Sunday, July 31, 2011
Katie ran ahead. Maddie picked her way on the drying creek bed, picking up a walking stick along the way.
I am disappointed. I have lugged my camera equipment down the bank to find nothing that interested me. But then, Maddie turns and quietly waves me over to her perch on a rock over a still pool of water. I clank my way over in time to see a dart of green disappear under a rock. Maddie patiently waded into the pool and gently reached under the rock. Seconds later our beautiful green friend came out to play.
There was no historic value to the 2 foot Stewartia sapling I purchased for next to nothing. It rode for the remainder of of our trip and all the way home between my sister in law's feet.
When I got home I planted it. It grew a bit, but was not happy in it's new home. So I moved it one day to a sunny spot that allows me to see it from my family room window. We were both happy.
Today it blooms with white purity in spring for up to 6 weeks. In winter, it's multicolored mottled bark outside my window reminds me that spring is really not that far away.
This tree is now 15 feet tall. Mature and beautiful.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
Bees are creatures of habit and very task oriented. There is a portion of the meadow that I mow that runs up into the grove near the hives. As I mow, the bees continue their work of flying in and out of the hives in a bee line; a straight, unwaivering, line from point A to B. They are not deterred by my presence. They bounce off of my head as I intersect their flight plan.
There are some bees whose job it is to guard the hive. As I completed this shoot, one of these bees took their job a bit too seriously and chased me all the way across the meadow, over the driveway and into the circle garden before peeling off and heading home.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Sunday, June 19, 2011
And then, as the sun places it's last kiss on the evening sky, a blur of blue says goodnight.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
The first out are the white blooms. Fluffy and clean with a peek of pink in the center. They smell divine. A soft rose-like fragrance that travels on a spring evening breeze.
And as they fade, they are replaced by pops of pink. Mop top fun. Their fragrance is subtle but spicy. A little wink.
I did not plant these beauties. They are 70 years old or more.
I simply put them to bed every fall and wait on bated breath for their return every spring.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
I planted some scotch moss and a tiny campanula in an old enamel basin I had found in the woods one day. I thought it might light this trouble spot with brilliant green and a bit of blue. It was...nice. I moved it the next day.
I found a sand colored Buddha at the garden center. He seemed to want to come home with me and so I, thought, I might have a place for him.
I set him down just next to the planted basin in that spot that, by now, had become a sore spot.
He sat....and we waited. And the tree dressed him in her snowy petals. The garden knew all along.
Monday, May 30, 2011
This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning, 'My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.'
And if America is to be a great nation this must be true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania. Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado. Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California. But, not only that, Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain Georgia. Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee. Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, 'Free and last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!' "
~Dr. Martin Luther King
Washington DC 1964
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Doors open at these moments. The only question is, will you walk through it, or stand at the threshold and hesitate?
A moment later, and the light is gone, the clouds have shifted in the gentle evening breeze. The shot is gone and the planets have rotated just a bit off center.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
I was born and raised not far from here. Growing up in a sleepy little town steeped in New England heritage and family history. I left in 1978 and have lived in Pennsylvania ever since. But, to me, this is still home.
A woman got off the train right behind me. She spent some time pawing through her bag and eventually she pulled what looked like a map out. She looked at it for a while. Eventually she turned to me and asked me if the bus came by here. I paused. I was trying to be kind. There has never been a bus anywhere near here. She read my look and said she understood, I must not be from around here either. No, I said, I guess not.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
Times have changed. The farmlands surrounding Downingtown are now sprouting sub-divisions. Spreading neighborhoods. One acre yards of grass replace stoop and block. Most of the mills and factories are silent. Their buildings filled now with trendy restaurants.
But, still, a whisper of history lingers. It is in the air. A whisp of twilight glow connects past to present.