I am left in charge of a small garden for two weeks in late August. This may or may not be a mistake. I would never dream of fiddling with anything inside anyone's house, but the garden is another thing entirely.
Yes, I know the green wire fence is not pretty. But it was that or have two energetic dogs rampage through the whole thing and squish it flat.
So it was off to buy up all the left over stuff from my new best friend the garden center man. This is Anise Hyssop which is meant to attract humming birds but hasn't so far.
I don't know what this is, but the color is nice and it cost $2.
This is the main bed with the wretched fence with everything looking a bit few-and-far-between. There was a certain amount of stuff planted here already but lots of weeds too. The pale impatiens were already doing really well (when uncovered). Lavender may last the winter. Ditto the sage.
I cheat like mad. Who can resist white flowers the size of dinner plates?
There are thistles behind the school building.
And cones on a branch which must have fallen some time ago
and deep in the woods, a red leaf catches the sun.
Blogging can be anything you want it to be: informative, confessional, cheerful, lugubrious, brief, interminable and so on.
People can read your blog or not, as they will.
John Andre Hill, Tappan
Yet, somehow, kindred spirits find one another through pictures and writing. We know a part, sometimes a rather small part, of our blog friends' lives.
So when I read of the serious illness of one of the kindest, most talented, adventurous and thoughtful bloggers out there, it threw me for a loop. It made me realise that we blog to connect with others, and, having made that connection, we share in the smallest degree, both the good and bad things that happen in their lives.
Few things are as enjoyable and edifying as a stroll round a graveyard. So many lives to be imagined.
Tappan graveyard was a wonderful excursion. Lots of Harings buried here.
Teunis Haring was born on September 7th 1787. He died on October 18th 1881, aged 94 years, 1 month and 11 days. On these old tombstones they always number the days exactly. Imagine living to 94 before antibiotics and immunizations.
James Freeman was born in Devonshire in England and sailed across the Atlantic. A funny moonfaced angel watches over him.
The Dutchman Willem Ellis lived from 1717 until 1788 (71 years).