I'm far away from home as I post this, attending my son's college graduation. He is a family man with a wife and a couple of children of his own. It's been a long and challenging road, and we are proud like only parents can be proud I suppose.
The crossroads of life always make me pause and look forward and back. I remember a time when it was so hard to leave a new baby with someone else for very long, for instance. And that was a great long time ago.
But as I strolled through the yard taking pictures before leaving, I realized that I had a similar hesitance to part with a budding garden. The roses are just beginning to open, and we don't want to miss a thing.
But I'm a homebody and always hate leaving home behind. Still, it won't be for long.
I've been enjoying tremendously the premiere issue of ROMANTIC PRAIRIE STYLE magazine. Page fifteen has a poem that struck me with delight called MY HOME, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox:
This is the place that I love the best,
A little brown house, like a ground-birds nest,
Hid among grasses, and vines, and trees,
Summer retreat of the birds and bees.
Far from the city's dust and heat, I get but sounds and odors sweet.
Who can wonder I love to stay,
Week after week, here hidden away,
In this sly nook that I love the best--
This little brown house like a ground-bird's nest?
The first open bud of spring on Monday.
Tuesday. When I saw little green critters, I swooped them out for another photo.
The rose unfurling. . . .
It's time for "name that plant."
A happy accident!
The evolution of the garden gate vine.
So nice for you to come visit the garden!
There should be a few lovely roses when we get back.
I'll keep you posted. . . .
It's time for