October 2008

Let the fun begin . . .

September 2008

Mist and fog and drizzle. A beautiful September afternoon. Everything is soaking up the quiet, restful drops. Summer has done her job. The zinnias are winding down now that the hummingbirds have moved on. Goldenrod is shaded behind a curtain of mist. It’s restful.

It’s the changing of guards, the passing of the torch. The gentle walking out of a door, and down the hall; the new door isn’t there just yet, but it will open when you arrive.

You can’t get there without September.























Anthea & Marigold settle down and enjoy the misty fog and drizzle. The quiet of letting summer be on her way . . . and the gentle anticipation of what’s to come. Oh, the beauty of the seasons. Have a soft September day.

August 2008

Meadow sweet
Meadow fine
Honeybees all in a line . . .

The meadow is alive. We have goldenrod like a yellow sea behind our house, just past the fairy grove. It waves in the wind, glistens in the sunlight, and murmurs a soft gentle song to the bees. And they love the tune . . . Honeybees – Everywhere!





















I understand they are losing their habitat, and for us humans that is a sad story. These bold little workers pollinate our vegetables and fruits.

Here’s how it works: An apple tree, for instance, produces a beautiful flower in spring…the honeybee comes along to drink the nectar inside the flower…she has to go in deep to find the nectar and while she’s wiggling around inside the flower, little bits of powdery pollen get stuck to her “furry” legs … when our friendly little bee flies off to visit another flower, the pollen from the first flower brushes off inside the second flower thereby pollinating it – only a flower that is pollinated will produce an apple. In a nutshell, without them, our fruits and vegetables don’t grow. Surely, you have seen the delicate white flower of the tomato or the bright buttery yellow flower that foretells the zucchini? These work the same way.

And they are losing their habitat. It doesn’t seem very wise, but then again, maybe we just forgot to watch, to listen, and to remember. I am lucky to have a meadow to remind me.

We are keepers of each other.

We need wild places to reconnect with the natural beauty that is Mother Nature; that is ourselves. The beauty of all things can be found in a mirror, or just outside your door. I have done nothing special with my meadow, other than to simply let it be. When I see and hear the bees buzzing happily along the flower tops I am pleased to give them a fresh, organic place to be; we need each other.















This morning Rob and I watched buzzy little bees jump in and out of the golden flowers in his mini pumpkin patch. Hurray! That means pumpkins for October! Thank goodness for bees!

Here is a bumblebee on goldenrod, and a honeybee with Marigold. The honeybees are slimmer and less fuzzy than the bumblebees.

July 2008

The meadow behind our house is very alive. Every time I go, I see something new. As the weeks roll on, the meadow changes; hay falls, folding over the Yarrow, Queen Anne’s Lace reach for the sun, a spark or two of Goldenrod begins to flower. Asleep are the purples that first greeted us. If we had mowed much of this down, as planned, we would have missed this; the different stories of the meadow.























In every little nook - blackberries! . . . dark and plump, waiting to ripen. You can’t rush those. Beginning a pinkish red, only the sun, it seems, can paint their rich, final coat of midnight-berry-blue. And she takes her time. They look ready, but a slight tug on the vine tells you to wait. And if you do, it’s sugar in your mouth.

The meadow has its own life, its own pace. It’s up to me to sit back and listen. Participate in the unfolding. But not to rush it.

And so the blackberries sing me a song of patience, reminding me to breathe in, step slower, and blend with Nature’s rhythm.

If I sit back . . . and let the meadow come to me . . . I’m always rewarded. I simply have to say, I’m ready.




















































Anthea and Marigold have a whirlwind of new friends: a dashing box turtle, three dappled fawns and their proud mother (triplets!), a broad and rolling groundhog, baby bunnies that spring on bouncy feet, 13 baby turkeys nestled in the grass, majestic soaring story-book herons and a medley of colorful birds learning about birdfeeders ….. All hail the meadow!

June 2008

After 10 years, Rob and I are heading out to new soil, new trees, new everything. Moving, as with most things, makes me think of the garden.

I wonder at plants and how long they’ve been passed down . . . what they know . . . how many fingers have traced their blooms . . . what songs have they heard . . . how many noses tingled with their sweet fragrance. Oh the secrets they must know!

I have iris from my Grandparent’s farm in Iowa. Some I will leave, some I will take. Think of it, my grandmother tended the ancestors of these iris. I love that idea. My mom has these iris, as do my sister and I. And so will a lovely new couple.

That’s love. That’s a garden.

That’s that quiet thing you can’t really outline or close in a book. It’s that quiet understanding that Life gives and gives and gives …….. freely ……. to everyone . . . all the time.

That’s the song of a garden.










Anthea and Marigold give every flower a farewell kiss before moving on. Mari tells each one how much it has meant to him and encourages it to keep blooming. Of course, as with all movings on, there are records to keep - Anthea and Marigold carefully take down the names and addresses of every little bird and buglet so they can keep in touch.

May 2008

Springtime Lullaby























Spring drops
Rain drops
Little Robins hop – hop
Oh how the world sings,
Everything Spring!

Spring cheer
Flowers dear
Little fairies far and near
Sing of all the hope it brings,
Everything Spring!

Spring breeze
Honey bees
Sweet and fragrant melodies
All the world upon its wing,
Everything Spring!

April 2008

HAPPY EARTH DAY!!!
So much excitement! Robins nesting on the trellis, English sparrows filling little painted houses with bits of border grass that dangle in the wind. The pond has changed over to Lilly pads and frogs and in one afternoon, we say good bye to the snowbirds and hello to the Ruby Crowned Kinglet.

April is about transition. About changing over, letting go, awaiting new. About moving….keep moving forward, like Cesar’s dogs, don’t lag in the past.

Rob and I were puttering through the garden just to see what was new here and different there when, all at once, a little pack of snowbirds lifted from the top of my holly tree. “Now!” one of them must’ve yelled and they laughed about it as they twittered over our heads – a band of happy travelers merrily on their way. “Good luck,” we call out, “happy travels!”

Rob and I look to the sky and together we miss Taffy at the same time.

Time passes but there is always more beauty. The never-ending beauty that simply shifts form, changes tune, taps you on the shoulder, “Look at me now. Did you expect this? See how I’m changed – it’s still me. I Am.”


The little snowbird, whose real name is “Dark-Eyed Junco”, is ready to make his way back to cooler climates. Anthea & Marigold send their friend off with hugs and well wishes (though Marigold is never really comfortable with good-byes.)























Anthea takes a moment to remind snowbird which way is North.






















Mari welcomes the Ruby-Crowned Kinglet with a special poem though he can't help giggling through some of it.