Archive for gardening

August Haiku Set

04290005

 

 

 

 

School Daze Haiku Set

 

 

Alarm rings out-wakens me-

That first, dreaded day of school .

Where did summer go?

 

My schedule is wrong-

Sleepy-eyed counselor visit

Schedule more sleep, please.

 

Tomatoes fall over

Pumpkins lay like huge balloons

Tears fall, goodbye summer

 

August-my birthday

All I want is more summer-

Less classes and bells

 

Yellow buses hum

I just want to go back home

Drink more cocoa with mom.

Comments (1) »

The Mystery of the Lily Seeds

Summer Lilies

 

They say deer eat these mine are all still healthy

Summers lilies of pumpkin gold

waving softly in the wind

The black seeds perched

precariously at the center of every leaf.

 

I wonder-which wisp of wind

will scatter seeds and where will they land?

Will they hang on drying slowly

until fall finally wilts the plant?

 

The fuzzy stamens, tempting new life-

why do the seeds form down the branch,

when the stamens and ovulates

rest within the velvety soft flower?

 

Each tiny gift nature has given

develops its own ways,

keeps its mystical secrets,

reminds us that every living thing.

 

is special, unique, magical.

Look at a daisy, a lily, a daffodil,

every one with its own way to reproduce,

Life itself holds infinite recipes.

 

Every flower shares it beauty,

to observe and enjoy is a gift

free and simple, there for the taking.

The finest things in life ARE free!

Comments (8) »

The Gifts that She Left

 

Together, we sing a special song, “Morning has Broken” as we sat together at the Celebration of Life of a woman who was taken before her time, but faced her illness bravely, with unbounded love from her family and friends.

I will always remember our talks as we strolled down her driveway or stood admiring each others gardens. She was a school counselor, a mother, a wife, a friend. Only a few years ago, she was full of life, taking the vacations of her dreams, planning additions to their house, planting new flowers. It never occurred to anyone that her dreams would be stolen by illness.

As a mother who has lost a child, I still feel the unfairness of my friends and cousins who have lost their battles with disease as adults. It seems so wrong, they had so much yet to give. I lost my best friend of 35 years to cancer when she was just 48. Oh, how I could have used her shoulder to cry on in the times yet to come!

Today, though, I look at the gifts that my friend and neighbor left for us to keep her alive within our hearts. Every time I see a flower blowing in the wind, I will smile and think of her. When I see a child walk across the stage to accept their hard-earned diploma, I will think of her. When I see her husband, walking, alone, I will see her there beside him. I believe with everything inside me that her life will always hold more meaning than her untimely death.

I struggle to allow myself to have these feelings for my 15-year-old son. I STILL struggle. I will always struggle. But somehow, now, when I see the sunrise up into the brilliant magenta sky I will think of her, perhaps laughing and talking to my son in a different realm. Perhaps the most important gift she left me was the realization that no matter how much time we are given on this earth, there will be those who love us-present tense-LOVE us, and that kind of love does not die as the sun crosses the sky and night falls upon us. It simply becomes a different part of our lives.

 

 

Comments (10) »

Cooking from the Grain to the Table

 

Mo’lasses!

I could smell the fragrance of the thick molasses all the way in the upstairs room my brother and I shared. My grandpa’s molasses making trays and tools were still tucked under the shed, waiting to be washed today before the bugs went crazy

The lightning storm that had crept up suddenly the night before had almost ruined this years molasses run, be together, our neighbors, my father and brother finished the load.

I don’t think any one who has never gone through the grinding of cane stalks, the shuttling of the sugary fluid through the zig-zag trays, or stood sweating in the August heat should be allowed to savor the incomparable taste of warm biscuits slathered in molasses!

When we were young, our family had a joke. If you asked for ‘lasses, that meant that you were asking for your first serving. If you wanted a second service you asked for “molasses!”.

Not many people get to see the metal trays set up for molasses making these days They done see horses turning the machine that grinds the stalks of sugar cane, they don’t watch the paddle moving the molasses along the divided trays above the flames. Indeed the love of molasses has nearly disappeared in some areas.

Oh, go on to the store, buy a bottle and try to imagine the making of molasses I have described, use the little honey stirring device to drizzle the molasses on your canned biscuits. I guarantee, you will get a glimpse of the way grandpa make then as you close your eyes and savor the first bite!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I could smell the fragrance of the thick molasses all the way in the upstairs room my brother and I shared. My grandpa’s molasses making trays and tools were still tucked under the shed, waiting to be washed today before the bugs went crazy

 

The lightning storm that had crept up suddenly the night before had almost ruined this years molasses run, be together, our neighbors, my father and brother finished the load.

 

I don’t think any one who has never gone through the grinding of cane stalks, the shuttling of the sugary fluid through the zig-zag trays, or stood sweating in the August heat should be allowed to savor the incomparable taste of warm biscuits slathered in molasses!

 

When we were young, our family had a joke. If you asked for ‘lasses, that meant that you were asking for your first serving. If you anted a second service you asked for “molasses!”.

 

Not many people get to see the metal trays set up for molasses making these days They done see horses turning the machine that grinds the stalks of sugar cane, they don’t watch the paddle moving the molasses along the divided trays above the flames. Indeed the love of molasses has nearly disappeared in some areas.

 

Oh, go on to thee store, buy a bottle and try to imagine the making of molasses I have described, use the little honey stirring devise to drizzle the molasses on your canned biscuits. I guarantee, you will get a glimpse of the way grandpa make then as you close your eyes and savor the first bite!

 

 

 

 

 

Comments (2) »

Hard Times in Blackberry Winter

07500012In the Southern Appalachians , we almost always have a cold spell in mid-May. We have all sorts of what we call “winters” after the real winter has passed. The two that are most talked about are “dogwood Winter” in April, when the dogwood trees are in bloom and “Blackberry Winter” in Mid to late May when blackberries are blooming.

My hard times have very little to do with the cold spell right now. My father, who is 87 is having serious health problems and I am his primary health care. I am not well my self, with back and hip issues, scoliosis and the remains of what Cushings Disease did to me when my body and soul could not bear the sudden loss of my 15-year-old son several years ago. I am exhausted. I often come home from my morning trip to dads and just collapse into sleep. The same thing happens after my mid-day visit and picking up my grandchild and son from bus stops. One day last week,I was so deeply asleep that my dad gave up on me and went to bed without supper.

He doesn’t eat much and says he wasn’t hungry or at least more tires than hungry, but I felt like crap. I did go, and he was still awake , but in bed. I won’t go into the issues that I have to go through to help him, but they are not peasant for either of us In the morning, I have to rush over after bus stop time just to help him out of bed.

He has spent most of his life dealing with the pain of a misdiagnosed “inverted appendix rupture’ when I was a kid, almost dying a year later when benign tumors had invaded his intestines and attached to his back area. I guess he is proof that pain won’t kill you because he has not slowed down until the past few years after the death of my mom.

I believe I have written his life story in an article called “In Praise of Fathers” or something similar, so I won’t repeat it, please look it up if you’d like, it was written may 2 years ago around Fathers Day.

I have managed to work in my flowers a little. I have had to give up my big garden because of my own health. Until my father’s health worsened a few weeks ago, I was spending the tie I wasn’t on my feet in bed because my back and hip pain aren’t as bad then.

The reason I am writing this blog is to beg the patience of my loyal readers, read some of my old articles, there are a lot that I think are worth a re-read, and think of me and my dad as I try to get him to a place of better health.

Meanwhile, I will watch (while laughing) as the turkeys fight for dominance over our neighborhood, look out for bears, listen to stories about the bob cats neighbors and even my son have seen and try to get some rest. Best wishes to all my wordpress friends. I will be writing as often as I can.

 

Comments (11) »

Sleepless Night

Its 2a.m. darkness and
Cobwebs fill my head.
What am i going to do?
I have nothing left here,
No hope, no dreams to hold,
Only pain and fear-like vampires
They feed and leave me empty.

Where did i go wrong?
Did i love too much-
Care too much?
Did i put to much
Of my damaged soul
Out there to be shattered?

All the things i used to
Cling to, have been taken.
What matters to me so much
Is a joke now to others.

Why am i here? Darkness,silence
Why don’t the ones
Who cause the pain hurt like i do?
I needed that sleep-
The alarm doesn’t care.

Another day in hell-black candles
Flickering, yet,Lost,waiting for the
Love i gave my life for over and over.
Just let me go,blow the candle out
Or make them feel the pain like i do.

Comments (4) »

Winter’s Last Hoorah!

DSCN1870Snowflakes fall on my gloves and melt as I gently pluck a daffodil from the yard. I want to put the gloves up, coat in the closet. Spring, come soon, we need you!

Comments (4) »

The First Flowers of Spring

07500015I listen for the sound of my grandson’s school bus, walking around his yard as I wait. It is late March, with the crazy hot-then cold mountain weather. I’m looking for springs first flowers, not to magical ephemeral Clinton’s Lilies or Blood Root that grew on the mountainsides on my childhood, now ruined by the mansions of the rich, nor the spring beauties that clustered near the old bath tub where cattle once drank.- Just simple wild flowers that give me the hope of spring.

I spy a few spikes of tiny white flowers, remembering how they shoot out their seeds when their life cycle finishes early in the summer. Daffodils grow in odd places where farms flourished early in thee century, tiny bluet sprinkle the places that grass will soon overtake.

How wonderful the dandelions look in March, when we will be fussing at them by June. The last of the crocuses are dying, Muscari, the tiny cousins of hyacinths pop up among the tufts of green. I smile, with hope, as I hear the bus coming. Spring WILL be here soon and there will be a lot of work to do!

Comments (13) »

A Gift for the Market

The sun was a ball of fire rising through the fog. Finally, the clatter of rain had turned to an autumn portrait of drying flood waters. We rode down the muddy path in our weathered farm wagon, bumping along, hooves clomping, with the wagon filled with produce for the market in town.

The chill in the air, the slush of mud, I pulled my shawl close around me. Then I saw the reflection of the wet green world upon the river. I realized that without both the sun and the rain, we would not be on our way to market.

Comments (10) »

Admission of my Quirky Habits

aea34-img_6776I am sure that other people see me with many quirky habits. I imagine the one that people emjoy the most is my love of studying reptiles, amphibians and insects. From the time I was a child, I have had baby turtle in a box, tadpoles in a bowl and container and have loved studying insects.

I had purchased and enjoyed a 35 mm camera along with diopters, filers and lenses and had learned to take beautiful photographs on thee film. Now, in this digital age, I have re-taken very few I on film. The photos never have the quality and clarity when they are retaken. I bought a complicated new digital camera, but just could not conquer it, so I traded it in for a more simple on.

I have taken quite a few on the camera, but haven’t managed to get a lot of them on the computer. I hope to get out my old albums and make the beautiful pictures of fritillary butterflies and monarchs on butterfly weed. I remember the excitement of capturing pictures of snakes, or lizards. My neighbors were always happy to check out my latest photos of the life cycle of the praying mantis.

It is odd how hobbies and quirks come and go in our lives. Sometimes, when we find time and life moving them out of our reach we loose the time or energy to pursue it as we once did.

Still, I treasure the memories of the days when I showed my children a “new” insect or a new life faze of a butterfly and their amazement as they held a newly hatched black swallowtail on their fingertip.

Quirks aren’t always bad, just different, and isn’t being different what makes life interesting?

Comments (10) »

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,024 other followers