It’s my birthday today so, I declared it a holiday and took the day off from work. Marigold was happy; she got an extra day in the country.
Walking around my property, netted a huge mixed bouquet of blooms. To the left of my farmhouse there are four rows of a camellia specimen garden. No two are exactly alike. I do not know their names and wish someone who could identify them would come and do so. The solid, medium-sized white ones are my favorite.
The bulbs that we’re planted last October are all up and blooming. I was surprised to see that, down by the lower, ground-sweeping limbs, the Pride of Mobile azaleas are beginning to bud and bloom.
All the blooms were brought into the kitchen, trimmed and placed in an antique pedestal bowl.
In the remains of the old orchard, one of the Mayhaw trees was abuzz with honey bees. Come one jelly making season.
I’m an easy person to please. My nephew asked me, “You’re not doing anything for your birthday?”
My answer: “Oh, yeah, baby. I’m enjoying the solitude.”
Just give me a sweet breeze through the trees, lots of flowers to gather, the songs of birds and the sunshine. That’s all the birthday present I need.
So, what to do with that week between Christmas and New Year’s? Well, at Flowers Proper, the Christmas trees came down and the floor was swept clean of tinsel.
A walk around the gardens and a quick check on the bulbs planted in October netted a promise of Spring. The green tips are emerging from the dormant ground.
In the kitchen, fresh bread came out of the oven. Small round cake pans substituted for bread pans. Pretty, artisan round loaves, smeared with butter and mayhaw jelly. Yum! And We’re almost out of mayhaw jelly. Sigh.
Since I don’t return to work till next week, no wake up alarms are wonderfully absent.
Should New Year’s resolutions be made? Why not rename them as goals? Dropping the holiday pounds, writing another chapter or two or ten, finishing that project started months ago. Making plans for a potager and greenhouse. Do remember: slow progress is still progress. Look back and reflect, but keep moving forward.