Cold moon, cold moonlight Tucking another blanket around the newborn. by CarolPurington from Family Farm: Haiku for a Place of Moons We have no newborn, but this haiku captures the way I feel as the winter night falls. When bedtime arrives I gaze out at our snowy landscape, chill and luminous in the moonlight; I am happy to slip between my flannel sheets, and tuck a warm quilt around me. Then I dream of spring when the snow…
As I review and renew in my garden, I thought I ought to look back at the year on the commonweeder. The 5 most popular posts were not what I expected. In February Mycotecture got many visitors - and continues to be visited. In March the New York Times had an article about Femivores, women who love their chickens too much. Or something like that. I have chickens so I had to comment. Chickens - and their houses…
Yesterday I spent the afternoon and evening preparing for, and enjoying a memorial for Elsa Bakalar, my friend, neighbor, colleague, and garden mentor who passed away in January at the age of 91. The flowers at the buffet supper in Jan and Cal's party barn were provided by The Passionate Gardeners, Mary, Susan and Eileen, gardeners who had come to learn from Elsa, and continued to help her in her garden- until that garden had to be given…
Last year, about this time, I asked our wonderful Heath librarian Don Purington if the offer of a pink rose from his family farm still stood. Lucky for me it did. He not only introduced me to his mother Barbara, but my visit to Woodslawn Farm, also led to my meeting his sister Carol and a new friendship. Carol is a poet, a reader, and a great conversationalist. She was struck by polio on her first day of…
And I beg your pardon by Wendell Berry The first mosquito: come here,and I will kill thee, holy though thou art. If the Harrison's yellow is blooming the mosquitoes will not be far behind. In the meantime I am making do with deer flies that have bitten and bitten. They are not as easy to swat and kill as mosquitoes that land and take their time to suck blood. Wendell Berry is a wonderful writer - and poet.…
"What, if anything, do the infinity of different traditional and individual ideas of a garden have in common? They vary so much in purpose, in size, in style and content that not even flowers, or even plants at all, can be said to be essential. In the last analysis there is only one common factor between all gardens, and that is the control of nature by man. Control, that is, for aesthetic reasons." Hugh Johnson Hugh Johnson created…
April 5, 1974 The air was soft, the ground still cold. In the dull pasture where I strolled Was something I could not believe. Dead grass appeared to slide and heave, Though still too frozen flat to stir, And rocks to twitch, and all to blur. What was this rippling of the land? Was matter getting out of hand And making free with natural law? I stopped and blinked, and then I saw A fact as eerie as…
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only…
The pair of quilts we pieced together, laughing at the future’s far design my handiwork now covers a husband, babies – hers, a corpse. Carol Purington Thank you Carolyn gail for giving me the chance to be twice inspired on this Muse Day. My friend Carol Purington wrote the poem, published in her book A Pattern For This Place, and my friend Lois Holm made this quilt for me when I retired from the Buckland Library. I knew…
Red Brocade by Naomi Shihab Nye The Arabs used to say, When a stranger appears at your door, feed him for three days before asking who he is, where he’s come from, where he’s headed. That way, he’ll have strength enough to answer. Or, by then you’ll be such good friends you don’t care. Lets to back to that. Rice? Pine nuts? Here, take the red brocade pillow. My child will serve water to your horse. No, I…