Lean In

More snow photos. 

You might be thinking, 

UGH. 

Yes, I know. I feel it too. 

In Kentucky, we're in a season of possible snow 

and overall gray gloom, 

with random dashes of spring. 

So while we're still in winter, 

let's intentionally lean into its wonder— 

Heaps of delicate snow-crystal creations. 

Feather-like frozen fluff. 

Frost-gilded leaves of yester-season.

Because soon and very soon, spring will arrive

 and winter will be over. 

“Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,

At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,

When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,

And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.”

- C. S. Lewis

 

Wonder Sparks

It may not be smart to stand under an icicle to get a photo like this one. 

But if you're prone to wonder as you wander, 

you'll do the silliest things to capture a spark of it for your own. 

Winter in Kentucky pares away every frill boasted by warmer seasons.

Without blooms, bugs, or buds for marvelment, 

you have to work harder to discover and enjoy natural wonders.

* I think it's worth the effort. *

Premium Property

Yesterday, we woke up to a winter-wonder landscape. 

My sidekick and I went out for a look around and some photos. 

We found this cozy bird bungalow still vacant, 

but what a view! 

A tiny home among snow-capped dogwood blossoms is 

premium property for sure. 

Maybe when spring sets in for good, bird tenants will come as well. 

I'm hoping for bluebirds. 

Here's a collection of favorite bird books to share with the littles in your life. 

****

These days, I'm pondering this verse: 

"Your own ears will hear him. 

Right behind you a voice will say, “This is the way you should go,” 

whether to the right or to the left."

Isaiah 30:21 NLT

Suddenly, Spring

February blurred past mostly like this—

Now we've arrived in March, and our one Kentucky acre 

has bounded ahead to this—

(grape hyacinth)

(lenten rose)

(daffodils)

When the weather turns again and temperatures dip ...

they just will ...

Well, that's gonna leave a mark. 

But today, we'll eat our meals outside, walk the gardens, 

and make plans for the months ahead. 

And we'll hope against hope they don't include any more of this—

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 

Closed for Winter

We closed the gardens this weekend, ending a weird 2020 growing season.

Plants were given away to gardener friends,

"You're more than welcome--Enjoy!"

and others were simply mowed down.

"There. We don't have to worry about those anymore."

Supermarket lavender endured freakish, late-spring freezes to return 

as small bushes, while old standby garden 

staples like peonies and hydrangeas barely ducked in to say hello. 

The deer used our side garden bed as their favorite midnight

buffet, preventing a single Fried Bananas hosta bloom, 

but the hummingbirds and zinnias were constant summertime companions.

And now ... tulips.

Little bundles of hope, drop-shaped packages of potential,

half-priced harbingers of better days on the way.

The garden beds may look bare and unpopulated, but 

three varieties of hopeful tulips have only just begun their work. 

By Easter 2021, there will be some beautiful surprises!

Purple and white ornamental kale paired with sap-sticky pinecones 

will see my container gardens through the winter. 

And my four hooligans perched on the picnic table will witness 

fall's decline as winter creeps in.

These couldn't be cuter--I wonder why the deer 

didn't gobble these tasty appetizers.

 

Greenhouse Dreams

In January, the greenhouse sleeps while I dream 

of sturdy basil leaves, fragrant sage, and lemony thyme. 

Pie birds sing praise of kelly-green days just over the horizon of seasons. 

Baskets of pine cones vie for attention, offering their timely 

 gift of sticky, scented sap. They demand recognition as one of 

winter's finest features. 

My greenhouse gnome is the portrait of calm patience, 

both hands folded neatly away–no work today.

His scarlet glass hat sits straight and tight with no hint of yearning for spring. 

But many days find me leaning on potting benches, 

rearranging watering cans, and browsing seed packets–

dreaming my greenhouse dreams.

Hurry, Spring!

Handmade Gifts

How do you feel about handmade gifts? 

I've always hesitated to gift my own creations, believing them to be a little bit "less than."

Less valued than store-bought; less useful than a gift card; 

less dazzling than whatever the most popular social influencer recommends--"swipe up!"

But this year, I'm feeling some freedom to give handmade. 

So this morning I handled brittle antique sheet music and forced 

myself to cut it, recalling how the pages were rescued from the trash. 

Folding tattered edges into shape took extra time, but I didn't mind, 

envisioning the final lovely outcome.

I shrugged aside qualms and pushed a wooden brace through 

centenarian page layers, taking care not to waste a single scrap of print.

 

That's when phrases from Psalm 103 slid into the corner of my heart.

God forms you in the same way, the Spirit seemed to hint. 

"For He knows our frame; He is mindful that we are dust." 

He knows you're often fragile, brittle, tattered.

"As for man ... your days are like grass--blooming, vanishing, forgotten."

Yet He tenderly chooses you anyway, knowing the potential for glory exists. 

"But from everlasting to everlasting the loving devotion 

of the LORD extends to those who fear Him."

In unmatched patience, He shapes, folds, and fashions you into the 

image of the blessing He intends to gift to others.

" ... we are God's handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, 

which God prepared in advance for us to do." 

(Ephesians 2:10)

And just like the psalmist, my soul rose up in joy. 

Bless the Lord ... bless the Lord ... bless the Lord.

Bleak January

Bleak January is one of the best parts of the year. 

After the often-clamorous Christmas season ended, the first month of 2019 

had a solemn, spare beauty that I truly enjoyed. 

Our small acre has no single hint of green—

in fact, it's been dusted in white all month.

Except in my windowsill. That's where the action is.

For less than the cost of a hot coconut milk mocha macchiato, I'm enjoying just 

enough spring to hold me over until the real thing arrives. 

Thank you, Aldi.

The packaging on this, the LAST amaryllis bulb in the store, just said

"amaryllis bulb."

yawn

But, friends, I know it must be a Red Lion Amaryllis, even though I haven't 

seen its face yet. I'll let you know what it turns out to be.

Those tiny leaf blades just peeking out prove that this one has barely begun its work.

Clearance hyacinth bulbs in glass vases were already messy looking with flopping, 

heavy blooms. I chose the best one and pinched off the frowzy 

blooms in the paper goods aisle because two new bud stems were 

already emerging. An observant fellow shopper took the time to point 

out that the bulb I'd chosen had broken blooms. 

Wasn't that kind? 

She did look shocked to hear I was the one who'd done it. 

Isn't it a wonder that the tissue-like paper on the bulb matches the bloom? 

In Kentucky, February brings hints of true spring. Glimpses of green 

will soon dazzle now that austere January is over for another year. 

I believe it's the same change of seasons referred to in 

that great song of songs—

"Behold, the winter is past ... "

Come Inside

"Come inside, my dears. It's going to snow in the morning. 

I shudder to think what piles of wet snow would do

to your glorious ruffles.

Those fragile stems were never meant to 

bear the weight of wet winter.

So come inside and stay a while. 

It's warm and bright ... almost like being outside."

Snow Art

These ultra-disposable bits of natural art never cease to amaze me.

 I'd love to own the camera equipment required to capture their true beauty.

Another item on my "someday" list. 

I'm pondering this:

"As white snowflakes fall quietly and thickly on a winter day, 

answers to prayer will settle down upon you at every step you take, 

even to your dying day. The story of your life will be 

the story of prayer and answers to prayer.” 
― Ole Hallesby

January Faith

Paperwhites bulbs are so plain in their little nylon sack, 

quietly brown in the fluorescent lights of any big-box store. 

It takes a January kind of faith to plant 

and water something that looks so dead.

But when life begins to stir ...

... the reward is very, very great.

In view of the astonishing results, the preparation efforts seem small.

The paperwhite lesson is one to carry through 2018 and on.

What promises from the scriptures are you tending with hope, 

although they look dead and lifeless right now?

I'm tending these.

Would you share yours?

Windowsill Victories

I need something to grow—especially in January.

These eyes of mine  need  to watch the slow greening of a bulb and 

the little-by-little, day-by-day emergence of life. 

And when those roots power down, even enough to lift the unsuspecting bulb 

up and out of the soil ... somehow a tiny bit of the victory belongs to me too.

My kitchen window is populated with post-holiday, clearance bulbs  

—amaryllis and paperwhites—

each coming to life at the appropriate time and at the perfect pace.

I'll keep you posted on the small victories occurring in my kitchen window.

Are you growing anything in the bleakness of January?

Send a photo and share the joy!

Snow Designs

“I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, 

that it kisses them so gently? 

And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says

‘Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.’” 

― Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass

 "The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event. 

You go to bed in one kind of a world and wake up in another quite different, 

and if this is not enchantment then where is it to be found?"  - J. B. Priestley

"Come, let’s talk this over, says the Lord; 

no matter how deep the stain of your sins, 

I can take it out and make you as clean 

as freshly fallen snow."  -  Isaiah 1:18

The intricate design of the humble snowflake never ceases to astound me. 

My photos can't do justice to these crazy-amazing bits of beauty that fall 

from heaven like miniature gifts and promptly melt 

away—how unbelievably lavish!

Numb fingers and a runny nose were small prices to pay for 

seeing such holy artistry up close.

Did you get out in the snow today? 

Perched

Arms draped with plastic-bagged groceries, I was almost to the front door when I saw it: 

Spring green moss growing right next to a pile of snow.

Are you kidding me? 

I dropped the bags and took phone photos.

I'm glad the neighbors weren't out to see me on the down-low, 

hovering over tiny patches of green. 

That's February in Kentucky! 

We're perched right on the edge of spring, with one foot buried in a snow bank 

and the other stretched toward a soft patch of new grass. 

It must be time to start some seeds ...

Can We Talk?

Come now, 

and let us reason together, saith the Lord: 

though your sins be as scarlet, 

they shall be as white as snow..." Isaiah 1:18

more here 

And a story snapshot:

     Janine dusted the snow from the iron patio chair and took a seat on the very edge to peer upward into her son's face. Something was wrong. She knew it, just as she knew how the house keys had been misplaced. The weekday rush caught her out this morning. Her keys perched inside, on the hook by the back door, and she was locked outside with her almost-a-man son. His brother would be home soon, with keys, and they would all troop inside—the opportunity for conversation lost. Focusing her gaze on his face, the set of his brow, and the cast of his mouth, Janine determined to do her best to invite his confidence. "I think something's bothering you. Would you like to talk about it...?"