juneSCENE IN OUR GARDEN: Chore Theory

Chore Theory

"... I've always been of the "little drops of water - little grains of sand" theory about chores.

Do a little each day and there really aren't any big chores." (Martha)

I subscribe to Martha's approach.

My husband, on the other hand, does HIS chores in BIG chunks.

This afternoon, he remodeled this trellis --
fastening it to decking boards at the bottom

and burying some spikes he fashioned beneath it.

Maybe NOW the wind won't twist and uproot it!
He also adjusted the stepping stones and fastened
the rose bushes to the sides of the trellis.

While admiring his accomplishment,

I braved the cold

to take pictures of a few of our favorite plants...

How does YOUR garden grow these days?
Is it cold in YOUR "neck of the woods"?
and
What's YOUR "chore theory"?

6 comments:

MariApril 27, 2012 at 6:48 PM
I subscribe to your theory as well, but with your husbands methods, you see big results! It looks great!
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Gardener on Sherlock StreetApril 27, 2012 at 8:45 PM
I like the little at a time approach too, but sometimes, it's easier to wait and get all the tools out at once.
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Sunray GardensApril 28, 2012 at 3:16 AM
Very pretty and I love your trellis. Think the boards will help keep that more stationary also.
Cher Sunray Gardens
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creekside rummagerApril 30, 2012 at 8:35 AM
Your husband did a great job. I think I also follow your methods with chores. I like to stay up on what needs to be done.
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GRACE PETERSONMay 1, 2012 at 4:04 PM
My chore theory is, "Do as little as possible to survive and feel comfortable." (And hope Martha doesn't come calling.)

It's kind of chilly in my neck of the woods too. I hope your hubby's fix on the arbor is a success. I have a tall ladder in my garden. It kept toppling until I sunk two 5 foot long rebar poles about two feet underground along side two of the ladder's legs. Then I wired the rebar to the ladder and voila. It stays upright.

Pretty photos!
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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)