Garden Musings

 

Outside my window pale yellow and orange are fading into grey as the sun sets below the Sooke Hills. It's been a lovely day, sunny, but cool enough for a light jacket. I spent a few hours this afternoon in the garden, transplanting some tomato starters (into deeper pots) and setting a few hardier tomatoes into the garden under cover. 

Garden work is so satisfactory. I find that I must do fulfill my inside chores before going outside, for if I do not I will spend all day puttering in the garden. 

The fig tree is leafing out and I always think the new acid green leaves look like butterflies about to fly off, or old-fashioned nuns' caps like in The Sound of Music. 

I've attempted gardening almost everywhere we've lived, although I soon learned that it was fruitless to do so in the jungle. I once planted several rose bushes along the front porch. They did well for awhile, but then the leaf cutter ants came along and decimated the plant entirely overnight. Amazing creatures they are, cutting and carrying off pieces of leaves far bigger than themselves. 

Outside one of our jungle homes impatiens grew in a lush heart-shape around a group of trees alongside the drive. I loved seeing it from my kitchen and dining room windows, and mourned when it was regularly cut down by the maintenance crew. However, it wasn't long before it grew up and flowered once again, bright shades of pink, fuschia, red, and orange. 

This oh, so fat bee and his mates have been buzzing about the flowers lately. The rosemary bush is blooming and another sort of bee loves to congregate there. 

At another home, this time in the mountains outside of the capital city of Quito, I was able to garden more successfully. Lemon and avocado trees were already established in the garden and how we enjoyed them. Lemon trees are amazing for they fruit and flower at the same time. I learned there to plant judiciously, for everything grew year round and needed constant trimming back. There was no dormant season. 

Above, the wisteria is blooming on the garden shed. Just now as I walk to and fro with plants, shovel, clippers, and buckets, I catch a whiff of lilac here, and sweet wisteria there. It's such a lovely time to be out there. 

From inside my house yesterday I watched an Anna's Hummingbird alight in the lilac bush. They usually take off after a brief stay, but this one remained long enough for me to go get the camera and take several pictures. Even then he hung around for awhile. 

The usual date for setting tender plants out into the garden is after mid-May. With an eye on the calendar and the temperature, I started squash and cucumber plants indoors today. Already growing outdoors are carrots and beets, Swiss chard, radishes, red onions, and spinach. 

I have a new flower bed this year, and in it are cosmos and foxglove. I'll transplant zinnias and sunflowers as they sprout. Sweet peas are a favourite of mine and I started some seeds indoors and some out. Something came along and nipped the outdoor plants right off at the ground and left the green growing tendrils lying on the dirt. What could have done that? I've netted the ones that remain and they seem to be doing fine. 

What is it that is so satisfying about gardening? Being outside with a purpose is what I like - I'm not one to lie about in the sunshine. I do enjoy a cup of tea and reading a book in the shade, but I find that my eyes stray often to the garden beds and I'll soon get up to pull that weed that caught my eye. 

I know that many of my readers garden. What is it that you find fulfilling about gardening? 

Boxing Day Thoughts

Every year I wish for snow on Christmas Day. In looking back I see that 2008 was a white Christmas, and now, 2017. Light snow began on Christmas Eve. In the morning, I looked out the window to see delicate snow frosting branches and foliage, softening the lines of houses and cars, and transforming the landscape. 

It was the first gift of Christmas Day, and the gifting carried on throughout the day. 

Gifts of the day, in no particular order, included:
* little ones arriving in pajamas
* twinkle lights
* pretty, thoughtful presents
* food a-plenty
* interesting conversations observed, listened in on, and participated in
* cousin love
* creative moments
* a little snowman in the back garden
* talking to my parents via phone
* texting siblings
* cups of tea, hot cider, and homemade eggnog

Our son and his wife gave cardboard houses to the three grands. They came flat-packed and the size of each house is rather grander than first thought. We moved the furniture in the eating area/sitting room (some to the adjoining laundry room) to create space for this instant housing complex. A big pack of markers was put to good use throughout the day. 

The houses came complete with mailboxes. Once discovered, the girls ran downstairs to the playroom to create mail for each others' boxes. It was a brilliant way to keep them busy and happy throughout the day.

Before sitting down to our non-traditional Christmas lunch, we posed for a family photo. I set up the tripod and dashed in during the 10-second delay.

Since some will ask about our non-traditional lunch, here's the menu. It's based on foods we enjoyed in Ecuador. It's a little ironic, because while living far away, I always attempted the foods from home - turkey, cranberry sauce, etc. Now that we're back in Canada, we celebrate with the foods we came to know and love from Ecuador. Here's the menu,

Ceviche de camarones (shrimp ceviche - I like the Ecuadorian version because the shrimp is pre-cooked)

Locro de papas (potato soup) It's always served with slices of avocado on top and chopped or sliced hard-boiled egg

Pastel de choclo (corn casserole) This tastes much like the humitas we enjoyed, but since fresh corn husks are impossible to find at this time of year, we bake the mixture in a glass baking pan.  

Fresh bread, Green salad

For dessert I made a Pavlova with a Cherry Wine Compote, and Whipped Cream. Not an Ecuadorian dish, at all.

I hope that you are enjoying these post-Christmas days. I'm looking forward to lots of relaxation, some reading, long walks, and possibly some sewing. I'm keeping my options open and my schedule flexible. 

There and Back Again in No Time

The double set of glass doors closes behind me and I am met by a rush of warm humid air. A long dormant recess in my brain leaps to attention. Neurons begin firing and in a millisecond I am transported in time and space to Chupientsa, a tiny village in the Ecuadorian jungle.

Tim and I, with our young daughter, along with Tim's brother and his wife, are staying with friends, an older couple from our mission. I am 6 months pregnant. 

Our friends tell us about a beautiful waterfall and we make plans to visit. They look at my protruding belly and say, "The trail is not long, but it's steep." 

Forewarned, I decide to accompany the group. 

The trail downwards is almost hidden, covered by dense green growth. A thick strong rope, tied securely to a tree, marks the beginning of the descent. I rely on the rope to keep me from slipping on the damp leaves and skidding to the invisible bottom. Tim precedes me, ready to stop any fall. 

We reach the floor of the small canyon. Far above, only the smallest bits of blue sky appear through the lacy ceiling of foliage. At one end, a waterfall, maybe 50 feet tall, splashes into a round pool and fills the air with cool mist. 

Ralph picks his way along the side of the pool and we follow, balancing from rock to rock until we arrive on a narrow ledge that continues behind the waterfall. We stand listening to the steady thunder of falling water. Our view is a watery blur of colour and light.

Returning back along the ledge to the open space that seems like a large emerald room, each of us explores individually, calling occasionally across the din of water. We peer into pools of water, examine flowers, and marvel at the wonder of the Amazon jungle.

I find a smooth flat rock, remove my shoes, and dangle my feet in the water, content to sit and absorb the scene. A flicker of blue catches my eye. A Blue Morpho flutters by. When open, its iridescent wings are a striking contrast in this green world. I watch, transfixed, as it floats around the canyon, flashing blue. 

Then, once again, time whirls and I am a grandmother accompanying my three grandchildren, one a daughter of the tiny girl who flew into that jungle setting (but didn't go down into the canyon), and the other two, children of the babe I carried in my womb, to Butterfly World, just 15 minutes away from my home on Vancouver Island.  

 Blue Morphos fluttered around Butterfly World, but they are notoriously difficult to photograph. When I felt, ever so lightly, a butterfly alight on the top of my head, my granddaughter told me it was a Blue Morpho. I felt blessed. Memory is a powerful thing.

There were many other butterflies willing to have their photos taken yesterday, along with turtles, tortoises, a macaw, a parrot, flamingos and other creatures, including poison dart frogs from, you guessed it, the Ecuadorian jungle. I'm glad I didn't see any of those that day so long ago! 

We had a fun time, my daughter and I, with the three little ones. The world is full of marvelous things to explore. It's spring break this week and next, and I'm thoroughly enjoying time to relax and visit. 

Too Many Fronts

My house looks like a battle zone. Piles of garden produce to deal with make me wonder why I embarked upon a major clean out and reorganization of rooms and closets. I'm faced with too many fronts - a clear strategy for losing. Just ask Napoleon. 
 

In an effort to gain some perspective, I took a little walk around the garden with my camera. A few new spikes of lavender bloom and the dahlias are lovely.
 

My neighbour has a grape vine that trails over our fence. She (the neighbour) encourages us to help ourselves to the grapes. Last year I canned some grape juice which made a wonderful drink when mixed with club soda for those who don't want wine with dinner. The grapes are ripe now and should be picked soon. But I won't think about that now.
 

I wanted an evergreen plant for the pot in front of the porch and settled on a bay laurel - laurus nobilus - that I'll prune to a fuller shape. The prunings can be dried and used to flavour soups and stews.
 

This little village spends most of its time in a cardboard box, carefully wrapped in tissue paper. I have it out on our dry sink in the dining room just now. The buildings replicate those of Old Quito during Spanish Colonial days and make me think of the years we spent in Ecuador.

How quickly the years pass. I'm feeling rather pensive just now, looking at those little buildings. Those were the years of active mothering. Now I'm a grandmother of 3. How can that be? 

There's a weekend of celebration coming up and I have to get the house in order. The important things will all be accomplished. Onward I go, taking little breaks here and there to read a few of your blogs and sometimes leave a comment. How are your early September days? Full to overflowing or just right?

Memories Crowd In - Elisabeth Elliot

 January 8, 1956. I was not yet born. But on that day, 5 young men, Jim Elliot, Nate Saint, Roger Youderian, Ed McCully and Peter Fleming, Americans, were speared on a sand bar in the Ecuadorian jungle. Life magazine sent a reporter and the January 30, 1956 issue published a 10-page photo essay on the discovery of the bodies. It was a story that influenced my life. Elisabeth Elliot, widow of Jim Elliot who died that day trying to make contact with this isolated tribe, wrote several books about the incident. There are many online links about the event.

Fast forward to 1994. I, along with my husband and our three children, lived in Shell Mera, on the edge of the Ecuadorian jungle. Elisabeth Elliot returned to the town of Shell with her 3rd husband, Lars Gren, with plans to visit Shandia, the village where she had lived until that event in 1956. Tim and I volunteered to drive them there. I didn't want to pass up an opportunity to spend time with Elisabeth. Her books had challenged me.

Our family of 5, plus Elisabeth and Lars, and Elisabeth's former house helper, Antonia, (who, in 1994, worked in the hospital Tim administered), piled into our bright yellow van and jounced our way along pot-hole-filled roads, in the pouring rain, for several hours.

Once at the village, we visited in several homes, drinking chicha (don't ask), waiting for the rain to stop. It didn't. Elisabeth finally said, "let's just get going." She took off her shoes, saying that she had always walked the jungle trails barefoot and saw no reason not to do so again. I kept mine on. Then up the slippery, muddy trail we went, rain pouring down, not in rivulets, but actual rivers, soaking us to the skin in spite of our umbrellas. 

The first photo shows Elisabeth and Lars in front of the house that Jim built. A local family lives there now, but graciously allowed us all to traipse through it. Elisabeth spoke of little memories in each room - "Jim loved to play with Valerie in front of this fireplace," "I had my desk in this corner and I gazed at this view while writing my first book," "here's where the radio was and where I was standing when I heard the news." 

The second photo shows a young boy, Elisabeth and Lars, Antonia, Tim, and Ashley standing on a bank overlooking the Napo River. 

It was a story I'd read and heard of so many times, but I gained a new perspective that day - the perspective of a strong woman of faith who deeply grieved the loss of a beloved husband, and who wondered what the future held for her tiny orphaned daughter.

Have you ever heard of this story from 1956? It made world wide news with the Life magazine coverage.

   

It's Beginning...

...to look a lot little like Christmas. The wreath is on the door, but there's nothing like a photograph to let you see the work something needs. The splayed out ribbon definitely needs some tweaking. I'm liking the plain green against the red door, though. Maybe I'll wire in a few pine cones.

The wood carved nativity is set out on the china hutch. I've played with putting it elsewhere, but like it best in that spot. On the bottom of one shepherd carving is written, "purchased in 1983 in San Antonio de Ibarra." (Ecuador) So that makes it 30 years old. One of the cow's horns fell off, but it was a clean break and can be glued back on.

Guests for dinner on Friday night combined with never knowing when I'm going to be called in to teach mean that I need to get my decorating done while I can - like today. Except for the tree. That will come later. And I'll have help. At least for the lights.

Is it beginning to look a little or a lot like Christmas at your place?

I Love a Rainy Night

Hospital Vozandes del Oriente - Shell, Pastaza, Ecuador

I fell asleep last night to the sound of rain on the roof, trickling through the gutters, and to the smell of earth made fresh. The air blew across my face from the open window and I was transported back in time. Ecuador has been on my mind a little more recently as our youngest daughter and her husband are there now, visiting the land of her birth. 

Digging through old photos I found this aerial shot of the "new" hospital where she was born and where, a few years later, my husband served as administrator. I look at the photo with eyes of love that prickle with tears at the memories engendered. Yet now that it's been eleven years since I've seen this place, my eyes can also see the details that separate this photo from most of my reader's realities. I see a place where so many, many people came for healing. This building holds tales that would break your heart, and tales of triumph and joy. I wonder what you see - a strange landscape, a rusty roof, muddy streets.

One February, Tim came down with a serious case of pneumonia. Our physician decided to admit him so that he could have IV antibiotics. I went home to gather up a few personal items and when I returned Tim was in his room, still working - staff members were in and out discussing things. Not very restful. The next morning I walked into the hospital and there he was, IV pole, robe and slippers, fixing a computer. Dr. Steve agreed that he needed to be out of there. So I had a quick lesson in managing an IV and home we went. This photo was taken when he was well on the mend. 

All this from listening to rain in the night. What memories does rain trigger for you?

Victoria

In the early 1990s I lived, with my family, in a small village on the edge of the Amazon jungle. My husband was the administrator of a small interdenominational mission hospital. I looked after my children, taught piano and art, worked with the Ecuadorian children in an after school club, and hosted a lot of guests from around the world. 

Our mission offered the service of collecting printed materials - books, magazine subscriptions - at the head office in the USA. Several times a year boxes were sent down in large shipments. You cannot imagine the joy it was to receive printed materials in English. I loved sorting through the boxes, placing each family's items in piles. 

I subscribed to Victoria magazine, among others. Victoria was my favorite. Several issues arrived at the same time, always several months behind. I hoarded them, allowing myself to read only one each month, knowing that if I devoured them all at once, I'd have to wait for another shipment to arrive.  

Magazines were shared with friends. Some of my friends couldn't understand the appeal that Victoria held for me. It didn't have many self-help articles, no diet advice, no exercise regimes, and few recipes. Instead, the pages were filled with beautiful photographs, inspiring quotes, and thoughtful essays. To me, Victoria represented the kind of life that I longed to live, one filled with books and flowers, comfort, beauty, and intentional living. 

What a treat it was for me to anticipate an afternoon hour with a cup of tea (in a china cup), curled up on my couch in my second floor living room which was shaded by a huge tree in which monkeys frequently sat and peered into our home. The world of Victoria was miles and cultures away, yet the magazine inspired me to see beauty in everyday life and to create a home that was beautiful for my family and guests. I didn't have access to the items shown on the pages, but the sentiments and intent resonated strongly with my emotions and thoughts.  

I saved the magazines to read and re-read, returning to this quotation or that illustration. When we shipped our belongings home, I knew I couldn't take my 10-year stash with me. I sorted out a few of my favorite issues and gave the rest away. Then I noticed the occasional issue in thrift stores and I began picking them up again. Friends heard about my collection and contributed to it. 

I have not spent as much time looking at my old issues of Victoria in the past few years. Lately, I've wondered if it was time to let them go. However, before doing so, I thought I'd page through them once more. And I find that, although they take up space on my bookshelves, they do no harm, and they continue to bring me pleasure. I think I'll keep them for awhile longer.

Brenda, from It's a Beautiful Life is holding a giveaway featuring a book written and illustrated by one of Victoria's artists. Pop on over, if you like, to see what it's all about. 

Thoughts on Hospitality

Cheryl, from Thinking about Home, has been writing a series of posts on hospitality. Today she is hosting a linky party for her readers to share hospitable tips. The subject has caused me to reflect back on my own experiences with hospitality. This post is not so much about tips, as about memories.

I have a house, an extra bed, a place at my table. You need to stay somewhere, or a meal. 

The above words sum up my view on hospitality. There are caveats, of course. Safety is one of them. 

Hospitality was first modeled to me by my parents. Sunday dinners often extended to another family invited home from church. Relatives (of which I have an astounding amount) came to stay for one, two, or more nights in our small home with just one bathroom. Visiting choir members, missionaries, friends, and others often sat around our table or slept in our beds while we bunked down elsewhere. My mother and father made it look so easy - a normal part of life.

When I first married and we set up our home, I was nervous about inviting people over. What would I say? I worried more about the flow of conversation than the cooking or cleaning. Sometimes, it took real guts for me to say, "yes, I can serve dinner to so and so." I would invite someone else for dinner as well, someone who I knew would talk a blue streak and keep the conversation going.

Then we moved to Ecuador. Opening our home was not an option. People poured through our home in a steady stream, needing beds, meals and a place to call home in a far away land. Ecuadorians, Dutch, Germans, English, Australians, Americans, Canadians and many more nationalities gathered around our table and slept in our beds. Some stayed for a meal, others for several months. 

The benefits far outweighed the inconveniences. Our children learned to converse with people from many backgrounds, young and old. We heard stories of far away lands. One Christmas a young German couple showed us how to make folded paper stars. An American visitor gave us a wonderful recipe for chocolate cake, and started us on the habit of eating popcorn, apples and cheese for Sunday night suppers. Our youngest guest was a newborn baby boy whom we brought home from the hospital and kept until his adoptive parents arrived.

The hospitality continued when we moved back to Canada. A young man from Spain, here to learn English, taught us how to make paella and Spanish tortilla. A young girl who needed a safe place, a boy who had no family in Canada, friends of friends, and so on.

For the two years we lived in Parksville where we had few guests other than family. And I found myself becoming anxious again about guests. Like any art, hospitality, when practiced, becomes easier. The less I think about myself and the more I focus on my guests, the more fun it becomes. Not that I fuss too much, rather, I try to make our guests comfortable, asking them questions about their life, thinking about what they would like. Most people are happy to talk about their home. 

Problems have been few. Sometimes, when the stay is longer, a few rules need to be enforced. But we have experienced nothing but respect from those we've hosted. 

Hospitality is one of the things Jesus encouraged. I've been reluctant at times, and resentful sometimes, of all the work. But more than that, I'm thankful to my parents for showing me how to be hospitable, and I know that we have been so blessed by all the people we've come to know. I wanted our home to be a place where people are restored and rested, a haven, but also a place from which to go out and face life's challenges.

Visit Thinking About Home for more posts on hospitality.