Friday, December 30, 2011


Thank you Robin and Peggy for your votes of confidence! I tried to do this for so long but it was like I was up against a brick wall then suddenly the wall fell down and I was able to forge through. Yesterday I found out about a place called Zazzle and it has the option of putting pictures on the insides of cards too plus words and we like words. So I had fun doing that and it is more earthsensible, so I am just going to do both. I find it really fun.

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

I Did It, I Published my Work on RedBubble.

I did it, I did it, I did it! I wanted to make my passion for taking pictures of nature available to the world so I entered some of my work in Red Bubble. I was not sure if my stuff was up to par with all those professionals! It was scary! But I entered submissions in their groups and they accepted! Whew!

My only quam is everything is a lot more expensive than I was imagining it had to be. Red Bubble is in Australia I think! SO postage is high for reaching us in the US. But hey I may be regional but maybe I can cross continents after all I do have a few friends over there already, maybe I will make more! Meanwhile I will work on finding a printing press that delivers like RedBubble does here on my own ground.

It took me FOREVER to figure to out how to get my pictures in their right pixels! It took me years to even get a camera that was capable, lol. This is a huge breakthrough for me, friends! Red Bubble Calenders are incredible. Each month is one full page, with the picture really huge on thick paper and they have my favorite kind of hanger. When I first started thinking about making a calender I said, "I want that kind of hook on my calender and Redbubble is the only place that offers it.

I have searched high and I have searched low, Redbubble has the best quality, so I started there. BUT high quality, high price, sigh..... I cannnot even afford to buy one for myself! I am doing another calendar that I can promote locally, which has a feature that even RecBubble did not offer, the ability to have words with the pictures. I like written words, have you noticed? Meanwhile if you have time and curiosity come check it out!

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Sending Christmas Cards

One day it snowed a little bit, but not enough. Not enough to put me in the mood to fill out my Christmas cards. Nothing gets me in the frame of mind for writing Christmas cards like snow flakes drifting down from the sky outside my window. No snow, no cards, it seems. Yet,

I wonder, should I use a little discipline with myself, get those cards out, no matter if I am in the mood or not? After all, it is not common to have snow in Southeastern Ohio before Christmas, so most likely we won’t.

It is simply procrastination on my part isn’t it, for I hardly ever get Christmas cards out. One year I got them all in the envelopes, addressed and stamped but didn’t sent them. I found the whole stack in the bottom of an ornament box up in the attic the next year around Thanksgiving time and I wondered, “Should I send them now?” I got a little tingle in my spine to think that I would actually be a year ahead of the game, now that would be different! How clever I felt, for a moment, but somehow I lost those cards before I made it to the mailbox.

This year will I let a lack of snow and a need of mood keep me from touching those whom I love with a little dose of cheer?

Christmas is Coming!

Friday, November 4, 2011

Bring me to Times of Silence

How absent are times of silence in our modern world. Silence has been chased into a corner where it hides from the everyday hustle and bustle of our world. From the beginning of time people who wanted to hear God’s heart have searched for the corners to seek the silence. Moses went to the mountaintop, Thoreau sat by a pond, Jesus prayed in the garden, alone.

Prayer~ Lord grant me these stolen away moments to converse with you. Let me lay my worries, thoughts, wishes, fears and all these things of the mind aside and let me tap into the stream of cool, fresh water that is you.

Jeremiah 17:8

“For he will be like a tree planted by the water,
That extends its roots by a stream
And will not fear when the heat comes;
But its leaves will be green,”

When I Know You

Bring me to times of silence, there to lay burdens down,
times to rest by the cool, stream waters, where the voice of my Lord can be found.
Lead me not into chaos when voices cry all around. Remind me to draw from the water gleamed from holy ground.

~Trendle Ellwood

Sunday, October 30, 2011

Song from Quaker Silent Meeting

"Teach me to stop and listen,
Teach me to center down,
Teach me the use of silence,
Teach me where peace is found.
Teach me to hear your calling.
... Teach me to search your word,
Teach me to hear in silence,
Things I have never heard.
Teach me to be collected,
Teach me to be in tune.
Teach me to be directed,
.....Silence will end so soon.
then when it's time for moving,
Grant it that I may bring,
To every day and moment
Peace from a silent spring."

Words and music: Ken Medema

Friday, October 14, 2011

To Watch the Leaves Turn

"Even if something is left undone, everyone must take time to sit still and watch the leaves turn." Elizabeth Lawrence. The leaves are turning. Autumn is passing with lightning speed, or so it seems to me. The moments of my life and the scenery around me are continuously colliding and changing into the next color, the next texture, and the next pattern. Like a rotating kaleidoscope the seasons are a succession of symmetrical designs but instead of patterns coming from mirrors reflecting colored glass, the scenes are composed of sunlight and shadow and tumbling leaves.

I can’t keep up with the ever-evolving scenery happening right in my own back yard. Already the Buckeyes are plunging out of their seed caskets when I touch a branch of the tree. The Euonymus bush outside my window sheds her red leaves and the Blackhaw begins to do the same while the mockingbird starts his wintry habit of seeking out the Dogwood berries. I just want to tell somebody to stop rotating the kaleidoscope! Just hold it still for one moment so I can catch my breath, and focus on just one thing for a second, please.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

September's Dusk

I read a card from a friend the other day and it said, “nurture yourself through connection to the earth in order to give freely without exhaustion." that is so true for me. Yesterday after nine hours of nurturing the four year old and the one year old, I found myself running out to the gate just to get a glimpse of the sky to keep my spirits going.


Tuesday, October 4, 2011

The Owl of Dusk

In February, if I listen, I can sometimes hear the mating call of what is most commonly known as the Eastern Screech Owl (Megascops asio) resounding through the vanishing light of dusk. It is a quivering, haunting trill that sounds distant yet I know the ventriloquist is only as far away as the blue spruce tree right outside our kitchen door. I don’t know how this owl got stuck with the common name, screech owl. His vocal contribution is anything but a screech. Perhaps a screech can be heard from him occasionally but that would be like naming us Cough because from time to time we cough.

Whoever slapped this name on him must have been jealous of the musical whisperings of this owl of many names. Known as Little Horned Owl, Shivering Owl, Mottled Owl and Cat Owl he is the most common of Ohio owls and can be found throughout the entire eastern half of the United States.

Small and adaptable, this owl puts up with humans, sharing our world, while hiding under the shadow of dusk and dawn.
I can understand why in days of old people were afraid of this secretive dweller, which moves in seemingly silent flight. Imagine what it was like hearing the otherworldly cries of the Screech Owl when you didn’t know what they were. If something from the spirit world were to develop a voice, this reverberating, seemingly multi-dimensional rendering of the Dusk Owl could be it.

At times the owl will give out it’s tones from the hollowed chambers of the old trees that it nestles in which greatly affects the ‘spookiness” of the sound. How eerie not to know the source and to hear THAT echoing coming out of the woods just as the light of day was leaving and the dark of night was moving in. This tiny creature (not over nine inches in length) has sent many a shiver down many a human spine.

I grew up hearing the old folklore that if you heard an owl in the middle of the day someone you knew was sure to pass away. One of my daughters when she was a little girl, despite all my explaining, would insist the owl we listened to as we walked home down our lane, was a ghost. Many of our ancestors would have agreed with her as they called this bird of the night such names as Ghost Owl, Spirit Owl and Whickering Owl.

A Whickering Owl was the last thing you wanted about your property, as everyone knew they were possessed by witches and were there to steal your baby’s soul. It seems this fear of the silent flyer of the night was the tradition in many cultures the world over. With their strange sounds, huge eyes and silent wings, the owl was surely set loose from the spirit world.

These days we know the Screech Owl as an innocent woodland creature. It was only our imaginations and run-away fears that were scary. We now realize that although the screech owl is a bird of prey it feeds not on human souls but on creatures such as insects, mice and moles. I am glad through understanding we no longer fear the owl but can instead appreciate its beauty and complexity.

One night when I had trouble sleeping because fears for my family and the world wouldn’t let me sleep I got up, put on my coat and walked outside where I looked over snow covered fields set aglow by the full March Moon. The night was so still and crisp and beautiful that I yearned to take off walking in the moonlight.

I stayed close to the hearth but my heart went soaring when I realized I was not the only creature awake. The tremulous trill of my little friend Dusk Owl was echoing through the valley and not only that but he was chorusing alongside answering echoes of a higher pitch. A warm feeling of well being enveloped me as I realized I was listening to the sweet fiddling melodies of a lover’s duet. I wished them the best and thanked them in my heart for the blessing of their unforgettable song. I prayed they had found a good old woodpecker’s nest box or a nice hollow tree to roost in and that there would always and forever be Dusk Owls to serenade moonlit skies.

Dear Lord. Help me to realize that sometimes I make up frightening stories in my head about things or situations because I don’t understand. Help me to remember that sometimes what I see as scary wouldn’t be if I had more knowledge. Help me remember that you see the whole picture and you understand everything and the whole world, even the little Dusk Owl, is in your hands. Amen

And by knowledge shall the chambers be filled with precious and pleasant riches. Proverbs 24:4

The Apiary in February

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Goodby September

For spiritual nourishment I am soaking up autumn. Once I read from an old book a rhyme referring to autumn and it said something like, “Sudden to arrive, sudden to leave”. If autumn leaves as swiftly as it arrived, it will be long gone before I know it gets here. Already the Harvest Moon rose orange and luminous to distract our attention while September slinked away. I always lose track of the moons when they turn to their cold sides so I looked the next full moon up in The Farmer’s Almanac and what is known as the Hunter Moon or Moon of the Falling Leaves, will brighten our evening skies on October 11, 2011.

Time to gather the late crops because we need to stock up on orange this time of year until we get enough of it to last all winter long. Orange pumpkins, leaves, peaches, moons, sweet potatoes, persimmons, sun-rays, sprays of bittersweet, marigolds and the first orange fires in the woodstove, they all contain a vitamin that is good for the soul, I am sure of it. No, I didn’t want to part with golden September but she is gone. She has blown her kisses and moved on. Dreading sad and weary November, I am thankful for brave October. He opens his mouth with joy and exclamation. Perhaps he will remind me to be in the moment, to spend less time sighing for yesterday or fretting tomorrow.

Friday, September 23, 2011

I Don't Want to Wave Goodby

Today the first of Autumn?
Time surely must be on a race.
Summer was my friend yesterday; now she turns her face.
I want her to come back and dance on September's golden lawn, just a few more times, before my heart gives way to dark November.

Turn around please Summer. Pause, at the gate. Murmur to me in your warm, lanquid tones. Kiss me. Embrace me. Please, just a little while, before you go.
I realized I loved you, too late.

Trendle Ellwood

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Golden September

It seems like the out of doors is slathered with gold right now. I enjoy the chirps and chatter of the family of goldfinch that harvest seeds from our stand of sunflowers. In the picture an adult bird is feeding a young one. To catch that picture I had to stand still and pretend like I was a sunflower stalk until the goldfinch believed me. When they get their bellies full they all gather together and I wonder what they are conversing so excitedly about before they fly off over the spruce trees and out of our yard. Watching them fly away I often wish I could turn my family and myself into goldfinch and flutter off with them. Oh to have such a life of freedom in the sun.

The goldfinch and the sunflowers are not my only gold. God dropped gold all over the field across the road and it has me perplexed why nobody is noticing. I would think passer-bys would be pulling their cars over and going into the field to check it out but nobody seems to see it. I guess it is all mine this gold in the tassels of grass that have turned to grain. When the sun slants across the field and makes these grains of grass glow I swear it is as good as real gold. No, better, for the gold of the grass is alive. So too the gold of the corn tassels, the goldenrod sprays and the field of soybean plants in a distant field. Grandson’s favorite gold raspberries are bearing heavily now and the honey that we are pouring from the honey tank into jars is our liquid gold. According to the consensus at the last bee meeting this has been the lowest honey harvest ever remembered so we are cherishing every droplet. The hops plants that have scrambled up the sassafras tree are drooping nuggets of gold and are just waiting to be plucked. There may be riches of other kinds but if I had my pick, I would choose these kinds of gold over any other.

Monday, September 5, 2011

The Hawk

I love watching the hawk fly he sure seems like the Lord of his own enviroment.

Monday, August 29, 2011

The Gold of Grass

"Who are You Lord, and what would you have me do?” (Acts 9:5& 6).

The Gold of Grass

I get this feeling that Grass doesn’t have to wonder who God is. To Grass God is the one who sends the sun and the rains. To the grass God is the one that made it so that the seed had directions inside of itself to become the seedling and to reach up and grow to be nourished by the sun and the rains. Why can’t it be that simple for us? The grass never has to wonder what God wants it to do I don’t suppose either. I would love to be as in tune with My Creator as the grass is.

I made up a card with some of my sentiments and photos about grass in my Lemurian Productioons store, HERE

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Asian Pear Crisp Recipe

Asian pear is also known as apple pear and I can see why. It is as if this round fruit started off wanting to be an apple then changed its mind and wanted to become a pear. The mixed up little fruit that is named after a pear but not shaped anything like a pear is shaped instead like an apple. Ready to eat when it is still firm just like an apple instead of when it has softened like an ordinary pear, Asian pear has two layers of skin, the one underneath is green and like an apple skin while the skin on the surface is brown and paper-like.

I just made some pear crisp. It is really good!

Asian Pear Crisp

· 12 Asian pears
· 2 Tbsp. apple cider vinegar or lemon juice
· 3/4 cup brown sugar
· ¾ cup honey
· 3 teaspoon cinnamon
· 1 teaspoon nutmeg
· 1/8 tsp. salt
· 1 cup flour
· 1 cup old fashioned oats
· 10 Tbsp. butter, cut into small pieces
1. Preheat oven to 375. Quarter, core, peel, ad chop pears. Put pears in a large bowl and toss with vinegar. Add 1/4 cup honey, ¼ cup brown sugar spices, and salt and toss to combine thoroughly. Spread pears into two 4-quart baking dishes and set aside.
2. In a medium bowl, combine flour and oats, 1/2 cup honey and ½ cup brown sugar, and butter and cut or work butter into flour mixture (this can be done easiest with your fingers.)
3. Spread flour mixture over pear mixture. Bake until center fruit mixture browned and bubbling, about 40 minutes. Let sit at least 10 minutes before serving. Serve warm.
Makes 6 to 8 big servings

I have all this on a recipe card here

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Seeds of Fire

Some seeds only sprout after going through fire, other types quicken after being processed through a digestive system while still other seeds only awaken after being snapped by a deep freeze. The same Creator that came up with all this uniqueness also made each of us and This Creator knows exactly what we need.

Saturday, August 20, 2011

The Moon is Old

The moon is old now, shrinking, hunched over as if it wants to lay the burden down. Illumination is dimming. Sad. Yet, it is the cycle. One day the moon will give it all up. The moon will wan and wan until it wans itself away. It will be dark in the transition. Yet, in the darkness something tiny and brand new will be birthed. It will start off as a sliver, but it will grow, it will wax and it will catch the light until it reflects more and becomes full.

For now, the moon is old and creeps away.

Friday, August 19, 2011

Moon In Nest

The toppled waning moon looked like an egg in a nest as it came up over the tufts of grass in the field the other evening.

August Days

One of my favorite places to sit this time of year is on the back patio underneath the Redbud and Tulip Poplar tree beside our little bubbling fountain that Grandson helped me embellish with stones and rocks. Pirate ships and speedboats have also been known to show up there floating in the dappled shade where we ward off mosquitoes by dabbing our clothes with geranium oil.

The blooming, white August Lily on the bank emits a soothing scent that reminds me of Lily of the Valley. We stay cool by keeping our feet wet while we create our own atmosphere by manipulating the ebb and flow of the fountain’s stream. We position the stones to cause the waterfall to gurgle gently then we rearrange them to cause it to cascade. Sometimes we cause the toad, (we forget he is there), to jump up suddenly and move for the shallows, which startles us and we laugh at ourselves for being frightened by the harmless toad.

One evening I was sitting alone by this fountain when the cats, Pipen and Tiggy, started clamoring to be let out the back door. I ignored their pleas because I soon realized they only wanted to pounce on the screech owl that was suddenly serenading us with hoots and trills. I sat very still. I wanted to soak in the vibrations of the owl’s questioning murmurs forever. Yet, suddenly becoming silent the owl disappeared, leaving a hallowed chamber in my heart where he had been.

Friday, August 12, 2011

Summer Ripens

After weeks of extreme humidity, it broke, it is gone, it is over. We can breathe! We can sleep without swimming in sweat or enduring the snore of the air conditioner or the air of the fan. Now at last, we rest with open windows, to the sounds in the distance of the cicadas, the crickets and the tree frogs and we can feel the soft, gentle breeze blowing through the rooms. It is as if magic has returned and now everything is beautiful beside the blue fence where the last of the phlox are still showing, purple and white and the darker hue of ironweed is blooming beside them.

The August lilies are striking in their whiteness and the Surprise Lilies truly live up to their name and always surprise me when they spring up, shockingly pink, bride-like and blushing in the middle of the seriousness of mature summertime. All of nature seems to take a gasp when Surprise Lilly shows up looking so innocent and spring-like when summer is almost over and done. The gold-finch are flying about the yard, giving me flashes of yellow and black and the butterflies! The butterflies are becoming more plentiful and that is just fun. Right now, even the leaves on the trees are dancing in delight and the crickets think it is grand, you can tell by their jubilant singing. These are the kinds of days that you just want to soak up and keep forever.

There is a full moon getting ripe and rising closer to sunset every evening. We bought a screen tent and I hope to get it set up to sleep in my screen under the moon when it peaks. I need to hear the mockingbird singing in the night. I need to really know summer before summer is gone.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Thoughts on Joy and Ritual

I read this today, " Where ritual is absent the young ones are restless or violent, there are no real elders, and the grown-ups are bewildered. Malidoma Some

Isn't that our world and the world we grew up in? Where ARE the leaders? Are we the leaders now or the confused grown-ups? What can we do to place ritual in our children's lives? Just what IS ritual? Just kidding, but really I think there must be so much to learn. We have lost the way of our ancestors, maybe we should find it and even if the records of the past have been lost, the answers are still written, in every living thing, the bumble and the honeybee taught me that.

What if there is a germ and I can give it to people I associate with and this bug can spread like a computer virus affecting everyone I come in contact with and everyone they come in contact with? What if it is a bright virus, a virus that mutates and transforms some of our unused DNA into awakening and what if the name of the contagion is joy and I can spread it?

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Farmer up the Hill

I took a walk in the cooler air last evening. Ended up talking with my favorite farmer, on the hill. He didn't have his hearing aides on so I did most of the listening. He said this is the wettest spring and summer that he remembers besides one other, in all his years, then he told me an interesting old quote that his Grandfather used to say, "Weather out of season, is weather without reason."

The clouds to the east were reflecting the light of the sunset. There was a blue one and a pink one and we both thought it looked just like cotton-candy at the fair. I don't know how old our good neighbor is but he is full of wit and wisdom. He told me he had to go in for a checkup at the Doctor's office and they asked him how he was doing now that he was getting up there in years. According to him, he told them that he was not doing so good now that he was down to 12 hour work days.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Blue-Eyed Gypsy

I had a talk with God,
told him I was an archivist, since I have learned that now
and I shared with him how I felt like I needed something to archive. I was daydreaming of going to exotic places to watch a community and record life. And so, right in my back yard, he gave me cotton-candy blue and pink clouds and a velvety looking insect known by the grand name of Imperial Moth. He gave me an emerald that dropped straight from the sky, a bluebird on the fence and one cool morning I glimpsed a proud, red gladioli left alone on the bank with the deep blue-eyed gypsy, chicory, clustered in admiration all around her.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Imperial Moth

I was out weeding the strawberry bed when I almost disturbed a beautiful Imperial Moth. A huge moth with a wing span of almost six inches it is dressed most elegantly in mauve and soft yellow velvet.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Berry Bramble Blessings

The berries of summer have always played a role in my life. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of our Grandpa and Grandma Wells taking my brother and sister and I out into the woods and pastures to gather the wild black raspberries that grew around their Morgan County home. I cherished the time with my Grandparents and the sound of the berries as they dinged and pinged, hitting the inside of the metal pails that we carried. There would be a certain change of mood in me when the berries stopped pinging and began thudding, landing on top of each other and filling up the inside of the pails. It made me feel very, very rich.

One of the tiny, little seeds that these berries are full of, and which keep some people from enjoying the fruits, must have lodged in my heart because I have been stalking the berry brambles ever since. There was a time when I could not resist gathering berries from every wild patch I could hunt down but now our own yard has become wild enough and full enough of berry bushes to keep me busy. On our little plot we tend domestic varieties of black, red and gold raspberries and also allow the wild, black raspberries room to roam.

One day in honor of the ones who started it all I took some berries to my Grandfather. He reminisced that in his day he couldn’t stop picking berries until his pails were full. This made me smile and I told him that I have always been the same way and perhaps the urge to forage the bramble is something I inherited from Grandma and him. We laughed together and complimented each other that we have good old-fashioned bramble-blood coursing through our veins. I was beginning to think that this was a dying trait and I was the last one to carry the bramble gene. My brother and sister do not uphold the tradition and my own daughters do not share my interest in gathering berries. Oh, they enjoy eating them in pancakes and with shortcake and in the jams, jellies, cobblers, tarts and pies we make from them but getting my daughters to help pick has always been worse than trying to get a cat to take a bath.

Now though, I am very happy to report there is hope; a seed has been planted in yet another heart. Perhaps it will sprout and bramble blood will live on. When his Mom drove into our driveway and saw our berry sign the other day she commented, “the berries are on” and Grandson got all excited. He clamored out of the car and exclaimed to me, “Lets go on a hike and pick berries!” I cannot tell you how much joy my heart felt at the animated look on his face and those words tumbling from his four-year-old mouth. We put on our boots and long pants, grabbed the pails and off we went!

Grandson comes up with a lot questions while we are out there harvesting berries. One time when a thorn scratched his arm he asked, “Why do berries have thorns?” I told him it is because some of the best things in life come with a price. Last winter we walked by the berry bushes and he wanted to pick berries. I explained to him that there is only fruit to pick in the summer and that the berry plants need their time to rest, just like we need to sleep at night. Then he asked me, “So, what do you do when there are not any berries?” I told him that we wait. We pick and can and freeze berries all summer so that we will have enough berries to last though the winter. Quite often I tell my Grandson that if he wants to grow big and strong he cannot live on junk food and sweets alone and one day while out in the berries he said “Berries are sweet, are they good for you, or no?” My reply to him was berries are very sweet and also very good for you and that is part of the magic of them.

I Give Him This

Soon enough, they will send him to sit within four walls,
to learn his alphabet, numbers and manners.
For today he is happy with me where the hillside looks down over the meadow and we see cows as they lazily graze on green grass and watch butterflies as they flutter here and there, on flowers.
Soon enough, the men will take him hunting, but for today, we follow our bliss and stalk only berries, him and I. We go into the bramble and stuff ourselves with red-ripe fruit, then laugh together at each other’s juice smeared faces.
Soon enough, the world will call him away and I will have to let him go. Still, I feel certain some part of him will always remember, a simple life of flowers, honeybees and berries, where a hillside overlooked a meadow.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Full Buck Moon Evening

I had a wonderful evening. I walked to the top of the hill to watch the sunset.

After an orchestra of light the sun dropped off the stage. Show over I headed towards the exit, but wait! The show had obviously just began because Full Buck Moon was making a grand entrance at the back door.

The name Full Buck Moon for the July full moon is derived from the Native American Indian words for this moon which refer to the fact that it is under this light that the buck's antlers have matured and are full-grown.

This masculine named moon came up aggressively orange over the field. I lifted my face to the bronzed light for a moment before I turned to retreat back down the hill. As I walked the scent of honeysuckle, in its second bloom, perfumed the air.

When I reached our garden gate the old-garden scent of phlox welcomed me home.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

The Blue Fence

We could have left it natural, or we could have painted it white but I had to have it blue, with a dash of purple. So,

the blue fence after many hours of getting paint on everything, post hole digging and sweat is finally coming to life and greeting passerbys.

Raspberries and Lilies

Ah July, high summer, not my favorite time of year because I don't do heat well, but the lilies are blooming and the berries are on! We try to wait until evening when the hot ole sun is going down in the sky before we go out and fill our pails with red, gold, black and purple jewels.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Blue Morning Mist

Mist in the Morning


The trees and shrubs across the way,
Were wrapped in gossamer today
Till long pink fingers of the sun,
Untied the strings of every one.

Your Love
Kenny 11 years old

Ken Wells

Friday, July 1, 2011

Daisy on the Mountain

"Nobody knows the trouble I've seen, nobody knows but Jesus.
Sometimes I'm up, sometimes I'm down. Oh, yes, Lord! Sometimes I'm al-most to the ground, Oh, yes, Lord!" African-American spiritual

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Bittersweet Nightshade

(Solanum dulcamara) Bittersweet or Woody Nightshade is like a mysterious lady dressed in a gown of purple and black lace. Intricate shaped leaves, purple flowers with shocking yellow stars in the centers, fruit that changes from deep green to red, and a dangerous past, all add to the magnetism of this lovely, secretive plant.

Friday, June 24, 2011

Allegheny Mountain Grandeur

"When through the woods and forest glades I wander and hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees; when I look down from lofty mountain grandeur and hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze, then Sings my Soul my Savior God to thee; how great thou art, how great thou art."
2nd verse from hymn How Great Thou Art

"Hi Tren ... did you snap this photo? If yes, tell me a bit about the location and what led you to compose this specific scene.
I love the song you selected to go with this photo. Nice choice. Yup, I love this song too. Joseph Babinsky

"My mom used to sing that to us when we were little kids.She had a big booming alto voice and the could vibrate the windows when she got to the choirs! thanks for the memory!" Peggy Mclaughlin

Ah Peggy, what a memory, your Mom booming that song. I have to admit I have trouble with the high parts and it turns out to be a whisper when I sing the chorus sometimes, lol.

Joe thanks for asking, yes I did take that shot. My husband and I were on our aniversary trip to the highest points of West Virginia. There we hiked Dolly Sod and Spruce Knob.

The soil there is a sponge of sphagnum moss, lush with ferns, wildflowers and blooming mountains laurels. The brooks are rushed and vibrant with spring rains and the air is a mist. There we found ourselves singing our new verse like a prayer, as we drove over mountains and viewed raging waterfalls and rambling brooks and as we walked the trails to lofty views. We even sang that song to scare off the bears when we found out There Really Were Bears in There! But that is another story.

We went through a baptism of water while we were there, I swear the West Virginians were playing a trick on us by telling us that the creek beds were trails as all the trails soon turned into rocky streams of water, I kept trying to figure out how there could be SO MUch Water up on the mountaintop. It just didn't make sense to me that if all water flows down into the streams how could there be so much up there after just two inches of rain.

I was fascinated with the fresh pools of water on tops of the rocks at Bear Rocks Preserve and I just wanted to sit on a rock forever looking at the reflections of the Appalachians in that little pool of water.

Mountain Thoughts

Just because you are on the mountain doesn’t mean you always see the view.

Moon Folly

I will go up the mountain after the Moon;
She is caught in a dead fir-tree.
Like a great pale apple of silver and pearl,
Like a great pale apple is she.

I will leap and will catch her with quick cold hands
And carry her home in my sack.
I will set her down safe on the oaken bench
That stands at the chimney-back.

And then I will sit by the fire all night,
And sit by the fire all day.
I will gnaw at the Moon to my heart’s delight
Till I gnaw her slowly away.

And while I go mad with the Moon’s cold taste
The World will beat at my door,
Crying, “Come out!” and crying, “Make haste,
And give us the Moon once more!”

But I shall not answer them ever at all.
I shall laugh, as I count and hide
The great, black, beautiful Seeds of the Moon
In a flower-pot deep and wide.

Then I shall lie down and go fast asleep,
Drunken with flame and aswoon.
But the seeds will sprout and the seeds will leap,
The subtle swift seeds of the Moon.

And some day, all of the World that cries
And beats at my door shall see
A thousand moon-leaves spring from my thatch
On a wonderful white Moon-tree!

Then each shall have Moons to his heart’s desikre:
Apples of silver and pearl;
Apples of orange and copper fire
Setting his five wits aswirl!

And then they will thank me, who mock me now.
“Wanting the Moon is he,”
Oh, I’m off to the mountain after the Moon,
Ere she falls from the dead fir-tree!

Fannie Stearns Davis