Life at Stone Cottage

The Garden at Stone Cottage

“Life begins the day you start a garden”
Chinese Proverb

The garden at Stone Cottage
Is such a magical place,
It wraps around our home
Like a scarf around a face.
Despite the heat and the dry
And the wind, it still thrives,
As it demands our attention
And helps shape our lives;
A true reflection of us,
Of our efforts and care,
So generous in returning
All the love that we share,
Teaching us about nature,
Of its fascinating ways,
Watching our garden evolve,
Surely the most special of days.

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But there’s so much more to the garden
Than just the plants and the trees
Its insects attract the birds,
Its flowers draw the bees,
So the garden is never still,
Always movement for the eye,
Whether a breeze rippling through,
A visiting bird or butterfly,
Or a bee hard at work
As it moves from flower to flower,
Mesmerising us
For hour after hour;
A world within a world,
Where from stress we are free,
Our garden at Stone Cottage,
There’s no better place to be.

The Reading Room

Sometimes there’s the need to close all the doors,
The outside world’s nonsense, shut out, put on pause;
Settle down with a book in a comfortable chair,
And spend a hour or two just relaxing there.

TPOTG Reading Room 02

In a favourite room, in a favourite house,
Which good fortune allows me to call home,
Is where I escape and loose myself,
In a novel, or some historical tome.

The room, almost square, hushed by walls of thick stone,
Looks to the mountain that protects it so well,
And its old well trodden, polished wood floor,
Must have many a tale it could tell.

Now shelves filled with books, pages full of words,
Sit in anticipation of their turn to be read.
And in my winged back chair I can often be found,
When I’ve swapped my garden for a good book instead.

Reference books nestle alongside those full of verse,
And novels, classic and modern, abound;
The history of the world is there to explore,
While biographies wait to be found.

A room filled with riches, of literary treasures,
Some, their secrets have yet to be told,
And it’s there, with the books, that I immerse myself,
And let the magic around me unfold.

Pecan Tree

One of the joys of early winter is the taste of fresh pecan nuts…

A neighbour’s pecan tree
Hangs over the garden wall,
And each year I gather the nuts,
That in my garden fall.
But they’re not all for me,
That harvest hanging there,
As with the local hornbills,
The crop I always share;
And they do have an advantage,
Those hornbills, over me,
Being able to reach the pecans
Still hanging on the tree.
So while I patiently wait
For my pecan nuts to drop,
My clever feathered friends
Are able to browse and to shop.

TPOTG Pecan Nuts Frame 01

Some years there’s not so many,
If the pecan crop is small,
Then my black and white visitors
Leave so very few to fall.
But I don’t mind about that,
As their needs are more than mine,
And the few they always leave behind
Will simply suit me fine.
But this year was a bumper crop,
Pecan nuts are everywhere,
And so there have been plenty
For the birds and I to share.
Pecan butter, candied pecans,
What a treat I’ve got in store,
Freshly made from the pecan nuts,
From my neighbour’s tree next door.

Garden Talk

The garden has so many visitors….how can you not talk to them?

TPOTG Old Man Talking to Birds

My garden’s a haven for visitors,
Uncaged and always free to roam,
Bringing me such beauty and colour,
I’m so lucky when they share my home.

I know they haven’t come to see me,
They come for the bounty that’s here on hand,
I can forgive them, then, when they ignore me,
For why they’re here I do understand.

Still I like to give them all greetings,
The polite thing to do, don’t you think?
As I watch them busily feeding,
Or taking a bath, or having a drink.

I have conversations with butterflies,
And daily I have long talks with bees,
And I chat away constantly with the birds,
Who chat back, perched up in their trees.

And, naturally, I talk to my plants,
Encouraging them all to grow,
Because of my plants my visitors visit,
And without them they’d surely all go.

So if you’re passing by Stone Cottage,
See an old man speaking to no one at all,
He’ll just be in conversation with his plants,
Or with the visitors who have come to call.

May 2020

The Lawnmower Bird

Is it a lawnmower or is it a bird…….?

TPOTG Lawnmower Frame 01

In Bedford’s quiet streets
Can often be heard
The whirr, whirr, whirring
Of the lawnmower bird.
A solitary creature,
It moves around on its own,
Eating away
At the grass that has grown,
Especially after the rain
Has awakened tired roots
And fed them with nutrients
To produce new green shoots.

Never at night
Will you hear this bird stirring,
As it rests in its shelter,
Tired out from its whirring.
And not every day
Does this strange bird appear,
And during the winter
The sightings are rare.

Its plumage favours green,
Although sometimes it’s red,
And black ones are seen,
So I’ve heard it said.
Some leave a smell,
While others trail a cord,
Usually accompanied by a man
Who appears to be bored.

So there you have it,
There’s no more to tell
About the lawnmower birds
That in Bedford do dwell.

Breakfast With A View

Perhaps getting up every morning at sparrows fart, just so you can sit in seemingly endless queues of traffic isn’t the best way to start your day after all……..

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Imagine starting each day
In the way that we do,
Breakfast on a stoep
A great mountain view;
Sitting there chatting,
No need to be rushed,
The smell of fresh coffee,
As the plunger is pushed.
Fresh creamy yoghurt,
Nice and thick, not too runny
And drizzled all over,
With local raw honey.
Eggs sometimes scrambled,
As the routine gets changed,
With tomatoes and bacon
For the yoghurt exchanged.
Our day being planned,
Or then again not,
Discussing the weather,
Is it going to be hot?
Watching orioles and drongos
At the fountain drinking,
Planning garden improvements,
Gets the grey matter thinking.
Just chilling out
Before the day has begun,
As we sit on our stoep feeling
Life’s jackpot’s been won.

Priceless

Some things you just can’t put a price on….

It’s not just the plants that give me such pleasure,
Deep in my garden lies its real hidden treasure.

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I use my garden to grow my soul,
To anchor my roots, to make me whole;
To understand how good it can feel
To weed out life’s trivia, to nurture what’s real;
To connect with nature, finding peace in its earth,
So how can I value what my garden is worth?

How To Look After Your Bougainvillea; An ‘Axe Tony’ Guide

About bougainvilleas
I’m writing a guide,
Using my methods
Which are trusted and tried.
Now if your plant is unruly,
And frustration grips
Then help is at hand,
Just follow my tips.
First hack off the branches,
Cut back as far as you can,
(With those dangerous spikes
That’s best left to a man).
When you’re just left
With the base of the plant
Take a good spade,
Held at a slant,
And dig out the roots,
Needs a little persistence,
I find wielding an axe
Overcomes their resistance.
Once the base and the roots
Are successfully removed
Throw them on the compost,
(Remember my method’s approved)
Then go tell your spouse
With a smile of your face
And her reaction will tell you
That you’re in disgrace.
So retrieve your bougainvillea
From the compost heap,
Dig a new hole
Nice and deep,
Add a little bonemeal
And some water too
And replant the bougainvillea,
It’s so easy to do.
And in a few months
You’ll see new branches shoot.
You see fixing a bougainvillea
Is really a hoot!

Days End

There is something quite magical about sitting and just watching the sun go down….

TPOTG Days End 01

The sun starts to set,
The air slowly cools,
The fierce daytime heat
Now no longer rules.
On the stoep we have gathered
For our usual observance
Of the end of the day,
The sun’s disappearance.

The dog has been walked,
The wine has been poured,
The stoep lamps are burning,
Against insects secured;
The last of the daylight
Lingers far out to the West,
It’s awesome changing vistas,
Stirring senses from rest.

And as night supplants day
The twilight is crowned
By animals orchestrating
That African sound.
Guinea fowl roosting,
Chattering away,
Crickets endless chirping,
Owls having their say.

Haunting sounds
As the day’s put to rest,
Another Karoo wonder
By which we are blessed.
And as the stoep lamps flicker
And we watch the flames dance,
The moths come to join us
On their nightly advance.

Finally by the darkness
We’re completely surrounded,
Our mind, soul and body
Now totally grounded.
Of all of life’s crops
Surely this is the cream,
Sitting here on the stoep,
Living our dream.

A Leaf’s Lament

Sitting here watching the plants being battered by relentless gusts of wind, after having just endured a severe frost and wondering just what those poor leaves must be feeling.

It’s not easy being a leaf these days,
By Jack Frost I’ve been abused,
And now by a howling gale
I’m being battered and bruised.
If only I could be like a plant’s root,
Buried way beneath the ground,
Protected from the frost and wind,
A warm and peaceful haven found.
Not being bothered by the hot sun.
The outside world would not intrude,
Just need the old man to give me water,
And the occasional dose of plant food.
With a worm or two for company,
(Hopefully a mole I’d never meet),
Maybe some other roots to chat with,
As we lay spreading our feet.

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