Thanks to all who entered the contest! We put all the names in a basket, some more than once, depending on how many platforms you follow and we are pleased to announce that Teddee Grace is the winner of Veranda Entertaining!
Teddee, please send me your address so I can get it out to you right away!
Don't despair if you didn't win because I have lots of book giveaways planned this Fall!
Speaking of Fall, I am not ready for it. Some of my friends are looking forward to chilly nights, colorful, crunchy leaves and Pumpkin Spice Latte. I may have to avoid them for the next 30 days. lol I still have so much work to do in the gardens...and I love every second of it!
In the meantime, please enjoy these photos of the fruits of my labor.
_________ God's Garden _________ReplyDelete
The Lord God planted a garden
In the first white days of the world,
And He set there an angel warden
In a garment of light enfurled.
So near to the peace of Heaven,
That the hawk might nest with the wren,
For there in the cool of the even
God walked with the first of men.
And I dream that these garden-closes
With their shade and their sun-flecked sod
And their lilies and bowers of roses,
Were laid by the hand of God.
The kiss of the sun for pardon,
The song of the birds for mirth ––
One is nearer God's heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth.
For He broke it for us in a garden
Under the olive-trees
Where the angel of strength was the warden
And the soul of the world found ease.
~ Dorothy Frances Gurney (1858-1932)
To the Virgins, to Make Much of TimeReplyDelete
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he 's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.
~ Robert Herrick (1591–1674)
You have done a wonderful job of following Robert Herrick's famous advice. Your garden alonegives ample proof of that. It is exquisitely beautiful –– a work of true distinction –– an achievement of which even the great Capablity Brown could be justifiably proud. But everything else you've done inside your home, your loving work on behalf of animals, and the rich, brilliantly fanciful childhood full of magic you have given Gracie are even more impressive.
Bless you for the light, grace, charm and inspiration you give to this often dreary world.
You bring a light with you when you come, did you k now?Delete
I'm very glad you feel that way, Andie. That is certainly true of YOU. In a world so fraught with negativity and churlishness you provide a Beacon of Hope for us all by PROVING that Life CAN be Beautiful.Delete
"If with all your heart you truly seek me, ye shall ever surely find me," thus saith our God.
You may not choose to put it just that way, Andie, but I believe you do just what the Scripture says by the way you live your life. Words don't matter all that much, but ACTIONS really do. Your actions are most distinguished, and should serve as an inspiration to all who know you.
_________ Contained Gardens _________ReplyDelete
I have a special love for container gardens.
____ Something about clustering pots
of varying sizes to best advantage ––
____ and portability –– adds great appeal.
I also love raffishly untidy herbaceous borders.
____ Formal parterres fascinate,
________ but frankly make me nervous,
Yet, long-established espaliered fruit trees
____ on ancient stone, brick or stuccoed walls
________ make a notable exception.
____ in old European monasteries
________ and collegiate quadrangles
____________ at Oxford and Cambridge
Have about them an unmistakable aura
____ of eternal renewal, and of
________ Eternity, itself.
Growing things beautifully
____ indicates –– to me ––
________ a love and a reverence
____________ for Life.
___________ Dooryard Gardens ___________ReplyDelete
Happy times when done within your means.
Overspending can, of course, bring grief.
Mendacious workmen too, who play the thief,
Erode faith when they act like feckless teens.
Raging at injustice makes them laugh.
Expect integrity and you will weep.
Not many have a conscience that would keep
Outrageous overreaching down by half.
Value in the process is still great.
A transformation from a dreary hovel
To a jewel-like place where soon we’ll shovel
Inspiring garden beds due to await
Our joy in planting shrubbery and flowers
Nestled in the dooryard’s leafy bowers.
__________ Conservatory ___________ReplyDelete
Kapok fills the cushions on the wicker ––
A busy English “fruit and flower” print.
Tendrils green and shades of orange flicker
Harmoniously. Detailed like a mezzotint,
Yet warm with citrus hues, highlighted leaves
Scrupulously shaded, lissome brownish twigs,
Awake a sense of comfort that relieves
Nostalgia for the sight of ripening figs.
Delighting as the heavy greenish fruit
Evolves, grows purple, tender, moist and soft
Reaching sweet perfection bound to suit
Sons and daughters jousting in the loft
Over whom no one exerts control.
Now, who will play the future gardener’s role?
I taste a liquor never brewed,ReplyDelete
From tankards scooped in pearl;
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!
Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,
From inns of molten blue.
When landlords turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove’s door,
When butterflies renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more!
Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun!
~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
Now don't tell me Andie, that you are growing veggies too.ReplyDelete
Andie can do absolutely ANYTHING she sets her mind to, I'm CONVINCED, arent you? ;-)Delete
The woman is not only bright spirit filled with compassion, exuberant creativity and joy in living, I believe she is an authentic genius.
I am so surprised to have won the Veranda book! Thank you so much. I can't seem to see any way to e-mail you directly with my mailing address. Looking forward to hearing from you. Thanks again! P.S. Your garden is overwhelmingly beautiful!ReplyDelete
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I missed our vegetable patch this year - oh well..next year i'll do it again! I'm not sure about the weather where you are but our unbearable humidity and high temperatures make summer so uncomfortable here that I'm just dying for fall. We usually don't get that respite though until October -so i'll keep living with 90 percent humidity and 90 degrees. ugh.ReplyDelete
I don't think it gets as cold in the Winter for you, though?Delete
I wish I could email you tomatoes! lol We have a billion.
Your Garden always looks so Enchanting! I am ready for Autumn to arrive, cools down here in the Desert and is the most glorious season weather-wise.ReplyDelete
________ PATTERNS ________ReplyDelete
I walk down the garden paths,
And all the daffodils
Are blowing, and the bright blue squills.
I walk down the patterned garden paths
In my stiff, brocaded gown.
With my powdered hair and jewelled fan,
I too am a rare
Pattern. As I wander down
The garden paths.
My dress is richly figured,
And the train
Makes a pink and silver stain
On the gravel, and the thrift
Of the borders.
Just a plate of current fashion,
Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes.
Not a softness anywhere about me,
Only whale-bone and brocade.
And I sink on a seat in the shade
Of a lime tree. For my passion
Wars against the stiff brocade.
The daffodils and squills
Flutter in the breeze
As they please.
And I weep;
For the lime tree is in blossom
And one small flower has dropped upon my bosom.
And the splashing of waterdrops
In the marble fountain
Comes down the garden paths.
The dripping never stops.
Underneath my stiffened gown
Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin,
A basin in the midst of hedges grown
So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding,
But she guesses he is near,
And the sliding of the water
Seems the stroking of a dear
Hand upon her.
What is Summer in a fine brocaded gown!
I should like to see it lying in a heap upon the ground.
All the pink and silver crumpled up on the ground.
I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the paths,
And he would stumble after,
Bewildered by my laughter.
I should see the sun flashing from his sword-hilt and the buckles on his shoes.
I would choose
To lead him in a maze along the patterned paths,
A bright and laughing maze for my heavy-booted lover,
Till he caught me in the shade,
And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body as he clasped me,
Aching, melting, unafraid.
With the shadows of the leaves and the sundrops,
And the plopping of the waterdrops,
All about us in the open afternoon
I am very like to swoon
With the weight of this brocade,
For the sun sifts through the shade.
Underneath the fallen blossom
In my bosom,
Is a letter I have hid.
It was brought to me this morning by a rider from the Duke.
“Madam, we regret to inform you that Lord Hartwell
Died in action Thursday sen’night.”
As I read it in the white, morning sunlight,
The letters squirmed like snakes.
“Any answer, Madam,” said my footman.
“No,” l told him.
“See that the messenger takes some refreshment.
No, no answer.”
And I walked into the garden,
Up and down the patterned paths,
In my stiff, correct brocade.
The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun,
I stood upright too,
Held rigid to the pattern
By the stiffness of my gown.
Up and down I walked,
Up and down.
In a month he would have been my husband.
In a month, here, underneath this lime,
We would have broke the pattern;
He for me, and I for him,
He as Colonel, I as Lady,
On this shady seat.
He had a whim
That sunlight carried blessing.
And I answered, “It shall be as you have said.”
Now he is dead.
In Summer and in Winter I shall walk
Up and down
The patterned garden paths
In my stiff, brocaded gown.
The squills and daffodils
Will give place to pillared roses, and to asters, and to snow.
I shall go
Up and down,
In my gown.
Boned and stayed.
And the softness of my body will be guarded from embrace
By each button, hook, and lace.
For the man who should loose me is dead,
Fighting with the Duke in Flanders,
In a pattern called a war.
Christ! What are patterns for?
~ Amy Lowell (1874-1925)
Now don't tell me Andie, that you are growing veggies too.ReplyDelete
I think it's high time that you liberals give it up and GET OUT of our way.ReplyDelete