Something broken...

It had been raining so much for the past two weeks around here, that the gypsies already knew they were predestined to be guided by rain… and thus, raindrops followed them through hills and valleys, all the way to their campsite… they had made peace with the thought.  Rain washes off the land of impurities and makes the soul of man clean as rushing rivers.  So even if the outcome was to be rained on, they still packed everything up and went along… 

 

They parked their gypsy trailer among the tall pines and vegetations of pine, fir, spruce, hemlock, larch, cedars and conifers... and down below; running through the earth like a live gash, the river in all its glory.  Unstoppable waters rushing down unseen pathways without ever stopping… to where?  

 

 

  

It was a smaller campsite this time, with fewer people and wholly immerse in Nature and the silence which is only broken by rain and the music rivers bestow.  They immediately made acquaintance with nearby fellow campers and gypsies from other tribes and different paths of life with whom they happened to be sharing the same time and the same space under the same sky… and then went to prepare their lunch…

 

 

The day was already cold and behind dark clouds you could already see a storm brewing, but lunch was good, and watermelon for dessert the best.  Then, the Fisherman went down the river edge to engage in this revelry of fishes and rushing waters and hours spent just doing that…  

 

 

Our new gypsy friends Lilac and her husband Dru came down too, they fished and talked while I played with their cute little Maltese, Marla… 

 

 

Fishes were nowhere to be seen and soon big drops started falling, making me to rushed back to our gypsy trailer and hide in my cozy nest…

 

 

I made coffee, got my books and my computer out and started this conversation with you…

  

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9:59 pm: Darkness embracing the rain-laden land in soft stillness; like the sounds of lovers in love.  Outside our window is pitch dark no voice is herd no children at play, it is cold and for some reason, we are sitting inside our cozy nest evoking gone by eras, remembering the Lawrence Welch show, the pretty girls in long dresses and handsome young men, the voices the songs and dances of yesterday.  Ah, how time flies and how swift life is. 

Inside the gypsy trailer it is dark, all lights are out, with only the exception of the soft glow of our computer screens… like fireflies in the night, illuminating the darkness.

 

 

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Morning. For some strange reason, I woke up feeling heavy and ill-humored. What happened later, I cannot explain in exact details, nor can I either explain whatever got into me to have reacted the way I did.  It could had very well been the Fisherman snapping veils off the walls and ceilings that previous night as he turned and tossed in bed.  Or it could had been this and that; or maybe the fact that, again, one of his legs got caught on another veil that morning as he was reaching up to grab something from the shelves above the bed... and boom! The entire hangings that served as curtains or entrance to our little niche came down... lol

I don’t know. I cannot explain in exact details how my brain works, or why sometimes it snaps the way it does, casting me under this dark cloud of self-destruction. Oh it would had been so easy to put everything back up into place right there and then; so easy to straighten things up and continued on enjoying our sweet gypsy space, but instead, all of a sudden, I found myself yanking off every pretty veil and every pretty drape and shawl off ceilings and wall therein.  Push-pins and thumbnails flying everywhere, until everything came to rest on the floor in a sad amalgamation of colors and textures.  

The Fisherman was speechless and felt so bad. We both felt so bad. I knew I was only hurting myself when doing what I was doing, and yet something inside me kept on pushing me onto causing me pain… the time I’d taken to build this little space of ours, the hard work, the joy, the coziness… I was only stripping off my heart of its joy, hurting myself and aiming at making my heart feel so sad by doing what I was doing. I am broken I know. And yet I still like to think that even so, God is nevertheless willing to use me and that his love is so absolute, that He can still love someone like me. I am so blessed to have in my life this gentle human being I called the Fisherman, for his continual love towards me, in spite of me.

After breakfast, we got on our car and when to explore our surroundings and check the little mountain city nearest our campground.  We found a quaint little church where we praised God on his sacred day, met some wonderful people and later joined them at their potluck.  Good healthy food, good people, hearts mended, the little joys restored.  

In the evening, the Fisherman made pizza for dinner... it turned out wonderful!

 

  

Our gypsy caravan is now looking as ordinary and as unpretentious as when it first came to us. Nothing fancy nothing gypsy nothing me... but I guess, as comfortable and undemanding as it should always had been.    For now!

In the garden

Under the canopy of a cherry tree, I spend my days dreaming of some far away remote garden somewhere…

I know, it must be the amount of rain we’ve been experiencing for the past few weeks, which had transformed the garden in a green, lush shadowy world of sorts… so much, that I have started believing that perhaps we may be living in another world… and sometimes, even catching glimpses far off of Lórien?

 

Passing through this narrow pathway onto the garden it truly is pure magic… the scent of the Korean lilac resembling honey with a wistful nutty trace linger and saturates the garden, imbuing the senses...

All the hostas have come back… Hostas with golden foliage, blue-leaved hostas, all beautiful and dense and larger than ever... I love hostas, in the ground, in pots and in all forms!

The first roses have started to open... every color every shape of roses... what a delightful sight they are to me...

Windows are covered in them...

Each precious bud opening fast

Almost in front of your eyes!

Statues are wearing shinning necklaces...

There is a bench in the back of my garden shaded by Virginia creeper, climbing roses, and a white pine where I sit early in the morning and watch the action. Light blue bells of a dwarf campanula drift over the rock garden just before my eyes. Behind it, a three-foot stand of aconite is flowering now, each dark blue cowl-like corolla bowed for worship or intrigue: thus its common name, monkshood. Next to the aconite, black madonna lilies with their seductive Easter scent are just coming into bloom. At the back of the garden, a hollow log, used in its glory days for a base to split kindling, now spills white cascade petunias and lobelia. Mary Rose O'Reilley, The Barn at the End of the World

This is my sanctuary, a peaceful place to escape to and a space in which to create magic, but magical gardening does take time, focus and attention.  You can’t just plant something and leave it in the hope that several months later it will have grown, flourished and be covered in flowers; although, on the odd occasion it does happen I would have to say!  Over the last year upon our return to this old house in the roses I’ve been constantly working in my garden and I have packed it full of as many plants, flowers and herbs as I can cram into it.  I even created a very small teeny tiny pond that it is looking marvelous… but, that I will have to show it to you on my next post… for now, let us keep working, caring and loving our special place; you will not be disappointed.  Nature always pays back.

May in the garden

Ah May you are such a delicious creature… you fill my cup to the brim with gladness beyond description…

Days are not long enough; hours slip though my fingers like water. My tongue lacks sufficient praises and my heart songs enough with which to thank you for all you bring and all you let me see, smell and feel…

I thank you, Lord of all creation for every little thing in Nature, every goodness and every virtuousness that comes from your hand… My soul thank you and praise you for every gift you bestow upon my soul and for every sign of your presence left scattered around for me to discover and be at awe... for every thread of petal and wisp of perfume; for every feather and every bird.

 
I visit and revisit my garden a dozen times a day, and there's not a time when I won't stand in deep contemplation at all which surrounds me... the very little things; every big thing I see and touch and smell... for every presence and every petal.

With a tenderness and love that nobody who hasn’t ever taken part in this process of creation can experience, I fall to my knees and ask for more… more, more… more time, more Mays, longer days, an extension of the season of love and petals and birds and a prolonged season of beauty.

I cannot stop coming here dreaming here living my hours and days here—among blooms anew like feather wings… everyday is a new form of life a new blossom a new green crowned head breaking the soil as perennials push through the earth in a wonderful new beginning—like a birth, filling the earth with hope and joy and a new glory each day.

But everything in the garden is as ephemeral as life itself, and the green-crowned woodnymphs of my forest are vanishing in front of my eyes with the same swiftness and amazement in which they had arrived…  the sumptuous flowers of the crabapples and cherry trees, the sublime lilac bouquets, the white as snow Viburnum and Snowball flowers—where have they gone to?  Show me your paths that I may follow!   

And yet, life in the garden is also a succession of life itself, a circle of life and a string of pearls; one following the next in a glorious chain of blooms…. And thus, right now the garden is ready for its inaugural and splendorous show of roses and peonies…  I can hardly wait to see my roses in bloom; the old ones and the new ones!  And the garden is so appreciative, I should mention, too.  For it amazes me how it has responded to my care since I came back to it… every bush and shrub has improved immensely, every rose recovered and expanded… as if in response to my care is reciprocating in a thousand blessings...