The Rio Ruidoso was higher than I had ever seen it today on my morning walk. It was running over its banks in several places from the rain that had fallen on the Sierra Blanca, and the water was muddier than I had ever seen it, but it was good to see so much water — a precious commodity in Southern New Mexico.
In May I had looked in vain for the wild sweet peas, but today I found them in abundance on the forest floor, ranging from pale pink to vivid magenta. Ah-h-h.
Our garden has been struggling lately in the heat. My Morning Glories refused to bloom, so I decided to create a virtual garden by sketching blossoms from my photos, first in pencil, then with ink and colored pencil added. I discovered that an imaginary garden can be almost as satisfying as the real thing.
Last week I visited Father Valentine. Upon leaving, he gave me a dozen multicolored eggs from his multicolored chickens — green, blue, white, brown, and speckled — a garden of eggs. Yum!
This morning after the Corpus Christi Mass, celebrating the Real Presence of Jesus in the Holy Eucharist, my garden looked particularly lovely. Pictured above on the left: Petunia and Calibrachoa. On the right: Sweet Potato Vine, Rose, and Lobelia.
Back up in the mountains, the local movie theatre has reopened after the long pandemic closure, but I’m still not ready to sit in a crowded theatre. The best show in town is my neighbor’s Calla Lily along with its howling coyote companion. Apparently, I am easily entertained.
I spent the week in the mountains. It was very dry, so I didn’t see many wildflowers. Before I left for the mountains, my new rose bush (bred specifically for growing in a pot) was covered with buds. When I returned, I found it in full bloom. Roses always make me think of Our Lady.
What is it about roses that makes them so special?
Sometimes the most interesting floral combinations seem to occur by happenstance. When I came home from the mountains this week, one of my cacti was in full bloom. I was lucky to see it, since the blossoms only last for one day. In the background — Calibrachoa, Petunias with Lobelia, and Dianthus.
In the shady side of the garden, my Pincushion Flower volunteer from last year was also blooming, along with the Lobelia that I added to the pot a few weeks ago to fill up space. They seem to be getting along together nicely.
I walked along the river in the forest this morning. There was something comforting about the continual flow of water as it tumbled over the rocks in the river bed — living water, fed by mountain springs high above. The river bubbled with quiet sounds of swirling water and little falls. Yet, here and there, the water paused in tranquil pools before continuing on its never-ending search for lower ground.
I looked for the wild sweet peas that I saw along the banks last May, but it was too early, or perhaps too dry. When I looked up from my search, a tree was blooming.
Today, I made my first attempt at decorating blank notes cards with dried flowers from the garden. Gentle Reader, it was not as easy as I expected, and I’m not entirely satisfied with the result, but hey, it’s a start. The thin leaves and blossoms were easy to glue (except for the ones that broke), but the hard stems were tricky. I had to re-glue the one on the bottom left after I took the photo.
I was able to experiment sooner than I expected because my second flower press has a unique drying system with sponges that takes only two days. The material I pressed two weeks ago in the traditional way is still drying.
I look forward to trying more intricate and colorful designs in the future, but I don’t plan on selling my creations. I’m just having fun.
In the early morning hours while the sky was still inky black, a lone bird began to sing outside my window. He kept up his song without interruption for over an hour, only stopping when the first dim light appeared on the horizon. Satisfied that the dawn would come, he allowed himself to rest.
I was left with the fanciful notion that the world would continue to turn on its axis as long as there was one small bird left to demand the dawn.
Later in the morning as I sat in the garden, a hummingbird darted over the cherry sage blossoms a few feet in front of me. Alas, Gentle Reader, he was too quick for my camera.