Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My script of joy, immortal diet,
y bottle of salvation.
My gown of glory, hopes true gauge,
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.

~Sir Walter Raleigh

A hiker, walking for pleasure, likes to choose between several alluring trails.
The pilgrim desires only the road that leads home.

~Frank W. Boreham

Saturday, April 9, 2011

When April Walks The Land

Perhaps the way to begin is with the delightful lines from Mr. Browning, those lines about being in England now that April's there. For certain sure, England has a claim on my soul. However, for today I shall stay nearby, after all, the title of his poem is "Home-Thoughts...." So this shall be simple present and past home-thoughts.

There is a certain fragrance in April's air that stirs the heart. The earth is warming, blooms opening, it is hard to describe but to me it is sweet and green. Here in my garden the Andromeda is in bloom. It has a delicious rich fragrance that surrounds me as I dig about. (In fact, its fragrance is the only thing that redeems its otherwise barely attractive messy self.) But gardens and fragrance go together and feed the soul.

Daffodils come first in my garden. Yellow in gardens is not a favorite for me. But it is an essential in Spring. It is the best of cheer after a bleak, wet Northwest winter.

Daffodils for me also bring with them echos of childhood. They were a part of the garden round the house of my growing up to be sure, but not only there. The neighboring farm across the road had nut and fruit orchards. One of the orchards had daffodils as grown cover. It was glorious. My chum (of said farm) and I would walk the hills and gather armloads to bring home to our mommas. Such indescribable riches! I loved picking flowers but momma was very particular about what was picked from the home plots. So that orchard's splendor delighted and satisfied my young spirit.

Down the years there was another daffodil spot, another farm. There was a small vineyard at the side of the house where we lived and under it was another ground cover of daffodils. The children were very young at this time. Daughter # 2 was about three. She would sit midst the blooms happily, plucking their heads, filling her small hands with their glory. Perhaps this was the beginning of her own love of the garden for she is a true gardener as an adult.

Well, there it is, Dear Reader. You were warned. This is only brief home-thoughts of gardens.

There is no real point, or snappy conclusion other than Spring is a time to be savored, daffodil yellow is a fine color and gardens of all sorts are a joy.

Or so I find them.


  1. Daffodil's are the best. By far my favorite flower.

  2. Oh, Ruthie, how could I have missed this
    entry on your blog? I love it! Thank you. I'm
    going to re-read it right now.