259. If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden. ~From THE SECRET GARDEN by Frances Hodgson Burnett

January 25, 2014 by nataliescarberry

At that moment a very good thing was happening to her. Four good things had happened to her, in fact, since she came to Misselthwaite Manor. She had felt as if she had understood a robin and that he had understood her; she had run in the wind until her blood had grown warm; she had been healthily hungry for the first time in her life; and she had found out what it was to be sorry for someone. ~Excerpted from THE SECRET GARDEN by Frances Hodgson Burnett

My first move of the day is from the bed to my recliner so I can sit a while and enjoy whatever is going on out in the yard. I’ve still not seen any robins, but as I kept watching the Cardinals come today to my feeders, their flashes of red were enough to bring thoughts of Burnett’s novel, The SECRET GARDEN. Her inspirational tale of transformation and empowerment for two children with very dim outlooks and prospects touches my heart on several different levels. When Mary finds the key to the secret garden, the “magical” powers of transformation come within her reach, and eventually she and Colin are “saved” and offered the prospects of present and future goodness and happiness. I didn’t begin gardening until much later in life than they, but my discovery of the healing power inherent in all living things and God’s abiding presence in Creation was a pivotal moment of transformation in my life as well. So I decided to post some lines from the novel tonight along with photographs (via Pinterest) in hopes of relaying the Divine’s “magic” that captured Mary, Colin, and me.

“Nothing in the world is quite as adorably lovely as a robin when he shows off and they are nearly always doing it.”

“…the immense, tender, terrible, heart-breaking beauty and solemnity of Eggs.”

“Never thee stop believin’ in th’ Big Good Thing an’ knowin’ th’ world’s full of it – and call it what tha’ likes. Tha’ wert singin’ to it when I come into t’ garden.”

“There’s naught as nice as th’ smell o’ good clean earth, except th’ smell o’ fresh growin’ things when th’ rain falls on ’em.”

“And the secret garden bloomed and bloomed and every morning revealed new miracles.”

“However many years she lived, Mary always felt that ‘she should never forget that first morning when her garden began to grow.”

The Lord is my strength and my might, and He has become my salvation; this is my God, and I will praise Him, my father’s God, and I will exalt him. ~Exodus 15:2 ✝

246. The flower is the poetry of reproduction. It is an example of the eternal seductiveness of life. ~Jean Giraudoux

January 12, 2014 by nataliescarberry

I am a symbol of love and immortality.
I have been around since the time of Confucius.
My name came from a Persian word.
At one time I was more expensive than precious metals.
I can be used in the place of an onion in cooking.
I am in the same family as a lily.

Do you know who I am? I am a native of Central Asia, and I am the world’s most planted flower. When I arrived from Turkey in the mid-16th century, I was a gift from the Ottoman Empire that took Western Europe by storm. But I did not come to the United States until the 1800’s. There are about 3,000 varieties of me grown around the world, some that originated in the seventeenth century. My petals come in every shade of the rainbow as well as black, but my most popular color is red. And I can be forced into blooming after I have been stored in a refrigerator for 12-16 weeks.

A tulip doesn’t strive to impress anyone.
It doesn’t struggle to be different than a rose.
It doesn’t have to.
It is different.
And there’s room in the garden for every flower.
~Marianne Williamson

I’ve never had much luck with growing tulips in the ground. So this year I decided to try forcing them in containers. Two weeks ago after the bulbs had spent the required amount of time in my refrigerator, I planted some in soil and some in glass containers partially filled with pebbles and water. As of today I’m proud to report that I have tulips sprouting in both types of containers. Though it be only the 12th of January, springtime has sprung at least in my greenhouse. One of the most seductive things in life I know is the thrill of the first spark of life in a garden. Every time I experience it I feel as if a time machine has transported me back to Eden on the third day when creation was “born of the Spirit in the womb of the universe.” On that day the first seeds were planted in the earth and their roots reached down for the waters that would sustain them. Then and now such as this is clearly a manifestation of the goodness of God.

I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. ~Psalm 27:13 ✝

219. That each day I may walk unceasingly on the banks of my water, that my soul may repose on the branches of the trees which I planted, that I may refresh myself under the shadow of my sycamore. ~Egyptian Tomb Inscription, circa 1400 BCE

December 17, 2013 by nataliescarberry

Because they are primeval, because they outlive us,
because they are fixed, trees seem to emanate a sense of permanence.
And though rooted in earth, they seem to touch the sky.
For these reasons it is natural to feel we might learn wisdom from them,
to haunt about them with the idea that if we could only read
their silent riddle rightly we should learn some secret vital
to our real, our lasting and spiritual existence.
~Kim Taplin

Before the sun fell over the edge of the world yesterday, it painted its recently traversed path with reddish-pink and mauve streaks. In between the streaks were smaller golden rays that eventually blended into the pinker bands of light. As these streaks shot up to the sky’s pinnacle, they oozed deliciousness through the open spaces in one of my favorite trees. It’s a sycamore tree directly across the street from our house, and it’s so old that most of its bark has fallen away. When it has, as it has now, lost most of its floppy brown leaves the tree’s strange fruits are more visible as area its long, slender alabaster arms, arms that seem to reach up and caress the heavens’ spacious blue lagoons. Another thing I love about this particular tree is that in winter’s chilling winds its clattering branches seem to whisper prophecies of another spring’s birthing beneath the soil in silent chambers waiting for the prompting of the sun’s warmth on lengthening days and spring rains.

I’m the first one to admit that sometimes I’m hard pressed on difficult days to find reasons to be joyful, but I’m learning to look expectantly as well as long enough to find some measure of God’s glory in the day at hand. When dealing with a run of painful days as I am now, it becomes not only more challenging but also more necessary. The Holy Spirit within is the protector of one’s spiritual flame as well as a guide, and so if one turns inward to look for an appointment of grace, he/she will find what’s needed to press upward and onward. On this day that spark of relief and mercy was found in the beauty of a tree.

This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. ~Psalm 118:24 ✝

209. Bad weather always looks worse through a window. ~Author Unknown

December 7, 2013 by nataliescarberry

Spooky wild and gusty;
swirling dervishes of rattling leaves race by,
fleeing the wildflung deadwood
that cracks and thumps behind.
~Dave Beard

White, the world is still white, very white and very frozen! And the only movements I see out my window this morning are leaves fluttering to the ground and birds coming to the feeders for breakfast and the bird baths for water. Sadly all the birdbaths are so frozen that no matter how hard they peck at the ice, there’s no water beneath it to be had. So after putting in enough chair time to be fully awake, I braved the cold and took them a bowl of water. As I inched along on the frozen ground, I noticed that some of the fallen leaves from the red oak were striking lovely poses wherever they’d fallen. One of them had even lodged itself quite prettily inside a large ceramic pot I’d emptied of its greenhouse-bound contents. Once back inside after my errand of mercy and a few snaps of the camera, I heard on the news that there was a 30% chance of more sleet today and that the temperature would remain well under the freezing mark. It really didn’t feel all that bad while I was out, but it seems we are in for another forced stay-at-home day. I won’t complain though for like the birds I have much for which to be thankful. The birds too have warmth and safety? Indeed they do, for the ones who are cavity nesters, I’ve put in place plenty of birdhouses around the yard and for the others several kinds of evergreens have been planted. If God stewards and provides for me, and he does so well, how can I not in turn steward and provide for all that He has given me?

For if, by the trespass of the one man, death reigned through that one man, how much more will those who receive God’s abundant provision of grace and of the gift of righteousness reign in life through the one man, Jesus Christ! ~Romans 5:17 ✝

204. The autumn leaves drift by my window, the autumn leaves of red and gold…and soon I’ll hear old winter’s song… ~Excerpts from a tune by Johnny Mercer

December 1, 2013 by nataliescarberry

There is music in the meadows, in the air…
Leaves are crimson, brown, and yellow…
There is rhythm in the woods,
And in the fields, nature yields…
~Excerpts from LYRIC OF AUTUMN by
William Stanley Braithwaite

It was 1947 when Johnny Mercer borrowed lines from a French song to create the lyrics to his unforgettable melody, AUTUMN LEAVES, a song I find myself singing, at least the parts I remember, almost every year as I tear November’s page off the calendar. Why? I don’t know. The words just seem appropriate when autumn’s persistent winds, wild with leaves, blow wide open the final month’s portals, and this year’s opening was no different. November’s yet in place blustery gales did in fact sweep December onto its throne. Once seated, the 12th month opened under bright, sunny skies, but by noon day one had become shrouded in unending shades of gray. When night fell, there were few, if any, remaining leaves on the redbud and willow at the back of the yard. The beneficiaries of these as well as the oak’s leaves when they fall are the big island bed and my secret garden in the north corner. So now not only can my voice be heard singing autumn’s anthems, but wherever these tinted tidbits lie, I’ll be able to hear them crooning their embracing ballads of promise. And theirs, songs different from the ones in springtime, pledge warmth and declare they’ll keep my plants safe during the bitter, stone-cold days of winter. But wait, things like trees and leaves sing? Really? As a matter of fact, according to some Scriptural references and to those of us who listen carefully, they do!

The Lord reigns…Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let the sea resound, and all that is in it. Let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them; let all the trees of the forest sing with joy. ~Psalm 96:11-12 ✝

199. Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering down from the autumn tree… ~Emily Brontë

November 26, 2013 by nataliescarberry

How silently they tumble down
And come to rest upon the ground
To lay a carpet, rich and rare,
Beneath the trees without a care,
Content to sleep, their work well done,
Colors gleaming in the sun.
~Elsie N. Brady

Pat. Pat, pat. Pat, pat, pat. Pat. Pat, pat. Pat. Pat, pat, pat. “Listen to the falling rain; listen to it fall.” A remembered lyric from an old José Feliciano song ran through my mind. But wait, I didn’t feel anything wet and the afternoon sun was shining in a cloudless sky. So if it wasn’t rain, what on earth had I heard behind me. As I turned to investigate, I saw that it was indeed raining, but not in the way I expected. November’s gusting winds were letting loose hundreds of colored leaves from their woody perches. The ones not already brought down by the rains of recent days were not tumbling down silently as Brady suggests; they were pelting the shed, the greenhouse, the birdbaths, and the ground so forcefully that they sounded like huge raindrops. So it was pouring all right; it was raining leaf after leaf after leaf, pretty autumn tinted leaves, and the air in which they were dancing was made gold and red and ripe.

For You make me glad by Your deeds, Lord; I sing for joy at what Your hands have done. ~Psalm 92:4 ✝

198. Autumn is the dim shadow that clusters about the sweet precious things that God created in the realm of nature. ~Northern Advocate

November 25, 2013 by nataliescarberry

That soft autumnal time…
The year’s last, loveliest smile,
Thou comest to fill with hope the human heart,
And strengthen it to bear the storms a while,
Till winter days depart…

Far in a shelter’d nook
I’ve met, in these calm days, a smiling flower,
A lonely aster, trembling by a brook…
~John Howard Bryant

In autumn the Maker’s pigments turn from the soft pastels of springtime to emboldened, jewel tones. Glad witnesses are we to the green leaves on shining sumac, flowering dogwoods, Bradford pears, sweet gums, Shumard oaks, and crape myrtles changing to mixtures of burgundy, crimson, orange, and gold. Other treats are setting buds for next year’s blossoms among the fiery red, ripening fruits of the dogwoods, and the deeper shades of blues and pinks that adorn the thickened petals of hydrangeas. And if that is not enough to make the year smile, there are the willow leaves, among the other falling foliage, that rain down golden glory in one wave after the other like confetti from a ticker-tape parade. In the gusting winds they litter the streets, and as cars pass by the multicolored leafage gives a festive look to curbs and lawns. But again, that’s not all. Roses bloom in deeper hues than before, the red fruits on the Prairifire crabapples shine forth, and sweet purple asters with their bright yellow eyes provide a closing feast for hordes of humming bees. So smile on, lovely Autumn, and fill my heart with the hope I need to be strengthened against winter’s gathering storms.

Faithfulness spring’s forth from the earth, and righteousness looks down from heaven. The Lord will indeed give what is good, and our land will yield its harvest. ~Psalm 85:11-12 ✝

196. There is not one blade of grass, there is no color in this world that is not intended to make us rejoice. ~John Calvin

November 23, 2013 by nataliescarberry

The moment one gives close attention to anything,
even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome,
indescribably magnificent world in itself.
~Henry Miller

Against the backdrop of “red leaf and the gold” ornamental grasses shift and sigh in autumn’s chilling winds, and as they do, they add to the landscape an ethereal element with their airy flower panicles, fluffy seed plumes, and striking seed heads. Even after the initial onslaughts of freezing temperatures, grasses continue to grace the landscape with “fringe accents” by adding subtle colors, assorted textures, and the dimensions of motion and sound. Throughout winter’s “vale of grief,” undaunted by the cold, they capture and play with whatever light is available, and in their animated swayings they speak of life and give us something “that glimmers in the sleep of things.” And best of all, the lack of heaviness in their lyrical swishing motions along with their visible seed formations remind us that what’s happening is not an end but instead merely the onset of another beginning.

When He(G0d) thunders, the waters in the heavens roar; He makes clouds rise from the ends of the earth. He sends lightning with the rain and brings out the wind from His storehouses. ~Jeremiah 10:13 ✝

192. Magnificent Autumn! He comes like a warrior, with the stain of blood upon his brazen mail. ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

November 19, 2013 by nataliescarberry

Fall: bright flame before winter’s deadness;
harvest; orange, gold, amber;
cool nights and the smell of fire…
…everything we see is celebrating
one last violently hued hurrah before
the black and white and silence of winter.
~Shauna Niequist

After last week’s hard freeze the march of fall’s foot soldiers revved up, and now more and more leafy encampments are being set ablaze. What leafage is still dressed in green regimentals is fading fast to shades of yellow, orange, or hot reds cooled only by the occasional purple hue. Though rare so far have been the firings of booming “thunder cannons” and the barrages of pelting rain, there have been, indicative fiery, explosions erupting on the eastern horizon at sunrise or westward over the rooftops at sunset forewarning the coming of fall’s final, crushing blitz. The fallen victims of the earliest skirmishes are already gathering along curbs, littering the ground, and floating where waters collect, and the yet vanquished remaining leafy squadrons have not long before they too shall face their “last, violently hued hurrah.” All is not as lost as it would seem however; for, despite the ever-increasing volume of casualties and the fact that the winter solstice is closing in, a measure of springtime miracles are already pushing up low and in warm safety under the autumnal warrior’s leafy carnage that’s been ransacked from on high by gusting winds. Though but skimpily clad seedlings they be now, the deepening roots of larkspur, columbine, and poppies will hold their new growth steadfastly in place enabling them to hang tenaciously to life all winter long under fall’s stricken glory. How could there be a more supremely, well-designed plan than that or any better a Creator than the Lord who devised such a grand and faithful plan!

Yet I call this to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning, great is Your faithfulness.” ~Lamentations 3:21-23 ✝

179. November’s sky is chill and drear, November’s leaf is red and sear. ~Sir Walter Scott

November 3, 2013 by nataliescarberry

Pleasures lie thickest where no pleasures seem:
There’s not a leaf that falls upon the ground
But holds some joy of silence of sound,
Some spirits begotten of a summer dream.
~Laman Blanchard

The first Sunday of November had been running out like slow, thick molasses as deepening autumn’s shades of gray hung on it like a shroud. Even the flocks of busying birds and the foraging squirrels succumbed, as did I, to the hypnotic laziness of the day’s dark, engulfing gloom. However, things became a little livelier for a time late in the day when the cement on the patio became a dance floor filled with tiny rain-drop dancers jitterbugging to the short-lived “drippy” rhythms. After the rainy spell light broke briefly through the clouds, and it was enough to highlight a few colorful leaves and a potted petunia. Together those two sights interjected a touch of color while the wrought-iron furniture that glistened in the light added a bit of beaded elegance to the drab scene. How sweetly even a token display of earth’s delights can thrill this observer!

Surely then you will find delight in the Almighty and will lift up your face to God. ~Job 22:26 ✝

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