Rubbish wonder

 

We have lived in our house with this somewhat messy garden / jungle for fifteen years. A five meter high tree has been an eye soar to my husband. It bends out over the main road and there's nothing much to it. I have seen birds building nests in the top, the cooling shadow under the tree and I've begged for mercy, begged for it's life.

  

 The main reason and my heaviest argument for letting the tree live, has been the flowers blossoming three weeks in April.Cherry flowers we thought.

  

Under the tree the ground was moist and rare plants like this ramsons , leek from the viking ages, thrive.

Gunnar made me a garden swing there, and I had a good time in my Secret Garden. My friend Anne persuaded me to cut some branches last autumn. "So many that one can throw a hat between the branches."

This autumn strange things began to happen with this ugly duckling.

It's grown even taller than last year, but with much light coming through.

 Gunnar came in from the garden with two green "stones". crab apple, I said. There actually is a crab apple tree near by. The other day Serina and I were out on inspection, and what did we see. Yellow, little plums lying in the grass. We tasted them. They were sweet as only plums can be.

Looking up we saw them, hidden among the leaves. Lots and lots of yellow plums. Turning water into wine counts for nothing, compared to turning a fruitless cherry tree into a bountiful plum tree .
The autumn's greatest joy and surprise.

I link to Rubbish by Roan. Go over and see some other great finds.
 http://rubbishbyroan.blogspot.no/

Rubbish, but lined with gold

 

 The garden shed of my paternal home has a story of its own. It's older than I am, and has served multiple purposes before it ended up as a shabby storing place for lawn movers and old wooden skies.

I still have the hope that it may be saved for future generations.

 

Even though wood is the most common building material in Norway, and we have easy access to wood almost all over the country, there is also a long tradition for reusing building material. Our shed served originally as a double outdoor toilet (no water) for the church to which my parents belonged. It was torn down when indoor plumming was available in the early thirties. However, the material was not torn away, but reclaimed for a hen house by the family who built my  paternal home in 1945. Food was still sold with  rations cards even till the mid fifties, so keeping hen was an ordinary mean of food supply.

 

My parents moved in as the builders emigrated to America in 1951, and since then the house and the shed has belonged to the our family. My mother was not keen on keeping poultry, so the shed became a storage house, and later on, when I was able to play on my own, it became my playhouse. Since the house had two doors (one for men, theo other for women), my friends and I had two semidetached houses and years of fun playing with our dolls, using berries and veggies from the garden as "food" for our "families". 

I guess I played there until I was twelve. 

I was a lucky, happy child.

The flowers are still blooming this second day of September 2014, even though it's been some years now since my mother had her garden tools in the shed.

Standing outside thee door of the shed, I see my mother as in a dream, always busy, always caring.I hope the shed will get a new revival. It so deserves it. Thank you for wonderful memories.

Linking up with Roan in Rubbish Tuesday.
 http://rubbishbyroan.blogspot.no/

JOY OF FALL

I don't even know the name of this tree. We didn't plant the garden originally.
When we talk of "the tree" this is what we are referring to. A four season beauty.

Ruby Spring Once More

Spring once more.
Spring in our garden, even if snow was 
blowing in from north yesterday.

Tulips in abundance, joy upon joy.

The pink tulip siblings flocking together in one corner.

The red, creeping rhododendrons are also springing out. I love them, they can withstand most; cold, wind, sour soil. They blossom as were they to the manor born. 

For more interesting Ruby Tuesdays

Magical Mystery Teacher is hosting Ruby Tuesday 2 together with Gemma Wiseman

AUTUMN DELIGHTS

Our mispel hedge in the front yard doesn't care if it's mid November.
The red berries are brightening my days both indoors and out doors. They look so wonderful, but I doubt that they're edible.
Wouldn't it have been wonderful if they were??
I could have filled my freezer in no time.

As it is, I use them for decoration. They need no water and a little twig makes the world of a difference on our kitchen table.
Great joy # two this week, when I received my Mazawattee tea box, which I ordered in a second hand internet shop. "Old Folks at home" is the title. My grandmother used to have a similar box filled with wonderfully coloured and shaped buttons. When I got too restless for her taste, she would hand me the box to play with and also tell about the items in the box. A pearl in my memory book. I have placed it in front of my couvert. Just seeing it, brings sun into my heart.

This Carl Larsson girl, modelled after his paintings, is also having a good time on our kitchen table between mispel berries, foliage, pine cones and pebbles brought home from various hikes.
Heaps of delights assembled on a tin tray.

Autumn in the Garden by Henry Van Dyke

When the frosty kiss of Autumn in the dark
Makes its mark
On the flowers, and the misty morning grieves
Over fallen leaves;
Then my olden garden, where the golden soil
Through the toil
Of a hundred years is mellow, rich, and deep,
Whispers in its sleep.

'Mid the crumpled beds of marigold and phlox,
Where the box
Borders with its glossy green the ancient walks,
There's a voice that talks
Of the human hopes that bloomed and withered here
Year by year,--
Dreams of joy, that brightened all the labouring hours,
Fading as the flowers.

Yet the whispered story does not deepen grief;
But relief
For the loneliness of sorrow seems to flow
From the Long-Ago,
When I think of other lives that learned, like mine,
To resign,
And remember that the sadness of the fall
Comes alike to all.

What regrets, what longings for the lost were theirs!
And what prayers
For the silent strength that nerves us to endure
Things we cannot cure!
Pacing up and down the garden where they paced,
I have traced
All their well-worn paths of patience, till I find
Comfort in my mind.

Faint and far away their ancient griefs appear:
Yet how near
Is the tender voice, the careworn, kindly face,
Of the human race!
Let us walk together in the garden, dearest heart,
Not apart!
They who know the sorrows other lives have known
Never walk alone.

Visit teach Mary for more Ruby Tuesdays here