My little heaven on earth

Lovely, lovely, glorious April morning.  The irrigation system is on, and because we never had the chance of closing down the sprinklers this past fall when we moved back, they were on, and thus the garden woke up this morning bathed in wonderful glittering little water-stars that shone and twinkled touched by the first marvelous yellow sun of this wonderful morning.

The crabapple tree is in its full blossoming of glories and it has covered the two-story house on the back almost in its entirely gifting us with shade and much appreciated privacy.  I love this tree.  My heart is full of praises and thankfulness for all the wonders and glories of creation.

The garden has woken up wrapped in their own small glories too.  And it’s been filling up with young, green leaves and crimson blossoms everywhere.  We worked so hard yesterday fixing things around, and painting.  I added more soil to the entire garden—10 bags in total, and finished the side alley, which is the pathway to the entrance of the garden with beautiful pea pebble and hostas, that I decided to keep in pots this time.  The Virginia Creeper is bursting with tiny buds of blooms, and under it is the small tiled table and newly pink painted chairs, where I’m putting all my small cactuses, and all I can find to embellish that corner.

I also planted a healthy, fat Knockout rose in the middle of the garden, that I’m hoping it will fill the space with abundant red blossoms.  The furniture is all painted too, except for the old baker’s rack, which I’m planning on embellishing with new paint and adhesive paper and later use as a plant holder and a place where to keep some of my gardening stuff. A red Mandeville climber is now part of my new collection of potted plants.  We’re staining the back-porch floors soon, and later after the exterior of the house gets painted, it will be new patio furniture and lots of more flower pots.  

My little sacred space is returning to its previous glories, and it is again turning into a place where my soul finds its comfort and my feet its pleasures.  How fortunate I am to have this garden back into my life... to be able to come back to it again and claim it mine again.  How fortunate, and happy I am.

I give all the glory to God. It's kind of a win win situation. The glory goes up to Him, and all the blessings fall down on me!

Hope you're all having a marvelous spring day my friends!

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

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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…