More Snow!

Yesterday I discovered the first seedling peeping through in the greenhouse; today brought another batch of fluffy flakes.

 Elizabeth

Catch Spring Fever With Me

The violets have exploded into a purple carpet

While the forget-me-nots clamor for attention

The little bright-eyed chrysanthemums wake to play

And the bluebells herald springtime's arrival

Stand here with me and inhale the fullness of Spring.

Nothing smells quite as sweet as a lilac in bloom

after a looooong winter of chilly breaths. 

Success at last! 

This lily-of-the-valley seems to have settled in

about the business of colonizing 

And the violets breed beauty with abandon

ensuring an even larger carpet of sweetness

for next year. 

The first Cecile Brunner peeks forth shyly,

soon to be followed

by an avalanche of sweethearts just like her

I sense no crabbiness

from this crabapple tree

in full flush of beauty

With the buzzing of busy-ness

ensuring more springtimes bee on the horizon.

All this buzzing sparks an idea . . .

Deb's Bees?  

Hmmmmmmmmm . . .?

What a sweet thought!

[Jots down note in ideas book.
Stay tuned for details . . . ]

Spring fever is in full bloom around here.

Oh Joy!

I can even smile at the forecast

for rains tomorrow and the next,

knowing it will feed this beauty for my senses

and my soul.

And the earth brought forth grass,

and herb yielding seed after his kind,

 and the tree yielding fruit,

whose seed was in itself, after his kind:

and God saw that it was good.

Genesis 1:12

I see the good, too.

: D

Sunday Wonder

. . . a time to plant . . .

Ecclesiastes 3:2

Spring Is Here (by Rachel)

Spring has come and every flower is blooming.

The grape hyacinth is in clusters here and there,

and the wild buttercups give a sweet odor to the spring air.

Though the days can be dull and gray, the blossoms stay and do not wilt.

Picking a bouquet for the dining room table creates a beautiful scene.

A cup of tea and a book to read can make a cold, gray spring day quite pleasant.

If rain comes and stays till late afternoon, and then if the sun comes out at that time, the trees with their new leaves make the back yard look like a painting with a green light that makes it look like life has burst out all at once.

Very soon, the bleeding hearts will come and add more beauty to the front garden even though there is no evidence of it yet. Some things are not as they seem to be, like the roses; all leaves at the moment, but come summer they will be covered with white, pink, and red roses.

I love spring, because it is the time of year

when every thing has a new beginning.

Just Pottering About

I smile as I sit here with teacup at hand and my trusty computer back in my lap eager to lap up the onslaught of words spilling forth. My photo program has vanished in the melee of recent computer follies but I can adjust to that in time. (and post without a new photo treat as blogger stubbornly refuses to recognize input from my stockpile of photos -- hrmph!  All fixed now.  *smile*) For now I sing and dance with joy at the touch of familiar keys answering my every command. Simple pleasures, indeed!

In my blogging-free days of late I have wandered into so many delightful pursuits. I finished off nearly a dozen books that lay around my choice spots of repose. I also managed to order dozens more (or so it seems as my dear husband staggers through the doorway with “the mail” for the day – oh my!). I recently happened upon a sequel to Rosanna of the Amish, a favorite of mine. The original book by Yoder relays the delightful account of a young girl adopted into the Amish ways when left as a foundling among the Amish by a devastated Irish Catholic family. It reads like a sweet novel/fairytale with so much Amish flavoring for those intrigued by simpler ways and unique expressions of faith and family. The sequel by Yoder, entitled Rosanna’s Boys, should arrive any day now. I will see it come through the door, admonish myself to walk calmly toward it, and resist all temptation to cast aside the daily doings for an enraptured and furious read-thru. Bibliophiles and read-a-holic kindreds know exactly what I mean, right?

Amongst the many reading hours offered by my computer-free spate and a steady string of rainy days (the most I can ever recall in my life, it seems) I have pursued many a new project in the kitchen, like homemade ice cream from raw dairy – delicious and easily digestible by those here that lack lactase. Sourdough muffins, biscuits, and waffles graced our table often with most unexpected beauty and scrumptious taste. I keep finding ways to substitute and “play” with this gooey “sour” friend. I’ve also come near to fully replacing canned refried beans with homemade. Sadly, we must adjust our palate to the less salty flavor of these delicious and more nutritious beans as the saltiness of the familiar processed beans captured our taste buds in a grip. With the addition of a few herbs and a bit more “spice,” along with some inspiring Mexican music and a colorful table setting, I’ve brought everyone onboard with eager smiles when I announce “Taco Salad” night!

I try to make every meal a celebration with candles and music and seats for all around the family table, but sometimes the somber details of life challenge me. This past week I pulled out the “Taco Salad” trick but got little enthusiasm. The beans weren’t to blame; our hearts lay heavy as we had buried one of our precious kitties that day. Mr. Darcy will no longer frolic in the grass and pounce on us playfully; he met his demise by the bumper of a vehicle on a nearby roadway. The kitty who had never strayed far from home and obediently came in each night recently developed a sense of adolescent rebellion and began to run away to play when we closed the doors at night. Each morning the naughty but neutered cat greeted us . . . until one morning. While leaving for an errand I spotted the loveable fluff by the road side . . . and wept aloud. We buried him in a special place he loved and now he joins the list of kitties we have loved but no longer cuddle.

Life journeys on despite loss and pain . . . new beginnings spring up with each step if we can see through the tears. Of late, our gardens dance full force with daffodils, camellias, hyacinth, and so many more, with the added delight of an indoor ball springing to life in the greenhouse. The tiny broccoli seeds have proven the first to accept invite to dance. Our early starts tremble toward the sun in a warm and cozy house of green. Truly a miracle abounds at every turn. Each day more progress excites conversation. The girls squeal with delight in between working hard to clear land and lay out the lasagna beds or rearrange the potager garden for maximum yield of foods from our lands planted by our hands. Likewise the egg gathering each day spurs us toward new projects and plans for a simply wonderful life from the land. I’ve dreamed dreams galore my whole life and each new project brings greater delight thus encouraging more dreaming. I’ve infused my children with the same gift, it seems. Lately Elizabeth has begun researching the keeping of a dairy cow. From our lands; from our hands . . . the blessed journey continues.

And so I’ve prattled on and on again. It’s a wonder anyone muddles through all my circuitous rambles . . . but you do. And each one of your comments and emails warms my heart so. I am trying desperately to “catch up” with all of you now that I have a computer again, but please be patient. My new found love of blogging without obligation has blossomed with an ease in my heart that I am not wont to lose. I shall simply wander and chat with simplicity and joy, for that’s the best part of blogging – the friendly chats and deepening bonds we share.

Now I must be off to tidy the kitchen, load some laundry into the favored machine that makes the job so simple, and of course I must find a moment or two for some reading. Now where did I put that new book on the midwife among the Amish . . . or should I read the latest from my growing collection of Elizabeth Goudge . . . hmmmmm?

Happy Monday!

: D

Rain's Debut

Outside I did dash

At the pitter-pat's call

Finding ladies a-splash

In the portend of Fall


I love the first rain of the season .

Don't you?

If We Were Neighbors . . .

Recently a friend and I chatted away on the phone and she dropped the sweetest compliment on me. She said if she could move anywhere she would choose Grass Valley and be my neighbor. It served a double compliment, as in days gone by we had been up-the-road true-life neighbors and seen some dark days swirl all around both of our families. Despite those hard times in our life, the friendship and interwoven habit of our days (she served as a nurse for my son before she advanced to friend) created a sweet bond that we relied upon in walking that rocky path.

Years have flown and our addresses lay states apart, but our hearts remain bonded and pining for that neighborly thing we enjoyed once upon a time. Blogging keeps us in touch (if you haven’t already guessed, my friend is Karen Deborah over at Fresh Fixins), but emails and phone chats remind me that blogs only share a portion of life, true though that glimpse be.

What else would you find out about me if you lived next door?

First off, you’d never “see” me if you didn’t come on by and enter our gated acres of gardens and farm projects and wooded wilderness, for we live off a highway, down a winding way, and off the landscape of the casual observer. But, once you stopped in you’d find me pretty much as you’d expect . . . which is to say, here at home: in the gardens, at the stove, poking around in the pantry, or snug in my favorite chair with a book. You can pretty much count on a welcoming face to open the door as we live, work, school, play, and even shop from home.

As you walk up the path to the front door you’ll see why we call Fall our

"Second Spring"

With roses re-emerging,

Crape Myrtle all abloom,
And Butterfly Bushes waving welcoming wands
To every passing butterfly and hummingbird.

The humming and buzzing and flutter of life may catch you unaware. Take care with those hummingbirds, they buzz by pretty closely this time of year (maybe flying a bit under the influence of too much bloomin’ nectar?) and may cause a start. Yes, I speak from experience . . . regularly.

My times in the garden expand with each day of cooler temps, but I forget to take a camera when I scoop up hat, gloves, and secateurs – thus I have no pictures of dallying swallowtails and ruby-throated, emerald-bodied birds of flight. If you happened by to visit me you’d surely see it with your own eyes alleviating my need of a camera.

A neighbor of mine would know that we only swim in the late hours of a day and evening, as we do not enjoy sunburns on our delicate skin. You would also know that we have enjoyed many a pool party with our steady stream of guests. You may complain of the noise, but I have never heard a cross word from any neighbor. Not even our crowing roosters have gained any notice by our nearby folk. (Whew!)

My husband’s love of power tools rivals my love of primitive tools, so you’d hear the hum of his riding mower, the whine of his blower, and the savage whacking of his weed-stick-brush munching contraption. He keeps us fire-safe and defensible in this parched land. When the work ceases, the rumble of the waverunners may signal some playtime afoot.

Sweet music of harp or piano gently wafts from the music room windows. I’ve had delivery folk pause and rest on our doorstep after dropping off a package, savoring just a bit more of the heavenly melody before they get back out on the highway. Other drivers sit with door wide-open and listen to the fountains at play in my gardens as they process paperwork.

Here and there water gushes in spirited games with birds, butterflies, squirrels, and even playful girls.

As my neighbor you’d certainly see every form of delivery service popping through my gate, as I live in a very small town with few shopping options, no mall, and a poorly-stocked library (at least for those of us seeking something other than the “latest” read), so the internet takes up the slack. Just today my shampoo and bath gels arrived from Hawaii (the local supplier ceased carrying the necessary product for one too sensitive for drugstore offerings).

What else would a casually observing neighbor find of interest around here? Hmmmmm . . .

* My washer and dryer go every day (raising a medically-fragile child deeply ingrains some habits)

* Our house has no satellite dish, cable hookup, or old-fashioned TV antenna. While our neighbors delight in their plethora of broadcast options, we select from our home library of DVDs and videos. Of late we nightly laugh our way through the 1970s BBC series, “Good Neighbors” focusing on a suburban couple who decides to live “off the land” with hilarious results. Roosters crowing and pigs wallowing make for some funny encounters with neighbors. (Life imitates art? I hope not!)

* I have a love affair with Austin English roses,
unlike other gardeners in my town, evidenced by my inability to buy them locally (though they grow lush and full in our warm dry climes). Even professional gardeners have inquired how I manage to make my roses smell so good.

It's all in the breeding.

* I have never met a vine or flowering shrub that I couldn’t make a place for. The stucco on my cottage hides behind verdant veils of beauty with half-timbers and stonework peeking out in a very Olde English fashion.

* I enjoy a good walk through the gardens and woods in nightgown and floral wellies. (T’is true . . . I confess.)

* Willows weep for me . . . here . . . there . . . everywhere – I can’t seem to get enough of their weepiness.

The list could go on and on, I’m certain, but will end with the late evening evidence to all neighbors that we have a naughty kitty, who often resists our every call to come in from playtime and get a good night’s sleep in SAFETY. We stroll the gardens by the light of fairy lanterns, hung hither and yon in this magical place as the evening becomes inky night, calling, “Here kitty, kitty! Mr. Bingley! Bingo Boy!” On good nights we follow this song of homecoming with lots of praise and pats and scratches in just the right places,
as we sigh with relief that the last kitty has returned to the fold of safety from the dangers of the night (bears, coyotes, foxes, etc.). On goes the evensong as our household rolls up another day and tucks in with sweet dreams of tomorrow.

Most of my neighbors live quietly and separately on their own piece of land in this gentle cleft in the Sierra Mountains of California. We tend to be noisy, unique, and altogether something different from the norm, which would explain why the Lord called us away from our seaside cottage nestled on a mere ¼ acre and planted us here on 7 acres of wooded seclusion up in the mountains. He knew . . . we needed to spread out, dance freely, sing loudly, and shout for joy without disturbing the neighbors.

I wonder if KD still wants to move in.

; D

Gentle Living. Simply Rich.

Photo Taken by Rachel

Taking another day of respite . . .
and maybe another . . .

* * * * *

Such bliss to don garden gloves and escape to the gardens for some peace and respite amongst the blooming roses and budding autumn clematis. What’s this?!?!? Roses gone rogue? Shoots shooting to and fro, barring safe passage down the walkways? When did these canes sprout in medusa-like proportions?

And so the gentle stroll took on the likes of a deadly task, until . . . a few snips and the tossing of wiggly thorn-encrusted tentacles onto the stone pathway and then a child happened by and joined the task, hauling away the dangerous detritus. Said child enlisted aid of another child wandering the path and the laboring one found herself with four more hands to hoist the prickly product. A passing husband added another set of aiding appendages. The task became a lark filled with laughter and bursts of cautionary warnings as the REALLY BIG STUFF came down swiftly.

Soon the task of pruning ended and the long-awaited assessment of sprinkler problems happened. A swift trip to B&C Hardware solved the nagging problem of toting watering cans to fill in where broken sprinkler heads failed to reach. As that project spun away in success, an empty flower bed caught my eye and a vision of herbs in a “patchwork” pattern, much in the spirit of Disneyland’s Storybook gardens, captured my fancy. The plans spilled out amongst the gathered gardening ones. Then a call for a retaining wall and a fresh load of soil floated about with nodding heads seeing another new garden plot in dreams for even greater produce next year. Tasks and toil melted into dreams and ideas and led to a time of counting our blessings.

August traditionally depletes this gardener with its heat and relentless dryness. This year the heat persists, but hovers considerably lower than in past summers. Rain forecasts predict October droplets . . . maybe. No one puts spade to ground for new garden beds this time of year, but it serves as a wonderful time to stroll the gardens, assess the progress made in the past year, notice failures, and dream for the coming season. Our single apple-on-the-branch continues to ripen and entice us to dream of the tomorrows in the garden when we will be toting heavy-laden baskets to the kitchen for baking and canning and eating with abandon. This solitary apple serves as an appetizer to hope.

Photo Taken by Rachel

In between the gardening tasks and gardening dreams I managed to write a bit, read a bit, cook a bit, and laugh a lot. Gary and I even managed a convertible ride through the mountains, straying so far to capture the beauty of view and verdant landscapes that the moon beat us home. We drove down the lane to our cottage with darkness falling and Gary decided to turn off the headlamps and test all the turn signals on this vehicle we use infrequently. I laughed at the blessing of a man who keeps things checked and running, and I laughed even harder at his truly unique methodology. “Normal” cannot be counted on around here. : D

My day of respite and rest included NO BLOOD PRESSURE READINGS. I have appreciated all the comments, emails, and encouraging ideas regarding my medical mishaps. I agree that my “normal” may be a bit higher than the statistics would indicate, just as my heart rate has always exceeded the “typical.” I feel great and my immune system seems to be standing at sentry because we had a close encounter with “the dreaded contagion” in the flu world and not a one of us succumbed. We have decided to prudently keep our community events to a minimum during this time of heightened fears of infection, but truthfully we celebrate these simple days of tethering to the hearth.

Speaking of hearth . . . the herbed chicken stew with sourdough (whole wheat) dumplings received rave reviews at dinner last night.


Even my dumpling-disliking daughter Elizabeth found the solid lumps to be tasty and enjoyable. I cannot rave enough about my cast iron dutch oven. Once the cool days set in and the woodstove hums merrily all the day, I will attempt to cook atop it. My last woodstove did not have the cooking plate so the top proved an unsatisfactory stove. But, enough of wintry talk, fall has yet to show up to the ball and I have many tasks at hand (most pleasurable) before I can dance in the turning leaves, let alone the falling snowflakes.

Tasks . . . a never-ending call to time-management, self-control, and simplification. I look around at the empty teapot. Today I indulged in orchid oolong – my favorite tea in the whole wide world. Such a sweet perfume and delicate flavor, but due to its extreme cost I employ pioneer common sense and sprinkle a few of the precious leaves into a tea infuser filled with silver needle tea. The silver needle serves a mild hostess to the fragrant orchid leaves and the whole pot bows to the orchid’s reign. Thus I sip a frugal cup of luxury and sit here praising God for another wide-open day of beauty found right under my fingertips. I shall not leave the home again today, except maybe to take a drive or dine at our favorite Mexican casa (it is date night, after all) – maybe luxury will rain upon me further and I will receive both dinner AND a drive. Ah the thought of such bounty makes me smile.

Today I entitled my journal entry: Gentle Living. Simply Rich.

Having known poverty and wealth, having known hunger and surfeit, having known bondage and freedom, having lost loved ones and gained new ones, I count my life RICH for what I find in the simply joy of a day’s worth of blessing blossoming with abandon all around me. There once was a time when I discounted what I had and set my sights on riches out of hand. The frustration of that endless journey caused exhaustion and collapse that forced me to sit. Having lost the drive I gathered what lay within arm’s reach and found it satisfied. Sadly, once refreshed and invigorated I stood up and caught sight of the far horizon and once again my ingrained human habits jerked at the reigns. Each day requires me to decide. Today I choose to live in this moment and it feels so good.

Wisdom grows with age, but my restless human spirit weaves tethers of shiny gold distractions across my path. Care must be taken with each step . . . but I so often run with abandon, tripping, falling, skinning my knees, and bruising my self-esteem. Fortunately I heal and set out again. I will never “get it” completely but I have found a good many folks that will reach out a hand or offer a kind word of encouragement when needed. You have all been a blessing to me. I thank you.

And now I must away from this box and don an apron for some breadmaking and then add a straw bonnet for garden tending and then . . .

Relaxed

What a wonderful weekend filled to the brim with TIME.

We took time to R-E-L-A-X and read and

wander through the gardens with butterfly nets

(or just a friendly finger),

Play in the kitchen with sourdough starter,

And so much more.

Who knew that a smattering of days without an appointment on the calendar could yield such bliss?

This Monday morning found me smiling and eager to play some more. Sure we have music lessons and marketing to be done, along with vacuuming and laundering and all the other cottage duties . . . but somehow I could not let the weekend feeling go without one more walk in the gardens before the week truly begins.

I found dew upon the fresh garden faces, which brought a smile to mine.

I sought vibrant color yet to be washed away by the heat of the day.


And I saw the promise of more to come.


The quickly-changing landscape always surprises me. Here sits a shy sweet bud of Anne Boleyn rising to bloom just a day or two ago.


Today she looks thus.


Tomorrow . . . hmmmm, as always, I pause a bit before “deadheading” this beauty when all her petals have fallen. I wonder, as many have through the ages, what really happened to bring about Miss Boleyn’s untimely demise. Evil on her part? Or another’s? I clip ever so swiftly and gently when the need arises. But for today, I shall merely enjoy the beauty of this delicate English rose.


Pondering has been my lot this past weekend.

Pondering why Blogger labeled me “Malicious” and blocked me from blogging for hours on end.

Pondering the similarities/differences found in our Sundays here at Wisteria Cottage and those of a turn-of-the-20th-century Sunday afternoon in France (in the country just outside Paris) as so beautifully filmed in Un Dimanche a la Compagne/A Sunday in the Country – a French film I adore and watched again this past weekend.

Ponderings continued as I finished up a tepid biography of Earl Hamner Jr (Walton’s creator – another fave of mine) and dove right into Where the Lilies Bloom. How did I ever miss this latter gem while growing up? Mary Call’s spunky nature holds her family together through wildcrafting (gathering of herbs and plants for medicine) in her Appalachian homelands. The trials of this 14-year-old who becomes head of household, tethered by poverty and a raft of untenable promises from an insistent parent, tugged at my heart and dredged memories of my own. Sadly the book ends abruptly and without satisfaction. I felt cheated when the storyline cut off sharply with a tidy summary as if the authors (Bill and Vera Cleaver) simply dusted off their hands and moved on to the next item on their writing list. I felt cheated . . . I wanted more time with this rag-tag family . . . I demand a sequel.

I retaliated by moving on down my own list of waiting-to-be-read. While glancing through the pile o’ books stacked to the stars, as my dear husband groans in pursuit of a spider on the ceiling whom he cannot access due to the rolling waves of books piled in plunderous plops next to the bedside, my eye catches the cover of Sue Hubbell’s A Country Year: Living the questions.


I snap it up and carry it downstairs for a re-read. I read this many years ago as an evaluative tool to decide whether bee-keeping held the key to our financial future. I loved the book, though we determined the path to financial freedom held no bee skeps for us. I think this week’s forecast of temps up in the 90s holds the very promise of lazy days of reading. Sue will be a fine companion once again.

Thus, I wandered in and out of the weekend duties as if in a fog of freedom – and it felt WONDERFUL!

This morning I carried my books and breakfast out into the coolness before the heat and breathed in the joy of another week virtually free of appointments.


I smile when I recall the blood pressure numbers recorded each evening – now in normal ranges . . . without medication. I put fork to food and enjoy a yummy omelet filled with sprouts and cheese, and YES there lies a chocolate treat upon the very same plate!


Elizabeth found a most scrumptious recipe for fudge pie in a coconut crust in the Whole Foods for the Whole Family cookbook by La Leche League. Delicious!!! (Whole foods can be fun and sassy when called upon to be a decadent dessert.)

SO in an attempt to carry over a bit more of the relaxed pace of the past weekend, I dove in and enjoyed every morsel of this chocolate goodness.


I intend to keep it up all week long.

Now forgive me if I cannot get to your blog to leave a comment or two, but Blogger has proven to be in a snit with me. (Have I landed on some “enemies list” due to expressing Free Speech? Quite possibly so!) Has any one else found the pathway to blogs blocked? Rather than fume about Big Brother and all the rest of the incendiary politics filling up the American Way of life, I choose to wander on out to visit the chickens. My how they have grown???


The cock-a-doodle-doos bring smiles to our faces each morning we rise in this country life. (No neighbors have grumbled – hooray . . . the joy of country acres between back porches.)

I sip the last of my tea, enjoy the morning, stroke my kitty friends, chat with my children, think about my husband hard at work on a new project, and embark upon another week of living in the country way.

And so I ramble on and away to who-knows-what along the way in the coming week . . .

Happy Monday!

: D