A recount

April 4—Today, I replanted more irises, and I also decided it was time to plant all those bulbs I bought last months, and which instructions on box said to wait until the middle of April to plant.  I planted them anyway.  They were already putting forth some shoots, and some didn't look too promising; desiccated, and parched.  Some of them, I planted on pots…

I noticed that there are so many tiny things growing in the flowerbeds.  Some, I can tell, are weeds, but I’m afraid I will be also pulling out some lovely little things if I decide to take them out.  So I didn't.  

Yesterday, I bought a lovely composition of pink geraniums and some tall, upright plant that add the height to the arrangement, to embellish our front porch with, although it is not time yet.  Therefore, they should remain inside until much later.  I also bought two kinds of hostas. I don’t know if perhaps I’m too early to plant them, but I’m so eager to start seeing some life in the garden.  The bare-root roses I planted last month haven’t establish any root yet, I can tell, because almost every other established rose in the garden are already starting to fill with young green leaves, but no sign of life on these two yet.  No improvement, and I’m starting to think that maybe they won’t make it.  The roses planted under our bedroom window, however, are doing marvelous.  They are bursting with life and new shoots and I can tell they are loving all that good soil and fertilizing.  

Today, I also planted those Bird of Paradise bulbs.  I put them all in the big flower pot, and hope that they do well there, because I couldn’t find a place for them on the ground.  I want everything to be in perfect order in the garden this time; everything where they should be, and nothing growing without my permission, allowed.

The birds have returned to the garden, and they are putting forth such a glorious rioting of songs and flapping of wings and happiness in my life!

April 16—Coming back from sunny Florida to our chilly days are always such a disappointment.  And thus, the same icy mornings and same cold afternoons until past two, the same bitter winds, and the same pulling of weeds and reconstruction of the garden under unconquerable discomforts.  However, the land is being slowly waking up.  Nature does not care about the insistence of wintriness or frost or chilly winds, it continues its course no matter what.  Life, cannot be abated by the thoughtlessness that so distract my soul, and body.  And for this, I am thankful!

What a glorious sight the flowering crabapple tree was upon our arriving, the following morning!  All those deep pink blossoms, all the scent, all the new promises of sunny, warm days in a new garden. I could have not asked for a better, or a more glorious welcome to the land of yellows and browns!

April 18—I've been working incessantly in the garden for the past three days.  The front gardens had to be re-worked on again, as I didn’t quite finish the work there before heading south, and weeds had filled the pea pebble pathway, entrance to the garden again, and had to be removed.  Tuesday and Wednesday, it was the back gardens and the removing of unwanted weeds and the awful roots of the mint.  I cleared off a bed that was filled with growing phlox and pink narcissus, columbines and another little flower of which I have no name for—all beautiful, and healthy, I’m sure, but my idea of this ‘renovated’ garden has a more aesthetic look, and not wanting the disorderly look of the cottage garden I had removed them all and replanted them towards the end, along the fence, and empty parts where, hopefully, they will continue to grow and fill the spaces gloriously.   

The cherry tree in our front porch is blooming profusely, I cannot, and would not take my eyes and soul apart from it, as its glories are so fleeting... 

And alas, as with everything in life, one day you have them only to find them gone the following…  

I will continue working on the back today, and hope to finish painting the remaining of the furniture that had been postponed for way too long.  On Sunday we will work on re-staining the floors on the back porch and retouch parts of the fence.  It’s been said that we will reach the 70’s next week, and I am looking forward to this thought—thoughts of sunshine and warmth on my shoulders and back as I work the grounds.  Nothing hurts, nothings is done in anguish when my soul can feel the purifying, renovating warmth and brilliance of the sun…

“Even 

After 

All this time

The Sun never says to the Earth,

"You owe me."

Look

What happens

With a love like that,

It lights the whole sky.” 

― Hafiz

LINKINT TO:

KEEP IN TOUCH

Gypsy and her Fisherman

March 31—the gypsy Fisherman decided it was time to flung open the gypsy caravan and go explore the world again.

“Oh, but it still is so cold for camping!” “But how could you possibly be cold?” “No, it is not possible.” “But I am!”.  And thus, we went to the dunes and camped there for a day and a half and two nights. And it was indeed cold and windy, but it was also so very glorious, and lovely, and the sun shone strong, as strong as chilly winds blew sands in the distance, and I watched the sun come over the sandbanks as half a dozen robins slept in nearby leafless bony trees, and with the kiss of dawn, the wee cries of baby coyotes in the hirsute sagebrush of the high desert...

We sipped heaps of vanilla caramel lattes from the comfort of our gypsy caravan and munched on grapes, corn chip and creamy cheese sauce.  The Fisherman surprised me by packing my softest, warmest pjs ever, and an extra-large extra fluffy extra warm blanket in my favorite color, and it felt like a soft, warm sheep on my skin, and he made sure that the heater was on all night and that my feet were warm, and I loved it all, and thank him, as usual, for compelling me to come out of my cave and do things to which I would always say ‘no’ to in the beginning, and always end up loving later… Because, that’s just the way I am.  And he knows me. 

There was a huge birdhouse on the tree just above by where our gypsy caravan slept, and I prayed for an owl to visit, because this is their habitat and all mated pairs are permanent residents of their territory, and one such pair calls these dunes home.  But I never saw one.

We rode our bicycles on sandy desert paths, the Fisherman put on his waddling fishing boots and went out to the marshes while I collected rocks, we cooked a meal or two, ate pineapple, rice pudding and lentil soup. The downing sun was a fire ball outside the gypsy caravan on the West—big and bright and dying gold at 7:30pm.  We read our books until daylight turned into evening, and the voices of the desert muffled out into the hunting songs of night, we said our prayers and reflected on Jesus dying on the cross—oh holy moment that holy Friday, eternities ago. 

 

 

On Saturday night all winds got loose.  The wilderness shrieked under its ferocity, things were tossed around, sand swirled and dance frenetically and our gypsy caravan felt like a kite in the wind, being pushed from side to side by strong winds as our roofs creaked and doors were slammed.  It was a frightful little night, until everything calmed down, and only the sound of our heater going on and off remained... and we drifted off to sleep on the wings of desert nights...

The following morning, Sunday of Resurrection, the world woke up wrapped in glorious sunshine and quiet serenity… as if the new morning itself was reminding us that within every ending is the seed of a new beginning…

I love Nature and the quietness I find in its great emptiness.  To it I go when I want to find my soul... we are the ones with the messy hair, the dirty feet and the wild sparkle in our eyes…

New carpet and a gardener's diary

March 27—Today, our living room carpet was finally installed!  

It arrived sooner than we’d expected, and this time I am in total admiration!  I love it so much!  

The transformation was instantly, and I was so accurate in believing that the floors play such a huge part when it comes to selecting carpet colors!  

A cleaner design, harmony with the surrounding, and I love the lines/streaks

The room is back to a neutral, gentler atmosphere.  Softer colors and a contemporary design have make such a great impact in the room!  I totally love it this time! 

March 27—I started working on the front gardens this afternoon—how I loathed it.  Despair seizes me when I reflect upon my ideas of how and what I want to see in the gardens and its realization. I am feeling unpleasantly exhausted lately, and this part of the ‘abandoned’ garden is, I do believe, the worst of all, and it must be laughing at my weakness, for it was forcing me to pull and bend and pull more than this old body can stand.  I cannot understand any one preferring weeds to the purple coneflowers I had growing in that space before we left; those rough-hairy, herbaceous perennials native to moist prairies, meadows and open woods.  They are all gone now to a most ferocious of grasses that had taken over that space, and it had to be pulled out by hand and the sharp tips of pick and shovel.  I’m not even close to finishing my job there, and I’ve already filled several trash bins to the brim.  Tomorrow will be another day.

March 28—I worked on the front gardens again today, and the wind was worse than it had ever been.  My throat hurts my fingers are numbed.  But at least I was able to accomplish some of what I set out to do.  One or two small old bushes were removed, and the rose bush that had turned wild was cut to the ground; me not being able to remove it in its entirety.  Yes, another flowerbed has been cleaned up and it is now ready for mulch.

March 29—the end of another cold, unsympathetic month.  If it were not for the garden, leafless and flowerless as it is, March would had been another terrible month, but in the garden, there is always a sigh of relief, a place to dream, and hope, and a more profound peace.  Nobody raking or mowing the lawn or sweeping or fidgeting; although I’d have to say thought, I would much rather prefer the sounds of only the little birds themselves and the whispering of winds than all the awful barks of neighboring dogs that’s going on everywhere.  For it seems to me that more and more people these days are preferring animals to humans, and families are not happy enough with owning just one dog, but they must have two, and sometimes even three, and thus they are everywhere; the constant yapping and barking coming from all directions ending whatever little peace; plus the agony of working outside while having to compete with the insistence of the animal on the other side of the fence for your sacred space.  I’ve been much afflicted by this lately and my dislikes of them are better left unrecorded.

March 30—There’s not a single day or hour of my days that I don’t think of my dear mother and whisper her name.  Tears fill my eyes and heart for her all the time; for all the memories kept in my soul and all the love, a love like no other love, for I will never be loved again that way ever again… There’s a particular song on one of my favorite CDs that I play every day.  And it takes me back to one of my first memories of mom—rocking me to sleep.  I remember her singing to me.  A song, a love song; not particularly a children song, but a love song between a man and a woman type of a love song, and although I cannot remember the exact words, or what they meant, my brain has kept the notion of it intact; and I can still remember my child thoughts of it, along with my own interpretation of the song—a sad song.  But its melody is still hunting my memories. I so miss her. 

PS:  New, forgotten old gypsy stories are now available for reading in our GYPSY CARAVAN BLOG, in case you want to hop there and read them!