"Sweet 100's" courtesy of Nature herself

The light from the window hits the skins of the tomatoes...
light just right to bring out their ripe vibrant red.

Just outside that same window is where they grew.

Little red miracles
planted by nature herself...
over ripe fruit dropped last fall
onto the waiting brown earth.
Winter and spring rain watered the forgotten seeds.
Morning sun coaxed the seedlings into being.

The first midsummer harvest yields much...
four whole cups.
Still more are left on the vine
to ripen a teensy bit
and ensure their juicy perfection.

The harvester is giddy.
He loves tomatoes more than candy.
To know how they came to be,
makes him all the more giddy.

As full of wonder and delight
as a six year old walking
the rows of a vegetable garden
for the first time.

Did you know there is no such thing as a "green thumb"?

A couple of days ago, while hunting for information about something else I stumbled upon an online article that has had me thinking ever since. The particular quote that I continue to contemplate says:

"Think about it, nobody digs and sows, plants and weeds, or sprays bugs in a forest. Still, all those chores are taken care of somehow. The forest grows and feeds its inhabitants, doesn't it? 

"If any task in your garden is an unpleasant chore then there is definitely a better way to do it or to eliminate it. Learn from nature. Nature has already developed a solution to every problem that you could possibly encounter in your garden." (from What is permaculture?)

The sentence I underlined hit a chord with me and has resonated long after I finished reading.





This resonation has caused me to reflect on one of the first unpleasant chores I eliminated when we moved here over 12 years ago--keeping a lawn. Although mowing the lawn was never a distasteful chore that I did growing up (I learned to enjoy it), the thought of pampering the lawn and coaxing it to be lush and green during our hot, dry summers was not a pleasant prospect.

An interesting chain of events followed that pivotal decision to eliminate any thought of a lawn. And the events came from seemingly unrelated sources:

• Just prior to moving here, I had read (and re-read) Under the Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes and fallen under the spell of her descriptions of all the herbs and plants she and her husband put into their gardens as they restored the Tuscan villa the gardens surrounded.
• In trying to educate myself on growing herbs and edibles (particularly the ones Frances Mayes wrote about), I discovered the age-old practice of companion planting.
• My mom stumbled upon the website for the National Wildlife Federation where they gave instructions of creating a backyard wildlife habitat.
• I discovered drip irrigation systems at our local hardware store and realized I could hook up all the tubing myself to a timer at the tap so everything got watered at once and regularly. I only had to handwater if I wanted to as a relaxation activity.
• Hubby really wanted me to grow fresh tomatoes for him. I really wanted to grow roses and citrus for me.
• I discovered a collection of gorgeous rocks left by the previous owners under a pile of decomposing leaves and rediscovered how beautiful hardscape can be in the garden. Paths of pea gravel and flagstone looked "Tuscan" to me and, in my estimation, were far prettier than any old lawn.

I took things slowly as far as the design of the garden was concerned. I needed to get to know the seasons in my new climate. I needed to familiarize myself with how the light hit different parts of our lot and how water drained (or didn't). One can only do that by taking things slowly as the seasons roll in and out for at least a year or two. I somehow knew that.

I discovered that one of the most important garden chores I would engage in was sitting parked in a patio chair for long stints of time and simply observing. No earbuds with music from an iPod... no book to read... no one there to chat with... just me sitting alone with the garden. And the garden "told" me an awful lot about itself that I never would have "heard" otherwise.






What ended up happening was that I stumbled upon the very truth that I just read a couple of days ago. I had no idea I had lit upon a key aspect of permaculture. In fact, I'd never read about permaculture until I read the article I quote above.

But somehow my own garden taught me something that nature is always willing to teach anyone who will listen. "If any task in your garden is an unpleasant chore then there is definitely a better way to do it or to eliminate it."

I now enjoy a somewhat symbiotic relationship with my garden. It provides me with so much--particularly serenity. And it doesn't demand much of me in return because I've allowed nature to create a balance. I feel that I was guided through the process of discovering this truth by a much wiser power than my own intellect, so that I could enjoy what the article finally says:

"If you think ahead and design your permaculture garden right, it won't take much effort, it will mostly look after itself, and it will also be incredibly productive and beautiful and attractive to wildlife."

I wish I could somehow infuse that vision into others that they could see what lies ahead if they step back and let nature do it's thing. Oh how I wish I could. And that the result doesn't have to look like a tumble-down mess. It can have wonderful structure and still have nature taking care of most of the chores. Your garden can be inspired and designed after ones in Tuscany or cottage gardens in England or the great plains of the North American continent. The possibilities for inspiration are endless.

In the past 12 years, I've learned one more very important truth... there is no such thing as a "green thumb". Those individuals who appear to have a "green thumb" are actually seeking out and absorbing gardening information through every source possible and particularly through observation. That's the only difference between a "green thumb" and a "brown thumb".

A slower pace of life under the white oleander bush

Whether it comes naturally to me or not, the pace of my life as of late has slowed way down. I've noticed that a lot of my day is very quiet without the sounds of music or television accompanying me--only the faint tinkling sound of a cat's bell as one of the kitties stirs between naps. A few years ago I used to fill my life with a lot of recorded music--usually very bouncy loud dance tunes with the bass turned up for optimal booming. But now... not so much.

When I first realized this shift in my habits I immediately thought, "Oh no! This is the first sign that I'm getting old!" I even asked Hubby, "What's wrong with me?!?!"

Then upon more reflection I've concluded that I've actually come around full circle to a pattern I had as a small child when we lived in a remote community of the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. When the weather was cooperative and warm enough, my life had a similar pace as it does now. And my days were spent in blissful solitude as I roamed around our wooded property or basked in the clear mountain sunshine in our wildflower meadow. In silence, I would sit with the high grasses around me and watch butterflies flit from blossom to blossom. Every rustle or movement caught my attention and I would quietly look in the direction of the sound to see what it was--an elk, a jay bird or another forest creature. It was only during the cold inclimate months that I came inside and occupied my time with music from scratchy records played on my portable record player.

With my health limitations changing my current pace of life, I'm finding myself feeling the same sense of freedom I had as a child and the permission to just simply be. Daily, I venture out into the garden but now it isn't to do some major garden installation. I wander around and note the slight nuances of change as the garden goes through its seasons. I notice where some critter has visited since I last strolled through. Every rustle or movement draws my attention, and I'll look in the direction of the sound and wait until I can identify what it was.

Did you know that creatures in nature have what I call a "time out period"? When they sense human presence they scatter and become very quiet. But if the human settles in and becomes still and quiet, in about ten minutes nature's creatures come back and resume their activities as if the human isn't there. It happens with skittish fish in the water as well as the birds in the trees. Ten minutes of quiet stillness is all it takes and suddenly it's as if you're not even there.

Sitting in my chaise lounge under the wisteria, I've noticed the branches of the 50+ year old white oleander bush have grown enough this year to create a lovely canopy over my head. Periodically, a dried white blossom flutters down on me as I sit enjoying the splashing sound of the pond waterfall.

So many magical moments have happened under the white oleander.

I've had the wonderful honor of encountering the grey fox two more times since the night of the summer solstice when I first saw it. One of the encounters last week was before the sun had set and it was still "golden hour" in the garden. The fox made eye contact with me as it trotted casually through the thicket created by the oleander bush and the cherry tree. Because it was light outside and the fox wasn't in much of a hurry, I could see the beautiful nuances of its ticked fur, its long fluffy tail and the details of its exquisite face and eyes.

I'm relearning the pace I loved as a child. I'm realizing that slower and quieter pace brings with it an innocence and simplicity that fosters a calmness of one's inner core. That calmness is somehow sensed by nature. And nature rewards that calmness with incredible moments that require no soundtrack and no words. They are heavenly moments when the Creator feels closer than ever.

Even after living here twelve years, nature still continues to surprise me

Just when I thought that I've got the rhythms of my backyard wildlife habitat all figured out, Mother Nature decided to surprise me and remind me that I have much to learn and discover.

At "golden hour", I ventured out of my studio and went out on the back deck to check the water level in the pond (with the heat and lots of critters drinking from it, I need to replenish it almost every day). I stepped out toward the railing to lean forward and squint to try and see the water level even though the setting sun was shining in my eyes.

Then I saw some movement under the lemon tree. At first glance my brain said, "Some doves are waddling around looking for food."

But then I realized the two birds weren't doves...

... they were California quail!

I quietly eased myself back into the house so I could go get my camera and hoped my movement hadn't scared them off. I had to switch out lenses to my telephoto lens praying the whole time that they'd still be out there when I got done messing with my camera. I finally crept back out.

Thankfully, they were still there.

I shot from up on the deck so they wouldn't be frightened. The sun wasn't in the best position in relation to the two quail but I got as many shots as I could before they both walked into an area of the garden where my view was obstructed. Even though I snuck down in the deck stairs and went around the opposite side of the pond to try and get a better vantage point, I didn't get any more chances to take shots after those first few.

I did get to watch them sauntering around in the shadows of the workshop. I could tell they'd come into our completely fenced-in garden through a space critters have dug under the back fence we share with a large grassy open lot sometimes used as a car repo yard. We're almost even with the back corner of the lot, so I suspect the quail must have come from the significant open space just over the car lot fence less than 25 feet away. The large amount of land that almost completely surrounds our semi-rural neighborhood serves as a buffer for an oil refinery and its tanks. Despite its industrial purpose, the acreage has lots of wildlife living on its grass-covered hilly terrain. We've spotted wild turkey, pheasant, hawks, owls, egrets, heron, grey foxes, deer and we've heard coyotes. Our garden visitors usually are limited to opossum, skunks, raccoons, and an occasional rabbit or egret. Once we even had a mother mallard duck and her ducklings visit the pond for the ducklings first swim.

Now that they've come over to our garden to pay us a visit, we can officially add Mr. and Mrs. Quail to the list of callers at the gardens of Rosehaven Cottage.

Sometimes when you just leave things alone, beauty happens

I think one of the hardest lessons for me to learn has been... sometimes when you just leave things alone, beauty happens. Thankfully, my garden reinforces this concept to me often enough that my thick-headedness never gets too out of control before I see it evidenced again and remember, "Oh yeah! Just calm down. You don't have to control everything. Leave things alone and beauty happens."

During the winter, I put out seeds for the birds that are wintering over here because the bugs aren't as numerous as in warmer months. After much trial and error, I've finally concluded that the only seeds I need to put out are simple black sunflower seeds. Even the smallest birds prefer them to other seed. I will also put out some suet cakes for the chickadees and woodpeckers that like to forage differently than the others. 

Everyone gets fed, and I get an added bonus... 

I get sunflowers!

Birds are messy eaters and inevitably stray sunflower seeds end up on the ground under and around the feeders. I don't have any lawn to mow in our garden so the seeds can stay where they fall. The winter and spring rain waters them, and I end up with at least half a dozen or more volunteers that sprout and bloom.

When this sunflower's petals of sunshine are spent, I'll leave the stalk standing and let the seeds ripen in the hot summer sun. The birds will come along and feed from it like a natural bird-feeder. And some seeds will fall to the ground and become volunteers for possibly some autumnal sunflowers (having them bloom in October is the best treat). Some may even winter over and produce blooms for next spring once the winter rain hits them.

Such a beautiful natural cycle repeats over and over... if I simply leave things alone.

Look up and see the wonders and miracles that surround you

Thanks to the time required for my recovery the pace of my life has slowed down significantly. My priorities have shifted significantly as well.

The state of my recovering body has forced me to be still a lot. For me, sitting still begets pondering. Pondering begets enlightenment, inspiration and guidance. And those precious gifts beget more stillness... the kind of stillness that lets the world of nature happen around me as if I'm not there. It is a stillness that awakens my senses and lets me see with new eyes--eyes that can see all the wonders and miracles that surround me every day if I slow down enough to pay attention to them.

Introducing... The Merrilee Esther Nature Collection

Last Friday night, Hubby and I went out to dinner with a couple whom I hadn't met yet in person although Hubby had. We sat in a cozy local Italian place chatting and eating delicious authentic Italian food. It was one of those meetings when I felt like I really hadn't met someone new. It helped that because of Hubby we had been Facebook friends prior to the dinner. But there was something else in the ease in which the conversation flowed. It was very nice.

One of my newfound friends is the reason for this new collection I'm featuring. Like me, Merrilee is a nature lover through and through. And she graciously asked if I would like to offer some of her nature photography as free digital downloads at the Rosehaven Cottage Digital Download Shop. Of course I said yes!

Named after her, The Merrilee Esther Nature Collection will hopefully grow over time. The first set Bark and Branches and the second set Water and Waves are now available to download for FREE to use as desktop images, scrapbooking backgrounds, Photoshop textures or anything else creative you can think up. You can pick and choose which ones you want to download out of each set.

To receive announcements when future sets are released, "like" Rosehaven Cottage Inc. on Facebook or follow Rosehaven Cottage Inc. on Twitter.


Oh... and by the way... Merrilee is also the proprietor of Life Is But A Dream - Cupcakes and More. Click below to see some of her delectable desserts.

Synchronized Pelican Swimming

No, this is NOT a Photoshop trick. There was no need for digital trickery to get this photo.

Hubby and I were taking a walk at the marina in the evening when I saw three large birds swimming in one of the wetlands lakes. I could see from a distance that they were pelicans and hustled closer so I could get some shots with the setting sun at my back.

Just as I started shooting, the pelicans starting swimming in formation. It was so amazing and wonderful. Nature's grace is often miraculous. We are so fortunate when we can witness the miracles.

I've made the first photo of this post available in 11x14 signed fine art photographic prints.
Click image below for more information:

Ready to go on a Road Trip?!?!

At the end of last week, I did a very spontaneous thing. It turned out that I had two unexpected days off from teaching seminary on Thursday and Friday. The weather forecast promised sunny and wonderful autumnal weather. I needed more photographs for my portfolio with my online agencies. Hubby had to work, but my mom was free to be a traveling companion (so was her new little dog, Chica). So Mom and I loaded up my truck early Thursday morning. With Chica settled in Mom's lap we took off up the highway north to our favorite place in the world--Plumas County.

Over the next few days, I want to share our wonderful autumnal mountain adventure with you through the photographs that I took.

Plumas County is nestled in the forests of northeastern California. The drive is always breathtaking, but at this time of year it proved to be unbelievably so. We took the scenic route to get to our destination of the town of Chester where we had reservations for lodging for the night.

Plumas County is "home" for my mother. It's where she grew up; her parents moved there when she was a toddler. Plumas County is "home" for me too; it's where Grammy lived until her passing when I was 10 years old. The song lyrics, "Over the river and through woods to grandmother's house we go..." had very literal meaning for me when I was a child. On this trip we took one of the roads that often runs next to a serpetine river--Highway 32 from Chico to Chester.

Both Mom and I had a new plant-lovers discovery on this trip. The large-leafed plants that were growing out in the center of the running river are Indian Rhubarb. We never knew that before. I love finding out something new.

Luckily, there were a lot of turnouts along Highway 32 so I could safely pull over and shoot photographs of the gorgeous scenery in all its autumnal splendor.

The frequent stops also gave Mom opportunities to walk little Chica. This was Chica's first roadtrip since my mom adopted her from the animal shelter in August. Chica is a "senior" doggy who has a mysterious past, as she was found wandering the streets. She is now quite pampered, and her diminutive barely-5-pound body was hilarious to watch and she walked along the roadside sniffing all the new smells. Such a different outlook than I'm used to with cats. My cats would have freaked out having to be subjected to all those new sights and smells. But little Chica just loved it.

And in case anyone is wondering... my mom has decided that Chica's breed is a "wired haired terry-huahua". She's definitely a chihuahua but has hair much like a wired haired terrier. Hence, the hybridized breed name.

Anyway.... tune in tomorrow for more mountain travel adventures with Mom, Chica, and me!

All photographs featured here can be made available as unframed or framed prints, high-quality posters,
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