Friend Eric, back from triumphal accomplishment of Masters of Electrical Engineering at BU, and some secret work at a science lab in Boston, on a rare trip to visit friends in Brooklyn. We met for lunch and shared news, and he urged me to conquer all my fears of drawing electronically on a certain mephistophecally complex computer program, and see myself as master, not just hobbling along. A good friend's advice which heartened me immensely. I mean, why not? Huh? Look what he's just accomplished! And I used to teach him how to make cookies. He spoke to Rock on the phone, who'd been caught in the city, then we hugged a fond good-by till next time. The street here, in front of our church, is flooded with flowers, which E thought was amazing. Flowers do that to you. It's amazing to me, now that Rock and I work to understand our farm woodlands, how much more I see, exponentially, in the Botanic garden, than ever before. Here's some views.
The wall on the grand entryway, looking back, tumbling over with late summer abundance.
A bower of quietness, the sweet-potato vines remembering spring. And then in the native Brooklyn garden. . . .
What is happening here? And on this pod alone? I mean, is this Hard Pod Cafe or something? One could almost hear the reverbs thumping inside. Of all the many pods on this bush. For right next door is this inhabitant, soon to play the starring role in Mme Butterfly.
A native plant of scarlet -- Rock said this is what inspired someone to make a life of native seeds.
Ah! The button bush! That's what it looks like! We took a sample from our woodlands, got it identified here, then couldn't find it when we went back. This will help.
Passing the entry to the rose garden. The picture would have been perfect if that adorable little girl in yellow had stayed by her daddy's side, looking up at him and talking. You can picture it.
Now by the lily ponds. Eager little wonders, aren't they? Orange.
Orange. Purple. I once dismissively remarked at the plantings here, years ago, while someone was weeding nearby, "What's the theme of this anyway, purple and orange?" To my horror, the weeder happened to be the curator of the plantings. He looked at me, looked at his elaborate, artistic, original and utterly beautiful plantings and said, "yeah. Purple and orange." I still turn crimson when I see him. But he's still defending it. Read his sign.
Purple and orange, and people waiting for a wedding to start.
Blue and pink and an utterly majestic lily. The little girl is studying a fallen luna moth.
I remember seeing this flower at Giverney. It's a vine, really. And I mean, really! The bees LOVE it. Probably like a jungle gym for them. Or Six Flags.
The former canvas-covered hills by the new visitor center in early summer, are now these ethereal clouds of grasses. A wonder, nature is. a wonder.
A wonder.
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