I had planned to not post again till after this weekend’s Crab Pot Tree festivities. Then, this morning, I got a nice email from a friend and reader asking if I was ok because there’d been no blog post. I realized I had better make a proper announcement that there won’t be posts every day this winter. Maybe once or twice a week! Or more if I manage to do a gardening project or if Allan takes a boat trip, or if I read a really good book. My plan for this staycation/winterval is to go out as little as possible. If I follow through, that will lead to less blog fodder. I can’t even wrap my head around decorating for the holidays this year because it would take a day away from reading.
To go along with this announcement, here is the rest of November, to show how not much is happening (which is just how I like it).
Tuesday, 29 November 2016
ageing in the garden
Ruth Bancroft began her garden at age 61, just the age I am now. Some people told her she would not live to see it mature. (Nice friends!) In fact, she was alive and enjoying the garden at age 107 when this book was written. She had worked in the garden until she had to resort to a walker at age 100.
At age 107…
I love this illustration from a favourite book of hers: When the Root Children Wake Up by Sybille Von Olfers.
Look how beautiful the book is. And, OH!, I did not know yuccas even had flowers like those arching yellow ones.
I very much agree with Ruth about small plants:
A couple of years after she began her garden, a freak cold winter killed it all.
I am deliberately taking “bad” photos because it’s not right to swipe from the book. I just want to share with you my inspiration that I should dismantle my scree garden around my garden boat, add more soil, and make it a bit taller, like this:
Wednesday, 30 November 2016
I continued with The Bold Dry Garden. My reading is going slowly these days because I have to keep checking back on various news sources for unpleasant updates. I’ve written the suggested emails, letters, made the appropriate phone calls to government officials, and other than that I feel stuck—well informed but with little I can do other than read all about it.
Ruth. How I love her now. Gardeners: Do read the book.
Now, at last, I can begin a book that I have already renewed twice: 500 plus pages of extra small print about life in Britain during WWII.
In the first 100 pages, here’s what especially got to me. Some readers might recall that, if I believed in reincarnation, I would feel that I HAD lived then and there.
Television went dark in 1939:
The black out begins in a town rather like Ilwaco.
This explains why you often see depictions of people clustered around one radio for an important broadcast:
Declaration of war:
Many eyewitness accounts showed that the famed “stiff upper lip” was not much in evidence during the first air raid warnings.
Even though I live in a small town, on my street security lights blaze on houses and blank out the sky.
People were fined for showing the slightest chink of light:
People got lost in the blackout, finding themselves in the woods, or in a pond.
I recently read two other books, one non fiction, and one a novel, about wartime evacuee children: When the Children Came Home: Stories of Wartime Evacuees by Julie Summers and the glorious Goodnight, Mister Tom by Michelle Magorian.
an interesting fact:
My grandmother used to invite soldiers for dinner during WWII in Seattle. Like this:
You can read my grandma’s guestbook entries from some of those soldiers here.
And that is just the first 100 pages. I’d be reading more (or the news) right now, had I not needed to boot up today to do the tiresome but so necessary monthly billing.
Allan felt bad because he forgot to help hang the floats on the crab pot tree yesterday. (He was dealing with our medical insurance issues, and his brain got consumed by bureacracy.)
Enjoy your December, and I’ll check in when I have something to share. Meanwhile, if you missed it, I created a whole new blog about my grandma’s story, here.