A Dawn Dilemma from A to Z

dawn, New EnglandA few minutes after dawn, I notice some movement outside my window.

Because it’s summer, with flowers blooming wildly and birds singing as if there’s no tomorrow, I assume some kind of wildlife has entered my yard.

Cracking open the back door, I peek out. Despite my admiration for foxes and wild turkeys, I don’t necessary want to tiptoe out into the yard and run into any family squabbles. Continue reading

Amazingly Ordinary

daylily, nursery, plantsI met an amazingly ordinary couple this week. They own their own nursery, where they grow and sell day lilies and hostas, hydrangea and roses, astilbes and lavender.

My guy and I visited their little nursery in hopes of filling in some gaps where 8-feet of snow devastated some of our flowering bushes. Although the drive was not far from our village outside of Boston, the green-hooded winding lanes, acreages of pastureland with grazing cows, a farm here, another white-spired church there, made us feel like it could just as easily be 1940, or 1840, instead of 2015.perennials, gardening Continue reading

Sun Salutations

Boston, blizzard, snow, Sudan Licht

Photo thanks to Susan Licht (http://lichtyears.com/)

The outlook is bleak for millions of us as we peer outside our windows. We now live in a gray and white world.

I’m begging for some color. So I go inside to my imagination. Isn’tsnow, birds, New England, blizzard that the place we all should enter, when life becomes too monochromatic?

I want sun, no, I NEED sun like the birds and the bees and all the flowers (not) on the trees… Ah ha, I know what I’ll do. Continue reading

A New England Fortune

New England path, Walden PondBefore the snows begin, and the ice and sleet, I walk in my new neighborhood to become familiar with all of the dips and cracks in the sidewalks and the wooded paths nearby. On this chilly day, I wear a decades-old red LL Bean overcoat and even older soft black gloves that I didn’t need when living in the San Francisco bay area.

I grumble a bit, allowing some self-pity.

     At “home,” I’d still be wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

     At “home,” I’d need a baseball hat to protect my face from the gleaming sun.

As leaves crunch beneath my shoes, my gloved third finger discovers a small crunch in its tip. Is it a years-old crumb? A small pebble from long-ago? Continue reading