Saturday This and That . . .

Todd spent a great deal of time out in the garden yesterday, whilst I supervised from a distance.   I have never been much of a gardener per se . . . I am more of an armchair gardener.  I love to study and plan out what it going to happen . . . but he is in charge of the execution of it all.  My arthritis doesn't allow me to do much in the garden these days so that is just the way it has to be.   I do so enjoy the fruits of his labours . . .  the pretty flowers, the fruit . . .  the birds and butterflies.  The fish in the pond and our resident frogs.  He does such a super job of it all.   We are blessed that he is able to do this and I hate to think of a day when he no longer can.

This week he got all of my annual herbs planted into tubs and I am looking forward to watching them come up and then using them.  They are in what I call the "kitchen garden" area, which is just outside of the back door.  We have a selection of permanent herbs of course, the ones that die down a little in the autumn and then come back to fruition in the Spring . . . thyme, rosemary, bay laurel, marjoram, oregano, mint and chives.   Then every year we plant the softer ones . . . tarragon, basil . . . parsley.  I do so love having fresh herbs at my fingertips to help create my magic.



Yesterday he was busy sorting out our strawberry patch . . . last year he thought he would be smart and put the grass clippings in amongst the plants and it would act like straw.  Unfortunately it did not and he only ended up with a strawberry patch choked with growing grass.  I did tell him I thought that was what would happen, but men . . .  when you tell them things like this, I fear it only fuels their appetites to stubbornly stick with their plan.   In any case he has had to dig them all up and take out the grass, and replant them.   Grass is an odd thing.  Like a weed, it encroaches very quickly onto things if you don't vigilantly patrol the borders of the beds, etc.  it can soon take over.  We even noticed a stray blackberry cane growing in the middle of the bed.  How that got there is a mystery to the both of us.  



Tomorrow of course, we will celebrate the resurrection of our Lord and Saviour.   Easter always kind of creeps up on me.  When I was a child, it always meant a new bonnet and the winter tights being discarded in favour Knee Socks, which meant my legs felt cold, but it was a good cold because I knew Summer could not be too far behind.  We also packed away all of the woollen jumpers and under shirts in favour of lighter fresher colours and things.

It is a shining time for me . . .  a sunny time . . .  a time of rebirth and refreshment . . . Todd, he gets annoyed each year and fails to understand the importance of Easter Eggs and Easter Bunnies . . . grumbling about their pagan roots and meanings.  Me, I choose to dwell on the other side of it all . . . I don't care really what the roots of these traditions are.  They do not detract from the real meaning of the Easter celebrations for me, they only add to them, and are a part of what is beautiful about this time of year.  I like the chocolate bunnies and the eggs . . . Easter Lilies . . .  the sense of renewal, and the joy which comes with the Easter message of hope.


 

I may not be the smartest woman in the world . . .  and I may not understand all things, but this I know to be sure.   This time of year has a special beauty which pervades and underpins everything around us . . . a meaning which is deep and external and that will go on down the deep ways of time.   A moment of immortality which is caught up in the first cool crocus of the spring . . .  in the dark red flush of the summer berry . . . the slow fall of the golden leaf against the breath of the autumn wind . . . the froth of frost in winter which gilds branch and stem . . .

It does not take a genius to recognize His presence in all things . . . He is real and He lives . . .  and we, his smallest creatures . . .  do have  meaning and  purpose . . .  a raison d'etre, even if we don't understand it.   His love is real and tangible . . .  and eternal.  There is a great promise to be had, and hope . . . predicated upon our faith.  As surely as the sun rises each morning and sets of an evening . . . that breath of God which resides in each of us and all that surrounds us is a part of an eternal round which never dies.

A thought to carry with you through today . . .


.. (\ /)..•*♥*•..(\ /) 
.. ( . .)♥•*•*•♥(. . )
o(")(")̴̡ (¯`♥´¯) (")(")o
""""""""`*.¸.*´"""""""".•´
"Love is not a mere sentiment.
Love is the ultimate truth
at the heart of creation."
~Rabindranath Tagore  
~•●♥ƸӜƷ♥●•~—~•●♥ƸӜƷ♥●•~  

 

In The English Kitchen today  . . .  a delicious Orange and Raisin Cake.  

Have a wonderful Saturday !!

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