January Portraits

January is a black and white snapshot 

of ashen-iron skies and 

dappled dove-grey grass. 

January is a lady-in-waiting, 

dozing and waking, 

then slipping to slumber again.

January is an empty attic room,

where blinding-brilliant sunbeams pierce 

a lazy dust mote dance.

- SHSimpson 

What Kind of Fruit?

The fruit trees are blooming on our rural one acre.

Blushing peach tree blooms, alabaster plum tree flowers, and still-tight apple buds. 

It doesn't matter how desperate the news, 

spring in Kentucky is settling in and getting comfy.

 My Youngest planted these trees a few years ago. 

They're barely tended, receiving only a hard pruning now and then. 

 No fertilizer. 

No pest control measures. 

No staking or mulching.

And yet ... they bear fruit anyway. 

But not the sort of fruit anyone looks forward to enjoying. 

Tiny and shriveled, what survives the late-season frosts 

bears the gnawing of every critter that passes through our backyard retreat.

With the rest of the world, I'm examining the fruit my life is bearing.

In impossible-to-imagine pandemic days, will I yield fruit gnawed by fear and anxiety, 

frost-bitten with affliction, neglect-shriveled knobs?

I pray not. 

Will you, with me, work alongside the Master Gardener to 

stake what's leaning and allow the pruning of what's useless?

 Are we willing to stand guard against enemies of anxiety and 

despair, and instead, pour on the fertilizing energies of gratitude and generosity?

I pray so.

Together, we can bear fruit that will bring delight instead of disappointment. 

Read more about spiritual fruit here. 

Explore a fascinating innovation in fruit trees here.

Thanksgiving Hopes

A house fire of mold swept the interior of our Tiny House pumpkin-carving contest entry.

Just another sign that Halloween is long gone, friends, and Thanksgiving is upon us.

A turkey is nesting in my refrigerator, taking up way too much room.

My Middle Son asked for his favorite "McDonald's dressing," and I'll make it, 

just because it makes the house smell wonderful. 

What about a Thanksgiving stuffing scented candle instead of vanilla frosting? 

Chicken pot pie in a tall pillar candle instead of peach cobbler? 

Anyone?

I hope conversation this Thanksgiving will be filled with love—the 

kind of love that jumps over high fences of social and political issues 

for a hearty kiss and hug on the welcome mat.

I hope to enjoy simple, catching-up questions like, 

"How is your work?" 

"What do you put in these green beans?" 

"Did your gardens close well?"

and "What are you reading?"

May our conversations be seasoned with remember-when laughter 

and not spoiled by the angry rehash of 2016 headlines.

It may prove too much to hope for, but ... I plan to do my part. 

Will you? 

You will be enriched in every way to be generous in every way, 

which through us will produce thanksgiving to God.

2 Corinthians 9:11

More Thanksgiving thoughts here.

Basking in Sunshine

These hosta emerge as purple nubs in early spring.  

I noticed them studding the wet ground weeks ago.

Then while I wasn't watching ... all this!

It's one of my favorite plants because of the leaf texture. 

Deep veins with a seersucker surface make it unique. 

Seersucker—WHAT? I know. Is that a weird word or what? 

SIDE NOTES:
* I keep all (most) of my plastic plant tags as a sort of catalog of perennials I've purchased over the years. There are  definite patterns: blue and purple flowering plants, sturdy beats frufru, and hydrangeas must be had! Tip: If you buy from a garden superstore and your plant dies, you can usually return it if you have the tag. Just dump the dead plant in an old store container, stick that plastic tag back in the dirt, and slug it off to the store for a replacement.
* Cowbirds invaded my feeders this year. I usually grind my teeth about spring starlings, but this year—COWBIRDS are the birdseed gluttons. But I did spot a pair of rose-breasted grosbeaks at the feeder two days in a row! I tried to talk the lovely couple into staying longer, but they said my feeder attracted too much riff-raff. Dang cowbirds!
* Speaking of riff-raffy gluttons ... I'm listening to a library audiobook called Made to Crave. After six months of intensive study at The Lord's Table, it's making a lot of sense. God is revealing new parts of my heart and helping me see just how grateful I can be for His finished work on that cross!I highly recommend both books.
* Back to spring gardening: I usually swoop through garden centers at this time of year, on the hunt for new plants or crazy bargains. But yesterday my mom and I took a Mother's Day jaunt and wandered through a local greenhouse, savoring the color combinations and vast array of plant varieties. It was fun to recall what aunts or uncles favored which old-fashioned annuals: Great-Grandpa loved zinnias, Uncle Mike loved cockscomb ... remember when your cousin pushed you into the cactus bed at the conservatory? 
Yes. Yes, I do.  During our greenhouse stroll, I had a couple close calls—I almost fell (keeled over backward) into a huge display of geraniums as I admired the colors and lost my footing. And I found out just how far it is to the half-person bathroom in the check-out area—VERY far, especially if you're trying not to laugh or drag one leg behind you. 
* I'll only be forty-nine for four more months. Oh, man. I'm twenty-five on the inside! Which reminds me of Wanda. Have you heard her poem? Here it is.  

Treasure Hunt - Marriage

I found this tiny bride and groom at a yardsale last weekend.

With only one dollar bill and some change in my pocket, I was happy to find  

a few treasures to take home. The homeowner tucked this clingy pair in a tiny 

cigar box, and they made the ride home without incident.

Right away, I took them to the kitchen sink for a gentle washing.

The worst of the dust and grime came off with a damp cloth, but the hem 
of the bride's gown would not come completely clean. 

There wasn't anything to be done about their hair - it's just worn away.

And they both have some lumps in unflattering places.

In fact, the more closely you examine this couple, the more flaws become evident -

those lips ... the hands ... some pretty smug eyebrow action ...

Give too much attention to these detracting details, and
you'll miss the really good stuff :

Closeness 

Don't you just want to stare, and drink in the quiet intimacy of their proximity?
She tucks her hand into the small triangle of his arm, 
and he crooks his arm to hold it securely to his side. 
They lean toward each other instead of away,
 allowing selective magnetism to draw them closer. 
In light of this, her nose blob seems much smaller, doesn't it?

Perseverance 
 Clearly they've been a couple for a long, long time.
All the evidence points to the fact that they've been used, maybe many times.
According to the layers of dirt (mold?), they spent some years in the basement.
There's no doubt that they're mostly unappreciated, 
 unpopular, even among those they've served in the past.
Available for pocket change, right next to random Tupperware lids.

 But they are still together. 
Together at the wedding celebrations.
Together during the dark basement years. 
Together on the discard table.
Don't muddy hems and awkward trousers seem completely 
beside the point now?

Determination 
Look at their faces again - 
 those are game-faces if I've ever seen any. 
They take their marriage seriously and seem to know that their relationship
 is worth fighting for; worth the courage it takes to go the distance.
Perhaps the smug eyebrow this groom wears is not one of arrogance, 
but more along the lines of,  "Bring it on!"

When confronted with such a heroic expression, 
concerns about hair-or the lack of it-disappear.
Poof!

The conclusion of my  kitchen sink thoughts, for what it's worth:

In the micro-examination of negative, often trivial details, the most 

valuable features of a mature marriage are often overlooked.
 Disappointments take center stage while treasures 
 go unnoticed and unappreciated.

***

Tools for further thought HERE.