Grandmother's Garden

Thank you all so much for your thoughts and prayers over the past week. They are deeply appreciated.

I just got back from a quick trip to Kansas over the weekend where my family history is as rich as the soil my pioneer forebearers tilled. One of the houses we visited holds very dear memories for me as a girl -- the house of one of my sets of Great Grandparents. My great grandmother had the most wonderful garden out back -- filled with hollyhocks, bachelor's buttons, roses and more. Those memories inspired my latest Ebay offering -- a trio of ACEOs pictured here. They also inspired a column on Grandmother's Garden I wrote a few years ago:

Grandmother’s Garden

“The garden and the garden gate are often prominent objects in the picture of home memories, not for the Mauds who have met their lovers there and plighted their juvenile affections to each other, but because some of the sweetest memories are associated with flowers and fields and shady trees and green velvet lawns.”
from The Hearthstone; or, Life at Home, by Laura C. Holloway, 1889

June 1898

Fondest greetings to you, my dear friends! Do you hear the creak of a porch swing? I am savoring its gentle sway in the soft rose-scented breeze wafting its way around Grandmother Olsen’s porch where I sit writing to you. Memories of my girlhood surround me. . .

On bright June days of long ago, I slipped my hand into Grandmother’s as we walked past the front door propped open by the cast-iron bulldog doorstop I loved to play with, and pushed through the screened door onto the breezy porch. I would clutch her hand more tightly, querying her as to our destination, endeavoring to keep my balance while my short four-year-old legs struggled down the porch steps. At her reply that we were going to cut flowers for bringing into the house, my nose twitched at the thought of the heady fragrances awaiting me in Grandmother’s flower garden.

On one such trip I asked her if she would make me a hollyhock lady; another summer day, a leaf boat. Grandmother always nodded her “yes” and often replied that, if we were quiet, we might even catch a flower fairy making herself a dress of a hollyhock blossom or a tiger lily.
Then, as we pushed through the whitewashed garden gate, startled butterflies taking wing before us testified to the treasures within. On either side of the path, daisies nodded their innocent greeting, bachelor’s buttons beckoned and bright red poppies waved. As Grandmother drew her shears from her apron pocket, the shimmering beauty of nearby buttercups inevitably sparked my query of, “Grandmother, are they made of butter?”

A little farther down the path, the pungent grape-scent of tall purple iris triggered my asking Grandmother if we could have a glass of juice when we went back indoors. Between answers to my chatter-box questions, Grandmother always hummed a tune under her breath as she pinched off dead blossoms and cut fresh blooms to fill her vases. She obviously delighted in her task, savoring each flower she came to in hovering, bumble-bee fashion. Then, in unhurried fashion, as we headed back indoors, arms filled with sweet peas and lavendar, heliotrope and gilly flower, Grandmother quoted some trifling poem her garden brought to mind. I leave you with one of my favorites by Charles Lamb:

“In my poor mind it is most sweet to muse
Upon the days gone by; to act in thought’
Past seasons o’er, and be again a child;
To sit in fancy on the turf-clad slope,
Down which the child would roll; to pluck gay flowers
Make posies in the sun, which the child’s hand (Childhood offended soon, soon reconciled,)
Would throw away, and straight take up again,
Then fling them to the winds, and o’er the lawn
Bound with so playful and so light a foot,
That the press’d daisy scarce declined her head.”

Affectionately yours,
Abigail Bradshaw


Copyright, 2000, 2007, Judi Brandow, all rights reserved

*****

Life is short! Smell the roses every day!

Wildflower Garden Inspiration

I've been grooming the back yard for some time now in preparation for my son's wedding rehearsal dinner this Thursday evening. I am so amazed at how well my wildflower garden is doing. I took a picture of it yesterday I thought I would share with you. I am going to cut a few of the "bachelors buttons" (otherwise known as cornflowers) for arrangements on the tables. In the midst of mulling over how fun it would be to include the Victorian history on their love of the flower, I pulled out my vintage book, "The Bouquet" by "A Lady" -- which is a pocket volume on the poetry and language of flowers from 1846. Inspiration struck!! Now I know what my next little altered fabric book will be about! I am really excited to get a start after the wedding. I think I will share it in stages as I begin working on it. Now, that's all I'm going to share for now -- to tantalize you! But, with all these lovely poems and meanings of flowers, won't it be fun?! I'll get started on it next week after the wedding.

Here is the little saying I am going to print off as favors for all the guests at the rehearsal dinner (50 of them!) on the cornflower I thought you might enjoy.

"Tonight we celebrate the groom's dinner -- or rehearsal dinner. In the little vases on your table there are some lovely cornflowers.

In the Victorian era, if a girl wore a cornflower (otherwise called a bachelor's button), it meant she was available for marriage.

If a young man placed a bachelor's button in his pocket, he was letting the world know he was in love.

Via superstition of the day, if that flower lived while in his pocket, it was an indication he should marry; if, on the other hand, it died, he must find another sweetheart.

According to other lore, if a girl hid a cornflower under her apron, she would have the bachelor of her choice -- which is where the name "Bachelor's Buttons" came from."

Judi

Poetry in Spring!

I promised I would share the vintage poem I have incorporated in my latest miniature altered crazy quilt book. The book is now finished! I am really pleased with how it turned out. I wish I was better at this blogging business so I could post all the pictures I took, but I am just going to share the one that shows best how the little book looks with all it's fringe and ties. I have decided to go ahead and put it on Ebay -- which I will do later in the day today. You can see 14 different views of the book there, if you want to check it out in detail. (Just follow the link to my Ebay items under the section "A little More About My Passion" on the left side of the blog.) I plan to post it there soon!

Here's the poem (author unknown, but in my 1899 book, Excelsior Writer and Speaker, listed under the children's recitations section).

The Bird's Picnic

"The birds gave a picnic, the morning was fine,

They all came in couples, to chat and to dine;

Miss Robin, Miss Wren and the two Misses Jay,

Were dressed in a manner decidedly gay.

"And Bluebird, who looks like a handful of sky,

Dropped in with her spouse as the morning wore by;

The yellow-birds, too, wee bundles of sun,

With brave chickadees, came along for the fun.

Miss Phoebe was there, in her prim suit of brown;

In fact, all the birds in the fair leafy town.

The neighbors, of course, were politely invited;

Not even the ants and the crickets were slighted.

The grasshoppers came, some in gray, some in green,

And covered with dust, hardly fit to be seen:

Miss Miller flew in, with her gown white as milk;

And Lady Bug flourished a new crimson silk.

The bees turned out lively, the young and the old,

And proud as could be, in their spencers of gold;

But Miss Caterpillar, how funny of her,

She hurried along in her mantle of fur.

There were big bugs in plenty, and gnats great and small --

A very hard matter to mention them all.

And what did they do? Why, they sported and sang,

Till all the green wood with their melody rang.

Whoe'er gave a picnic to grand and so gay?

They hadn't a shower, I'm happy to say.

And when the sun fell, like a cherry-ripe red,

The fire-flies lighted them all home to bed."

The Bird's Picnic

We have two bird feeders in our yard. I think all the birds for miles around have been talking to one another, shouting the news that they can have a picnic here. If I fill both feeders, they are totally empty in less than 24 hours! One delight is that I have been able to observe a number of varieties of birds in my yard, from tiniest finches to a Blue Jay couple teaching their tiny new son to fly. They reminded me of a terrific poem from one of my vintage books from the 1890s (author of the poem unknown) -- entitled "The Bird's Picnic." I dug it out and began hunting for pictures of birds I could use in creating a miniature altered crazy quilt book. I have been having such fun creating it! In the post I did on June 11th, I shared the front cover in progress. It now has beadwork fringe. I'll wait to share it when the entire book is completed (soon, I promise). But, here are a few of the pages in this tiny 2-1/2" x 3-1/2" book that are already completed. I'm still debating on whether to put it up for sale on Ebay or wait for a bit. I'd love your opinions. The whole book has 16 heavily embellished surfaces (or a total of 8 fat double-sided pages). When tied shut with it's velvet ribbons, it's over 2 inches thick!

I'll share the poem tomorrow. . . Please come back for more fun! -- Judi

Flower Day!

I ran across something in my 1899 book, Excelsior Writer and Speaker, I thought was intriguing. There is a section in the book entitled, "Promgrammes for Special Occasions" with a special heading of "Programmed for Flower Day." Wow! I never knew that, as a nation, the USA at one time celebrated Flower Day, did you? Reading through that little section was fun -- and it inspired my latest art offerings on Ebay as well. The newest one is titled, "Sing, Sing, it's Spring!" with a little bluebird singing it's heart out in the midst of roses and lace. I thought I would share one of the songs listed for Flower Day (supposed to be sung to the tune of "My Country Tis of Thee"). Then, we can all sing along with the birds. (I am in a singing mood this morning.)

"Let us with nature sing,
And floral tributes bring,
On this glad day;
Violets white and blue,
Daisies and lilies too,
Pansies of purple hue,
And roses gay.

O'er this fair land of ours,
Blossom the golden flowers
In loveliness;
From Maine to Washington,
Wherever smiles the sun,
Their fairy footsteps run
To cheer and bless.

When winter's curtains gray,
From skies are pushed away
By nature's hand;
We gladly welcome you,
Blossoms of red and blue,
Blossoms of every hue,
To our fair land."

Celebrate spring with me and all the terrific flowers it brings!

An Answer for Discontentment

I love pansies . . . and I love their little-known name, "Heartsease." There is a wonderful poetic fable by M.R.P. I discovered in my vintage 1891 book, "Sunday Chat" all about a heart's-ease. . .as a means to answer discontentment so often prevalent in our lives and the secret for happy living. It was the creative spark behind my latest artistic offering on ebay, my small mini quilt shown here. I hope it will lift your spirits today as it has my own in its review.

"Sought the king his garden

When the air was ringing

With the joyous music

That the birds were singing.

When the sun threw westward

Long bright beams of gold,

And the dew was sparkling

On the wold.



Found his plants all drooping

Sullenly and sadly;

Buds and blossoms hung their heads,

Born to bloom so gladly.

When the king demanded

Why in sorrow bent,

There was but one answer --

Discontent.



For the graceful willow

By the fountain weeping,

And the lovely jasmine,

All her perfume keeping,

Answered when he questioned --

Each with envy spoke --

'Ah, because I cannot

Be an oak.'



E'en the elm-tree answered,

Sadly and complaining,

'Ah, because I am not

Bloom and fruitage gaining.

And the vine, down drooping,

Lamentation made

Just because it could not

Cast a shade.



Rose would be a dahlia,

Ferns the flowers copy,

Daisy grow a sunflower,

Heliotrope, a poppy.

Only little Heart's-ease

Looked all glad and bright,

And the king said, wond'ring

At the sight,

'Wherefore, little Heart's-ease,

Art thou not repining?'

And the Heart's-ease answered,

All her gold heart shining,

'Why, when me you planted

'Mong your garden store,

You wanted just a heart's-ease,

Nothing more.'



Do you know the lesson

That the fable's giving?

'Tis the very secret

Of all happy living.

In whatever station

God for you deems best,

Yours to grow and brighten,

His the rest."

Blessings! -- Judi

Don't you just wish sometimes. . .

. . .You could climb into your mother or grandmother's lap and be rocked to sleep again as you were in your childhood? You know, on those particularly stressful nights when sleep just won't come and you find yourself doing things like stitching on a project? I have two sons getting married in the next two months, and there is just SO much to get done I sometimes have trouble sleeping!

There is a fabulous vintage poem about just that I wove into one of my latest art projects up for bid on Ebay -- Rock Me to Sleep -- by Mrs. Elizabeth Akers Allen. (See the entire poem below!)I am really excited about how this project turned out. I used vintage laces, fabrics and beads and incorporated a section of that wonderful poem, along with a vintage (1898) picture transferred onto soft silk. It is heavily embellished, including a spider web for good luck and is perfect for framing or hanging as it is in its 5x7 miniature size. I put hours into each hand-stitched piece I create and they are treasures I sometimes wish I could hang onto for just a bit longer! This one especially. Hope you enjoy looking at it (I included a picture here) -- and may it bring back fond memories of your own childhood times rocking with Mother or Grandmother. -- Judi

"Backward, turn backward, O Time! in your flight,

Make me a child again just for to-night!

Mother, come back from the echoless shore,

Take me again to your arms as of yore,

Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,

Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;

Over my slumbers your loving watch keep --

Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep!

Backward, fly backward, O swift tide of years!

I am weary of toil, I am weary of tears!

Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,

Take them and give me my childhood again!

I have grown weary of dust and decay,

Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away,

Weary of sowing for others to reap;

Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep!

Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,

Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!

Many a summer the grass has grown green,

Blossomed, and faded our faces between!

Yet with strong yearning and passionate pain,

Long I to-night for your presence again!

Come from the slience so long and so deep, --

Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep!

Over my heart in days that are flown,

No love like mother love ever has shone,

No other worship abides and endures,

Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours;

None like a mother can charm away pain

From the sorrowing soul and the world-weary brain,,

Slumber's soft calm o'er my heavy lids creep;

Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep!

Come let your brown hair just lighted with gold,

Fall on your shoulders again as of old;

Let it fall over my forehead to-night,

Shielding my eyes from the flickering light:

For oh! with its sunngy-edged shadows once more,

Happy will throng the sweet visions of yore;

Lovingly, softly its bright billows sweep--

Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep!

Mother, dear mother, the years have been long

Since last I was hushed by your lullaby song,

Since then again, -- to my soul it shall seem

Womanhood's years have been only a dream;

Clasped to your arms in a loving embrace,

With your soft light lashes just sweeping my face,

Never hereafter to wake or to weep;

Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep."