A White(ish) Christmas

Amazing...

a dusting of snow on Raes Creek.

Preparations

The hour is swept and garnished;

The walk has been brushed and the stair,

The crystal and silver are gleaming

but oh, is the Christ Child there?

Lela Bassford

A Falling Away

“I am so busy”

I have always disliked that phrase and inwardly shuddered when friends or acquaintances have proudly tossed it about or thrown it down as a gauntlet ( I am busy, busy. I have a Life. What about.....you?) But in the past 3 months I have found myself inanely repeating it as an explanation to a life I haven't been able to control. And with the lack of control came my frustration...then condemnation...and finally desperation.

Really.

That is where I should have been in the beginning.

 Desperate.

Because we are all desperate. Desperate for the way, desperate for the love, and desperate for the savior. I had forgotten. How is that possible? I thought I could do it all---teach, clean, laugh, comfort, live, serve, cook, create, love.

This morning, I “accidentally” turned to my devotion in Oswald Chambers' My Utmost for His Highest:

"The apostle Paul could let his external life change without internal distress because he was rooted and grounded in God. Most of us are not consistent spiritually because we re more concerned about being consistent externally.”

It was dated November 25.

 But I needed to hear it today.

Do you hear what I hear?

 Drifting in with the cool air

the whispery rush of many wings,

 a pause,

 and then soft flutterings and splashes.

 We all tiptoed quietly to the window

 to listen

to the flock of brown headed cowbirds

 busily bathing with

 quiet whirs, rustlings, and plashes.

In Bloom

A plethora of zinnias---

from seed freely broadcast

in July and virtually untended in August and September.

 A magnificent harvest.

Rightness

"Pan Playing", The Appleby, Augusta, GA, 2010

Garden ornament cannot be underestimated---it could be considered just as important as the garden itself. Especially when it is fabulously aged and tinged with Time. In some cases it is the reason behind the garden, as in Beverley Nichols' book The Gift of a Home:

     At each end of the lovely little wall there were two brick pillars. They stood there, perfectly poised, exactly the right height, exactly the right width....They had obviously been built to hold something---carved pineapples, or stone balls, or...or...or Urns.

   It was when the word
Urns
 came into my head that the garden was
 born.

Summer's End

"Yearning", Lake Thurmond, Labor Day 2010

Now the day is over,

Night is drawing nigh,

Shadows of the evening

Steal across the sky.

(Sabine Baring-Gould, English clergyman and author, 1834-1924)

I hope the shadows fell softly and sweetly on your holiday.

Knowing

I have been swept away by school preparations for the past two months, leaving my creative life parched. American Literature, Economics, Shakespeare, American government, Physical Science, Latin, Philosophy...it has been unending hard labor preparing to teach the 9th grade class in our Classical Conversations group. The sweet reward is the joy of knowing and once, knowing, sharing.

We don't know what we don't know, but when we begin to know a thing---unbelievably, miraculously God puts that “thing” in front of us again and again, in different contexts showing us connections and relevance. Some things we see immediately and are enlightened, some things remain to be revealed. The seed is planted.

A family funeral this week brought the dry spell to an end. It literally provided a physical break in my eternal preparations for class and brought me face to face with one of my first artistic mentors---my Biology professor and advisor from Converse College. She sensed something in me I wasn't aware of at the time and encouraged me to follow my passions and instincts. Every piece of art I produced while at Converse was a reflection of the natural world, what we would call the Sciences, but is really true Art produced by the ultimate Artist. She prodded me to combine my art and my sciences, but I didn't have a heart for diligence or faith to fly.
 

Self Portrait, Chemistry Lab, Converse College, 1983

 
As the hymn Rock of Ages swelled around us during the service, I realized the labors of being a homeschool mother have taught me diligence and given me the knowing—the confidence—to fly. As we seated ourselves, Marc Chagall was quoted: “Great art picks up where nature ends,” and I quickly glanced back at the sea of upturned faces hoping to catch my mentor's eye, wanting to shout “yes...I finally see!”

In Bloom

A member of the daisy family,

 drought-tolerant,

cheery fall colors,

and good for what ails you...

Echinacea, more commonly known as purple coneflower.

Happy August!

See you in August

I will be away from the blog for a few weeks...

tending, weeding, and watering a few other projects.

A Happy Fourth

Hope a wonderful Independence Day celebration was had by all! Many grateful thanks to all our military families.

Blackberry pickin'... on the creek.

The reward for a short, early morning paddle:

 a plateful of ebony jewels.

In Bloom

A rose

 that is a bowl of
 sweet raspberry sherbert

 on a sultry, summer afternoon.

In Bloom: The Evening Primrose (Oenothera biennis )

We heard of it through a friend of a friend. A hurried call was made and a plan formulated to meet in the friend's garden at twilight...

When once the sun sinks in the west,

We gathered, old and young, around the small plot of soil and stared uncomprehendingly at the tall, weedy stalks. The children fidgeted with the tight buds while the adults spoke of the heat and “no rain”.

And dewdrops pearl the evening's breast;

Almost as pale as moonbeams are,

Or its companionable star,

Our friend, the gardener, murmured softly, “There's one”.

The evening primrose opens anew

And we watched incredulously, exclaiming, wondering, as bloom after bloom unfolded...in front of our eyes.

Its delicate blossoms to the dew;

And, hermit-like, shunning the light,

Wastes its fair bloom upon the night,

Who, blindfold to its fond caresses,

Knows not the beauty it possesses;

Thus it blooms on while night is by;

When day looks out with open eye,

Bashed at the gaze it cannot shun,

It faints and withers and is gone.

(The Evening Primrose by John Clare, English Poet, 1793-1864)

June

Abundance

Home on the Silver Meteor

Garden to Table

We planted two fingerling varieties in late February: Peanut and Red Thumb. Both were harvested this week and are perfect for roasting.

Rae's Creek Roasted Fingerlings

about 2 lbs potatoes

3 tbsp good olive oil

2 tsp lemon juice

about 1 tbsp kosher salt

1 tsp pepper

about 2 to 3 tbsp fresh rosemary

5 cloves minced garlic

Slice the larger potatoes if needed. Put all in ziplock bag and mix well. Spread in single layer in shallow pan and roast about 25 minutes at 450 degrees.

Tuesday Club

I have been leisurely searching for a ceramic garden stool for some time. Most range in price from $100 to $300 and are out of my budget...but I knew one would turn up eventually. And it did. At Ross. For $29.99. At the checkout I noticed I had received a 10% discount for something called the “Tuesday Club”. I looked at the girl, the very young girl---really a mere babe, behind the counter, “What's the Tuesday Club?” As she glanced pointedly at my gray hair she said, “Senior citizen discount.”

Wow.

I was so flabbergasted that I failed to tell the child I am ONLY 48. But I got my stool...and for $3.80 less.

In Bloom

Fingerling potatoes---time to harvest.

...wherever my ship sailed.

This year's sailing trip involved a crew of two grandsons with grandfather at the helm.

We rendezvoused at the Savannah Yacht Club and were entertained by tales of the high seas.

"The days passed happily with me wherever my ship sailed."

Sailing Alone Around the World

Captain Joshua Slocum