Think Pink

I hadn't intended to go this route with a post, but as I was looking through my photographs, I realized that I had enough pink images to make an interesting compilation. Some of these I may have posted before, and they are from different times of the year. So here it is. Images of pink things in my garden.

Godwottery Revisited

This post refers back to a previous entry.




This came from the mailing list where I first heard about the word "godwottery" and the poem it came from (which is not considered a good poem, by the way, but one that people make fun of):

I am reminded of the story of the woman tending her front garden as the vicar approached. He paused, leaned over the front wall and and said to her, "Isn't it wonderful what God can do in a garden?"

The woman responded, "You should have seen it when He had it all to himself."

I have the feeling that this joke was made up by a gardener. (Perhaps even a gardening vicar.)



NOTE: Photos in this post are from God's garden, not mine.

The Eternal Seductiveness of Life

The flower is the poetry of reproduction. It is an example of the eternal seductiveness of life. ~Jean Giraudoux

I found this fascinating tour of the sex organs of daylilies today. Well, my husband found the blog, but I found the details.

This picture is of my Snowy Eyes daylily from back in July. I'll use any excuse for a good daylily picture.

Godwottery

A poem for these cool eves. (No, not hip raincollectors, low-temperature nights.) You can click on the post title above for a link to the word's definition.

MY GARDEN

A GARDEN is a lovesome thing, God wot!
Rose plot,
Fringed pool,
Fern'd grot—
The veriest school
Of peace; and yet the fool
Contends that God is not—
Not God! in gardens! when the eve is cool?
Nay, but I have a sign;
'Tis very sure God walks in mine.

Thomas Edward Brown

Daylilies Again

Well, I haven't been gardening lately, really. Just watching things die, very slowly. Too slow to even photograph.

I've been harvesting daylily seeds as the pods pop open. I have to say that the champion as far as seed production goes is My Hope. I have more seeds than I know what to do with. I have this weird dream of just buying some land and planting daylilies. A daylily farm I guess. Maybe if end up getting a job I'll have the money to do that. (Of course, then I wouldn't have the time to look after the daylilies. Hmm.)

And now, some pictures of daylilies. Because I think it's time to dream again.

Something to Think About

Emancipation from the bondage of the soil is no freedom for the tree.
~ Rabindranath Tagore

The Wet Garden

I was feeling down today because of the rain, and a wise young man named Dan suggested I go outside.

It took me a while, but I realized part of my sadness was the feeling that I couldn't do anything in the garden. The garden is what renews me. So, as soon as the rain abated, I grabbed my camera and took some pictures. And that led naturally to choosing to post the lyrics to one of my childhood favourites. Hearing this song never fails to give me hope. If I could play the piano, I would want to learn to play this song.

So here it is, a spiritual mini-journey of sorts. Thanks, Dan.





















Morning Has Broken
As sung by Cat Stevens
lyrics by Eleanor Farjeon

Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for the springing fresh from the word

Sweet the rain's new fall, sunlit from heaven
Like the first dewfall, on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where his feet pass

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God's recreation of the new day

Sunlight

"Our freedom as free lances/ advances towards its end."

I am waiting to hear my status on a job I've applied for. I haven't worked full-time in over four years. My freedom may be advancing towards its end.

The Sunlight on the Garden

The sunlight on the garden
Hardens and grows cold,
We cannot cage the minute
Within its nets of gold;
When all is told
We cannot beg for pardon.

Our freedom as free lances
Advances towards its end;
The earth compels, upon it
Sonnets and birds descend;
And soon, my friend,
We shall have no time for dances.

The sky was good for flying
Defying the church bells
And every evil iron
Siren and what it tells:
The earth compels,
We are dying, Egypt, dying

And not expecting pardon,
Hardened in heart anew,
But glad to have sat under
Thunder and rain with you,
And grateful too
For sunlight on the garden.

Louis MacNeice

Autumn

My favourite garden poems are by Amy Lowell, an American. So many of the British garden poems are about roses, but Amy Lowell writes about poppies and tulips and lilies. She also writes about other cottage garden flowers like "hollyhocks and four o'clocks," but still. It makes a nice change from roses, anyway.

Hoar-Frost

In the cloud gray mornings
I heard the herons flying
And when I came into my garden,
My silken outer-garment
Trailed over withered leaves.
A dried leaf crumbles at a touch,
But I have seen many Autumns
With herons blowing like smoke
Across the sky.

Amy Lowell

Rage, Garden

My idea for the winter is to create posts with poems and maybe take the opportunity to showcase some garden photos that I haven't put up before. Something like this ripe seedpod, dying, yet swollen with the potential for new life.


The plan was to have poems with a garden theme, or at least a natural or pastoral theme, but I'm not sure Dylan Thomas's Do not Go Gentle into that Good Night qualifies. I've actually chosen it as a poem for October (personified), because of its references to "the dying of the light."

In my opinion, this Sweet Kate spiderwort continues to lead the charge against the dying of the light.


And here are some more pictures of my garden, as it lies dying on the ninth day of October, two thousand and five.

Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

More October Pictures

I worked hard getting this photograph of echevera blooms just right.


I'm not sure how much time we have left. I don't remember an October this warm for ages. It is still T-shirt and shorts weather. The columbine on the east fence has bloomed again, and the flowering quince bushes are producing fruit for the rabbits (or whatever little animals will eat them).

The cutleaf sumac is turning colour, even as the periwinkle underneath it blooms again. And I have just been researching a plant I bought at the nursery earlier this year called Fallopia japonica 'Variegata' and I have found out that it is Japanese Knotweed, a very invasive and undesirable plant. But it's so beautiful! (Although you can't tell from this photo.)

Geraniums

I didn't like geraniums when I was a kid. I thought they smelled funny, and they were always a very bright red colour that clashed with everything. (Have you seen where people put red geraniums on red cedar mulch? It hurts my eyes.)

Now I think geraniums are wonder plants, especially for containers. They like sun and shade. They are not too bothered about being watered every day, and they seem to have an unlimited bloom time.

I have about eight different geraniums in containers around the house and garden right now. This post is for pictures of geraniums.

The First of October

I can't believe it's the first of October already. Our weather is holding.

I've cleaned up the front some, in preparation for winter. The butterfly bush is gone. (I cut it down to the ground every year and let it grow back.)

I've cut the dead stalks off the daylilies, and pulled out most of the dead and damaged leaves. I cut the suckers off of the corkscrew hazel bushes. And, most important of all, I planted the mums in the cast iron urns, and moved the urns to the side of the house so they would get partial shade instead of full sun. It won't look quite as good as having the urns frame the garage, but the mums will last longer.



Another item fitting the beginning of October is a sweet little (expensive) hosta I bought when we were planting the side beds. It's called Red October, presumably because it blooms in October and has red stems.