This is what the “lawn” looks like after six weeks away.
And the garden is a jungle. But at least there is kale growing in the jungle. And lots of garlic. Oh, and volunteer plants I would have weeded out weeks ago. How I love the volunteers. And so they get to stay. Nasturtiums in the garlic beds. Cosmos in the onions. Calendula everywhere. Hundreds of borage plants for the bees.
The garden is wild. The children have not brushed their hair in days. The puppy is happy.
The chickens are settling back in.
And sometimes Amabel and I spend the morning collecting beautiful bits of plants and arranging them just so, creating this lovely, yet rather pointless assortment . . . instead of weeding, but . . . it’s lovely here, in the jungle, isn’t it?
How glad I am for this photo. I spent most of the day in bed. In a fog. But there was this. Beautiful berries from our jungle of a garden. Berries they were watching but not picking for two days, just to save for Papa.
Watch those little boys grow!
Sometimes I think that the purpose of photography is to hide the pain behind beautiful moments captured in still.
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.
All three of mine. Well, okay, all four. In one of our very most favorite places in the world.
Her bouquets are so delicate.
Delicate Gousty beauties.
Beauties from the field and forest and garden.
Gardening on the edges.
It’s in your dreams, you know.
This lilac love.