There is no end to my joy

Friday evening i braved rush-hour traffic to drive all the way out to my mom's house in the county to fulfill an annual tradition. What annual tradition? Cutting and forcing plum tree branches to bloom in my house! Within 2 hours, i was back home, picking vases and determining placement. Fun, fun fun! Because i waited longer than usual to do this, and because the weather has been exceedingly warm, the tree was already partially "open." So, within 24 hours, the house was all in bloom and smelling absolutely sweet and divine! Earlier in the season, and if you are in a Northern climate, the forcing may take up to a few weeks.

I encourage you to find a pretty blooming tree or shrub (there are plenty this time of year: forsythia, magnolia, quince, plum, Bradford pear, etc), preferably one that has a floral scent (not all do) and, after saying thank you and I'm sorry to the plant, cut a few branches to adorn and perfume your house. I make a point to go up and smell the blossoms several times a day, and find that it, well, simply makes me happy!

Riverwalk

Sisters of the Blessed Sacrement

Yesterday, I "hitched-hiked," with a college Sculpture class, to Historic Belmead, a sprawling 1,000+ acre former plantation and school with a beautiful and surprising history (info here and here.) Without expectations and with an open mind, we drove out to Powhatan country, southwest of Richmond, off Rt. 522. Over winding roads, around plenty of blind turns and amidst a cloud-dotted, sunshiny sky. Past plenty of picket fences, red barns on golden fields, and a few spotted cows. Upon arrival, I was dazzled by the serene sacredness of the land encompassing Belmead, and the earnest reverence the few sisters who dwelled there had for the land and its natural and historic preservation. We were greeted by one sister who exclaimed, "We are the knowing impulse of the blazing forth of the Universe. Humans are the Earth's consciousness of itself."

We toured the land and buildings together, traversing between sites in a old white pick-up, the nun at the wheel, and us "kids" piled 12 deep in the back bed. "Here is the barn, and here is the dam, and here is the old bridge, since collapsed, which was the only connection at one point between the boys and girls schools. " (I bet many a romance began and ended here.)

 
I took photos and ran off to explore. I pocketed beautiful, dried bits. We explored an abandoned three-story school (St. Emma's) and its chapel, still awe-inspiring and beautiful, despite its dilapidated appearance, moldy wallpaper and peeling paint. Though it was sunny, the warm front from the day before had given way to a refreshingly Winter cold-front, and the wind howled all day, and even though the wind-chill went straight to our bones, there was not a single word of complaint among the group when we were asked to volunteer our younger brawn to help the sisters forage rocks and slate for a backyard patio. And for over an hour, my group toiled in an old orchard ravine extraditing 4 foot pieces of slate from under soil and roots. Our tools were our hands, 2 steel rebar poles and loose chunks of slate (for scraping off sod).

The Inn At Little Washington

Golden Door Part 4

G o l d e n D o o r - P a r t 3

San Sebastian Falls, Puerto Rico

G o l d e n D o o r - P a r t 2

I am mesmerized by the
strength and gusto
with which the ocean pounds the coast.
Repeatedly.
Flinging forth and unfurling.
Revealing a thousand treasures at my feet:
curved pebbles, soft glass, coral-
Immigrants of the sea, eternal passengers,until i save them,
and lift them,
and place them
in the pocket of my dress.

G o l d e n D o o r - P a r t 1

It is the night of the sinking moon.
Against the fire's glow,
we three make a mountain range on the sand.

It is the end; the place where the embers join the stars.
We dance with the sea and the sea dances back.

Tomorrow, i will say goodbye to the chirping coqui,
to the coconut and its hard shell, white flesh and pure juice,
to this beach i have walked every morning,
to the old man with his blue pale and white net
who stares out, searching.

Goodbye enchanted island, golden door.

D u t c h B l o o m s