I’m not the same moved person who moved here to Portland. I’ve never loved a home as much as this and the reasons are not entirely about the home itself. It is the garden. It is the commitment to our neighbors, it is the pleasure I find in the birds and animals who make their homes here.
It is love of Place.
I don’t think it matters where you put down your roots, home is where you commit to loving the rituals of the season and whoever shares them with you.
When I see red leaves blown across the patch of orange pumpkins, I know autumn is coming. The first time I help the tendrils of a sweet pea find a trellis, I say: this is a Portland spring, a slightly softer bite in the wind, racing clouds in the sky and an unreliable sun. When there are baskets of red raspberries and blueberries, I feel the hot sun of my back and say: this is summer, fruit and sunflowers, basil and sweet corn. When I cover the dirt with blankets of clover, I say this is winter. The branches are hard and bare and chickadees need extra suet and black-oiled sunflower seed.
These tender duties to a small patch of ground: to the people, animals, and plants who live here have changed everything.
We’ve had a long warm and dry summer in Portland and it was good for the hot weather plants. My home is chock full of pumpkins—rouge vif’d’etampe—or otherwise called the Cinderella pumpkin. A tidbit of fun is that the fairy tale, Cinderella, was written by a Frenchman named Charles Perrault who wrote the story in 1697. He conceived of the carriage for Cinderella as a coach like the pumpkins that grew where he lived with their high lobes and graceful shape. Knowing this has made my delight greater as I watched the pumpkins deepen in color and take on their iconic shape.
What brings this pleasure? It surely must be what makes life worth living. Sometimes the simplest things yield the greatest happiness. Here are mine:
Going out in the morning to pick flowers for a bouquet.
Feeling the slight weight of my guitar pick, fingering the tools of the trade; the capo, the strap, the gig bag, the warm wood of the guitar, even the recalcitrant wiggling of new strings, tough to keep in tune.
Then there is dense cotton paper from Italy with ragged edges reminiscent of a time when people used was to seal their personal correspondence. The smell of the wax. The beauty of hearing Italian spoken well, and French spoken well. The way my husband smells after a shower, as though he had lemons on his fuzzy chest—a place where I lose myself. The smell of a fire in the fireplace. The clean and sweet head of a new baby and the powdery smell of that baby as she yawns and falls asleep in your arms. Her jammies all clean and fresh.
This is just a start.
This is why I live.
I’ve asked people why they live and to my great surprise, some didn’t know. I don’t comprehend that answer. But I believe that everyone—at some time—will feel the warm sand between their toes, or dance a step that just works or have somebody love you like you’ve never been loved……and it will bubble up from somewhere: this is my reason. And when that happens, is there anything more?
So, for today, here is my reason in pixels. You can barely see my arm holding the bouquet before bringing it inside. But isn’t it perfect just as it is? No arranging necessary.
Today I’m honoring Cathy in the U.K. with her meme “Monday in a Vase.” Please pop in and visit her at: http://ramblinginthegarden.wordpress.com/
There you’ll see what others have taken from their gardens at the end of the season to make bouquets. And please tell me:
What do you love?
What an evocative and thoughtful post,Susie – and a glorious armful of flowers! Thank you so much for sharing them and thus bringing pleasure to many
There is something about an armful of flowers! Especially when you know it may be the last for awhile. Thanks to YOU for hosting a delightful meme that we all can relate to.
Beautiful words and flowers. 🙂
Hi Cathy, It’s so nice to see you on these pages. I am a subscriber to your blog, but suddenly I stopped getting updates just about two months ago. Do you think I need to re-subscribe or did you take a blog-holiday? Anyway, thanks so much for stopping by to comment.
Beautiful post Susie
Thanks Michelle! I think I’d like to enter this in your meme too. I’ll try to find the email you sent me with the new address because I could use this post to fit what’s going on “in the neighborhood.” Thanks as always for stopping by. Take good care of your sweet self with all that’s going on.
Thank you for linking up Susie…almost any post will go for Nature Notes. I don’t want to have too many rules or people don’t want to do it. Bad enough that I am moving my blogs around.. I looked at some beautiful flowers are the store and wanted to buy them, but flowers from my garden was what I really wanted..Michelle
I love how my dogs smile after I hug them and seeing a garden full of life. I love knowing I am loved. I love knowing I have wonderful children. I love so much!
Of course you do you darling person! How could you not love so much. It took me ten minutes of first meeting you to figure that out-:)) And I’m still so pleased you visited me when you were out here….that was such a treat. How else would we ever have made contact?
Oh gosh, I love that photo of the autumn view on your porch! It’s magical! And the bouquet is so lovely–I agree it’s pretty before you even put it in a vase, but of course you’ve arranged it in your hand. I’m tearing up, though, thinking about love of place. I know my days here are limited as we start to think about moving to a smaller house. Every season is poignant now. But that’s a good thing, too. 🙂
Oh yes, I’m remembering now that you are moving. I do believe that each place brings with it its own joys and growth. I look forward to your writing (and photography) about that Beth. Thank you for noticing and loving the porch here at my place–it was the first thing that called to me, that’s for sure.
I love your flowers – and how you write about a sense of place. My husband and I walked round to the corner shop yesterday evening to buy wine to celebrate a piece of difficult work that had gone well. It was dark, the full moon was shining on scudding clouds, the air smelt of autumn, and the waves were crashing on the beach. Magical. I am home, here, as I have never been before, and it is very precious.
“Scudding clouds”….I love that Janet. You use words I haven’t thought of for years and help me grow my own writing. A couple of times, I’ve tried to put myself where you are–next to that wild, churning sea and I’ve realized once again that this is one of the reasons I love meeting new writers and blogging friends like this. You DO have a magical setting. I can tell by your work in your greenhouse and in your garden that you, too, have found Home.
What an evocative post – I loved your attention to detail and your focus on the senses , how things smell or feel. That connectedness to place, the seasons, the earth and to people is the mainspring of contentment and fulfilment . I too love the changes in the seasons and the tiny changes that signal them , often just a change in the quality of light.
Welcome Jane! Thank you for “getting” what I had hoped people would get. Your description is such a pleasure to read–thank you. I’m going to make a note to myself of your comment that the “connectedness to place, the seasons, the earth, and to people is the mainspring of contentment and fulfillment.” I’ve known it, but not seen it said so succinctly.
Thank you, this is lovely and rich, a story filled with the senses you find in good gardens. One of my favorite childhood books was “The Secret Garden.” I dreamed of having one of my own. Now I have one, not like Misselthwaite Manor, hidden behind high stone walls, but it’s quite private and cozy. While it’s straggly now, it’s getting TLC that will give it new life. Armfuls of flowers next spring!
Marilyn, I really need to find a copy of “The Secret Garden.” I’ve heard you speak of it before and it lives in my imagination now–Misselthwaite Manor, the place behind stone walls. Maybe when we get together next week, you could just show it to me…(hoping hoping) But this sounds like a book we each need for ourselves for our dreaming times. Do you know that I can *still* put myself in the house with all the sisters in Little Women? Now that is the magic of a good book. I’m all for your armfuls of flowers next spring! You have a great garden and it won’t take much to make part of it a cutting bed. And it’s private like mine, so you can saunter out in your jammies with your tea, cut a large bouquet or a single rose and carry your treasure back inside-:)
I love getting ready for Astrid 10 minutes before she walks through the door after work; I love the quietness of our home during the day when only I am here (hmmm, I guess these first two go together?); I love how warm the bed is after preheating the underpad during the cold months, like now; I love the eating/drinking rituals of our week (like a glass of port on Sundays, adding something “lekkers” to our koffee on Wednesday evenings, artichokes on the weekend, Astrid fixing breakfast on Saturday and Sunday, peanuts from the shell Saturday nights and homemade popcorn on Sunday nights during movies, etc.); I love the sheep and cows of the Dutch polder; I love the way families go outside here and take walks…how even the elderly still ride their bikes…..
Well, you asked and I could surely go on and on. I’ve never felt more at home anywhere in my life, and that’s saying something.
Hi dear Ginnie, This is just what I was hoping for and you provided it! It’s pretty clear you know very well what you love-:)) I still think it is amazing that you could meet Astrid through photography and move your whole life to the Netherlands and there….find a home that is where you feel most like yourself. Isn’t that something? Through your writing and your blogs I can’t help but have a window into the life you have built there. It is so appealing. Patrick and I often talk about leaving the states when our dear family is gone. It’s a big shift and yet, you’ve done it and you’ve never felt more “at home.” I’m thrilled for you. Thank you for writing this beautiful comment Ginnie, it means a lot.
A sense of place is so important Susie. I have mine for now here in this place where we pour our love into the land. I do wish for the sand between my toes again and to be closer to friends and family….I miss them terribly.
And what I want is to have one or two of your pumpkins…they are gorgeous. Of course you know I love your dahlias and blue hydrangeas too. Simply gorgeous photos.
Hi Donna, I guess I didn’t realize you were far from your family. Did you move to be near the school administration job? The pumpkins are doing beautifully. When they are that fresh–right from the garden–they last a long time. Now, to choose which one will be used for Thanksgiving pumpkin pie. If you were in the neighborhood, I’d cut a large of bouquet of blue hydrangeas and/or dahlias for you like I do for friends in the ‘hood!
Our family moved here in 1968. I have lived here since then except 2 yrs in grad school in AZ. My family liked AZ and moved there leaving me here to teach at my alma mater. I met my husband who had family here until his mom died. And now if I move my retirement $$$ which is not much will be taxed by most other states…not taxable here in NY…so we stay.
Wish I was close by Susie! 🙂
Susie, these images are dazzling without your loving words. And your site is just a delight to the eyes, heart and mind.
What do I love, the perfect question.
I love a beautiful garden, an arresting, natural bouquet, the sun, light, air of Sonoma County, the breeze in the oak tree out my window. I love violas and pansies, the scents of jasmine, of coffee, of garlic being sauteed. And I love books, turning the page and voila, jumping into the mind of the writer. Amazing transmissions across distance and time change my life with words…who knew?
“The tedious process of arranging and then rearranging words on a page—the alphabet of grace—can, like a catalyst in a chemical reaction, create for a reader a startling new reality.”
—Philip Yancey
So many things, the mystery of prayers answered, of night, of the setting sun rising again. I love the sweet, warm breath, infectious laugh and indomitable spirit of my grown daughter. The look of light and love from friends, family, even strangers that conveys some secret warmth passing between us.
Hi Sandy, I shared your Philip Yancey quote with several writer friends and a few commented back. Everybody agreed that this was what we wanted good writing to do–to make that alchemy happen, that new reality. I guess it was Cheryl Strayed who said that all good essays should end with the feeling….”and nothing was the same after that.”That was really helpful for me today. I love YOUR list! Isn’t it funny that when you mentioned the aroma of coffee that I had it too. The brain is really a magic thing perched up there on our heads. I love that you felt the night and then the rising sun and the breeze in Sonoma Valley. You live in a place filled with light and beauty. Please give Rae a sweet kiss on her soft cheek.
It must feel wonderful to have grown those lovely pumpkins. And those flowers are magnificent. I need to get outside and pick mine before the frost tonight turns them to mush. Great post.
Oh yes Gracie, it was! We’ve had better luck with larger ones, but never such a crop of so many with such deep red/orange color. I couldn’t help myself….I had to put them everywhere! Tonight will be a killer in every sense of the word. I was out there this afternoon covering everything I could, and the wind was whipping my face in plastic as I fought the 50 degree winds. This feels like the Gorge! I’m afraid we will lose everything that is left of our gardens. But I do think of those folks in the central part of the U.S. and parts north. Brrrrr. I pray the animals and people will be okay.
This was utterly delicious, Susan.
Just felt it to the marrow of my being.
Feeling the weight of a guitar pic
in my own soul and hunger stirred to sit down
and noodle a while with mine….THANK you that:)
big glad hugs,
Jennifer
Ah ha, you’ve been holding out on me Jennifer! What kind of guitar do you play? I’m a mean flat-picker of whom my dear friend, Katie, says “Yeah, Susie, she plays like a boy.” Big hugs to you too and stay warm. I’m enjoying your posts and zines more than I can say.
My definition of ‘home’ has never been the same as anyone else’s that I have come across. I can’t count the amount of houses/apartments I have used to get my mail. Home was always where I was comfortable. Never did I dream it would ever be 8000 miles from the place I went to school.
I bet it is a pretty interesting story how you got from A to B! But from your blog, you clearly love your place now. In a way, you are very lucky to have “home” be where you are comfortable. I admire that. As I get older, I’m gently allowing my body to let go of those things I think I need to “be home.” After all, we don’t take a dern thing with us and we might as well start practicing now. You are–it sounds like to me–ahead of the game.
A celebration of the senses!