As I begin my seventh year here, I thought I might spend a few blogs writing the "history" (maybe even a little geographical information) of Iten's Acres. Pure audacity, I admit. It's kind of like the Spanish, French, and English explorers who came to the "New World" and claimed to have discovered it and the things in it (Grand Canyon, Great Lakes, Mississippi River, etc.), even though people had made their homes there for thousands of years before they arrived. And then they even dared to name those places! So, I apologize in advance for my imperialistic thinking. Please, forgive me.
Obviously, I know little of the history of my place until I arrived. Is County Road 25 an old wagon trail? Is it an old Indian trail? Five hundred years ago was this meadow I call home a prime hunting area for Native Americans in the area? One hundred years ago was this part of a huge farm or a small family farm filled with the labor and laughter, joys and sorrows of other human beings? I would imagine so. I have trees on my property that are undoubtedly at least a hundred years old or more. Did someone deliberately plant them where they are? Did they come up by "accident"? Were the huge old red maple and the ancient apple tree planted at the turn of the driveway to add beauty to the entrance or was the driveway built between them to preserve their loveliness? When was there first a house on these acres? Why did they pick this spot to build? All of these things I will never know. My place has a history that goes back thousands of years, and I know little of it--and never will know. It is audacious of me, perhaps, to even call it "my place."
I do know a little of what came before me. I suppose I could learn more from my neighbors Dennis and Aaron if I asked. Aaron says he has lived in Morrow County his whole life, but I do not know how long he has lived on the land next to mine. Dennis has been here for at least fifteen years and probably longer. I'm sure they could add to my knowledge. I do know the name of the man I purchased the property from, and I have a vague recollection of his appearance. Perhaps, I could pick him out of a line-up. Perhaps. His memory leaves the proverbial "bad taste" in my mouth. He took things he promised to leave, left things he promised to take, and withheld information that would have undoubtedly caused me to not buy here. And, to be honest, that would have been a tragedy. I have come to love this place, "flaws" and all. It is perfect for my soul and spirit and has been ideal as a place to "home" my mom in her final years. God's grace to the rescue, indeed. By His grace I will spend the rest of my life enjoying this place as "my place on earth." Only one other place that I've lived approaches its meaning in my life. That other place was the little house in Traveler's Rest, South Carolina, where my little boys and I found refuge after our love had been betrayed. (By God's grace, again, I hope that our love for her was not diminished by her choice.) My sister Janice and her husband Dewey made that home possible for us by their sacrificial love. And, yes, it may be that the Lord has other plans for me and will move me again from this place to another. I will be homesick, I'm sure, but His grace is always more than sufficient wherever He leads us. And I shouldn't be so hard on the previous owner. He is responsible for the pond and the bog it created. Both places that I love. And I know he planted the crab apples, red bud, and pines around the pond. He left footprints of beauty here on the acres. Thanks Mike wherever you are.
Anyway, I am going to be audacious in the coming weeks. Talk about (brag about) the things that I have done here that I believe have added to the beauty of Iten's Acres. And I may even try to be "prophetic" and talk about the things I hope to do here in the future, Lord willing. I have given names to the "places" here, names that are no more creative than Grand Canyon or Great Lakes, but names nonetheless. If you're going to be audacious, don't hold back, eh? Perhaps, to my faithful few friends who read this blog, the discussion will seem irrelevant, mundane, maybe even boring. I don't apologize. These "new things" have added to my love for these acres God has given me. And whoever lives here in the future will enjoy them I hope, even if they don't know the "history" of how they got here and what chubby old bald guy planted them here--deliberately. "Walking Iten's Acres" doesn't sound like much of a title for a history book, I know. But it is part of my history. And I hope you can endure my audacity as I reflect on it.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Misty
Call me "wet behind the ears" but I love walking the acres on a misty rainy day like today. For some reason I find the gentle rain therapeutic. To just walk slowly--well, even more slowly than usual--with the feel of the mist on my face is marvelous. I thought at one time that maybe it was just my naturally melancholic nature meshing with the weather and the grayness, but I don't feel sad as I walk, just at peace. Perhaps some day some psychologist can explain it to me, but for now I'll just walk and enjoy.
I love the rain drops on the flowers and the grass and the leaves. (It's a good time for pictures.) I love the coolness of the air. The birds, too, seem to enjoy the weather. They are active and alive with song. The goldfinch try to lead me away from their nesting place arching their way across the meadow. The field sparrows flit from bramble to bramble but never fly completely away as usual. The song sparrows warble competing arias. The cat bird mews his "song" sitting on top of the highest branch of a small tree. Too bad they haven't learned to purr. The robins, ears cocked to the ground for the sound of worms and dinner, hop seemingly unafraid of the weird human strolling in the rain. What is there about rain that puts us at ease? I even took a chair and just sat for awhile watching the rain and "soaking" it in. Yes, even into my spirit. I could walk in a misty rain all day and be entirely content. My "choir" serenading me (you can have your iPods), my flowers sparkling with rain drops, my soul at ease. Oh, I hope some psychologist isn't actually expecting me to ask him or her why I like such walks in such weather. Not going to happen. If they want, they can come and walk with me in the rain. But silence is required--the sound waves belong to the soft rain and my feathered neighbors.
I love the rain drops on the flowers and the grass and the leaves. (It's a good time for pictures.) I love the coolness of the air. The birds, too, seem to enjoy the weather. They are active and alive with song. The goldfinch try to lead me away from their nesting place arching their way across the meadow. The field sparrows flit from bramble to bramble but never fly completely away as usual. The song sparrows warble competing arias. The cat bird mews his "song" sitting on top of the highest branch of a small tree. Too bad they haven't learned to purr. The robins, ears cocked to the ground for the sound of worms and dinner, hop seemingly unafraid of the weird human strolling in the rain. What is there about rain that puts us at ease? I even took a chair and just sat for awhile watching the rain and "soaking" it in. Yes, even into my spirit. I could walk in a misty rain all day and be entirely content. My "choir" serenading me (you can have your iPods), my flowers sparkling with rain drops, my soul at ease. Oh, I hope some psychologist isn't actually expecting me to ask him or her why I like such walks in such weather. Not going to happen. If they want, they can come and walk with me in the rain. But silence is required--the sound waves belong to the soft rain and my feathered neighbors.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Bed Time
From about the first week of July until at least the first or second week of August, the beauty of Iten's Acres rest almost solely on the flower beds. Not that they don't fulfill their "mission"--more on that in a minute--but because of two other factors, the rest of the property is taking a break. First, the Rose of Sharon and the hibiscus--with a couple of exceptions--do not start really blooming until at least the end of the first week of August. Now, they will be magnificent when the time comes, but the time hasn't come yet. Only one hibiscus--a deep, deep, deep red one blooms in July and only one Rose of Sharon--a bluish purple one--blooms this early as well. When the time comes, there will be almost thirty hibiscus abloom in every shade from pure white to the deep, deep, deep red and every color in between, and there will be another dozen or so Rose of Sharon decorating the landscape--pinks, reds, whites, and the early bird bluish one. When they are all blooming, it's amazing. But, again, it's not "when" yet.
A second reason why the pressure is on the beds is because the wild area is "resting" as well. Oh, there are some black-eyed Susans, some yellow, pink, and red coneflowers, a batch of tall white clover (over my head tall), a few orange daylilies, and some Queen Anne's Lace back there, but this time of year it's primarily an ocean of green--not that I don't love the green. Yet, by the third week of August, the wild area will be an ocean of color. Where will the color come from? Purple, pink, red, and white asters by the hundreds, tall teasels with their lilac waist bands decorated in butterflies, and hundreds upon hundreds of golden rod will transform the wild area. Throw in the black-eyed Susans, Queen Anne's Lace, and coneflowers that are still hanging around, and you wouldn't believe the color. (Though I'll try to prove it to you with some fb pictures.) Oh, and God throws in some deep purple iron weed, a bouquet of blue lobelia, a patch of pink lady's-thumb, and some field thistle with their little red caps just for good measure. In the wild area, He saves the best for last. And He knows how to put on a grand finale, trust me! You should see it on a windy day! (If He does that in that natural world, just think of what's coming later for His children--the best for last.)
But back to the now, and the pressure that's on the flower beds--all twenty plus of them. Just about every bed has a touch of morning glories and some daylilies of some color, And they all have more than that; some much, much more. Can I give you a few examples? I don't want to bore you too much by going through each bed so I'll just highlight a few if you can bear with me a little while longer:
Bed One--the very first bed you see as you enter Iten's Acres is an ocean of morning glories. An eight by eight foot bed of purple, pink, and bi-colored beauties from the first ray of sun until the heat of the day forces them to live up to their name. There are forty to fifty blooms every morning. But that's not all. Rising out of the "ocean"--and they keep their color all day long--are two patches of daylilies--a double orange and a mauve with cream heart, a bouquet of purple bee balm (a plant that lives up to its name; it's literally abuzz all day long), several tall snapdragons, a wine colored hollyhock, a couple gladiolas, and a number of tall cosmos. It's gorgeous.
Bed Eight--this is a blue and purple bed. Right now the center is taken up with a huge light blue spiderwort. Throw in some balloon flowers, a couple of good size Stoke's asters, a bell flower, the blue Rose of Sharon, a regular blue aster, and a pincushion flower (scabiosa), and you have a bed for lovers of blue.
Bed Eleven--this is the bed Mom can see from her window seat. On each end it has two large clumps of sunflowers. The middle has a huge pink coneflower and a pinkish day lily to go along with a variety of cosmos and larkspur. Throughout the bed are a plethora of balloon flowers--blue mostly. And I do mean plethora--forty of fifty blooms. There's also a red gladiola. Mom loves "her bed." She tells everyone who calls about the balloon flowers and sunflowers--though she can never remember the name of the balloon flowers, I don't mind refreshing her memory.
Bed Fourteen: This is the lily bed right next to my house. Tons of lily blooms every day--oranges, yellows, reds, pinks, peaches, creams. Fifty blooms per day at least. There are also a few larkspur, morning glories, and gladiolas joining the celebration.
One more bed if you haven't fallen asleep yet: In the bed along the property line there is a wonderful mixture of phlox and tiger lilies. They are all taller than I am, and there are tons of them. The great thing about phlox is that it spreads so wonderfully, but the new plants are rarely the same color as the original. I started out with two colors and now I have, at least, six or seven varieties. And coming up all around them are these huge orange tiger lilies by the dozen. Lovely. And the phlox will last until frost. They are adored by the hummingbirds and bumble bees. In fact, I think at times, the bees get "drunk" in the midst of them and go into a kind of stupor.
Well, I hope I haven't bored you to death. If only I could accompany the description with a video! And I've only told you about a couple of the beds! I am looking forward to the hibiscus/Rose of Sharon show and the grand finale in the wild area. But I can wait.
A second reason why the pressure is on the beds is because the wild area is "resting" as well. Oh, there are some black-eyed Susans, some yellow, pink, and red coneflowers, a batch of tall white clover (over my head tall), a few orange daylilies, and some Queen Anne's Lace back there, but this time of year it's primarily an ocean of green--not that I don't love the green. Yet, by the third week of August, the wild area will be an ocean of color. Where will the color come from? Purple, pink, red, and white asters by the hundreds, tall teasels with their lilac waist bands decorated in butterflies, and hundreds upon hundreds of golden rod will transform the wild area. Throw in the black-eyed Susans, Queen Anne's Lace, and coneflowers that are still hanging around, and you wouldn't believe the color. (Though I'll try to prove it to you with some fb pictures.) Oh, and God throws in some deep purple iron weed, a bouquet of blue lobelia, a patch of pink lady's-thumb, and some field thistle with their little red caps just for good measure. In the wild area, He saves the best for last. And He knows how to put on a grand finale, trust me! You should see it on a windy day! (If He does that in that natural world, just think of what's coming later for His children--the best for last.)
But back to the now, and the pressure that's on the flower beds--all twenty plus of them. Just about every bed has a touch of morning glories and some daylilies of some color, And they all have more than that; some much, much more. Can I give you a few examples? I don't want to bore you too much by going through each bed so I'll just highlight a few if you can bear with me a little while longer:
Bed One--the very first bed you see as you enter Iten's Acres is an ocean of morning glories. An eight by eight foot bed of purple, pink, and bi-colored beauties from the first ray of sun until the heat of the day forces them to live up to their name. There are forty to fifty blooms every morning. But that's not all. Rising out of the "ocean"--and they keep their color all day long--are two patches of daylilies--a double orange and a mauve with cream heart, a bouquet of purple bee balm (a plant that lives up to its name; it's literally abuzz all day long), several tall snapdragons, a wine colored hollyhock, a couple gladiolas, and a number of tall cosmos. It's gorgeous.
Bed Eight--this is a blue and purple bed. Right now the center is taken up with a huge light blue spiderwort. Throw in some balloon flowers, a couple of good size Stoke's asters, a bell flower, the blue Rose of Sharon, a regular blue aster, and a pincushion flower (scabiosa), and you have a bed for lovers of blue.
Bed Eleven--this is the bed Mom can see from her window seat. On each end it has two large clumps of sunflowers. The middle has a huge pink coneflower and a pinkish day lily to go along with a variety of cosmos and larkspur. Throughout the bed are a plethora of balloon flowers--blue mostly. And I do mean plethora--forty of fifty blooms. There's also a red gladiola. Mom loves "her bed." She tells everyone who calls about the balloon flowers and sunflowers--though she can never remember the name of the balloon flowers, I don't mind refreshing her memory.
Bed Fourteen: This is the lily bed right next to my house. Tons of lily blooms every day--oranges, yellows, reds, pinks, peaches, creams. Fifty blooms per day at least. There are also a few larkspur, morning glories, and gladiolas joining the celebration.
One more bed if you haven't fallen asleep yet: In the bed along the property line there is a wonderful mixture of phlox and tiger lilies. They are all taller than I am, and there are tons of them. The great thing about phlox is that it spreads so wonderfully, but the new plants are rarely the same color as the original. I started out with two colors and now I have, at least, six or seven varieties. And coming up all around them are these huge orange tiger lilies by the dozen. Lovely. And the phlox will last until frost. They are adored by the hummingbirds and bumble bees. In fact, I think at times, the bees get "drunk" in the midst of them and go into a kind of stupor.
Well, I hope I haven't bored you to death. If only I could accompany the description with a video! And I've only told you about a couple of the beds! I am looking forward to the hibiscus/Rose of Sharon show and the grand finale in the wild area. But I can wait.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
The Changing of the Guard (Dog)
I apologize to my canine walking companions for suggesting that they are guard dogs. I was just exercising my literary license and trying to come up with a clever title. Again, my apologizes to Bonnie, Gus, and Stella. None of them are the least bit interested in guarding anything. Well, Bonnie can get a little defensive if another dog approaches the enclosure with Dennis' alpacas and goats, but other than that she's gentle as can be. Oh, she barks if someone comes down her driveway (not mine, of course, but hers), but she's really just letting you know she's there and looking forward to the visit. Gus loves any and all human beings. A thief would be just as welcomed at his house as anyone else as long as he got petted. Stella, who was a little defensive early on, has decided that older little brother has the right approach. Greeting, wagging the tail, and getting petted is a grand idea. So, guard dogs they are not. Anyway, they roam around so much, they probably wouldn't be home to guard anything anyway. Many are the times that I have come home late at night to be greeted by Bonnie and Gus who have been out wandering and thought they would stop by for a second to welcome my return. My house could have been emptied out, but at least they were glad to see me. (Though, I must confess, the first time they came running out of the darkness to say "welcome home," I was not expecting it and may have lost a few years off my life.)
But how has the "guard" changed, you ask? The first year or two that I lived here only Bonnie was around, and I really didn't see her much unless I was talking to Dennis. She rarely walked with me. Once Gus arrived and the two of them decided to form a "pack" of two, they began to accompany me on my walks on Iten's Acres. Usually three or four times a week, they would join me at the mailbox and away we would go. On occasion, they would come to meet me at the mailbox, get their affection, and go their own way, but usually, they would "join" me on my treks. They would stay fairly close to me as a wandered out front, but once I got to the back of the property, they usually left me far behind and wandered at their own speed--much faster than mine--through the meadow, wild area, and beyond. Gus would usually reappear for the walk back once I made it to the end of the property, but Bonnie was most often long gone (though somehow she usually was waiting for us when we got back up to my house. Sneaky little thing.) I would go inside; they would head back to Gus' place where I had picked them up originally. (Or where they had picked me up might be more accurate.)
Stella has changed all that. She and Bonnie just tolerate each other. Though I have seen them together more and more lately and Dennis even says that they've been together at his place, so maybe they are becoming better friends. I hope so! Gus, since he can't keep up with Stella the wonder dog's energy level spends a lot more time at home. He will let me pet him if I'm in the area, but he doesn't do much, if any, walking with me anymore. It's a rare occasion. I miss my two furry walking companions although they were not the least bit interested in my flowers, they were fun to have around.
Fortunately, Stella has taken their place. Whenever I am out, she comes dashing to see me and is excited about walking--well, for her, running--over the acres. She even comes to meet me when she sees my car turning into the driveway from a trip to the grocery store. Long before I get down the driveway and parked, she is sitting there waiting fully assuming that the reason I'm home is to spend time with her. When I'm inside, and she's out, she comes and paces back and forth in front of the double doors or looks longingly inside wondering what's keeping me. And she knows the route. First, we walk out front to the road (mailbox usually), then we head back, and then--joy of all joys--we head through the trees and out to the meadow and wild area. Out front, she does hit the pond once or twice--I guess labs are addicted to water--and out back, she just thrills in the run. Oh, she always stops to make sure I'm coming, but, trust me, it's a brief stop. She lives to run. You can see the joy. And unlike Bonnie and Gus who prefer the paths I've cut, she disdains them. It's the high grass and brambles for her, thank you. She runs and leaps like Tigger through the stuff, head held high or head down searching for something to chase. She always waits at the back and returns with me, but if I stay awhile, she is more than content to spend her time exploring--at breakneck speeds.
So my walking companions have changed--from Bonnie and Gus a few days every week to Stella two or three times a day. I wish I could have them all with me to be perfectly honest. But for now, the guard has changed. Stella and the chubby old bald guy wander the acres as the latest "pack." Of course, only one of us is fascinated by the flowers. But both of us are experiencing the joy.
But how has the "guard" changed, you ask? The first year or two that I lived here only Bonnie was around, and I really didn't see her much unless I was talking to Dennis. She rarely walked with me. Once Gus arrived and the two of them decided to form a "pack" of two, they began to accompany me on my walks on Iten's Acres. Usually three or four times a week, they would join me at the mailbox and away we would go. On occasion, they would come to meet me at the mailbox, get their affection, and go their own way, but usually, they would "join" me on my treks. They would stay fairly close to me as a wandered out front, but once I got to the back of the property, they usually left me far behind and wandered at their own speed--much faster than mine--through the meadow, wild area, and beyond. Gus would usually reappear for the walk back once I made it to the end of the property, but Bonnie was most often long gone (though somehow she usually was waiting for us when we got back up to my house. Sneaky little thing.) I would go inside; they would head back to Gus' place where I had picked them up originally. (Or where they had picked me up might be more accurate.)
Stella has changed all that. She and Bonnie just tolerate each other. Though I have seen them together more and more lately and Dennis even says that they've been together at his place, so maybe they are becoming better friends. I hope so! Gus, since he can't keep up with Stella the wonder dog's energy level spends a lot more time at home. He will let me pet him if I'm in the area, but he doesn't do much, if any, walking with me anymore. It's a rare occasion. I miss my two furry walking companions although they were not the least bit interested in my flowers, they were fun to have around.
Fortunately, Stella has taken their place. Whenever I am out, she comes dashing to see me and is excited about walking--well, for her, running--over the acres. She even comes to meet me when she sees my car turning into the driveway from a trip to the grocery store. Long before I get down the driveway and parked, she is sitting there waiting fully assuming that the reason I'm home is to spend time with her. When I'm inside, and she's out, she comes and paces back and forth in front of the double doors or looks longingly inside wondering what's keeping me. And she knows the route. First, we walk out front to the road (mailbox usually), then we head back, and then--joy of all joys--we head through the trees and out to the meadow and wild area. Out front, she does hit the pond once or twice--I guess labs are addicted to water--and out back, she just thrills in the run. Oh, she always stops to make sure I'm coming, but, trust me, it's a brief stop. She lives to run. You can see the joy. And unlike Bonnie and Gus who prefer the paths I've cut, she disdains them. It's the high grass and brambles for her, thank you. She runs and leaps like Tigger through the stuff, head held high or head down searching for something to chase. She always waits at the back and returns with me, but if I stay awhile, she is more than content to spend her time exploring--at breakneck speeds.
So my walking companions have changed--from Bonnie and Gus a few days every week to Stella two or three times a day. I wish I could have them all with me to be perfectly honest. But for now, the guard has changed. Stella and the chubby old bald guy wander the acres as the latest "pack." Of course, only one of us is fascinated by the flowers. But both of us are experiencing the joy.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
A Day in the Life of . . .
June 25th, 2011
Iten's Acres
"This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it."
The day begins when the sun unapologetically shines its light in my eyes as if to say, "Rise and shine old man, another day has come."
Mom is sleeping in today, though, she actually has been doing this more and more lately. Perhaps, it's not "sleeping late" anymore, but the new normalcy. Anyway, while she rests, I begin my day. First, I slip on my old hiking boots--a gift from my sister Janice and her husband Dewey--and then I get on the computer--a gift from my sister Chloe and her husband Larry. It's amazing that if you just stop and reflect for a moment how easy it is to be reminded that you are loved. On the computer I check my gmail email, check the page for the St. Louis Cardinals--yes, they lost AGAIN (sigh), and then go to facebook. A couple folks get a "happy birthday," a few things to pray about, a chance to offer some encouragement, an opportunity to victimize some poor unsuspecting soul with an Iten pun. Since it's the 25th ( a multiple of five for all you mathematically challenged readers), I'll put a devotional on my page, bathed in a prayer that at least one person will be encouraged, edified, or warned by what I write today.
"Al, I'm getting up." The call goes out, and I take off my writer's hat and put on my son/caregiver one. I help Mom up, get her into the big chair by the double glass doors, find her glasses, and hand her her Bible so she can read while I put on my chef hat and fix breakfast. Mom always begins her day with Him. Breakfast is served: poached egg, toast, jelly, a little sausage or on some days a little country sausage--fried baloney. And, of course, 365 days a year--hot green tea with milk and honey. No matter the temperature, hot tea is a must. After breakfast, the table is cleared, dishes done, Mom is helped back to her "viewing area,"--I have a container garden right outside her "windows": pansies, marigolds, dianthus, lantana, petunias, dahlia, blue cress, daisies. There's also a flotilla of hummingbirds lining up for the feeder attached to the window, and she can see a great deal of the front of my property as well, including one large flower bed right by the house. She will spend the morning reading, enjoying the scenery, interacting with the Hospice nurse when she drops by, listening to the radio or hymns on CD. Mom never has a bad day.
Once she's settled. I take my morning walk of Iten's Acres. I have to get armed first: find the camera, tie my boots, spray a little OFF in case the mosquitoes are waiting to ambush me, and put on my old baseball cap. I am now officially an amateur horticulturist. From last evening's walk I already have flowers in my mind that I expect to bloom today so I can photograph them for Tuesday's June Blooms on fb. The first decision I need to make is do I go to the left or to the right. There's no hurry to decide. I can stand for a moment on the back patio and admire the dozen or so lilies right in front of me, the astilbe in the shade behind the house, the hosta that are about to bloom, and the container garden of impatiens, coleus, allysum, and begonia also on the patio. Today, I hang a left, camera ready.
Click: a hydrangea is blooming for the first time in three years. I think a really cold winter three years ago convinced it that it was in the wrong time zone. But this year a bloom--pink. Hmmm. I remember it as being blue. Ahh, well, Beautiful is beautiful.
Click: a surprise! the first morning glory is blooming in the bed by the house. I hope Mom can see it! An old-fashioned purple one.
Click: a stunning red oriental lily in one of the beds by the pond. I was expecting this one.
Click. Click. Click: Cosmos blooming everywhere--pink, white, wine, red, even yellow. Don't you just love annuals that propagate themselves? The "children" always imitate the beauty of their "parents."
Click: a dark pink miniature hollyhock.
An interruption: Here comes Gus. His family has gone on vacation and left the poor guy to fend for himself. Oh, they left him with plenty of food, and if he wants a change in his menu, he can always go over and eat Bonnie's. She doesn't care. She's on a wild diet. And there's plenty of water in my pond for when he needs a drink. What he misses, though, is company. I pass the test. Lots of petting. Lots and lots of petting. He spends awhile with me as I continuing my wandering. He keeps running ahead of me, stopping, putting on his cute and lovable face, and expecting to be petted some more. I, of course, submit--without complaint. Suddenly, he turns tail and heads for home. I guess, he's had enough affection for now and wants to be sure he's home when the family returns. "Later, Gus." Ahhh, I should have taken his picture for Tuesday's show--a furry dogwood.
Click: a new lily in the lily bed. This bed is not yet up to spectacular. There are about fifty lily blooms in here every day. In a couple of weeks, there will be 100 to 150 blooms every day of every color you can imagine. Spectacular!! Throw in some larkspur (can you see the rabbit?), sunflowers, gladiolas, and it's quite a show. I dead head yesterday's day lilies; it's the new blooms' day, and continue the walk. I hope I'm not walking too quickly for you. I try to maintain a steady pace of five and half acres per hour.
There are several "old" Asian lilies that are begging to have their picture taken again, but I resist, and walk through the trees and out to the back meadow--Ohio's Big Sky Country. (Click: sorry, couldn't help taking another picture of those huge yellow Asian lilies in the bed right as you come out of the woods. Love yellow.) Another decision: do I check out the rock garden first or last? Last. I stroll through the wild area. It takes quite awhile. Nothing new here: hundreds of daisies hanging on, a few yellow poppy, some sunflowers and black-eyed Susans, hundreds and hundreds of wild meadow roses--every shade of pink known to man, obedient plants, spiderwort, primrose. Tons of color everywhere. Did I ever tell you how much I love the wild area? I love the wild area. Click. Click. Couldn't help it. Click. Sorry. Again.
Back up the hill, slowly, by the rock garden, heading home . . . A voice! My neighbor Dennis has been cutting his lawn, and he stops to have a chat. I had waved to him when I first arrived out here; I need to mow my grass later; I'll wait 'til he's done so I don't have to compete for the barn swallows. We exchange some neighborly banter. Bonnie joins us for a few moments but soon wanders off. Human talk bores her, I guess. Dennis is a good man and a good neighbor--a blessing from the Lord. After a pleasant conversation we both continue our day.
Back through the trees, into the house, check on Mom. I try to bring her a new lily or other flower every day for her vase on her table. She loves it. We talk for awhile and then, I fix her some lunch. She doesn't eat much for lunch anymore. The Hospice people don't seem too concerned. Expected I guess as age continues its march toward Home. As her soul grows younger, her body continues to fail. Soon she'll have a new one. Lunch today is hot tea--duh--and a piece of cherry pie.
This afternoon I need to cut the back meadow and the paths in the wild area. I get Mom settled in for the afternoon and head out to mow--officially called "feeding the swallows." I gas the machine and begin. The swallows join me immediately. What beautiful creatures. Blue-velvet, winged acrobats. Tireless participants in the feast provided by the bugs fleeing my lawn mower. It takes me over two hours; they never desert me. "Mowing the hillside pasture--where
the flowers of Queen Anne's Lace
float above the grass, the milkweeds
flare, and the bee balm, cut, spices
the air, the butterflies light and fly
from bloom to bloom, the hot
sun dazes the skies . . ."
Finished. Lovely afternoon. I finish and the swallows head home. It's not far. Dennis' barns. I can hear them singing, "So long, and thanks for all the. . ," bugs. Yes, doubters. Mowing can be a joy. Good for the soul.
Put the mower away. I have to take a walk out back and enjoy the work accomplished. Excuse my pride. "The mowers work too is beautiful, granting rest and health to the mind. He walks the long traverses of the healed and healing slant. He sweats and gives thanks."
Evening. Suppertime for Mom. Poached egg, toast, sausage, hot tea. Sound familiar? She loves it. After dinner we watch Antique Roadshow and Lawrence Welk together, and then I put her to bed. Read her a Psalm, tuck her in, turn on the heating pad, kiss her goodnight, turn on the radio. Nothing spectacular is required. Just simple love. Memories are made of them, are they not?
I check the computer. Add a few comments from the day on facebook. It's kind of like an abbreviated journal at times, isn't it? Turn on the Cardinal's game, but they fall behind early AGAIN. Fair-weather fan that I'm becoming, I turn it off and read. A little poetry, another chapter in a book on apologetics I'm rather enjoying--"I Don't Have Enough Faith to be an Atheist." A late phone call to a friend, the exchange of ideas and encouragements, goodnights.
The day ends with a miracle. No, really. I go upstairs to brush my teeth and after I turn off the lights, I happen to glance outside, and pause, mesmerized. Hundreds upon hundreds of lightning bugs. Myriads. From the ground to the top of the trees, from every direction, flickering lights. God's firework display, a few days early, without the booms--unless you want to count the bull frogs croaking in the pond. I stand for minutes. Incredible sight. Surprised by serenity when I least expected it, in a place I never thought it would ambush me. Been there?
Time for bed. Prayers first. When you pause as you pray, it's amazing all the people and needs God brings to your mind. I don't know, often, what the people need, but He knows. And to bring their names up in His presence adds perfume to the incense of prayers around the eternal throne--a sweet smelling aroma, a sacrifice of confidence in His unfailing love and wisdom. Sleep. "Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I know the Lord my soul will take."
One day in the life of . . . Tomorrow will be another day in the life of . . . Either a twenty-four hour one or the Heavenly one of the eternal present tense.
"This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it."
Iten's Acres
"This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it."
The day begins when the sun unapologetically shines its light in my eyes as if to say, "Rise and shine old man, another day has come."
Mom is sleeping in today, though, she actually has been doing this more and more lately. Perhaps, it's not "sleeping late" anymore, but the new normalcy. Anyway, while she rests, I begin my day. First, I slip on my old hiking boots--a gift from my sister Janice and her husband Dewey--and then I get on the computer--a gift from my sister Chloe and her husband Larry. It's amazing that if you just stop and reflect for a moment how easy it is to be reminded that you are loved. On the computer I check my gmail email, check the page for the St. Louis Cardinals--yes, they lost AGAIN (sigh), and then go to facebook. A couple folks get a "happy birthday," a few things to pray about, a chance to offer some encouragement, an opportunity to victimize some poor unsuspecting soul with an Iten pun. Since it's the 25th ( a multiple of five for all you mathematically challenged readers), I'll put a devotional on my page, bathed in a prayer that at least one person will be encouraged, edified, or warned by what I write today.
"Al, I'm getting up." The call goes out, and I take off my writer's hat and put on my son/caregiver one. I help Mom up, get her into the big chair by the double glass doors, find her glasses, and hand her her Bible so she can read while I put on my chef hat and fix breakfast. Mom always begins her day with Him. Breakfast is served: poached egg, toast, jelly, a little sausage or on some days a little country sausage--fried baloney. And, of course, 365 days a year--hot green tea with milk and honey. No matter the temperature, hot tea is a must. After breakfast, the table is cleared, dishes done, Mom is helped back to her "viewing area,"--I have a container garden right outside her "windows": pansies, marigolds, dianthus, lantana, petunias, dahlia, blue cress, daisies. There's also a flotilla of hummingbirds lining up for the feeder attached to the window, and she can see a great deal of the front of my property as well, including one large flower bed right by the house. She will spend the morning reading, enjoying the scenery, interacting with the Hospice nurse when she drops by, listening to the radio or hymns on CD. Mom never has a bad day.
Once she's settled. I take my morning walk of Iten's Acres. I have to get armed first: find the camera, tie my boots, spray a little OFF in case the mosquitoes are waiting to ambush me, and put on my old baseball cap. I am now officially an amateur horticulturist. From last evening's walk I already have flowers in my mind that I expect to bloom today so I can photograph them for Tuesday's June Blooms on fb. The first decision I need to make is do I go to the left or to the right. There's no hurry to decide. I can stand for a moment on the back patio and admire the dozen or so lilies right in front of me, the astilbe in the shade behind the house, the hosta that are about to bloom, and the container garden of impatiens, coleus, allysum, and begonia also on the patio. Today, I hang a left, camera ready.
Click: a hydrangea is blooming for the first time in three years. I think a really cold winter three years ago convinced it that it was in the wrong time zone. But this year a bloom--pink. Hmmm. I remember it as being blue. Ahh, well, Beautiful is beautiful.
Click: a surprise! the first morning glory is blooming in the bed by the house. I hope Mom can see it! An old-fashioned purple one.
Click: a stunning red oriental lily in one of the beds by the pond. I was expecting this one.
Click. Click. Click: Cosmos blooming everywhere--pink, white, wine, red, even yellow. Don't you just love annuals that propagate themselves? The "children" always imitate the beauty of their "parents."
Click: a dark pink miniature hollyhock.
An interruption: Here comes Gus. His family has gone on vacation and left the poor guy to fend for himself. Oh, they left him with plenty of food, and if he wants a change in his menu, he can always go over and eat Bonnie's. She doesn't care. She's on a wild diet. And there's plenty of water in my pond for when he needs a drink. What he misses, though, is company. I pass the test. Lots of petting. Lots and lots of petting. He spends awhile with me as I continuing my wandering. He keeps running ahead of me, stopping, putting on his cute and lovable face, and expecting to be petted some more. I, of course, submit--without complaint. Suddenly, he turns tail and heads for home. I guess, he's had enough affection for now and wants to be sure he's home when the family returns. "Later, Gus." Ahhh, I should have taken his picture for Tuesday's show--a furry dogwood.
Click: a new lily in the lily bed. This bed is not yet up to spectacular. There are about fifty lily blooms in here every day. In a couple of weeks, there will be 100 to 150 blooms every day of every color you can imagine. Spectacular!! Throw in some larkspur (can you see the rabbit?), sunflowers, gladiolas, and it's quite a show. I dead head yesterday's day lilies; it's the new blooms' day, and continue the walk. I hope I'm not walking too quickly for you. I try to maintain a steady pace of five and half acres per hour.
There are several "old" Asian lilies that are begging to have their picture taken again, but I resist, and walk through the trees and out to the back meadow--Ohio's Big Sky Country. (Click: sorry, couldn't help taking another picture of those huge yellow Asian lilies in the bed right as you come out of the woods. Love yellow.) Another decision: do I check out the rock garden first or last? Last. I stroll through the wild area. It takes quite awhile. Nothing new here: hundreds of daisies hanging on, a few yellow poppy, some sunflowers and black-eyed Susans, hundreds and hundreds of wild meadow roses--every shade of pink known to man, obedient plants, spiderwort, primrose. Tons of color everywhere. Did I ever tell you how much I love the wild area? I love the wild area. Click. Click. Couldn't help it. Click. Sorry. Again.
Back up the hill, slowly, by the rock garden, heading home . . . A voice! My neighbor Dennis has been cutting his lawn, and he stops to have a chat. I had waved to him when I first arrived out here; I need to mow my grass later; I'll wait 'til he's done so I don't have to compete for the barn swallows. We exchange some neighborly banter. Bonnie joins us for a few moments but soon wanders off. Human talk bores her, I guess. Dennis is a good man and a good neighbor--a blessing from the Lord. After a pleasant conversation we both continue our day.
Back through the trees, into the house, check on Mom. I try to bring her a new lily or other flower every day for her vase on her table. She loves it. We talk for awhile and then, I fix her some lunch. She doesn't eat much for lunch anymore. The Hospice people don't seem too concerned. Expected I guess as age continues its march toward Home. As her soul grows younger, her body continues to fail. Soon she'll have a new one. Lunch today is hot tea--duh--and a piece of cherry pie.
This afternoon I need to cut the back meadow and the paths in the wild area. I get Mom settled in for the afternoon and head out to mow--officially called "feeding the swallows." I gas the machine and begin. The swallows join me immediately. What beautiful creatures. Blue-velvet, winged acrobats. Tireless participants in the feast provided by the bugs fleeing my lawn mower. It takes me over two hours; they never desert me. "Mowing the hillside pasture--where
the flowers of Queen Anne's Lace
float above the grass, the milkweeds
flare, and the bee balm, cut, spices
the air, the butterflies light and fly
from bloom to bloom, the hot
sun dazes the skies . . ."
Finished. Lovely afternoon. I finish and the swallows head home. It's not far. Dennis' barns. I can hear them singing, "So long, and thanks for all the. . ," bugs. Yes, doubters. Mowing can be a joy. Good for the soul.
Put the mower away. I have to take a walk out back and enjoy the work accomplished. Excuse my pride. "The mowers work too is beautiful, granting rest and health to the mind. He walks the long traverses of the healed and healing slant. He sweats and gives thanks."
Evening. Suppertime for Mom. Poached egg, toast, sausage, hot tea. Sound familiar? She loves it. After dinner we watch Antique Roadshow and Lawrence Welk together, and then I put her to bed. Read her a Psalm, tuck her in, turn on the heating pad, kiss her goodnight, turn on the radio. Nothing spectacular is required. Just simple love. Memories are made of them, are they not?
I check the computer. Add a few comments from the day on facebook. It's kind of like an abbreviated journal at times, isn't it? Turn on the Cardinal's game, but they fall behind early AGAIN. Fair-weather fan that I'm becoming, I turn it off and read. A little poetry, another chapter in a book on apologetics I'm rather enjoying--"I Don't Have Enough Faith to be an Atheist." A late phone call to a friend, the exchange of ideas and encouragements, goodnights.
The day ends with a miracle. No, really. I go upstairs to brush my teeth and after I turn off the lights, I happen to glance outside, and pause, mesmerized. Hundreds upon hundreds of lightning bugs. Myriads. From the ground to the top of the trees, from every direction, flickering lights. God's firework display, a few days early, without the booms--unless you want to count the bull frogs croaking in the pond. I stand for minutes. Incredible sight. Surprised by serenity when I least expected it, in a place I never thought it would ambush me. Been there?
Time for bed. Prayers first. When you pause as you pray, it's amazing all the people and needs God brings to your mind. I don't know, often, what the people need, but He knows. And to bring their names up in His presence adds perfume to the incense of prayers around the eternal throne--a sweet smelling aroma, a sacrifice of confidence in His unfailing love and wisdom. Sleep. "Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I know the Lord my soul will take."
One day in the life of . . . Tomorrow will be another day in the life of . . . Either a twenty-four hour one or the Heavenly one of the eternal present tense.
"This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it."
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
A New Walk
I have a new favorite quote. I used it in my last blog I think. "Every walk is a new walk. Walk slow." Simple truths have such elegance. And it is true. In the almost six years I have been at Iten's Acres I'm sure I have walked my place literally thousands of times; and yet; I'm just as sure that no two walks have been the same. Different routes, different companions, different observations, different sounds, different smells, different weather. Every walk has been unique.
And, if you'll indulge me, let me give you a practical illustration. God has given me new beauty every walk the last five days. Last Friday I discovered gorgeous blue spiderwort coming up for the first time in my wild area--a whole patch of it. The angels had been busy planting when I wasn't looking. Strange name, beautiful flower. On Saturday three miniature roses decided to form a trio of color. And I found them all within steps of each other--a red, a darker red, and a lovely pink. I could stand in one place and enjoy them all--a symphony of color, a triangle of the glorious. Sunday was yellow day. Three yellow lilies--in flower beds, in the wild area, in the rock garden, two unknown by me yellow wildflowers, tall trollius by the pond and in the bog area, a yellow poppy in the meadow. The sun was leaving its fingerprints all around the acres. And each yellow was different--different shades, different heights, different forms, different leaves, different environments. And you had to walk the entire property to see them all. A walk for those with a "sunny disposition." Monday, if I wasn't "walking slow," I would have missed the new. Hidden in the middle of the lily bed was a small red agastache. Red, tub-like flowers, a hummingbird cafe. (I'm sure my ruby-throated friends prefer the natural sweetness to the artificial stuff in the feeder on Mom's window.) I had even forgotten--steel-trap mind that I have--that I had planted it there. But there it was. Unafraid to compete with lilies. Yesterday, the surprise wasn't found until an evening walk. Tritieleia. A small gorgeous purple and white flower. (See next Tuesday's June Blooms on fb for an up close encounter.) For some reason I always think that they should bloom earlier in the spring, and I've just about convinced myself that the little beauty must not be going to bloom this year and abracadabra! there it is. And always more flowers than there were the year before! Two beds with a new decoration. And you know what? When I walk today, it will be a new walk with new surprises. My imagination is no match for the real thing.
And sometimes my imagination runs away with me. I often wonder what it would be like if the Lord gave me another twenty years so I could see my vision of Iten's Acres take form. I could walk my place on earth and see all the shrubs mature enough to bloom, all the little trees I've planted actually look like trees, all the flowers I've started to naturalize having fulfilled their purpose with twenty years of spreading--I could have a thousand daffodils blooming in the spring. What if? Or even more outrageous, I sometimes wonder what it would be like to wake up one morning and see that while I slept my vision became perfected--everything mature, no weeds or grass in the flower beds, all the seeds I've planted germinated and abloom. One entire growing season--mid-March to frost--perfect in every way. Silly stuff. The first is highly unlikely; the second an impossible miracle. (That's redundant, eh? What would a "possible miracle" be?)
So, where do those ideas come from? Why with all the beauty that I actually have and enjoy on Iten's Acres do I feel pangs of dissatisfaction, a fit of "what if"? I think it's an Ecclesiastes truth. Even as God's child I will never be fully satisfied on this fallen earth populated by "chief of sinners" like myself. What does Paul say? "The whole creation is groaning, waiting for the day of redemption." God has put "eternity in our hearts," and we long for the new heaven and the new earth. And that's a characteristic of our eternal state we don't focus on enough in my opinion. God in His love for us is going to create a new earth. Do you wonder what Adam experienced on that seventh day? Do you wonder what that glorious creation looked like? As God's child you will enjoy and experience such an earth yourself--for eternity. Can you imagine that? Think of how breath-taking this fallen world is and try to envision the new one. Christ for the joy of spending an eternity with us in such a creation "endured the cross, despised the shame." "Hallelujah, what a Savior!"
Today, on my current Iten's Acres I will enjoy my walk and the beauty of God's world--weeds and all. My trees and shrubs will keep on growing at their natural rate. And, to be perfectly honest, I will take some pleasure in seeing that progress until my homegoing. And my soul will find rest in that simple but marvelous truth: there's a New Walk coming.
And, if you'll indulge me, let me give you a practical illustration. God has given me new beauty every walk the last five days. Last Friday I discovered gorgeous blue spiderwort coming up for the first time in my wild area--a whole patch of it. The angels had been busy planting when I wasn't looking. Strange name, beautiful flower. On Saturday three miniature roses decided to form a trio of color. And I found them all within steps of each other--a red, a darker red, and a lovely pink. I could stand in one place and enjoy them all--a symphony of color, a triangle of the glorious. Sunday was yellow day. Three yellow lilies--in flower beds, in the wild area, in the rock garden, two unknown by me yellow wildflowers, tall trollius by the pond and in the bog area, a yellow poppy in the meadow. The sun was leaving its fingerprints all around the acres. And each yellow was different--different shades, different heights, different forms, different leaves, different environments. And you had to walk the entire property to see them all. A walk for those with a "sunny disposition." Monday, if I wasn't "walking slow," I would have missed the new. Hidden in the middle of the lily bed was a small red agastache. Red, tub-like flowers, a hummingbird cafe. (I'm sure my ruby-throated friends prefer the natural sweetness to the artificial stuff in the feeder on Mom's window.) I had even forgotten--steel-trap mind that I have--that I had planted it there. But there it was. Unafraid to compete with lilies. Yesterday, the surprise wasn't found until an evening walk. Tritieleia. A small gorgeous purple and white flower. (See next Tuesday's June Blooms on fb for an up close encounter.) For some reason I always think that they should bloom earlier in the spring, and I've just about convinced myself that the little beauty must not be going to bloom this year and abracadabra! there it is. And always more flowers than there were the year before! Two beds with a new decoration. And you know what? When I walk today, it will be a new walk with new surprises. My imagination is no match for the real thing.
And sometimes my imagination runs away with me. I often wonder what it would be like if the Lord gave me another twenty years so I could see my vision of Iten's Acres take form. I could walk my place on earth and see all the shrubs mature enough to bloom, all the little trees I've planted actually look like trees, all the flowers I've started to naturalize having fulfilled their purpose with twenty years of spreading--I could have a thousand daffodils blooming in the spring. What if? Or even more outrageous, I sometimes wonder what it would be like to wake up one morning and see that while I slept my vision became perfected--everything mature, no weeds or grass in the flower beds, all the seeds I've planted germinated and abloom. One entire growing season--mid-March to frost--perfect in every way. Silly stuff. The first is highly unlikely; the second an impossible miracle. (That's redundant, eh? What would a "possible miracle" be?)
So, where do those ideas come from? Why with all the beauty that I actually have and enjoy on Iten's Acres do I feel pangs of dissatisfaction, a fit of "what if"? I think it's an Ecclesiastes truth. Even as God's child I will never be fully satisfied on this fallen earth populated by "chief of sinners" like myself. What does Paul say? "The whole creation is groaning, waiting for the day of redemption." God has put "eternity in our hearts," and we long for the new heaven and the new earth. And that's a characteristic of our eternal state we don't focus on enough in my opinion. God in His love for us is going to create a new earth. Do you wonder what Adam experienced on that seventh day? Do you wonder what that glorious creation looked like? As God's child you will enjoy and experience such an earth yourself--for eternity. Can you imagine that? Think of how breath-taking this fallen world is and try to envision the new one. Christ for the joy of spending an eternity with us in such a creation "endured the cross, despised the shame." "Hallelujah, what a Savior!"
Today, on my current Iten's Acres I will enjoy my walk and the beauty of God's world--weeds and all. My trees and shrubs will keep on growing at their natural rate. And, to be perfectly honest, I will take some pleasure in seeing that progress until my homegoing. And my soul will find rest in that simple but marvelous truth: there's a New Walk coming.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
First Impressions
"They" say first impressions are important. If so, I think Iten's Acres is in trouble. If you were to pull into the acres and stop your car in preparation for a "tour," the "first impression" would not be overwhelming. The duct-taped, broken-down mailbox isn't exactly a beauty--duct taped on a broken pole, the address hidden--you might be able to see a 5, sitting at a forty-five degree angle, immersed in tall grass. Not exactly a "wow."
If it had been raining at all, you would need to be careful stepping out of your car in order to avoid the mud puddle covering the driveway. And the driveway itself looks like a cow path--minus any cow "evidence" to avoid stepping in though. To the right is a large area of grass that has not been cut yet all spring! It's too wet. My mower would get stuck. Looks like you've driven into a bog. The grass is over your head. Not very impressive.
In fact, now that the trees are full, you might not be able to even see the house. You might be tempted to turn around and leave. There are some impressive trees--a large pine, a decent size corkscrew willow (it looks better in the winter when the snow covers its twists and turns), and, of course, the huge red maple that looks magnificent in the fall. But in spring--really not all that impressive.
But don't put the car in reverse. Despite the "first impression" I promise that there is lots of beauty here to be seen. And as someone has said, "Every walk is a new walk. So walk slow." The flower beds hold beauty from March to frost. The wild areas the same. The wild acres out back are about to explode into gorgeous. Even the rock garden/rock pile, though its spring glory is over, will have beauty in it all summer and fall. Right now it has adopted a host of wild daisies! They look lovely surrounding the red leaves of the quince. And soon the water lilies will be in bloom to enhance the pond in bright yellows and reds. (Until then you can watch the flying flowers--black with a touch of brilliant red on their wings. They will call you all kinds of blackbird names since they've begun to nest, but your self-esteem can take it.)
I do have plans to improve the first impression. Not a new mailbox; it would make it too easy to find me. But I may add a couple of hibiscus or peonies right at the turn. Maybe a small bed of--what else--iris, with room for some annuals for the summer. And maybe a wooden planter or two on the other side of the driveway. But for now, not a very good first impression. "They" would, no doubt, leave. And "They" would miss out on the beautiful. First impressions are overrated in my opinion anyway. I'd rather make a good lasting impression, wouldn't you?
If it had been raining at all, you would need to be careful stepping out of your car in order to avoid the mud puddle covering the driveway. And the driveway itself looks like a cow path--minus any cow "evidence" to avoid stepping in though. To the right is a large area of grass that has not been cut yet all spring! It's too wet. My mower would get stuck. Looks like you've driven into a bog. The grass is over your head. Not very impressive.
In fact, now that the trees are full, you might not be able to even see the house. You might be tempted to turn around and leave. There are some impressive trees--a large pine, a decent size corkscrew willow (it looks better in the winter when the snow covers its twists and turns), and, of course, the huge red maple that looks magnificent in the fall. But in spring--really not all that impressive.
But don't put the car in reverse. Despite the "first impression" I promise that there is lots of beauty here to be seen. And as someone has said, "Every walk is a new walk. So walk slow." The flower beds hold beauty from March to frost. The wild areas the same. The wild acres out back are about to explode into gorgeous. Even the rock garden/rock pile, though its spring glory is over, will have beauty in it all summer and fall. Right now it has adopted a host of wild daisies! They look lovely surrounding the red leaves of the quince. And soon the water lilies will be in bloom to enhance the pond in bright yellows and reds. (Until then you can watch the flying flowers--black with a touch of brilliant red on their wings. They will call you all kinds of blackbird names since they've begun to nest, but your self-esteem can take it.)
I do have plans to improve the first impression. Not a new mailbox; it would make it too easy to find me. But I may add a couple of hibiscus or peonies right at the turn. Maybe a small bed of--what else--iris, with room for some annuals for the summer. And maybe a wooden planter or two on the other side of the driveway. But for now, not a very good first impression. "They" would, no doubt, leave. And "They" would miss out on the beautiful. First impressions are overrated in my opinion anyway. I'd rather make a good lasting impression, wouldn't you?
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