juneSCENE IN OUR GARDEN: What Gardener Worth His Salt Sits?

What Gardener Worth His Salt Sits?

Sitting in your garden is a feat to be worked at with unflagging determination and single-mindedness - for what gardener worth his salt sits down. I am deeply committed to sitting in the garden.- Mirabel Osler

Having read that, I feel less embarrassed by the number of seats we have in our yard and garden!
Dare I confess, we have a few more than these?!

8 comments:

Gardener on Sherlock StreetMay 31, 2010 at 5:56 AM
You're all set for company in the garden! Nice idea for a post.
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MariMay 31, 2010 at 7:46 AM
I love this! Your gardens are gorgeous and there are lots of places to relax and take it all in.
I also have to tell you that I like the outside sounds you have playing. I'm not usually a fan of soundtracks on blogs, but this one fits perfectly!
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RebeccaMay 31, 2010 at 7:49 AM
Thanks for your sweet comments, friends.

Mari, I know soundtracks can be annoying. (I tell myself that people can figure out how to turn it off if they don't like it.)
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DawnMay 31, 2010 at 8:07 AM
Oh, I love, love your seating. Can never have too much!
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DonnaMay 31, 2010 at 1:12 PM
really like all the seating...do you have a favorite spot?
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MelanieJune 1, 2010 at 11:38 AM
You can never have too many places to sit!! I am forever picking a different spot in my yard depending on the wind, the sun, the activity, my mood--you know!! Enjoyed the pictures
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tinaJune 2, 2010 at 4:41 AM
Your seating areas are all so comfy looking I'd be sitting all the time (or trying too:)
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Catherine@AGardenerinProgressJune 2, 2010 at 7:05 PM
Sitting down in the garden is hard to do. You have so many nice cozy seating areas. I love the washtubs hanging on your house. I just went back and caught up on your last few posts. You live in such a beautiful place!
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To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich; to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly; to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages, with open heart; to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await occasions, hurry never. In a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common. This is to be my symphony. William Henry Channing 1810-1884

Irises come in many forms, shapes, colors and sizes and the sword-like foliage is attractive when the plant is not in bloom. The genus Iris is a large genus of bulbous and rhizomatous perennials.

The Iris was named after the goddess of the rainbow because of its many colors.
A flower on the Sphinx is considered to be an Iris, and another appears on a bas-relief of the 18th Egyptian dynasty.
Pliny also knew the Iris and praised its medicinal virtues.
The Iris was also a favourite flower of the Moslems, who took it to Spain after their conquest in the 8th century.

Bought at a local plant sale, Spring of 2009 Feverfew (Tanacetum parthenium; syn. Chrysanthemum parthenium (L.) Pers., Pyrethrum parthenium Sm.) is a traditional medicinal herb which is found in many old gardens, and is also occasionally grown for ornament. The plant grows into a small bush up to around 18 inches high, with citrus-scented leaves and is covered by flowers reminiscent of daisies. It spreads rapidly, and they will cover a wide area after a few years. It is also commonly seen in the literature by its synonyms, Chrysanthemum parthenium (L.) Bernh. and Pyrethrum parthenium (L.) Sm.

I'D PICK MORE DAISIES
If I could live my life again
I'd be a little lazy
I'd stop this rushing to and fro
And stop and pick more daisies
Through all the lovely summer months
Though days be clear or hazy
No more to fret over tasks undone,
I'd stop to pick a daisy
Not so important what I did
This fact time now discloses
While running through life's garden green
I'd stop to smell the roses
If I could hold my little ones
The children in my care
I'd scold them less and love them more
With so much love to share
If I could pass this way again
Though folks might think I'm crazy
I'd work and worry less, but I'd
Take time to pick a daisy
The rush of life has passed me by
Now I have leisure hours
But time has taken such a toll
It's too late to pick the flowers.

Mildred F. Rowe

MEASURE YOUR HEALTH...by your sympathy with morning and spring. If there is no response in you to the awakening of nature, if the prospect of an early morning walk does not banish sleep, if the warble of the first bluebird does not thrill you--know that the morning and the spring of your life are past. Thus may you feel your pulse. (Thoreau)

"God writes the gospel not in the Bible alone, but on the trees and flowers and clouds and stars." (Martin Luther)

"To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and to endure the betrayal of false friends. To appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded." (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

The soul of a child is the loveliest flower
That grows in the garden of God
It's climb is from weakness to knowledge and power,
To the sky from the clay to the clod.
To beauty and sweetness it grows under care
Neglected, 'tis ragged and wild.
'Tis a plant that is tender, but wondrously rare,
The sweet wistfull soul of a child.

Be tender, O Gardener, and give it it's share
Of moisture, of warmth and of light,
And let it not lack for th painstaking care
To protect it from frost and from blight.
A glad day will come when it's bloom shall unfold,
It will seem that an angel has smiled,
Reflecting a beauty and sweetness untold
In the sensitive soul of a child.

...Author Unknown

Thy Word is like a garden, Lord,
With flowers bright and fair;
And every one who seeks may pluck
A lovely cluster there.
Thy Word is like a deep, deep mine,
And jewels rich and rare
Are hidden in its mighty depths
For every searcher there.

Thy Word is like a starry host:
A thousand rays of light
Are seen to guard the traveler,
And make his pathway bright.
Thy Word is like an armory,
Where soldiers may repair,
And find, for life's long battle-day,
All needful weapons there.

Oh, may I love Thy precious Word,
May I explore the mine,
May I its fragrant flowers glen,
May light upon me shine!
Oh, may I find my armor there!
Thy Word my trusty sword,
I'll learn to fight with every foe
The battle of the Lord.

(Edwin Hodder, Thy Word Is Like a Garden, Lord)