Yellowstone

The gypsy caravan took the old gypsies through low valleys and tall mountains.  For hours they drove through rough country roads and open fields—home of the Shoshone-Paiute and home of crystal-clear cold-water rivers, through part of Idaho, part of Montana and part of Wyoming, all the way to Yellowstone National Park.

The glorious glories of our Creator in open meadows and sagebrush, green lush valleys and steaming painted pods… and in the cool of dawn and dusk, grizzlies and black bears, wolves, mountain lions, elk, bison pronghorn, moose and bighorn sheep, and a variety of birds, including bald eagles…

The gypsy caravan is a special place too, and very different from home. And of course, just as with the park, there are different risks here than you may have faced before.  You are responsible for your own safety!  

Ah yes, if you come here often and take time to read their stories and hear about their gypsy journeys, I’m sure you’d certainly remember the day the gypsy girl went quite mad and pulled their gypsy quarters to pieces!  But you already knew it wasn’t going to take long before she reconsidered, right? 

You're right!  Undeniably—no gypsy girl would do without a proper gypsy room!  And thus, the gypsy girl went on redecorating her boudoir with all the veils and shrouds and tapestries and dangling things from roofs that she so loves!

 

New pillowcases and pillow spray in wild lavender!

It is so cozy here and inviting! All I need now are some fairy lights!   

Cooking in the open, while trying to attract the bears!

We love breakfasts... 

especially if it is enjoyed from the comfort of our gypsy caravan!

 That first cup of coffee under a sun filtered table it just is pure magic!

A gypsy girl must not forget to put on her makeup!

Even if it's only for the purpose of not scaring the animals... just saying!

Someone very dear to us who knows us well gave us the cutest cards... which represent us... to put on our gypsy caravan:  “Advise from a Trail” and “Advise from a Bear”.  Can you guess who’s the Trail and who’s the Bear?

...and don't forget to dream, gypsies!

Dream, vision, imagine, create, expand, transform, love who you are... and enjoy the little moments!  The heart of the real gypsy!

 Then on Friday some very dear people came to join the old gypsies!  What a day that was!  

 

Yellowstone is the only place in the us where bison have lived continuously since prehistoric times….

Despite old beliefs and ancient theories of those who first inhabited this place, Yellowstone is not cursed at all, nor it is magical in any way either.  But it is a dangerous place indeed.  The volcano beneath the forest—low sloped and impossibly wide, is a tricky thing.  It grumbles as it sleeps, while heating geysers till they burst, and it shapes fissures until they grow so deep that no one can find the bottom.  

It boils streams and cooks mud and sends waterfalls disappearing into deep pits, only to reappear miles away.  There are vents that spew foul odors and vents that spew ashes and vents that seem to spew nothing at all until a person’s lips and fingernails turn blue from bad air and the whole world start to spin.  

Yeap, the only truly safe passage across the forest for ordinary gypsies like us is the road, which is situated on a naturally raised seam of rock that has smoothed over time.  This road never alters or shifts, it never grumbles either and thus, it gently took the gypsy caravan back to safety and back home…

Thanks for coming along my friend!

Till next time!

Recount

At the beginning of this spring I removed from the garden two more rose bushes that had gone wild.  I didn’t have the heart, however, to do with the last remaining few—those Dr. Huey single petaled blood read roses, with the real scent of roses… I just couldn’t do it!

So, they have remained… these roses bloom only once at the beginning of the spring and then they’re done until the following year… a true waste, but what a show they are in early spring for that just those few weeks!  

 

Because they grow such long canes, I decided to take advantage of the fact, and make them a climbing rose… so I tied their long canes onto some support assembled on the wall, and now I don’t have any bare walls… cause I just don’t like bare walls… they must have something on them; a rose climbing on it, a mirror to reflect light, a frame a whimsical something to remind the visitor that a garden is also the gardener’s house… 

 

And what it’s happening with the robins in this magical garden, one would have to wonder!  You see, they have overtaken the garden and made of it some sorts of a mystical gigantic nest… so many of them everywhere, such a hush-hush of wings and robin songs... they swoom over my head really low, they make nest that perhaps it is imperative that we change the name of this old house in the roses to something else… something more appropriate, like robin nest… or robin landings?

In fact, the other day a momma robin began making her nest in the underside part of the patio umbrella where the poles are… that same umbrella which I’m constantly opening and closing and moving around, depending on the position of the sun. I already had experience how robins love to make their nest in unusual places… like in the porch, too close to humans and I already know how unsettled these birds can later be when one approaches them… I couldn’t stand another year of this constant nervousness of the bird, the scurrying off of wings and then the bulling, because I tell you, they can be pretty aggressive if you get too close to their nest… so, I didn’t have to think it twice this year before removing the nest; closed the umbrella and forgot about the matter… sorry Mrs. Robin!

…until I saw the poor little thing all disoriented and unsettled, frantically looking for her nest… I saw her flying from branch to branch for quite a while and then perched herself up on top of the umbrella and looked at the sky, as if praying… where is my nest?

I felt so bad… then hours later I heard a loud boom… and when I went outside, I found her laying dead in front of my door.  she apparently flew onto the window and died before she could even figure out where to hatch their babies...

Life is a continuation of dreams and we’re continuing on making dreams, traveling to places such as Cartagena, Colombia, Georgia and Yellowstone… we are planning on yet another trip to Madrid, Spain in the fall, kids are tying up the knot, new daughters becoming part of our family by marriage; grandbabies growing up.  Life is full of beauty. Notice it?  Notice the bumble bee, the small child, and the smiling faces. Smell the rain, and feel the wind. Live your life to the fullest potential, and fight for your dreams.

Infuse your life with action. Don't wait for it to happen. Make it happen. Make your own future. Make your own hope. Make your own love. And whatever your beliefs, honor your creator, not by passively waiting for grace to come down from upon high, but by doing what you can to make grace happen... yourself, right now, right down here on Earth.

Lovely days

Oh magical days… oh exquisite June… oh perfectly warm glorious days, slow down! 

And it seems as if my hours are being carried away on some magical chariot of winged horses too swift and too wild to even try to tame them—their hoofs plodding the garden ground, while I lift my eyes and realize, that too soon all these glories will be gone… again!

 

I just don't want to think about how short the growing season is around here, or how quickly warm rose-filled days evaporate from your fingers, or how the speed at which the daylight dies is swifter than the wind... so I won't!

I have pruned all rose bushes and shrubs, and the garden has regained some of its order.  How beautiful everything looks after a cutback… it comes to mind fine ladies after a day at the SPA; hair trimmed; face scrubbed. Their heart singing the songs of fairies… 

How very lovely roses are to me... even after a prune and ready to be trashed they're still lovely to my heart.

In springtime, love is carried on the breeze. Watch out for flying passion and kisses whizzing by your head." -- Emma Racine Defleur