I have a tremendous amount to say about flowers in July – and most of it comes out in the form of poetry and photographs.
this day selling flowers at the art fair
thanks to Grandmommy
because my head was too full of house project lists to think about
but flowers –
what could be more important than flowers?
See the sunshine
captured within these glorious petals?
they will dry out
with all their goodness preserved —
and we will soak them in sweet oil, for weeks,
and squeeze out the golden essence
and combine it with beeswax
and pour it into a beautiful little jar
And you will carry it
in your pocket
all winter long,
dreaming of sunshine
as you smooth summer into your skin.
I’m saving them for you.
because they are my givingness:
and having all I need.
Remember the wild rosebush?
Endless projects around here.
Uncle Scott helping.
Getting everything ready for August.
Little man in tool heaven.
Theo boy is living a dog’s life over here. And growing so fast! He has tripled in size since we brought him home two months ago. The girls have been diligently training, walking, washing, brushing, giving swimming lessons . . . and generally taking Theo out to explore the world. I know I’ve said this before, probably a dozen times, but I just love to watch them nurture their pup.
The smell here.
White pines, sand, lake air, and boardwalk.
If only I could capture the blend of fragrance and embed it into a photograph . . .
Taking an afternoon off from cleaning to gather around the table together with dear family, and paint.
my brother and my little bud
The ladies had such freedom in the Gousty woods. Coming and going as they pleased. Scratching and pecking for bugs in the mulch. Visiting us on the porch steps at lunchtime. Following Susie like loyal puppies, eager for compost.
It was a good life you had there in the lovely forest land, ladies.
Here we are, on the winding Gousty lanes, exploring with our dear friend Jill, traveling back in time together. There is a timeless quality to the lanes going up and down the hills, connecting old houses. Old houses like old friends talking, remembering, as we do, our shared history.
I love watching my girls as they observe the friendship between Susie and Jill, dear friends who spent years raising their children together. My girls love to hear them bantering stories back and forth – stories from when I was the age of my daughters. I see my girls imagining Grandmommy when she was my age, with little ones like I have now. Imagining me as little like them. Imagining me with Jill’s daughters and the worlds we created and the words we invented. And how those little worlds and those words live on in the stories our mothers tell all these years later. Walking together.
She is like another sister to him.
I told her that if she opened a preschool, it would immediately fill with the happiest toddlers in the neighborhood! These boys adore her and the endless games she invents for them. Today, they were her “Natural Boys,” following her around everywhere, listening to her every direction.