A Gypsy Garden

"A garden is a delight to the eye, and a solace for the soul."  -Sadi
                                         

Our gypsy garden is a riotous mix of flowers and vegetables, awash with subtle shades and bright colors, rich with fragrant scents and earthy odors.  Siobhan and I spend a lot of time here--planting and planning, weeding and dreaming--with the warm sun on our faces and the gentle sound of bees in the air...

How wonderful it feels, to plunge our hands into the warm peaty earth, to let the soil gently sift through our fingers...How satisfying, to plant seeds like soldiers in a row, and watch them grow day by day...

How pleasant in summer to walk through our garden, to return with arms laden with fresh vegetables and herbs, to wash them and use them in cooking our evening meal...How rewarding, at summer's end, to have a pantry overflowing with sparkling jars filled with our garden's bounty... How comforting in winter, to sit in a warm kitchen while the windows fog and the hearty aromas of potato-leek soup and herbed bread fill the air...

Nowhere but in a garden can one find time for contemplation, for solving problems, for introspection-- while exercising the body as well as the mind, and providing food for the table at the same time.  A garden is a wondrous thing...

No sooner did I bend over and scratch the soil with the hoe that I began to unearth bits
and pieces ... of my past.  Memories forever rooted in time were clustered in my garden
consciousness like potatoes, waiting, crying to be dug up.  ...  I plant flowers and vegetables. 
I harvest memories - and life.-   Nancy H. Jordan, 199

                    

Kayaking After The Spring Storms

                         



                          

The morning sun glistens on tree and grass, remnants from last night’s storm.   After two days of rain, the swollen waters of the river beckon.   Siobhan and I heed its call—we throw our kayaks in the back of the truck and head upstream...  

 The water is high and fast-flowing, its sound a distant roar.  By the river’s edge, we burn sacred sage on a flat river rock; the smell is crisp in the cool morning air.   Wispy tendrils of sweet smoke waft around us as we silently ready our kayaks.  We stow a water-proof first aid kit behind my seat, and an emergency kit behind Siobhan’s.  Both kayaks are equipped with spray skirt, emergency throw-rope, and an extra paddle--just in case.   I have a cooler with bottled water.  Siobhan has a cooler with lunch.  We are ready.

Eagerly we push off the bank into the roiling water.  Paddling is frantic, fueled by adrenaline and fear.   The pace is furious; shrieks of laughter erupt from Siobhan as cold water splashes her face.  Our exhilaration matches the river’s mood--wild with rapids, rushing and raw, spewing whitewater with its turbulence.  The waters are swift and often perilous, littered with fallen trees.  Our kayaks slam into rocks with bone-crunching violence. There is no conversation--only concentration--on this wild and glorious ride…

 

 Finally the river widens and the water begins to slow. We slow as well; now we laugh and talk as we paddle. Lunch coolers are opened; we eat our sandwiches with ease as we steadily float downstream.  Too soon, our destination is in sight—an old wooden bridge, where the banks are low and the water is shallow … Slipping and sliding, we drag our kayaks up the muddy bank where another truck awaits to take us home…

Siobhan and I love the river-- in every season, and in all its many moods. For 10 years now, we have paddled this 14-mile stretch of ever-changing water; we know it like an old friend, and it has taught us much.  The river has taught us courage, and to face our darkest fears.  It has taught us to have faith  in ourselves, to trust in others, and the importance of a helping hand.  And no matter if the water is meandering or swift, our beloved river always fills us with the sheer joy of being alive...

                                     

Let A Thousand Flowers Bloom...

     

                         "For crowing there was not his equal in all the land…”

                                                                                                                     --Chaucer

                                            

                                                   Let a Thousand Flowers Bloom

               

                                        

 Siobhan and I have always kept chickens.  Presently we have eight nice laying hens and a fine young rooster; all are of the Mille Fleur d’Uccles breed, and are quite lovely to look at…Their name is French for “a thousand flowers”; it is an apt description of their beautiful plumage. Most d’Uccles are rather chummy by nature, and ours are no exception.  The little bantams often seek out our company, and seem content to follow us about the farm. They are industrious little creatures, earning their keep by eating bugs in the garden and generously supplying us with eggs…

Siobhan and I find chickens to be entertaining, as well as useful; they delight us daily with their antics.  They are bright-eyed with intelligence, and have wonderfully quirky personalities…

 One of my favorites is Marigold; she is a dear little hen, but she doesn’t seem to think she is a chicken…Each evening, just before dusk, I coax the chickens into their coop for the night.  They all go in ahead of me, clucking and fussing, except Marigold--she marches along beside me, with her chest puffed out and her wings slightly spread…looking for all the world as if she is saying “that’s it—go on in there, you chickens!”  

Oleander is our young rooster, still sweet and somewhat shy. Living with so many hens, he approaches all of life with great caution…He crows beautifully each morning from atop his favorite rock-- but he falls off his while doing so…

Dahlia is our eldest hen, and a favored friend of mine.  She is a gentle soul, and daily pecks the mole on my foot as if it were a bug.  If I sit in the grass, she will perch on my knee…

Poppy is Siobhan’s particular pet.  She has taught her to wear pearls and play a toy piano…Siobhan gives Poppy flying lessons—she carries the little chicken around the barnyard, tipping her gently from side to side, while Poppy calmly holds her wings out and pretends to fly...

Columbine and Aster are the greatest of mates—you never see one without the other; they often look to be gossiping as they wander about, clucking softly to each other…When these two are frightened, they bury their heads under the other hens’ bodies--often knocking them off their perch…

Iris, Lily, and Violet are our best layers, and would like to be mothers; but when it comes to sitting a nest, they all want to sit on the same egg!

                                         
                                     
                                                                     Marigold

                                    
                                                                   Oleander

                                                                          Dahlia





                                       

                                                                         Poppy

                                     
                                                       
                                 
                        

                                                           Columbine and Aster

                                                              Iris, Lily, and Violet
                                    
             
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

Such is our little family of Mille Fleur d’Uccles.  Though they be but small, Siobhan and I value our chickens highly; they are a necessary and an  integral part of our life here on the farm.  We love our "flowered" chickens; they are cheerful little creatures, and they bring much joy to our lives.  They make us laugh.

When all is said and done, isn’t that what we all need—more cheerfulness, more joy and laughter?

Let a Thousand Flowers bloom!    

              

                             

Mother's Day Musings

                                                                                                                                                                                                                            
                                                               
                                        

                                                                   


Tomorrow is Mother's Day; I await it with pleasure and anticipation, for I am a mother...  I shall celebrate it early with my daughter, my dearest Siobhan. She will prepare an elegant brunch for two--feather-light muffins served with just-picked berries; fresh baked bread with homemade marmalade; luscious fruit with our own cheeses.   We shall share it by the goldfish pond, in the cooling shade of a gnarled oak tree.  We will dine among the flowers; soft conversation and gentle laughter will flow like the waterfall nearby.    Like Siobhan herself, the mood will be light and happy.

I often marvel at my daughter--how anyone could be blessed with such physical beauty, and have a beautiful spirit, as well.  There is no vanity, no meanness in Siobhan; no jealousy, nor envy.  Siobhan is Goodness and Light, Kindness and Compassion. She is a gentle soul with a tender heart.  She laughs easily and often;  I admire her attitude and her spirit. Siobhan is brave and true,  a Warrior in all that she believes in.   No one could be blessed with a better daughter or a truer friend.

                                                                                                                         






Tomorrow is Mother's Day; I await it with dread and trepidation, for I have a mother... I shall visit her in the afternoon, bearing gifts and flowers.  Silently and with a frown, she will add the flowers to her growing collection, and wordlessly toss the opened gifts onto the floor.  We shall sit in her formal living room upon her nicest chairs; with disapproval, she will condemn me for my weight,ridicule my clothes, and criticize my hair. She will speak with fondness of her beauty in younger days-- her jet black hair, her smooth olive skin, her flashing dark eyes, her tiny waist.  She will boast that even now she does not look her age--but Time has taken its toll.  She will complain of aches and pains, real and imagined; she will complain about her children, now grown. She will find fault with her house, her furniture, her clothes; all will be less than she deserves. My mother will berate and humiliate my father; he will quietly withdraw into that far-away place within himself, a place she cannot reach.  Like Mother herself, the mood will be dark and bitter.

My mother is a complex creature; for years I have tried to understand her.  Although she is often cruel, I love her for the simple  fact that she is my mother.  She did give birth to me; she fed me and clothed me as a child, although she did it grudgingly.  She is what she is. My mother thinks that physical beauty is the key to happiness, and beauty is all that really matters in her world.  She has spent her entire lifetime obsessing over her looks--constantly struggling to remain young, desperately trying to hang on to her beauty.  Throughout the years, my mother has used a mountain of face creams, eye creams, wrinkle creams...gallons of hair color, pounds of makeup.  But still Time marches on.  Reality creeps up on her, leaving insecurity and doubt.  She resorts to insulting and ridiculing others, so that she might feel better about herself.  Doing so publicly has left a lot of hurt feelings and enemies in her wake.  Her obsession with her own beauty has consumed her life, leaving  no time for friendships or hobbies.  It has blinded her to the true beauty around her--in all of nature, and in the faces and hearts of others.  It has left no room for kindness or compassion--or love. It has made her mean and bitter; still I pity her.  Beauty is fleeting-- when it is gone, what will be left but emptiness and misery?



                                                                        























              

Building A Gypsy Wagon--Part 3 / Repairing Wheels And Building A Floor / Work Progresses Slowly...

                     

  

  The wagon work progresses slowly; our farm work and housework have to come first. Even so, we manage to work on it most evenings… Siobhan and I work together well.  We share an easy comradery, laughing and talking as we work.

Siobhan and I both like to work with wood—to saw, sand, and paint.   We often use my father’s old tools, their handles worn smooth from years in his skilled and gentle hands.   I love the beauty of the wood grain on the hammer’s handle, and the way it fits in my hand.  Siobhan has a fondness for his wood chisels, and uses them with a master’s touch…The first time she held one in her hand, she said “I’m not sure HOW I know, but I KNOW that I can do this;  perhaps I have done this before— in another lifetime…”.  Then with confidence and precision, she chiseled a hinge mortise perfectly on her first attempt-- with no help, instruction, or advice. ( It was really quite unsettling-- but a welcome surprise, nonetheless!).

After much deliberation, Siobhan and I decided to use 1" tongue-and-groove lumber for the flooring, and 1/2" tongue-and-groove lumber with 2" x 2" framing for the walls.  We opted to  build each wall in three panels (bottom to top), painting and varnishing each piece before securing to the wagon floor, or to adjoining panels.
 

To date, Siobhan and I have completed the following work:

repair/paint/stencil/varnish wagon undercarriage and wheels;
build/stain/varnish a sturdy floor;

build/paint/stencil/varnish/secure 20" x 14' wall panel, left side of wagon;
paint/varnish/secure 8 wood corbels (12" x 14" x 3") along left wall at 2' intervals;
build/stain/varnish 18" x 14' ledge onto left side wall, secure to corbels;

build/paint/stencil/varnish/secure 20" x 14' wall panel, right side of wagon;
paint/varnish/secure 8 wood corbels (12" x 14" x 3") along right wall at 2' intervals;
build/stain/varnish 18" x 14' ledge onto right side wall, secure to corbels;

build/paint/stencil/varnish/secure lower back panel;
build/paint/stencil/varnish/secure cookery storage cabinet beneath back wall;
build/stain/varnish/secure hay cratch/rack onto lower back panel;

build/stain/varnish/secure framework for sleeping quarters, upper and lower berths, back of wagon;
build/stain/varnish door frame and bracing, front of wagon.



And our work continues...

                                

**For more in-depth details of our wagon construction, as well as an on-going list of building materials and costs, please visit us at our website:  www.just2gypsies.com