Monday, May 31, 2010

To be of the Earth is to Know

This poem by John Soos touched my heart today.

To be of the Earth is to know
the restlessness of being a seed
the darkness of being planted
the struggle toward the light
the pain of growth into the light
the joy of bursting and bearing fruit
the love of being food for someone
the scattering of your seeds
the decay of the seasons
the mystery of death
and the miracle of birth.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Near the End of May

The mornings have been shrouded as if the earth wishes to remain a mystery and is shy to show her face to the bare sky. She stays sleeping behind her sheets until late morning when she finally surrenders to the rigors of every day life.


Everything in the yard is getting a dash of paint to match the fading Dame’s Rocket. Do I think I can steal and keep her colors? Nothing is safe as long as there is still paint, not even the wheelbarrow or the mailbox!

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Honeybee Swarm

I spied a honeybee swarm in a small apple tree today. Beekeeper Jim got home from work and caught it right away. That always makes for a good day.

Mama Hen

Mama Hen instructing her children in the herb bed.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Dame's Rocket

I never want to let go of the purple. I don’t want May to leave so soon. I LOVE purple! When my whole yard is purple at the end of May, the temperatures cool and the mornings misty, I live in purple.

There is the Little Kims, a late lilac still blooming. The wisteria is draping purple across the arbors, to the top of a white pine and across the front of the house. The iris adds a dark dignified purple to the whole mix.

But it is the Dame’s Rocket that likes it in my garden the best and she spreads like a rambling weed all across the lawn and brings purple, all shades of purple, dark and light and in-between to every corner of the yard.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Of Blogging

So far blogging has been somewhat of a lonely endeavor. Facebooking has a lot more feedback! So at this time, my blog will be a journal, a journal that I will never mislay, not until technology falls by the wayside anyhow. I am glad to have this space to share my pictures and some of my thoughts about life and living. Now we can put our pictures where they will never grow yellow. What if we could read the blog page from a pioneer lady wouldn’t that be fun? I have some of my Grandpa’s old scrapbooks, full of articles that he enjoyed, stories that he wanted to keep, a poem or two. My scrapbook for my children will be online in the shape of this blog.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

He came a few weeks ago, back from wherever he escapes to in the winter. First he checked out the new garden walk by the kitchen garden. He hopped about and scanned every rock and plant, learning new territory. He seemed to be pleased because he brought his bride and she followed the paths with him. Then he started singing from way up high in the tulip tree, the jointed calls that only he knows and a mixed melody of mimics, other bird’s songs plus some that are all his own.

I am not sure if he is named catbird because of the meow like sound that he can make or because he follows the cats around announcing their presence to all the other birds. He is quite an energetic fellow who is always on top of things. The rather ugly name of Catbird I don’t think does justice to such a beautiful and talented bird. He wears a coat of slate grey and a little black cap atop his head and looks quite refined I think. He is a close relative of the mockingbird and the thrashers. I like to call him, my Gray Thrasher. I can hear his songs from the kitchen window and I could never get bored with his medley of tunes.

But alas the other day I found a mess of grey feathers on the ground by the herb bed and a blob of stuff on the porch that looked like innards. Did the cats kill the catbird!? How could they ruin the brave, strong, intelligent catbird!? My heart was shattered. The wind blew strong and hard all day long and even though I strained to catch a note from the Catbird I couldn’t hear any birds at all above the moaning of the wind.

I knew I had too many cats! I didn’t ask for all of them. They get dropped off and I cannot let them starve. I get them fixed because there are already too many cats in the world but the Vet. says she cannot take the bird hunter out of them. Shame. When it happens I guess we will know that we are in heaven, but for now. Oh if they killed the Catbird this is too hard! My heart moaned with the wind all day and my ears strained for any sound of him. None was to be heard. But alas there remains a happy ending! He sings his happy notes even now as I write these words and he seems to be saying, “ All is well, all is well! Look and see, hear and see I lived to sing the tale of when the cat got my tail. Look at me, can’t you see, all is well, all is well! Miracles! Miracles! Just believe! Just believe!