Garden Report

Last week, I did it. Creaky knees and all, I raked the leaves from the last bed. Did I feel good about this accomplishment? You bet I did.

Now, onward to compost, wood ash, and fertilizer. Plus, moving things here and there. For me, as I’m sure it is for most gardeners, May is as busy a month as December. For different reasons, naturally. However, just as I love the holidays, I also love the month of May with its intense gardening.

Let’s hear it for hands in the dirt and a garden cart at the ready. Trowel, shovel, garden shears, cultivator. Check, check, check, and check.

For a gardener, life becomes pretty basic in the spring. But oh so good.

Fern Report

I’m not sure if I love ferns because I live on the edge of the woods, or if I live on the edge of the woods because I love ferns. But as readers might have noticed, I’m crazy about ferns.

Let’s take a look at the ferns I’ve been following since they poked their pretty little heads up at the end of April.

Here they are on April 27. Such dear little things.

And here they are, twelve days later: elegant, tall, and feathery.

Amazing, isn’t it? They really are all grown up.

But never fear. There are more ferns emerging for me to marvel at.

Soon, these little ferns will be grown-up, too, gracing the yard with their beauty, for which we are grateful. One of the best things is that, for the most part, I don’t have to do a thing to encourage them. They spread and grow on their own. (All right. I will admit that I might have bought a fern or two for my beds. But most of the ferns by the house and in the yard came here on their own. Seems like a miracle.)

Finally, a pleasing combination of pink and green.

First Drinks on the Patio

Saturday, May 16, was a banner day at our home on the edge of the woods. We had our first drinks of the year on our patio.

The owl wine glass belongs to my daughter Dee, who loves owls just as much as I love ferns.

Cheers to blogging friends near and far. Our happy time on the patio is here, and soon there will be a new addition in the backyard, which will add to our enjoyment.

Stay tuned.

Reading

When I Was a German, 1934–1945: An Englishwoman in Nazi Germany
(Original Title: The Past Is Myself)
By Christabel Bielenberg

When I Was a German, a memoir by Christabel Bielenberg, is a heavy book to read in the merry month of May. But maybe it’s good to read this kind of book when the weather is lovely, and things are green and growing.

In the book’s foreword, Christabel Bielenberg acknowledges that although there is ample material documenting this terrible time in Europe, she has “one advantage…I am English; I was German, and above all I was there.”

Indeed, she was. In England in 1934, Christobel married the tall, handsome German Peter Bielenberg. When she married, Christabel Bielenberg gave up British citizenship and became a German citizen. (Twelve years later, she would relinquish her German citizenship to “become a British subject once again.”)

At first, Christobel and Peter lived in Hamburg, Germany.  Both Peter, a law student, and Christabel were upper-middle-class and well-connected. From the jump, they thought that Hitler was “a clown” who would not be in power long. Turns out, they were wrong.

The Bielenbergs had friends who were staunchly opposed to Hitler, and they persuaded the young couple to stay in Germany to help bring down the government. Peter took a job with the Ministry of Industry and Commerce in Berlin to be closer to the Nazi government. By then, the couple had children, and they moved to Berlin, to the heart of darkness.

Things, of course, go from bad to worse. Friends are hanged, and Berlin is relentlessly bombed by the Allies. Christabel moves with her three children to a small village in the Black Forest, where they live in relative safety. Peter stays in Berlin and is eventually imprisoned because of his association with the men who tried to assassinate Hitler. (Peter himself was not involved in the attempt.)

All of this is riveting reading, and I especially liked Christabel’s descriptions of village life in the Black Forest, far away from Berlin. While the village and the villagers were officially allied with the Nazi party, they were kind to Christabel and her sons, and for the most part, they were not fanatical followers of Hitler. (This, of course, does not absolve them of their complicity, but it does add nuance.)

My one complaint about the book is that it covers too much territory too quickly. Those were, after all, eventful years. At times, the book felt rushed, and I think the material would have been better served by being expanded into several volumes, in which the various aspects of Christabel’s life could have been described in more detail. As it is, the book jumps from person to place, and I had a hard time keeping track of those not in the author’s immediate family.

Still, When I was a German is well worth reading, not the least because of Christobel’s insights.

I’ll conclude with one of her reflections, which seems all too relevant in today’s world, where the Right Wing is, alas, in ascendance once again.

“There would be few to pity them {the German People] for the wheel had turned full circle, as deluded by piffling ambition, bent on taking revenge for their failure, they were now slaughtering everything that was best about their country. No nation could afford such extravagance, there was no excuse,  no pardon for such things. This was the punishment, ruins, ruins and more ruins….When I married Peter ten years ago…I did not realize that I would be binding myself to the fate of the whole of this unhappy race.”