Love’s Connections

He was 98, she was 103. Married for almost 70 years. One morning, he was found to have passed in the night. They waited to tell his wife that morning. They told her, she said nothing. Her eyes, her countenance said it all. She passed within the week. Dearly in love until the end. They held hands often. They had a profound influence upon those that witnessed this love, this passing. Most of us will never experience such longevity in our lives or our relationships. However, we all can appreciate the magic that blessed this couple until the end.

Rustic Shed: ‘May I Help You?’

I took a back route today just for a change of pace. I saw a rustic, old building and circled around to check it out. There had just been an officer involved shooting/fatality nearby (robbery suspect attacking with a crow bar met his demise) a few blocks from where I was.  I knew I might as well sit still for a bit until the area settled down. I got out to take photos a respectful distance from the shed and was intent on taking in the beautiful, old, weathered siding. 

“May I help you?” I heard. I looked to see a none too shy woman approaching me. I explained that I was impressed with the shed and the rustic appearance. She was more concerned I was with ‘the city’ as they have been after her to tear down the structure for several years. It has no foundation and currently violates some such ordinance about being too close to the curb (there isn’t a curb). So, I assured her I was not an inspector or agent of the government and that I merely enjoyed the building.

~

The lady told me the structure was built by her father in 1938. The nearby house was built in 1908. She grew up in the house and eventually assumed control upon the passing of her parents. She wants to preserve the old shed out of nostalgia’s sake and has access closed off to stop intruders. Several times a year she cuts back the English Ivy from the shed and nearby Fir trees. I thanked her for the opportunity to take some photos.

Crows: Such a Fuss

“No  competence ever is required to be a scarecrow.”  Mehmet Murat ildan

I am never certain whether I like Crows or not. They rank up there, as dastardly creatures, with the Loon (a maniacal, saavy, red eyed bird I have done battle with on B.C. lakes when fly fishing). Today, this Crow sat atop a limber branch. It let me walk fairly close by to take a couple of photos. 

“Cain lifts Crow, that heavy black bird and strikes down Abel. Damn, says Crow, I guess this is just the beginning.”  Sherman Alexie

Traditions in Gardening (Life)

“Long experience has taught me that people who do not like geraniums have something morally unsound about them. Sooner or later you will find them out; you will discover that they drink, or steal books, or speak sharply to cats. Never trust a man or a woman who is not passionately devoted to geraniums.”

Beverly Nichols (Merry Hall)

Observations with no Conclusions: I find myself repeating the habits of my dear departed loved ones when it comes to gardening. I am reflexively drawn to flowers that my parents, Aunt, grandparents planted and raised in abundance for as long as I can remember. Why? Why the following in the same path?

Geraniums, Roses, Fuchsias, Foxglove, Hollyhocks, Ferns are foremost in our gardening preferences. Yes, there are other efforts toward Hosta, various perennials, ground covers and trees but the go to flowers year after year are the above.

I like these flowers by virtue of their colors, their blooming time and quantity, their hardiness. But, if I drill down for the honest why’s of it all, I meet that same swirl of thoughts and emotions I seem to meet anymore when plumbing the depths of who I am and why I believe what I believe or feel or think or say. There is a lot of unresolved emotions and thoughts that just makes one turn away to deal with the present events.

Yet, the preference for the plants? Memories of being a child and things were happy and bright. Playtime, sunshine, those colors around me, something connected to my parents and family…that was positive. Those plants brightened the hearts and minds of my loved ones. I know enough now, as an adult, that the subcurrents of unhappiness and unfullfilled dreams were there for them but gardening was an outlet.

So these oft repeated flowers and colors did something to raise their spirits. I know they raise mine and I feel a positive connection to the past. Such remembrances to the past, be it gardening, cooking, decorating, tinkering in a shop, crafts, recreation all have traditions that we borrow because, yes they work and are efficient, but also because we watched our parents, our mentors and somewhere in that muddled memory are pleasant recollections of warmth and peace.

Last night, a neighbor lady beckoned me to her yard to show me the flowers she had planted. This lovely woman, in her 80’s, was so proud of her geraniums, her petunias and hosta. She bubbled with excitement about the colors, the soil, the amount of sunshine they receive, the hosta having originally come from my departed Aunt. I listened, admired, took in the beauty and tidy plantings. Her geraniums, my geraniums prompted my considerations for this post.