East Princeton, Massachusetts




Photographs taken with a bridge camera journaling nature and everyday life in Central Massachusetts and beyond.
Category: gardening
(Short audio included at the end of the post.)
During my recent blogging break, I have been learning to play the folk harp.
This is a Fireside Harp from Backyard Music, made of cardboard.
The shape of the harp reminds me of the wings of a butterfly that visits my garden.
A rain storm came up just after these photos were taken, but I’ve included a short audio with a rainy backdrop, which can be played along with these photos.
Eleanor Plunkett, by Turlough O’Carolan, arranged by harpist and composer Anne Crosby Gaudet, performed by Julie Mankowsky.
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.
How fortunate that many of nature’s treasures are edible.
Even though it’s been a summer of extreme weather here in Central Massachusetts, most parts of the garden have thrived. Below, recent pictures are paired with those from late May, when the garden was first planted.
Pink is a-poppin’ in my garden this week.
A mysterious bird disease is affecting the Southern and Mid-Atlantic states.
It’s marigold time in my garden.
An Eastern Cottontail rabbit has arrived 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.