June 1, 2015

Heading east!

I'm feel very fortunate that I work for an organization that encourages professional development.  I'm heading east for the rest of the week to attend a national conference on stewardship issues.  I am excited about the conference, and also excited that I'm heading east back to Providence, RI.  You might recall I attended a conference there two years ago and fell in love with the city.  I am eager to explore more of the city and see what else I can discover.  I can't wait to share my stories with you next week!  In the meantime here are a few beauties from my garden this evening...

I inherited iris rhizomes from my dad's garden, but they were all a brownish/claret and a deep purple/black color.  Lovely in their own way, but I have been yearning for a little more color.  So last fall I took the plunge and planted a few more iris and I'm loving the results!  Yellow, lilac, and these gorgeous blues.  They remind me of a swirly blue iris that my dad loved, flirtatiously named Gigi.  I haven't been able to locate Gigi but I think these are make a beautiful substitute!

I'm sad I'll miss the peak blooming time of my new iris plants, but hopefully the pink iris will hold back until I return next weekend.  Fortunately one of my peony bushes bloomed earlier than the rest, as I would have been sad to miss their heavenly scent! 

Oh how I love this time of year!  And speaking of time, it's running short....time to finish packing for my (gasp) 5:40 am flight!  I'll be back next week and in the meantime, I hope you find ever new ways to be astonished by life!

Sea Fever

By John Masefield
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

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