This Dead Tree

We have this dead tree
in our yard.
When it died
I took it very hard. 

For that beautiful 
Norwegian Spruce,
I dug the hole.
I planted the roots.

It was a tiny sapling,
less than two feet high.
From a distance 
you couldn't see it with your eye.

For thirty years
strong and high it grew.
Providing shelter and
shade anew.

Then came along
that ugly gypsy moth.
Their tiny mouths
chewing all the needles off.

Unlike the mighty oak,
this tree could not keep its health.
Instead, it died
all by itself.

Now it still stands
still tall and proud. 
It's branches thinning 
and dropping 
to the ground. 

Little birds
still on it perch.
Lots of bugs and insects
love its berth.

We'll leave it standing 
until it falls down.
Providing nourishment 
for everything around.

My Little Piece of Eden

I began the process of building this garden when my children began leaving home to pursue post secondary education.

Back then, the area was a small forest partly on our lawn but mostly in our field

A large, three trunked, old Manitoba maple tree was its focal point. Under its enormous boughs was the remaining sands of a large sandbox that was slowly being over run by a variety of ground covers and grasses.

An old apple tree, a lilac bush, and a number of oak and maple saplings covered the area. I trimmed and clipped and trimmed some more. I added a bench, a bit of a stone wall, a few hostas, and some English ivy.

A beautiful shade garden emerged. A canopy that provided shelter from the rain for the person resting on the bench.

Then, one day, while I was away, one of the three large trunks of the manitoa maple tree came crashing down, taking with it most of the oak and maple saplings. By the time I returned home, the remaining two trunks, now unsafe, had been taken down. A mass of branches and wood were all that remained.

I cried. I mourned the loss of my beautiful trees and the comfort they had provided me.

Then the sun came out. New opportunities poked out their little heads.

The hostas and the periwinkle began to bloom. The stump ends of the fallen trees , I covered with beautiful pieces of stained glass.

A Soul Sister project. Beautiful women creating beautiful art.

Another stone fence was added.

Friends shared pieces of their hydrangea bushes. My husband shared his lilies.

A pet cemetery found a home in the old sandbox.

Fairy houses found themselves a home.

Birds moved into the bird house.

Little feet run along the pathway that runs through the center of the garden.

Monarchs fly amongst the milkweed.

Lily of the valley and english ivy run rampant, as does the goutweed.

I celebrate my new garden as I pull weeds and apply grass clippings to keep them from coming back.

Mostly, I enjoy sitting on my bench.

As I celebrate my new sunny garden and the blessings it brings, I continue to mourn the loss of my shade garden and the protection it gave me.

Dry Rivers

Dry river……cry river…..My river is dry…..cry….try……my….bye……Said I……

Why do I continue to return
to the same dry wells.
Never, there, has my thirst ever
been quenched.

The steam rises,
the river bed swells.
The cards are on the table
and everything is drenched. 

Why do I constantly return?
Stay! the big mouth yells.
This time, I walk away,
my heart is wrenched.

The narrative has changed,
the way the story tells.
My soul,
it is entrenched. 

I am leaving,
silencing the bells.

Mariposa…2024…Playing in Harmony…

A sculpted hand. The perfect stroke of a paint brush.

Imagine 
The pink panther 
Leaning on a lamp post
A fedora,
on its head.
A long, white,
ivory cigarette holder
in his hand....

You can not put a price
On peace of mind. (WP)

Let my life be a prayer. (KW)

Bruce Cockburn, member of the Mariposa Hall of Fame…photo credit Darlene Gross.

I sincerely hope the young artist at this weekends festival listened to the lyrics of icon's songs.

Until next year…..

Playing in Harmony….

Until next year….

Joe, the Pig

There was a pig,
and his name was Joe.
He had a new job
but he just wouldn't go.

They gave him a corn cob,
and they gave him a bed.
All he did
was slap himself in the head.

He said, 'I can't go!
I belong in the zoo!'
'Where I can be seen!
by people like you!'

So he smiled, 
and he ran
to the zoo and said,
'Here I am! Here I am!

I AM YOUR MAN!!!!!!

Lavender Fields

Grandparenting, one of the greatest gifts that God has bestowed upon me.

Colours of lavender and lilac, mauve, and violet. Purple, light purple, pale purple, and dark purple. Pale purple, with a hint of pink.

Lavender lemonade from the Bank Cafe. Made with lavender from the Purple Hill lavender farm.

Pollinators busy at work during this International Pollinators Week.

Grandpa and Grandma, chilling with Cooper, and breathing in the sweet aroma of lavender fields. Photo by Cooper’s mom.

There are so many great places, so close to home, to explore and discover, in this great country of ours.

My Strawberry Patch Kid

Every picture tells a story…..about a little boy and his love for tractors!

You take one step forward, you put one leg up, and one leg over, and sit on your …… ! You put one leg down, settle on your feet, and over the table you went!

Just going shopping……..down the strawberry aisle……everything was fine…….until the last mile!

Finding the best strawberry
in the strawberry patch!

Locust Blossoms

Our black locust trees are loaded with blossoms…..

Ten years ago, on the day of our daughter’s wedding, the flowers were even more plentiful. Blossoms, beautifully white, hung over the garden beds below. Flowers and blossoms, mingling.

Pea like white flowers, dripping from the boughs and the branches.

Bumble bees, drawn by the sweet honey musk scent of the flower, assemble into a buzzing orchestra high in the branches above the ground.

So many blossoms, so many bees, so much honey, in hives located in other trees.

Forget-Me-Not

Wish upon a wishing well, 
A pocket full of sand. 
I picked a bouquet of forget-me-nots.
They wilted in my hand. 

An old apple head doll,
Pinched and pruned,
and impeccably dressed.
Lay on the floor
for a well-deserved rest. 

Soft tiny triangles of fabric
Filled a plastic bag 
'Merry Christmas,' she said 
And my heart began to sag. 

And the dresses drifting down
to the ground, turn into mud.
Triangle pieces 
Land with a thud.

And the water is wet.
And the rain is wet.
Yet.
My tears run dry


That old familiar tune plays on...and on....and on...and on. 
And time passes by.

The Carden Plain.

After traveling down a stretch of Wylie Road, through long flooded areas, dodging springtime potholes, and smooth gravel sections, we decided to hike a length of the Sedge Wren Marsh. So very pretty and noisy with the songs of the birds that we could not see. Narrow like an old cow trail, spotted with board walks and flat rocky spots.

I didn’t photograph the poison ivy growing alongside the path.

We loved our time exploring parts of the Cardin Plain, a large limestone plain with wetlands and woods, and large grassy meadows.

Walking through God’s Garden.

Praise smoke, Labrador violets, early buttercup, and western service berries were a few that we could identify.

On Bluebird ranch, the cattle called moooo, while the Canada Geese nested and rested all the while watching you!

Bluebird Ranch, a part of the Couchiching Conservancy, is a working ranch. We witnessed several herds of cattle, all who boldly stared us down as we quietly called their names.

The bird songs that we listened to may or may not have been the voices of those pictured above.

My favourite flower of the day, the brilliantly beautiful scarlet Indianm paintbrush. With this paintbrush, God painted a garden like no other.