Category Archives: Flowers
Bloom and Flutter
Be Balmed
Ephemeral Blue and a Jazzy Beauty
I have a friend who has the most beautiful garden, and—lucky me!—she lets me take pictures of whatever is in blossom.
“Come anytime,” she has often said. “Come whenever you think the light is good.”
This I have done. Several years ago, when her hydrangeas were in glorious bloom, I took this picture, and it has been a favorite with both my friend and me.
“It would take a lot to beat the picture of the blue hydrangeas with the yellow daylily,” I told her recently. “I was in your garden just at the right time.”
My friend agreed, and I added, “But still, I am going to take more pictures of your hydrangeas, even though I might not get anything as good as the one I took a few years back..”
And so I have. When it comes to flowers, I have beginner’s mind. I never ever get tired of photographing them, and each season, the flowers seem new and fresh.
Here is what I got from a week or so ago.
Not as nice, I know, as the one with yellow daylily, but as I am crazy about blue, I will make some cards with the new photos.
And then, for something completely different, here is this jazzy beauty, also from my friend’s garden.
Again, how lucky I am to have such a friend! You can bet she’ll be getting some cards in the very near future.
Jurassic Park at the Little House in the Big Woods
At the little house in the big woods, it’s that time of year again. The full-grown hostas, only slightly chewed by slugs and snails, have gotten so large that it seems as though I’ve stepped back in time to the Jurassic era. Really, the hostas are so huge and so muscular that they are almost unmanageable. I know I should cut them back, and from time to time I do, but mostly I just allow them to have their own way. My yard is not exactly a gardener’s dream, and hostas are one of the few plants that actually thrive here in the dry shade. So, let ’em grow!
Despite my grumblings, I must that admit there are other flowers ablooming, and in fact my gardens are at their peak right now. (Note, however, the fringe of the ever-present hostas.)
I have lived at the little house in the big woods for over thirty years, and I thought I had seen every insect that makes its way into my yard. But, no. Yesterday I came across this little fringed creature. Anyone have any idea what it is? It just goes to show that even after thirty years, a small plot of land can teach you something new.
There can be no doubt what the little winged creature below is. The wonder is that my wee camera managed to capture him at all. Score one for the persistent photographer who constantly takes pictures of birds but seldom gets a good shot.
A moment of triumph, indeed.
Tortilla Pizzas and a Backyard Monarch
While it might not be accurate to state that Clif and I eat lunch at the little house in the big woods 365 days a year, it’s not far from the truth. Clif and I live on a tiny budget, and eating at home is far more economical than eating out. The upside of this is that when we do eat out, we really enjoy it. The downside is that sometimes it’s a challenge to come up with different lunches that don’t require a lot of time to fix and can be made from ingredients we have on hand.
Yesterday I said to Clif, “I’m in the mood for a tortilla pizza.”
As we have never made tortilla pizzas, this was a strange thing to say, but we had all the necessary ingredients—pizza sauce, cheese, and tortilla shells.
However, “All the sauce is frozen,” I said.
As I have mentioned previously, one of the things I love about Clif is that he is always ready for a cooking lark. “No problem,” he replied. “We can microwave the sauce until it’s thawed.”
This we did, and then came the next phase. “How about we grill them?” I asked. “Everything tastes better grilled.”
Clif was agreeable, and we were off. He spread sauce on the tortilla shells, sprinkled a blend of cheese—mozzarella, cheddar, and Parmesan—and out to the patio he went. I followed with plates, drinks, and napkins. We were not going to miss a chance to eat outside.
To borrow from Clif, those grilled tortilla pizzas were pretty darned good—brown and crunchy on the bottom with a pleasing blend of sauce and cheese on top.
As if that weren’t enough, while the pizzas were cooking, the sun went behind a cloud, and I could tell that the lighting was perfect for taking pictures of buds and blooms.
But the cherry on the sundae, so to speak, was when a small monarch winged into the garden. No, not a butterfly. Instead, a dragonfly burnished with gold.
Quite a day at the little house in the big woods.
After the Rain on This Last Day of June
Yesterday and the night before, we got some much-needed rain. Uncharacteristically for Maine, the month of June has been dry, and in some regions there has actually been a mini-drought. Last year was the same, and I wonder if we are entering a new phase with Maine weather.
As a bicycle rider and a patio hound, I love the good weather. As a gardener, I start to fret if it goes too long without rain. Then, when it does rain, I fret for my flowers if the rain falls too hard. Like most people who grow flowers and vegetables, I want the rain to be just right—a nice, steady, gentle, soaking rain that has enough sense to stop after a day or so. Seldom do we get this, which means when it comes to my gardens, I am in a constant state of fretfulness.
Yesterday’s rain wasn’t too bad, and as the irises have gone by, I didn’t have to worry about them. It did beat down my pansies, but the pansies are getting leggy, and soon I will be replacing them with some other flowers. I haven’t decided which ones yet.
I do love how the flowers look after the rain. Somehow, drops of water make the blossoms even more lovely than they already are.
Today has the kind of dry, sunny weather that makes Maine famous for its summers. Clif and I will be going on a bike ride tonight, and we’ll be grilling chicken for our supper.
What a fine way for the last day of June to go out. Many of our summer visitors are here. Lightening bugs flash on the window screens at night; the hummingbirds whir to our feeders and then zoom away into the woods; the thrushes sing every night; and the swallowtail butterflies are as beautiful as the flowers they visit.
All seasons have their beauty, but summer’s is the deepest, the most nurturing. Plants, flowers, insects, birds, and other creatures get their fill of green life during this abundant time of year. When I sit in the backyard and just look and listen and smell, I feel as though I am a part of all that is around me.
First to Bloom
The irises are gone, and just in time to console me come the evening primroses. Soon my garden will be a burst of yellow, brightening the yard at the little house in the big woods. The primroses always bloom in time for the Fourth of July, a special treat for the celebration of our country’s birthday.
Farewell, My Lovelies
This has been quite the month, quite the year, for irises. They have bloomed with a profusion that gladdens the heart of this iris lover. But now the gardens are down to the last two blossoms. These lovelies will come again next year, I know, but although I cherish all the flowers in my garden, irises are my special darlings, and it always makes me sad to see them go. That is the way it is with flowers, of course, and perhaps that’s why we love these ephemeral beauties so much. They are both permanent and not permanent, coming up year after year—if we are lucky—and only lasting for a short time.
Much spiritual practice, however unintentional, can come from tending a flower garden.
No Matter the Weather, Always Bring Your Camera
Yesterday, the weather forecast for the afternoon was cloudy in the morning and rainy in the afternoon. However, now that Clif is retired, we have a lot of flexibility in our schedule.
Therefore, “Let’s go biking in the morning before it rains,” I said.
“Good idea,” Clif replied.
We went late morning, and as we were gathering our gear—helmets, gloves, water bottles, we both noted how gray the sky was.
“Doesn’t look like a very good day for pictures,” I observed.
“No, it doesn’t, ” Clif agreed.
“Still, I’m going to bring the camera because you never know.”
Also, our wee wonder of a camera fits nicely in my bike’s front bag, so carrying it is no problem.
As we rode, the sky became even more overcast, but as we passed my friend’s house and gardens, I noticed her peonies were glowing in the dark green foliage.
“On the way back, I want to take pictures,” I called to Clif.
“Right!”
We rode on, and I am happy to report we pushed ourselves to go to the end of Memorial Drive, which meant pedaling up a fairly large hill. Yesterday was the first time this season that we did this, and although it was hard work, we both made it without any problems.
A few years ago, when I was in really good shape and we had a choice of going up a big hill or turning around and heading back, I used to say to Clif, “Let’s go up that hill for the fun of it and then turn around.”
I hope I am saying this again by the end of the summer.
On the way back, which was glorious downhill much of the way, we stopped at my friend’s house to take pictures of her peonies. I wasn’t optimistic, but this is what I got, which reinforced the notion of always, always bring your camera.
My friend, of course, will be getting a card made from this picture. I’ll also make a card to bring to our library, where I have a little stand with my cards, and I donate the profits of the card sales to the library.
When we got home, we had no sooner put away our bikes then it started to rain. We were pretty pleased with ourselves and our good timing.
Best of all, later in the day, there was an opportunity for another picture, this time on my very own front deck.
Another lesson: Always be ready with the camera, even at home.
Notes From the Hinterland 