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Snowflake Dream Christmas

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Last Call for Bulbs

The corner bed at the side of the house.   I will get rid of the edging next Spring.

One lone Hellebores.  I fell in love with them this year and hope it makes it through the winter.  If it does I plan to grow alot more.

I needed to spend some time in the Fernwood (Blue Lake) garden to finish planting my bulbs last weekend.  Pleased to have great weather,  I planted the bulbs (Allium and Daffodils) and then thought I might fill in the bed with cranberry compost.  I started hauling compost by the pailful but soon realized that would take me too long and I was burning daylight.  And being that the wheelbarrow was in the shed, loaded with hoses to store for the winter, I needed to come up with something more efficient.  Duh...the Kubota tractor!  So I had Kurt pick up a bucketful with the front end loader and drive it on over.  I shoved most of it right out of the bucket and then had him dump the rest.  Worked like a charm and saved me tons of time.   I figure the bucket holds about two wheelbarrows full. 

Another trip around the sun

Yep, it's my birthday.  11022011.  Another 365 days come and gone.  Another year closer to retirement.  Not that I want to wish my life away but that day can't come fast enough.

Sometimes, I Am Startled Out of Myself,
by Barbara Crooker

like this morning, when the wild geese came squawking,
flapping their rusty hinges, and something about their trek
across the sky made me think about my life, the places
of brokenness, the places of sorrow, the places where grief
has strung me out to dry. And then the geese come calling,
the leader falling back when tired, another taking her place.
Hope is borne on wings. Look at the trees. They turn to gold
for a brief while, then lose it all each November.
Through the cold months, they stand, take the worst
weather has to offer. And still, they put out shy green leaves
come April, come May. The geese glide over the cornfields,
land on the pond with its sedges and reeds.
You do not have to be wise. Even a goose knows how to find
shelter, where the corn still lies in the stubble and dried stalks.
All we do is pass through here, the best way we can.
They stitch up the sky, and it is whole again.

This poem arrived today via the Writer's Almanac. I love the idea of hope on wings. Isaiah 40:31.  New hope through grace...and another trip around the sun!  Happy Birthday to me!!!