  It may sound pretty, but it really isn't at all.  

I've found out that this only tends to happens with the Knockout variety, and although the tea roses can still be under the attack of any other garden 'terror', they are safe from becoming skelotonized.

It is hard to keep up with the wild south when you suffer from OCD of the garden variety, and I need to learn to relax a little bit, and leave 'some' things the way they want to be...  hard.  Very hard to do thought.

At the beginning of the year I transplanted my favorite Chicago Peace to a sunnier spot, and I'm so happy I did.  After two years in the garden this rose is finally doing as wonderful as it should. This rose it always brings to memory that long-ago garden in the roses I once had.  Is disease resistant and the loveliest of blush-pink roses grow on long, sturdy stems.  They are perfect for bouquets, big and small, and have always loved them.

Inside the house it is always a transformation of some sorts going on, as I keep changing things around and decorating and redecorating.  I have a fascination with gallery walls.  Love them to the core, and yet I cannot seem to have them in my house.  It is too much of a thing to my eye, too much for the soul, which it always is in search of peace and quietness.  Thus, this weekend I finally got to the task of taking down all the dozen plus paintings decorating the walls in our second bedroom.  

I knew what I was getting into when I decided to create a gallery wall and, although I did pay attention to that wise inner little voice inside me telling me not to, I went ahead anyway and had it up... an entire wall from ceiling to floors decorated with more than a dozen painting and creation, many of which I did myself.  Like all my Frida Khalo art.    

As much as I loved it, all those months I had my gallery wall up I felt uneasy about it, and my soul couldn't find its peace.  I was very well aware that my lovely gallery art had to be taken down at some point. You see, I made so many holes on the walls they almost looked like my skeletonized Knockout roses, or even worse.  Hanging all those frames also caused some major marks and wall paint disaster, and I knew this had to be mended up soon. 

We had to completely fill in all those holes, and spackle the walls.  Matching the right paint was an ordeal too.  I got the wrong one to start with, and had to go back and figure out which was the correct paint used by previous owners.  But what a relief it was after everything was done and back into place!

 No more hanging on walls for me!  

OK, at least for now! ;) 

I hope you all are doing lovely!