Decorating the Maypole

Alas! no acorn from the British oak

'Neath which slim fairies tripping wrought those rings

Of greenest emerald, wherewith fireside life

Did with the invisible spirit of Nature wed,

Was ever planted here! No darnel fancy

Might choke one useful blade in Puritan fields; 

With horn and hoof the good old devil came,

The witch's broomstick was not contraband,

But all that superstition had of fair,

Or piety of native sweet, was doomed. 

And if there be who nurse unholy faiths,

Fearing their god as if he were a wolf

That snuffed round every home and was not seen,

There should be some to watch and keep alive

All beautiful beliefs...

                                                      James Russell Lowell

 Yesterday being Midsummer's Eve and the Swedish Midsommar festival being canceled because of the virus, my sister and I decided to have our own little celebration! I was toying with different ideas, but after reading The Maypole of Merrymount (for the second time - I love Hawthorne's beautiful stories so much!😊), I knew just what we would do! 

"Never had the Maypole been so gayly decked as at sunset on midsummer eve. This venerated emblem was a pine-tree, which had preserved the slender grace of youth, while it equalled the loftiest height of the old wood monarchs. From its top streamed a silken banner, colored like the rainbow. Down nearly to the ground the pole was dressed with birchen boughs, and others of the liveliest green, and some with silvery leaves, fastened by ribbons that fluttered in fantastic knots of twenty different colors, but no sad ones. Garden flowers, and blossoms of the wilderness, laughed gladly forth amid the verdure, so fresh and dewy that they must have grown by magic on that happy pine-tree. Where this green and flowery splendor terminated, the shaft of the Maypole was stained with the seven brilliant hues of the banner at its top. On the lowest green bough hung an abundant wreath of roses, some that had been gathered in the sunniest spots of the forest, and others, of still richer blush, which the colonists had reared from English seed. O, people of the Golden Age, the chief of your husbandry was to raise flowers!" 

Ours is very modest by comparison, but we had a lot of fun! We waited until evening because the high-temperature yesterday was 98F! We had just finished as the sun went down...

The first rose of summer...

June Garden

 No price is set on the lavish summer;

  June may be had by the poorest comer.

 And what is so rare as a day in June?

Then, if ever, come perfect days;

Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,    

And over it softly her warm ear lays;

Whether we look, or whether we listen,

We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;

Every clod feels a stir of might,

An instinct within it that reaches and towers,

And groping blindly above it for light,

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers...

                                                               ~The Vision of Sir Launfal 

I can't believe how long it's been since I did an update on the garden! It has certainly been an interesting couple of months. The crocuses bloomed only to be buried in several inches of fresh snow, but they soon emerged and opened in the sunlight. It was lovely to see those cheery purple blooms surrounded by the purest white snow. The first part of May felt more like March, but that changed all of a sudden and we had several days in the 90s! Everything turned green almost overnight, but my poor tulips! They quickly faded in the heat, only lasting a few days. So there wasn't nearly as much of a burst of color this spring as usual. 

June has been pleasant for the most part, but we have had a few frosty mornings and I lost a few of the annuals to that. Thankfully I hadn't yet put everything out! It was only yesterday that the gardens were officially "in". Right now it is at that transition stage between spring and summer. In another week or so the roses, irises, lupines, foxgloves, and valerian should be in bloom and I am already dreaming of the fragrance! 😊

A Beggar...

A beggar through the world am I,

From place to place I wander by.

Fill up my pilgrim's scrip for me,

For Christ's sweet sake and charity!

 

A little of thy steadfastness,

Bounded with leafy gracefulness,

Old oak, give me,

That the world's blasts may round me blow,

And I yield gently to and fro,

While my stout-hearted trunk below

And firm-set roots unshaken be.

Some of thy stern, unyielding might,

Enduring still through day and night

Rude tempest-shock and withering blight,

That I may keep at bay

The changeful April sky of chance

And the strong tide of circumstance,-

Give me, old granite gray.

Some of thy pensiveness serene,

Some of thy never-dying green,

Put in this scrip of mine,

That griefs may fall like snowflakes light,

And deck me in a robe of white,

Ready to be an angel bright,

O sweetly mournful pine.

A little of thy merriment,

Of thy sparkling, light content,

Give me, my cheerful brook,

That I may still be full of glee

And gladsomeness, where'er I be,

Though fickle fate hath prisoned me

In some neglected nook.

Ye have been very kind and good

To me, since I've been in the wood;

Ye have gone nigh to fill my heart;

But good-by, kind friends, every one,

I've far to go ere set of sun;

Of all good things I would have part,

The day was high ere I could start,

And so my journey's scarce begun.

Heaven help me! how could I forget

To beg of thee, dear violet!

Some of thy modesty,

That blossoms here as well, unseen,

As if before the world thou'dst been,

Oh, give, to strengthen me.
                                                    ~James Russel Lowell