It seems as though the garden celebrates its survival through the summer in September. I know if I can just keep plants alive until now that they will experience a second wind. My new Oxblood Lily has shown up to celebrate fall.
Oxblood Lily
I am glad that I am home to enjoy this last little splurge of garden flowers.
Thomas Edison dahlia
The blue ginger has finally settled in after years of struggle. It bloomed last year but is much healthier now.
Blue Ginger
The Life Saver plant, Huernia zebrina, is putting out many blooms and buds.
Life Saver Cactus
Even the Night Blooming Cereus is budding one last time.
The dahlias are blooming as well. I am glad they survived another summer of neglect.
Firepot dahlia
I guess all living things breathe a sigh of relief as cooler and wetter weather moves in. I am glad to be home for a bit.
I love my flowers for their colors and forms. Some of them remind me of other things that I love.
This hibiscus reminds me of the orange sherbet that my grandmother would serve. There was orange or light green and sometimes a mix of orange, green and yellow. It was very cold so I would swirl it around in my bowl to make it soft and creamy.
When I look at this hybridized orange hibiscus, I see a bowl of swirled sherbet.
Years ago I made a Key Lime pie for Rose. It is her favorite dessert. Of course I planted some seeds from those little limes. Now the tree is over six feet tall in its giant pot on wheels. It must be hauled inside for the winters.
The tree has made tiny white blooms during the summer for a few years now.
This year is the first time it made limes.
They are tiny even by Key Lime standards. I am hoping they will continue to get larger.
This is what we gardeners live for, our hard work coming to fruition at last.
It is time to start moving things out of mama’s house. It must be cleared and painted then sold.
My sister and I are struggling with this reality as we march toward the inevitable.
I have sorted, packed and polished.
Now it is time to wash the glass. Not fancy, expensive crystal, just lovely little objects of glass.
I am washing these by hand like my mother and grandmothers and great grandmothers did. Standing over a hot sink, hands pruned by the dish water, looking out the window.
Remembering the desserts that were in these bowls and stemmed cups… the colors of jello, the 1-2-3, the pudding and blueberry desert.
We loved the sweet and sparkle at the end of a family meal.
I will keep a set of these for making special little deserts for the children in the family just like they did.
I am honoring my past by washing glass with warm soapy water and tears.
I have missed so much this summer. I was determined not to miss the last bloom of my precious Night Blooming Cereus. It is one of my magic plants. It reminds me there are still miracles.
I missed its first bloom several weeks ago. The second set of six bloomed Friday night. I was blessed with one last bud at the bottom of the plant. Tucked behind another spent bloom, I almost did not see it.
It turned up its neck yesterday to form a pipe-like shape. This signals it is ready to bloom.
I prepared the space for my late night visit by putting a lawn chair in the proper place. I set a flashlight by the door. Set out my camera and phone.
I quietly descended the stairs around 9:30PM. I thought that I might be a bit early, but it had all ready started to open.
I sat patiently in my chair listening to the insect orchestra accompanied by the quiet percussion of a light rain. Becoming hypnotized by the gentle swaying of this angel-white bloom in the breeze.
I was spending time with a living treasure that marks time by blooming only once each year.
I thought of the other years I had sat in the dark with this plant waiting for its miracle and wishing for other miracles. I am grateful for this green beacon in my garden. Making me pause and wait. Making me wonder. Holding me in its time and place.
I am trying to make old things beautiful. I am a caregiver. I want everything at its best.
I believe the possessions of my family deserve respect. They chose these items. They bought them when money and resources were scarce. These are the things they saved and passed on. They have value in many forms, not just monetary value.
I learned this lesson from a strange, little, tarnished spoon.
There is a bowl of mismatched, silverplate, serving pieces at Mama’s house. I have been sorting and polishing all things silver and brass.
Among these utensils was a strange-shaped, blackened spoon. Its design matched nothing else in the bowl. It even had remnants of silver polish dried in its crevices.
Polishing such a faceted piece is hard work. Someone must have decided it wasn’t worth the effort.
I had to rub every bit of it multiple times to see its shine. It was like the sun emerging from a cloud.
That strange, little spoon is a gorgeous work of art. It has a P on the handle for Pearson, my great grandmother’s married name.
I spent a lot of time researching the mark of the maker; a lion on hind legs facing left, holding a snake, standing in a C.
It was made by Frank W. Smith Silver Co. of Gardner, Massachusetts. Its pattern name is Oak.
It is a treasure. I told my sister I fell in love with the spoon and must keep it. It spoke to me, you see.
Be careful while sorting and choosing what you keep. You may miss out on a tarnished treasure.
floweralley 