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Archive for the ‘Nature’ Category

For those of us who are self-employed and work from home, self-quarantining is not a new concept; we’ve been doing it for a while. What’s different, of course, is that with recent restrictions, we don’t have the freedom we did to just leave and meet friends, eat out, attend some sort of gathering. It feels like I’m sitting on my butt even more than usual.

I decided to take a short walk to stretch my legs and get a change of scenery. It was the perfect time to see lots of daffodils.

Some just ready to bloom … they looked like they were napping, soon to be awakened by more sun and an inner clock known only to them.

Here we see another flower, a bit of purple somewhat hidden in the leaf litter … myrtle. This tells me the deer are happy with their current forage and are not yet roaming the streets looking for this, a favorite snack.

I also spotted at a distance, looking real for a brief moment, a quasi-hidden cat, bearing what I believe is a Welcome sign. Thank you – it could have been a plain cat, but instead it was a neighborly greeting.

It’s easy to pass by this forgotten old garage, its faded, peeling paint, rusty hinges on a door. But the daffodils brighten it so, and had me look twice. Funny how sometimes the most worn and ignored of things can still have a beauty of their own.

Why a second view? Because the daffodils are not the only form of life emerging. Look under the concrete slab to find beautiful ivy leaves winding their way to the sun.

It was a short walk, and in times like these, even a short walk is balm for the spirit.

In the few days since, I now see forsythia beginning to bloom and that shy greening of the privet hedge and lawns. Just a blush, just enough.

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It was Wednesday, a day predicted to be cloudy and cold with possible snow showers in the afternoon. The perfect day to be inside as I had a good project to focus on. But first, something lovely to light my day. I realized, after I’d taken a few pictures, that the sparkle of a tea light in the unique beauty of mercury glass could not easily be captured with a camera. It’s quite magical, so I’ll offer my best try, and you can imagine the light shimmering within.

At a certain point in the late morning I felt restless and too much inside. The sky had been a nearly colorless grey-white since daybreak and was less than inviting, but I needed some fresh air. I opened the side door to my porch and was greeted by a chorus of happy song. The many sparrows that abound around the house raised their small voices to the sky from the privet hedge and cheered my heart. Soon I heard  the nasal call of a Canada goose overhead, then three, then perhaps seven or so, as they winged their way southward, dark silhouettes against the paleness.

Despite the faded grey skies, I felt inspired to step outside, even if for a little while. The privet hedge nearest my driveway remains green for a surprisingly long time. However, with the temperatures now dipping to 18 degrees at night, even these leaves are turning and starting to fall.

Before the spring earlier this year, I had an arborist come out to trim it and cut back the vines that insinuate themselves among the gentler stalks of the hedge. There is no killing the intruders as all their roots are totally entangled, but once cut back, I can keep a better eye on the vines and continue cutting them to the ground. I watched the arborist out my tall office window – he was an artisan with a ladder, clipping here and there, then climbing down and standing back, assessing his work, much like an artist at an easel. It was a delight to watch him trim the branches so carefully to their natural inclinations. When done, he assured me that it would look beautiful and grow wonderfully in the spring because privet hedge loves to be cut back. He was right.

The tall tree in the furthest corner of the yard was a pattern of lace in the sky, also still holding on to some of its last leaves. In the foreground to the left is more privet hedge which the owner lets grow tall and wild for privacy. Totally untended for a while now, however, it has slender maples growing here and there, and I wonder if they might choke it out at some point. On the occasions that the hedge was trimmed, it was always with a chainsaw, so I suspect my little area of privet along the driveway may be counting itself lucky indeed.

At the corner of my front porch is a tall shrub, perhaps some sort of hemlock. From the recent rains, it was covered with droplets of water, sparkling without the benefit of sun, just catching whatever light they could, and looking quite festive.

Also still wet from the rains of the night before, the branches of this evergreen glistened with moisture, cradling several of the now crisp maple leaves that have flown by from neighboring trees. This shrub has quadrupled in size since I’ve lived here – it’s in a very happy spot. It didn’t get its chainsaw shaping this year, so I hand trimmed it myself to keep its nice natural shape. Still, I suspect it will need more attention come spring; it has a very expansive nature and gets just the right amount of sun to fulfill its dreams.

Holding on to its once-bright green leaves is another shrub, sporting its cheery red berries. The branches are a tangle of dark criss-crossing patterns, and the leaves have now turned coral and copper, soon to join the slumbering grass below.

I didn’t venture far. It wasn’t that kind of day. But the caroling sparrows and gently changing plant life around my house and yard brightened my spirit, and invited me back into myself.

 

 

 

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This morning I got a reply from my niece to my “heads-up” e-mail to her, letting her know a package was soon to arrive with gift books for my great-nephew. He’s a big reader, and also very resourceful around Christmastime in looking for presents, I’m told.

Knowing I have aspirations to be published in children’s books as an author and hopefully, illustrator, she included a photo of the “pre-book” cover of an illustrator she met at a recent art show. The illustration was charming. And before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face as I felt so very far from my hopes and dreams. So far from even finding the time to write and draw with all that’s on my plate right now. And, well, that’s exactly what I had to do today – get on with what’s on my plate, my work.

First I turned on a few hours of music from Spirit Tribe Awakening – music that contains ancient healing frequencies, aligning with our heart chakra and helping release negativity with specific sound vibrations. This always helps. As I listened and watched the beautiful images of nature, I felt more peaceful, and then a desire to find more beautiful images.

Feeling so far from my path can sometimes leave me feeling utterly helpless, but I thought that I might be helped with the beauty of imagery. The result is what you see here. Paths of every kind.

And though I am still feeling a bit sad, between the music and images I am feeling more hopeful. It was the image of the cobblestoned street that first drew me in, and so  I began to walk …

Sometimes our paths are crooked …

Sometimes inspiring …

Sometimes our path seems to totally disappear.

Sometimes we travel our path with others …

But in the end, it is our path, and ours alone. And while it may be a lonely or hard path at times, it shines like the freshest of rains and mirrors the beauty that yearns from within.
I’ll get there.
We’ll get there.

 

Thank you to all the photographers whose wonderful photos I have used above and to freeimages.com for offering the works of these talented individuals to others.

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I was up early this morning – earlier than I wanted to be. I padded into the back bedroom and looked out the window. It was beautiful out. The moon, still nearly full, had bathed all the trees  and rooftops in a soft-edged blue. I thought to run get my camera, but instead, just stayed and savored the way the moonlight created a landscape that we might only see for a few days each month.

The light and shade of blue looked like this:

 

In fact, had I wandered out of the house, around the corner, and down the road a short piece into the woods, I am sure it would have looked almost exactly like this. Absolutely magical.

And now, as daylight fades, I look to the west. The sky at the horizon is the softest rose and apricot pink, easing upwards into faded pale blue and pink clouds, the trees a web of stark shadows. Another stroke of beauty. As I write, it morphs into lavender, and soon it will be dark.

There are times in all our lives when we are just inundated with things – work, emotionally-charged events, health challenges, all kinds of demands … so many things out of our control. At such times, these beautiful moments seem to warrant no more than a passing glance as we rush on to whatever calls us next.

However, we are fortunate that the beauty around us continues to change and evolve softly, always waiting quietly for us to notice, to be inspired, to be grateful. And grateful I am. In the midst of all manner of recent events and demands in my personal and work life, I have known that periods of time like this change and evolve, too. I can stop and breathe in that blue moonlight, that dusky sunset, and know I am safe and the one constant thing in life is change.

Change is good. It can bring out the best in us if we let it. And always there’s some touch of beauty to light our way.

 

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Fall this year seems different. It seems to be taking longer to be … well, fall. Not to complain. The days have been mostly sunny and in the 70’s for weeks, and in the 50’s-60’s at night. Heaven, really.

On my front porch, fall has arrived at my door with a basket of leaves and a pumpkin I picked up from Melick’s Farm in Oldwick a few days ago. In the morning sun, it glows so nicely.

Meanwhile, on my back porch, summer still reigns, and the vivid pop of color from Impatiens cheers up the quiet afternoons.

And the coleus (which you saw a few posts back) just continues to grow like wildfire. The will to live and grow that these plants have is undeniable, and I have already decided that they will stay in their favorite spot until the frost, whenever that may be. I’ll be sorry when they go – they’re such a bright spot when I go down to get the mail or hop in the car. I don’t think I’ve ever been more vigilant about a plant’s needs. Especially when all they ask is to be watered.

Inside, fall has come to grace the spots that welcome seasonal touches … the oak washstand in the hallway, and spots all about the house that welcome autumn colors and textures. Likewise I have switched my dishes to those I use for fall and winter, and am happy to put away the bright colors of spring and summer.

There’s something so home-y about the fall colors, so cozy and warm.

Outside, the trees have not yet turned color, not many leaves even fallen yet. Days are beginning to get noticeably shorter. Apples are coming in to the local farmstands, along with pumpkins and gourds of every color and pattern, though there’s still plenty of fabulous corn and tomatoes to be had. Soon there’ll be freshly pressed cider, and a chill to the air.

Fall coming slowly is just fine.

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I know I have waxed ecstatic periodically about the joys of having so many wonderful farmstands dotting the backroads of my county (the highest agricultural county in this state, BTW), so at the risk of perhaps repeating myself …

Look at this gorgeous produce I picked up yesterday! On the way home from food shopping at the supermarket in the afternoon I stopped at Phillips Farms to pick up a few fresh items, and as I approached the little red “house”, I heard one of the staff talking to a customer about Black Velvet Tomatoes. I was all ears! She pointed out the darker tomatoes above, and described them as much sweeter that the average field tomato, and therefore, great for salads, but could take over in a sandwich.

Don’t you love it when people know their stuff? So I picked up a few. Now as an artist, I also found them quite interesting, as I did when that yellow summer squash caught my eye. I’d never seen one with dark green ends, and was told they were really good, too. So with my black velvet tomatoes, field tomatoes for sandwiches, and a summer squash for I-don’t-know-what, my food shopping was complete for the week.

Once again, I am so grateful that fresh, beautiful produce is available to me from spring’s first asparagus to fall’s last apples and pumpkins.  And that it’s no more than 10 minutes away, or at any number of farmstands brightening my drives as I go.

Yesterday wasn’t a corn run, but I suspect that will be on the agenda before long!

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Grounds for Sculpture, created by J. Seward Johnson, is an (almost exclusively) outdoor museum featuring sculpture from around the world in every style, material, shape, and size imaginable. It is peopled throughout – quite literally – by the wonderful sculptures of Johnson himself. I have done a few posts on the Grounds for Sculpture because it is such an amazing place.

In previous posts, I focused on the sculptures throughout the grounds, but what I’ve never highlighted are the exquisite grounds themselves. Each and every sculpture is shown off to its best advantage by its “framing” by the perfect trees, shrubs, or grasses.

Truly, the Grounds for Sculpture is not just a sculpture exhibit,
but a true botanical garden.

One of Seward’s many sculptures, positioned in an outdoor amphitheater.

Sometimes just walking from one area of the grounds to another is an experience, this feeling to me like walking in an Impressionist painting.

Two views of one of the ponds on the grounds.

One of the many magnificent trees to be found as you walk
the museum’s 42 acres.

Another sculpture framed perfectly by the surrounding plantings.

 

Views in a Japanese sculpture garden.

One of a pair of ballerinas.

One of my favorite sculptures and arrangements in the park.

To enjoy more of Grounds for Sculpture, just type that in the search box above. Thanks for walking through these beautiful grounds with me.

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Let me preface this post by noting two things. 1) I am not a gardener, and feel especially lucky when the annuals I plant on my porches do well. 2) I was really not aware that there could be such a drastic difference in the actual quality of plants purchased from one location or another. Witness the Beast:

In early spring, my neighbor came home with an amazing haul of beautiful plants for their property, some of which I’d never seen or heard of before. I found she’d gotten them at Rice’s Market in not-too-far-away PA. This is a flea market which also has a huge assortment of plants from a local nursery.

Just look at that coleus above! Not only have I never seen coleus that looked like that, but it has been growing like wildfire in what is, obviously, its perfect spot. A Beast, indeed!

The burgundy leaves of the variant in back feel like velveteen and somewhat resemble a red maple. As summer wears on, they are starting to turn bright green at the edges. The tiny leaves of the other variant below are simply charming – again, nothing like any coleus I’ve ever seen.

As for the Beauty … the selection of annuals available at this nursery was astounding. I brought home these dark, velvet-y, purple petunias with a white star, and snapdragons, so petite and pretty, they are called “Angel Face Snapdragons.”

Stunning, no?

The individual flowers of this snapdragon look like tiny orchids. Ultimately, they – growing so tall – may not have been the best choice for the same pot as the petunias, but they’re making me happy! I find myself already thinking about what might be at this market for next spring.

As for the quality of plants … time being short as it is, I bought the above to get into pots right away with the thought of making a more local stop for other flowers a couple weeks later. The impatiens are struggling in one area (usually perfect for impatiens) and not even blooming in another. I’ve already made my decision – no more Home Depot, Lowe’s, or “plant lady.” Next year? out to PA for this nursery’s amazing selection of flowers, so fabulous they manage to make even me look like a gardener!

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Did you used to devour Highlights magazine at the doctor’s office when you were a kid? Still do? Me, too. One of my favorite things was always finding hidden objects and finding the differences between two pictures. Today, I offer the opportunity to enjoy the second challenge … find what’s different. Here’s the first photo taken earlier today:

And here is the second photo, taken a few years ago:

Okay, take away all the baking stuff. And the poinsettia. And the Poland Spring bottle. What’s different?

I’ll tell you. In the top photo, the toaster is wrapped in a plastic bag, whereas below, it’s au naturel. In the top photo there is a glass jar with a very snug lid holding cat food, and below there is a lovely tin canister with cats on it. Why the change? Ants. Yes, it is ant season — those little black ones which, one at a time, are pretty cute, but when having a party in Jazzy’s dry food bowl? Not so cute. For now, her dry food is upstairs, but when I see them on the toaster? All bets are off.

I am a clean person, especially in the kitchen, but now? I am obsessively clean. I do not like having to keep my toaster in a plastic bag. But I also do not like killing creatures of any size. And even though I sadly say `Sorry’ each time I snuff out one of their little lives, and even though I spray vinegar in certain areas and in certain patterns to make them stay away, have edged the kitchen with white light, they still find a way in. I am now resorting to additional – and more lethal – methods.

Still, it bothers me to kill them. I save every little being I can and take it outside – under a plastic deli container and on a piece of cardboard – out they go. I live in an 1890’s house, and although it was newly plumbed, wired, sheet rocked, etc. it was not given a new floor downstairs. The worn floor boards are an open invitation – literally – for insects to come in. Whenever I might move, I’m sure the new people will be mystified by so many oddly placed pieces of duct tape. There’s a reason for that, people, trust me. Leave them there.

My biggest save was a wolf spider that appeared in my downstairs bathroom – she was huge. I asked her to please not move (yes, I do talk to them), while I got a bigger deli container. She stayed right there while I put it over her and carefully slid the cardboard underneath. I went outside and headed for the river. She was not happy and jumping inside. I don’t know if my telling her it would be OK in a minute helped or not, but I was doing my best. Over the grass, over the old tracks, down an incline and there was a huge pile of leaves and twigs. I figured that would give her a head start. I tilted the cardboard towards the leaves and gently lifted the container. As I’d hoped, she ran forward, and in a millisecond, had camouflaged herself perfectly. I took a deep breath, came home, and went searching for that opening with my roll of duct tape. (Please note, for those of you who are squeamish, that I have spared you a photo of a wolf spider. (For those interested, check here.)

Would I could do that for the ants. I tell them, `if you want to live, stay outside.’ Maybe some listen. But for the rest? Sorry. Really, I am.

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Lately it’s been a bit of a challenge to settle down to write a post. Whether due to lack of time or lack of brain, I have been remiss. But yesterday, I couldn’t help but be inspired.

When I went out to get my mail, my friend across the street was coming out as well. We stopped and chatted for a while in the road, both amazed at the sunny, balmy 56˚ weather. But alas, there was work on my desk and I needed to go back in, balmy or not. At my computer, I looked out the window at the sun streaming onto my back porch. Certainly going a mere 15′ from my Mac wouldn’t really be absconding from work, would it?

I looked down, over the porch railing, and saw an array of amazing textures and light. Just last week, it had been -1˚ in the morning, and these warm temps were resulting in a momentary thaw and so many abstract visions. I grabbed my camera and took some photos because … well, I needed to.

Melting ice was beginning to stream into the yard, and there were a few bright berries left on the bushes.

The twisted base of one of the hydrangeas defied a sense of scale; I could be looking down into a canyon …

or watching a snowy river rush by.

The intricate patterns of nature are stunning even in their most dormant stages. Sometimes even more so.

And then I really needed to get back to work.

 

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These impatiens did exceedingly well in this spot at the far end of my back porch.

Let me first say that I am not a gardener. Happily, I have a good eye for color and how things could look, but I don’t have that deep and intuitive understanding of when and how things grow and bloom, what they need, where in a garden they need to be and next to whom like serious gardeners do. Nor do I have the time to learn, though I would otherwise truly enjoy it. I am in awe of serious gardeners, but I’m one of those people who just “does her best”, and lets it go at that. I’m happy that they bloom and make my porches lovely places to sit and enjoy.

This is a truly hot spot for a coleus – just the right amount and angle of sunshine. They thrive here each year.

In the present location where I live, I don’t have gardens to garden in. The land around the house is somewhat minimal and taken care of by someone else. I have porches.

This is a very flattering angle for these marigolds. They did very poorly this year, whether it was the plants, or me over/under watering them, I don’t know. But they did look pretty in the royal blue pots I got for them.

Each year I buy a simple selection of annuals and put them where I’m pretty sure they will do well. I change it up each year and occasionally buy some new pots or try a new plant to see how it works out.

This is the first year I planted a big bunch of impatiens by my side door. They really liked being there a lot.
And crowded out another shade-loving plant I gave a try.

I did try another type of shade plant this year, but they weren’t very pretty on their own and didn’t ‘t play nicely with other plants I tried them with. I’ll have to consider next spring if I should try something different with them or just something different.

Another flattering angle! It’s the first time I tried coleus in this spot at the back corner of my front porch and they did very well. I tucked in some marigolds for a pop of color, which worked out nicely when they bloomed.

I took these photos because it’s the end of summer, the beginning of fall, and soon they’ll be gone. I’ve been thinking of getting some mums for around the porches which means dumping all that has flowered all summer long. This is always a hard and sad task for me – tossing out a living thing pains me. And as if they heard me, the coleus began to vigorously flower, shooting lavender spikes of flowers to the sky. How can I dismiss what is bursting into bloom?

Sure, they can stay a while longer. Sigh. Maybe I’ll have a little overlap.

A photo does not do justice to the incredibly delicate strands and bowl shape of these spider webs.

The last few mornings, I observed these ephemeral spider webs which appear overnight. They are like bowls of the finest gauze. I looked very closely and spied a tiny little spider – not more than 1/4 inch long. I can’t imagine the amount of energy it must take to spin out that much silk. The sun burns the webs away or they fade on their own over the course of the day, but each morning, a new bowl or two appears. As my plants give their last hurrah of summer, it seems some spiders have the same idea, weaving in earnest before the impending chills of fall.

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A blogging friend across the pond at Harvesting Hecate took up a writing challenge, and in turn, Andrea chose three fellow bloggers to carry on the torch. I am honored to be one of the people she chose, and though I am woefully behind time-wise, I do have a few thoughts on this subject. The challenge entails writing about the chosen word and including two quotes, then passing on the challenge to three others. Her word was “joy” and the link above will take you to her thoughts about it. The word Andrea suggested is `Vision.’

As an artist, vision is pretty much everything to me. Over a lifetime I came to understand that people do not all see the same. For much of my life, I always thought that what I saw, you saw.  I simply wasn’t aware of my “vision” as unique and my own miraculous gift. Now I know differently. Below are examples of how I perceive the world – my vision – through my photographs. So yes, some writing, and two quotes I’m loving right now, and my interpretation of the word vision.

Our vision takes us far and into realms of exquisite color …

It gives us a sense of scale …

finds us dreaming in the mist …

or thinking ahead.

Our vision brings us close and aware of texture …

and down roads familiar and well-remembered.

It reminds us that we eat with our eyes first!

Vision brings us back to childhood memories.

Vision takes us places in and around where we live …

and allows us to see through the eyes of others.

It reminds us of the never-ending wonders and beauty of nature.

“Stop acting so small. You are the universe in ecstatic motion.”
Rumi

Vision riles up our tastebuds …

and makes us curious about our world.

Vision reminds us of life’s most wonderful small joys …

“If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.” ~ Emily Dickinson

and to be thankful for all we have.

And then there’s the vision of what we hold within … what forms our dreams, our feelings, our aspirations and inspirations. And what better way to guide us on our inner path than light?


And now I pass on the challenge to 3 more bloggers – Cynthia at cynthiasreyes.com, Pam at roughwighting, and Lavinia at Salmon Brook Farms. If you choose to accept this challenge, your word is `wonder’.

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