The Good Neighbors wander over to our place with harvest from their garden. They offer up homegrown wonders, infused with deep, rich color. I am enchanted. Transfixed.
If green is the garden equivalent to black and white, then this must be technicolor.
This isn’t poetry or fine photography. But it’s art all the same, though it’s not mine.
This did start with pencil and paper. The Bohemian and I by lamp light, sketching out our garden plot. I was thinking of a resting place by our would-be vegetables. Somewhere to take a load off. And then I remembered that we were yet to figure out what to do with the downed Ironwood tree.
We’d taken all of the branches that could easily be cut with a chainsaw, and chopped them up into firewood. But the largest part of the trunk was huge, and too big to be put in a chipper for mulch.
Any chance we could use it to make a bench?
Inspired, chainsaw in hand, the Bohemian went to work, slicing the trunk in half and creating these beautiful, solid benches.
I don’t know exactly why, but simply gazing upon them makes me happy. Sitting on them is just plain dreamy.
I love functional art!
Often, we fix our gaze on the vibrant display of wide-open, full-bloom.
But I also love the furl.
The beauty found in the delicate creases that come with a flower unfolding.
This one, a hibiscus, given to me by my son, Jeb, on a morning walk.
For the Archives 