An Australian priest living in New Bedford, MA sent Blithewold’s executive director a poem and she encouraged me to share it. Fr. Sharbel said he was inspired to write this
(as yet untitled) poem titled “Deight” after walking around Blithewold with a friend this summer:
Seeds planted long ago
Have now become a splendid show,
That bring delight to the heart
As each in order play their part.
In summer’s air become a breeze,
One feels a calm and peace of soul
Our stories are in whispers told.
Each path is followed with delight
For at each turn is found a sight,
Of colors in their varied shades
New in light that grows and fades.
And watch the years make better wine,
As from the beautiful, we here drink deep,
May we within thanksgiving keep.
-by Fr. Sharbel Francis Mary
Isn’t it lovely? I think he must have had a nice visit…
Yesterday, the Deadheads removed more of summer’s veneer in the Display Garden and started to *think spring* by planting tulips in the cutting beds. It seems like we gardeners spend a lot of time casting ahead to the future. We plan and scheme and envision seasons to come while being totally up to our elbows in the here and now. It’s no wonder we get exhausted. I love the digging, rearranging, tidying, and putting to bed of fall but have trouble switching gears to plan for the colors of spring! Spring is too soft and pastel for me now with fall in my face (sneeze-o-matic ragweed must be still blooming in the unseasonable warmth). Fall’s colors seem deeper, earthier, and maybe it’s the light but they seem more electric. Neon tree colors are driving me to distraction (and nearly off the road). I love the rudeness of fall too – it’s like a little kid throwing blustery tantrums and telling really juvenile jokes. Working in the North Garden last week a peculiar odor reached for my nose and I found this shocking thing (right) the size of my pointer finger in the otherwise demur and still pretty garden. Stinkhorn fungi (Mutinus elegans) can be found in bark mulch or really rich soil.
I hope summer visitors like Fr. Sharbel come back to Blithewold to see the “splendid show” (and off-color comedy revue) of fall, all the “colors in their varied shades” of winter and “the beautiful” this coming spring. Meanwhile I’m going to take “each [season] in order” and even if I have to cast ahead a bit to another, I’ll remember to delight in (laugh at) the now.