Pompeii Dust, Dirty Clothes, and Asters

Sitting amongst piles of dirty clothes hastily unpacked from my suitcase last night, I long for that morning wake up call of unbelievable sunrises and Tyrrhenian Sea breezes. But right now I can be happy to settle for this gorgeous 62 degree, sun filled morning in Georgia.

No matter that I suffered from a considerable lack of sleep (5 hours in the last 40), the first place I headed on setting down the suitcases, was my back yard garden. Two days of welcomed rain prior to our arrival has made everything (well almost everything) in the garden stand up straight and salute my return. Even having just seen the marvelous Villa Cimbrone gardens of Ravello, my backyard beauties stand the test. The profuse blooms of the purple asters, recently moved to a new spot in the garden, demonstrate their happiness with quite a show. The bright yellow swamp sunflowers, given to me by a neighbor and just budding when we left home, are happy to take the place of the faded summer phlox. My much awaited lavender mums burst with buds promising to open most any day. And all of this to a backdrop of bright blue skies and gentle fall breezes coaxing the maples to begin their transformation.

And so as I return from ten days spent on the glorious Amalfi Coast of Italy, I do so knowing that the Piedmont of Georgia offers its own special beauty, comparable to most any place on the globe. Time to shake the Pompeii dust from my shoes and start the wash, comforted by awesome memories and thoughts of the colorful autumn that my little corner of the world promises me.

Fingerprints

The grandchildren and their parents left yesterday after a weekend visit. There is comfort in the routine that Doug and I so easily slip back into following one of these visits, but the delightful memories linger and so too the fingerprints. The fingerprints are mostly left on the glass of the French doors leading to the back yard. A wise neighbor, a grandmother herself, once told me to leave the fingerprints as a reminder of the grandchildren’s visit. She said she left them for several days, providing her with great remembrances. And so, I too never fail to leave the fingerprints.

No longer are they the prints of a toddler, two and three feet off the steps. No, the prints are quite a bit higher now and not as many. The maturing hands so very often have found the door knobs now, but a few of the fingerprints are there, and I will leave them for the week. What fun we had building a fire in the firepit on the garden terrace and roasting marshmallows for our s’mores. Each grandson had his own style for how a marshmallow should be roasted, some smoldering, others catching the flames to become their own torch. A small entry into the personal style that each is creating for himself, as distinctive as the fingerprints of each.

As grandparents we can only hope that we leave an imprint on their lives, and certainly that we leave memories. Here’s hoping we leave fingerprints that don’t get cleared away for some time.

Fall IS on the Way!

Take heart all ye Southern gardeners. Fall seems to be making an entry, albeit with some 90 degree temperatures still, but there are real signs of this only heretofore imagined autumn. My walk around the neighborhood block reveals a freshness in the air, bright blue cloudless skies, and lengthened shadows. If I time the walk just right, I am also blessed with the high school band tuning up for their Friday night halftime performances. Does anything say fall like football?

Fall has always marked my New Year. Perhaps this is a reflection of all my years of teaching. Time to start the calendar, rev the engines, and make use of the energy level that summer drained away. Of course my garden delights in this possibility too. Time to cut back many past their prime plants and replenish a few spots. I can’t wait to get my hands on the bedding mums -- nothing smells like fall any more than those brightly colored chrysanthemums happily planted among my other fading perennials. I often regret allowing these mums so little time in my garden, yanking them up to plant the pansies as soon as frost seems imminent. I hope they know what delight they bring to me in such a short time.

Listening to the school bus as it stops to pick up the neighborhood children, my mind starts to process the day. No, not with bulletin boards and lesson plans, but thoughts of breakfast on the patio and where to shop for those mums!