Gardening

Oh I could walk 10,000 miles
Maybe your heard that song
Today I am walking to see 10,000 plus daffodils
On Wigawam Road in Litchfield, CT
And its Laurel Ridge Farm
And it was what was an unusable piece of farm land
That these private land owners decided what could they do with it
They decided to plant daffodils
They are also deer resistant
Which is great hear in the north east
For your flower and veggie garden
It has been raining a lot
And it is a really sunshiny day
I am staying up in Goshen

I love sunflowers. I mean, here is a flower that grows bigger than me. It is gigantic. And the seeds are so visible, so wildly bountiful, and so orderly arranged.

I see them growing in the community garden, and I admire their towering, poetic, lilting stance.

There are two local farms that plant thousands of sunflowers – acres and acres - and let you walk among them. It is breath-taking. So many circles of purple-black with a rim of yellow against a backdrop of greens and a light blue sky – like nature is looking with 10,000 eyes upon the world.

I have found that I can be in a room full of people, and feel absolutely isolated and lonely. Perhaps this happens to you, too.

So, there is something more going on with loneliness than just needing to be around other humans.

Perhaps we are lonely for this, that, and the other.

When I take care of a garden, I feel that the flowers, vegetables, herbs, and all that grows out of the soil are my friends. So, I like visiting the Hartford Flower Show, the Bronx Gardens, and the Durham County Fair.

Is age just a number
Is the number of years that you are young
Telling of your vitality, your energy, your philosophy
How you live your life
I went with my friend the other day to visit a friend of hers
Her name is Celeste
And it was an amazing experience
Because Celeste is 100 years young
She is from France
She has been living in the US actually locally in Litchfield County for quite some time
My friend was there to buy a boxwood a miniature boxwood that you don’t have to trim
From her which she has planted thru out her yard

Garden life began for me at the age of 12. When my mother worried she was so busy she might not get her dahlias planted, I volunteered for the job. I seldom volunteered for chores on our busy family farm, but, even then, the magic of these flowering plants had me under their spell. Dahlias grow from thick, elongated roots called tubers that we dug each fall and stored for the winter. By springtime the gnarly clumps were like shriveled starfish, testing one’s faith any life could be left in those dusty, wrinkled remains.

When Bruce and I were first married, we discovered Jones’ Family Farm, and started a tradition.

Each October we’d go to the farm and pick out a huge pumpkin. Then we’d bring it home, and work all weekend to make pies (usually 9) and loaves (usually 6).

Sometimes, we’d make pumpkin cookies or pumpkin pancakes (not a big hit). We’d cook the seeds. Then we’d distribute the pies to my parents and my brother Mike, Bruce’s parents, aunties, neighbors, etc.

I’d always bring some in for the teacher’s lounge at Second Hill Lane School.

One of our favorite summer days was blueberry day.

We’d put on old clothes, our straw hats, then gather our baskets and make our way to the Jones’ Family Farm in Shelton. We’d hitch a ride on the “berry ferry”, and be driven out to the blueberry bushes.

Blueberries are easy to pick and practically popped into our small baskets. When our small baskets were filled, we’d dump them all into the big basket and fill that up. The camera was always on hand.

After the picking, we’d drive to Huntington Center and have lunch and dessert at Sassafras Restaurant.

I am drawn to where the past lingers on, like Sturbridge Village Museum in Massachusetts, where people dress up in yesteryear clothes and character. It is truly amazing how these people fit their parts so well, as if being transported back 300 years.

Seeing the farmer in a long coat shepherding a flock of sheep thru the village green.

Seeing the potter casually spinning a clay pot.

Seeing the tinker making a lantern of tin or a candleholder of pewter.

Seeing how they cook in a hearth with an open fragrant log fire.