
Tall phlox, scarlet runner beans and zinnias are a perfect dinner for a woodchuck.



Photographs taken with a bridge camera journaling nature and everyday life in Central Massachusetts and beyond.
Category: flowers
The scientific name for daylilies, hemerocallis, comes from the Greek words hermera, meaning day and kallos, meaning beauty. The two terms together can be translated as “beauty for a day”. This term aptly describes the lifespan of the plant, as each individual flower lasts only one day.
Daylilies are at their height in Central Massachusetts right now. As I travel the area, colorful lily displays abound, most likely due to the consistent sun and heat this season. Below are a few “beauties for a day” that I enjoyed in my own garden recently.







My yard is popping with orange this week.



The ditch lily softens and adds interest to this fieldstone foundation.




Here, the Asiatic lilies contrast with evergreens nearby, lending a more “Eastern” feeling.

The word pansies comes from the French word pensĂ©es, which means “thoughts”. For centuries, pansies have been given as symbols of remembrance, contemplation and love.


There are about 400 varieties of pansies. They are popular due to their hardiness and adaptability.

In Victorian times sending pansies as a gift meant “I’m thinking of you”. Coded messages of feelings or intentions toward another person were sent via the color of a particular flower.


Orange often meant energy and enthusiasm.

White most often symbolized purity.

Cheerfulness and happiness was symbolized by yellow; red could stand for thoughts of love.

Wishing you many colorful thoughts this spring!
There’s a golden world waiting on the MeadowTrail paths at Wachusett Meadow Wildlife Sanctuary.

Approach to the sheep and cow barns.




Bluebird boxes.















Visiting woodchucks, rabbits, a racoon and even a bear made gardening more difficult than usual this year. Still, on a sunny July day, it seems worth all the extra effort.





































Pink is a-poppin’ in my garden this week.










It’s marigold time in my garden.








I grew up in a rural town in Western Massachusetts, where a large patch of bee balm featured prominently in our garden each summer. One day an elderly couple, complete strangers, stopped their car to ask my father what the fiery red blooms in the garden were.
“It’s bee balm, a perennial. Would you like some?”
He dug up a clump for the pair to take to their summer home at the edge of town.
A few days later, the couple reappeared with a box of children’s books. They were retired teachers, who had noticed my siblings and me playing in the yard.
“We have collected so many books over the years, and since we are retired, we don’t need them. Would your children like some?” they asked my father.
That summer, and for many summers thereafter, the couple brought boxes of books of a variety of genres. Some were almost new; some were gently worn. Each box was a thoughtful gift.
The sight of bee balm might bring thoughts of insects, bright flower petals in a salad, or perhaps herbal tea to most people.
But me? I simply think of books.








A coat of paint on one small structure can sometimes uplift a whole yard.














An extravaganza of orange in my garden.






My neighbor, a fellow plant enthusiast, appeared in my garden yesterday with this gorgeous peony bouquet. What an exquisite gift for me and my garden!
During the pandemic, neighbors have been walking by my yard more frequently than in years past. This has offered us all opportunities for friendly chats and shared interests, making the year much more pleasurable.






























