She gets a world of comfort
From a small bed of flowers,
They seem to speak to her somehow,
Of peace and happy hours,
Something within her spirit knows,
The tender language of a rose.
A clump of blue forget-me-nots,
Are more to her than gold,
A pink tipped daisy on the lawn,
Is wondrous to behold,
A row of tulips by the gate,
Is sure antidote for hate.
It warms the cockles of her heart,
To see a tree in bloom,
A vase of daffodils becomes,
An altar in a room,
Tall lilies in a shady bed,
A little shrine where prayers are said.
Love-in-the-mist and candy tuft
Petunias . . . lavender,
Larkspur . . . snapdragons . . . hyacinth,
Are meat and drink to her,
Keeping her very soul aglow,
With bread that others never know.
~Edna Jacques, Plant Lover
Fireside Poems, 1950
Oh, I do so love all of the flowers mentioned in this poem. I have had many of them in my garden through the years, although to be honest I never had any luck with forget-me-nots. We had a particularly beautiful garden when we lived in Oak Cottage and of course the gardens at Brenchley Manor were stunning. We also had a lovely garden in Chester. I cannot claim any credit for any of the work it took to make them so pretty, but I did a lot of the planning.
One thing I really loved to do when I lived in the U.K. was to visit the various gardens at the National Trust places. I think my favorite was the gardens at Sissinghurst Castle. I spent many hours there.
My favorite was the white garden which was particularly stunning when everything was in bloom. Every flower was white in color. The amount of planning and care that went into all of these gardens was immense. I am so grateful to have had the opportunity to have been able to visit these areas of stunning beauty and history.
I have been meaning to show you these beautiful little post cards that I got from my friend Tatiana in Greece for several weeks now. So adorable. They came individually and on the back of each she penned a part of a story, each one in a different color of ink, all in her beautiful penmanship. I was so surprised to get them and I just love them. I am going to find length of ribbon and arrange them on it and hang them in my bedroom. A reminder each day of a much beloved friend, whom is very dear to me. It is my hope that one day she will be able to visit here in Canada, but she has been very busy caring for her elderly parents. It could be some time before she is free to take a trip like that, and my travelling days are over.
My sentiments exactly. I love the old ways. Simple and rewarding. Small pleasures. Oh, don't get me wrong. I love having a vacuum cleaner and a washing machine, dish washer, etc. I love the modern appliances, but there it plenty of room for the old ways of making and mending. Needle arts. Book reading. Preserving, etc. I love to make my own granola and bread. I love to bake my own cakes and cookies . . . my own soups. To cook all, or at least most of what I eat from scratch. There is plenty of room for old ways amongst new ways. I do not see why we cannot enjoy the best of both and feed our souls in small and simple ways that enrich our lives with abundance . . . and by that I don't mean stuff . . . I mean experience . . .
The satisfaction of making your own bread or cake, muffins, embroidering your pillow cases, knitting a scarf, crocheting blankets, etc. All of these things and more bring such joy into the heart and in meaningful ways. They are gifts for the soul. In a world where much of what we see is not real, hanging onto some of these old ways is really important.
I have become enthralled by Commonplace Books.
Let us take down one of those old notebooks which we have all, at one time or another, had a passion for beginning…. Here we have written down the names of great writers in their order of merit; here we have copied out fine passages from the classics; here are lists of books to be read; and here, most interesting of all, lists of books that have actually been read, as the reader testifies with some youthful vanity by a dash of red ink. — Virginia Woolf, from ‘Hours in a Library’
A commonplace book is a collection of quotes, poetry, recipes, lists and observations that are meaningful to you. Many great thinkers have kept commonplace books over the centuries, including John Milton, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Lewis Carroll, George Eliot and Virginia Woolf.
I realize that this is something which I have been doing for years now in my journals. My journals have never been about my ordinary everyday thinking or activities. That is what my blog has been. but I have kept journals and filled them with little scraps of things which mean something to me. Quotes, poetry, etc. and I place pretty stickers, etc. in between the things I write. I love going back through them. They bring me great enjoyment. And I like to think that the things I write into them may one day be a window into who I really was for those who come after me. A fanciful thought I know . . .
A drop fell on the apple tree,
Another on the roof;
A half a dozen kissed the eaves,
And made the gables laugh.
A few went out to help the brook,
That went to help the sea.
Myself conjectured, were they pearls,
What necklaces could be?
The dust replaced in hoisted roads,
The birds jocoser sung;
The sunshine threw his hat away,
The orchards spangles hung.
The breezes brought dejected lutes,
And bathed them in the glee;
The East put out a single flag,
And signed the fete away.
~Emily Dickenson, Summer Shower
It was raining buckets when I got up this morning, although that has stopped now. I love the way the pavement smells right after a rain. I remember the first year I moved to England, it rained just about every single day and when it wasn't pouring down it was misting down. I wondered what had I let myself in for. This rainy place . . . I learned that you don't melt in the rain. That if you waited for the rain to stop to do things, nothing would ever get done. I learned to love the rain. I had an umbrella and I used it. I learned to dry things in the house instead of out on the line. A wooden line dryer did the job admirably, and for the larger things like sheets and blankets, the door jambs worked perfectly. One got used to seeing socks and tea towels drying over radiators in homes. And when a sunny day hit, everyone's clothes lines were full of clothes drying. People making hay while the sun shone.
We are supposed to have a few rainy days now. It will make things more humid, but cannot be helped. It will also keep things green and perhaps dampen any opportunities for fires to begin.
When I was taking Eileen to Tim Hortons early yesterday morning we spied a doe in a field along the way. I did not see any other deer, but Eileen was delighted to see the doe. Deer used to go through my sister's yards frequently but they have not seen as many since the new neighbor across the way put up fencing. The river is down behind the houses across the way and often the deer would pass through their yard on their way to the river to drink. They are passing a different way now . . .
Although they did see a coyote in their yard the other night. Scary thought. Some coyotes got someone's cat last year on the next street over from me. I would never let my cats out willingly. I was horrified yesterday to see that Nutmeg had pushed the door open. It gives me shivers to think of what might have happened had I not noticed. We will be even more careful from now on.
Every morning I soak some cotton balls in peppermint oil and go through the house carefully brushing them on the air exchanger ducts in each room. I have the air exchanger turned off at the moment as well. Then I take my grabber stick and push the cotton ball into edges of the duct in my bedroom. There must be half a dozen shoved in there now. There haven't been any wasps showing up so long as I am doing this. I really wish that someone would come and take a look up in the loft above the house as I am sure there must be a nest up there of some sort. Oddly this is the first year I have had the problem. I hope it is not a problem which will continue in years to come. I have not had any ants yet this year, knock on wood.
Knock on wood indeed. My next door neighbor just rang me to say she was overrun with ants this morning. I hope I am not next. Time to put out the ant baits I guess!
And with that I will leave you with a thought for the day . . .
☾ ° ★° * 。
• ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • •。★★ 。* 。° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★*Walking I am listening to a deeper way.
Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me.
Be still, they say. Watch and listen.
You are the result of the love of thousands.
~Linda Hogan
In The English Kitchen today . . .
Mom's Strawberry Shortcake. With sugar and butter crusted cream biscuits, plenty of fresh sweet berries and cream. Delicious.
A taste of the season.
I hope you have a beautiful weekend. May it be filled with lovely nice things and things which feed your soul in the most beautiful way. Stay safe, be happy and don't forget!
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And I do too!
