Sunday, 14 April 2013
Sunday this and that . . .
With each season that passes there is a sameness to the work it brings, a comforting familiarity which never changes . . . the garden needs hoeing and weeding . . . turning the earth over carefully. Jack Robin stands by closely watching, hoping for a fat worm or two . . . he's not afraid of us it seems.
There are the flower beds to plan, and pots to plant . . . will we go with our old faithfuls this year . . . or try out something new. Old faithful always wins . . . again it is that comfort in familiarity that keeps us held in it's warm embrace.
The front drive must be weeded . . . it is a constant reminder of that lovely phrase about "blooming where you are planted," . . . for lots of things migrate to it's cracks and crannies and take up home. We are always surprised to see an errant sprig of lavendar or a poppy . . . or even a daisy springing up in the most unexpected places. You almost hate to pull them out . . . but if we didn't before too long the whole drive would be a mass of hitchhikers . . . leaving no space to park.
Seeds need to be sown . . seedlings planted . . . there is a routine to follow . . . and it seldom changes, but the joy is ever new. Wnter is over . . . we hope . . . and the garden is calling, calling . . . will we do a kitchen garden this year? Or will we not?? Perhaps just a few herbs . . . and some lettuces and leaves . . . things we can use quickly and daily . . . we've not had much luck with other things.
The lawn needs raking and mowing . . . that is the un-fun bit . . . edge trimming, fence mending . . . staking . . . but it is all part and parcel of the garden and adds to the enjoyment as a whole. Oh that I could have a secret space . . . a secret garden, tended only by little fairies and sprites. A small space tucked away at the end, hidden from worldly eyes . . . just for my own pleasure, as selfish as that may seem.
A little world with mossy hidden alcoves and tiny doors . . . a few Chinese lanterns, of the natural kind, and fairy flowers, Forget Me Nots, and Lily of the Valley, purple Violets, and wild Daisies. Oh how charming that would be . . . and how serene . . . I could quite happily lose my mind and spend my time tending such a place, couldn't you?
Remember that older fellow I was telling you about yesterday?
Here is his photo. A friend of mine had kept one. Apparently she had been angry with him at some point because the picture has clearly been ripped into pieces and then taped back together! I was not disappointed by this picture. She had told me she had it and I was worried about seeing it, thinking I had made him handsomer in my mind or some such . . . I had not. Although the photo is not so clear . . . it is not so bad either. He told her his name was Jeff Welch. He told me his name was Jeff Martin. Clearly not a man to be trusted, but he did fuel a lot of teenage dreams and tears . . .
Here is what I created yesterday afternoon in the solace of my craft room. I quite like it I think. Todd wants to frame it. My dad commented on facebook yesterday that he thought I would be famous one day . . . oh daddy . . . he is my biggest fan. I love him so. He's always thought I was the smartest, prettiest, most talented etc. the apple of his eye. That is what he calls me, but then again . . . he probably says the same thing to my sister and my brother and that is as it should be. I wish I could see him when I am home too . . . but he lives too far away and at almost 80 not able to drive down to Nova Scotia. I wish he could . . .
Here is a thought to carry with you through this day . . .
"Aerodynamically, the bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumblebee doesn't know that, so it goes on flying anyway.
~Mary Kay Ash
Let us all be bumblebees and fly anyways!
Baking in The English Kitchen today . . . Peanut Butter and Jam Croissants. Deliciously different!
Enjoy your Sabbath!