As the sun sets and hills grow dark, as the birdsong ends and fields fall silent, as the people laugh and take their rest, I watch. My heart hurries to the twilit gardens of Ukraine. And I hurry. O, how I hurry with my thoughts, as my heart yearns for rest. As the fields grow dark, as the groves grow dark, as the hills grow dark, I see a star. And I weep. Hey, you star! Have you reached Ukraine? Do dark eyes scour the blue sky for you? Or don’t they care? May they sleep if they don’t. May they know nothing of my fate. ~ Taras Shevchenko (To N. N.)
9.29.12 ~ monarch in a garden on Block Island New Shoreham, Rhode Island photo by Tim
bright wings of autumn flutter, lighting on the last sweet sips of summer ~ Barbara Rodgers (By the Sea)
Fourteen years ago Tim & I took a high-speed ferry from New London, Connecticut, to Block Island, which is 13 miles off the coast of Rhode Island. The ferry only runs from New London from May to September, and we caught it on the last Saturday in September. (There is year-round ferry service from Point Judith and Newport, Rhode Island.)
We had a wonderful time exploring the island for a day. I wrote this post about our adventure: high-speed ferry ride
Before we left the island, Tim spotted a monarch butterfly in someone’s garden and took this amazing picture. It inspired me to write the haiku. I posted the picture/word combo a few days later and it proved to be one of my most viewed posts ever, with lots of comments. The memory is bittersweet, though, as most of the blogging friends I enjoyed back then are no longer blogging and I miss them.
I’m beginning to have more appreciation for how indulging in feelings of nostalgia becomes such a prominent feature of aging!
Except the smaller size No lives are round — These — hurry to a sphere And show and end — The larger — slower grow And later hang — The Summers of Hesperides Are long. ~ Emily Dickinson (The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #606)
5.11.26 ~ Race Point Beach, Provincetown, Massachusetts photo by Jon
In May I took a whirlwind trip to Cape Cod and Connecticut to scatter and bury Tim’s ashes. Five intense days of sharing memories and enjoying the family and friends and activities that Tim used to love. It’s taking me a while to recover but I’ve decided to share a few pictures here to help me remember.
Nate and me ~ photo by Jon
On May 11th, 27 of us headed out to Race Point Beach in Provincetown where I scattered some of Tim’s ashes on the beach where he spent many of the happiest days of his life. Tim’s brother Dan shared stories of their childhood adventures in P’town. And many in the gathering took turns spontaneously sharing their favorite memories. Moments after I scattered Tim’s ashes, we heard the particular call of a laughing gull flying overhead, gently reminding me of Tim’s wonderful sense of humor.
laughing gull ~ photo by Jon
While we were there we took advantage of the opportunity, with all of Tim’s remaining brothers gathered, Dan, Matt, Jed, and Josh, to scatter some of their father’s ashes. Erik had died back in 2008 and also had close ties to Provincetown. And Tim’s cousin Allegra scattered some of her mother’s ashes there on the sand, too. Her mother was Tim’s beloved Aunt Delorma, who died in January, only three months after him.
We all have such happy memories of vacationing at the family home in Provincetown. The current owner of 180 Bradford St. was very gracious to allow us to leave two memorial blown glass hearts in the garden. Allegra sculpted them, with some of their ashes inside, the red one is Tim’s.
The next day, Fran, Allegra and I had an amazing family history adventure, locating 72B Commercial St., where Tim and Dan’s 2nd-great-grandparents, Elijah & Zipporah Rodgers had lived. When Tim and Dan were kids they were taken to the house and met the widow of his great-granduncle, Capt. Neadom Oscar Rodgers (1876-1953), Aunt Lil, and Neadom’s son Oscar. (Oscar was Aunt Lil’s stepson.) Allegra was also taken there, as a very small child, on a separate occasion. Tim showed me the place on our honeymoon but my memory of its location got very fuzzy.
As we were checking it out a man came down the grass-covered lane it was located on and, after explaining who I was, I asked him a few questions. One thing led to another and the next thing we knew we were sitting in the dining room of an elderly neighbor who has lived there his whole life and remembered Aunt Lil Rodgers and playing in the lane. Aunt Lil died in 1979. The information we got from him led me to find more information about the house and its occupants online.
That afternoon I took a walk on Beech Forest Trail with my sons and nieces and nephew and some of their spouses. (No one in my generation was up for the hike!) I told them the story of Tim & me taking this walk on our honeymoon, and how we took it again after getting our first digital camera in 2009. The picture of the squirrel on the sidebar of this blog came from that walk, and was my first taste of enjoying nature photography. Sadly, this time, I, and some of the others, came back with a tick.
Beech Forest Trail
I’m thinking the universe may be trying to tell me that fewer nature walks and more genealogy research will be my new direction in life…
At the end of this mile-long loop walk my sons discovered a poem by one of my favorite poets under glass on the top of a picnic table. They brought me back to see it and it seemed like a beautiful reflection of my mood about the changes in focus I’m going through in my life.
For example, what the trees do not only in lightning storms or the watery dark of a summer’s night or under the white nets of winter but now, and now, and now – whenever we’re not looking. Surely you can’t imagine they don’t dance, from the root up, wishing to travel a little, not cramped so much as wanting a better view, or more sun, or just as avidly more shade – surely you can’t imagine they just stand there loving every minute of it, the birds or the emptiness, the dark rings of the years slowly and without a sound thickening, and nothing different unless the wind, and then only in its own mood, comes to visit, surely you can’t imagine patience, and happiness, like that. ~ Mary Oliver (Can You Imagine?)
Last weekend Susan and I took a Sunday drive all the way out to Raleigh to check out this unique botanical garden, which is only open to the public on nine different weekends over the year. It has 10 acres of plants for education and research and, although privately owned since 1986, is now associated with North Carolina State University.
‘greystone’ spring starflower
‘twinkletoes’ lungwort
rhododendron
Lenten roses
‘dwarf double red’ peach
‘dwarf double red’ peach
hibiscus
winter flowering cherry
winter flowering cherry
Our garden philosophy is to promote botanical diversity by assembling the largest collection possible of growable, winter/summer hardy ornamental plants for our region and display them in an aesthetic, sustainably maintained, healthy garden setting. This philosophy includes obtaining plants from all over the world with a strong emphasis on North American native plants, realizing that these are, as a group, no more or less adaptable than plants from foreign lands. ~ Juniper Level Botanic Garden website
Chinese redbud
Chinese redbud
five-leaved cuckoo flower
Oriental paperbush
We saw these yellow puff balls from afar and couldn’t wait to see them up close and find out what they were. They were very fragrant, and we got a pleasant whiff before we reached them. Some garden websites describe the scent as gardenia-like.
Oriental paperbush
winter daphne
‘bonfire’ peach
Greilhuber’s squill
‘golden doubloons’ petticoat daffodil
Algerian iris
After meandering through several sections of the garden we started to pay attention to the bits of spitting rain hitting us and looked up to see a threatening rain cloud. We headed back to the car, with me protecting my camera under my jacket. We missed one last garden section but were happy we did manage to see most of the place.
rain cloud, time to turn around and head home
The plants were very well identified and I took 146 pictures. It was difficult choosing which ones to share for this post!
12.19.25 ~ North Carolina Botanical Garden northern mockingbird
On a mid-December visit to the botanical garden with a friend there were a lot of birds, all of them strategically avoiding my camera behind twigs and branches, but keeping a good eye on us.
tufted titmouse
The botanical garden had posted on its Facebook page that a yellow garden spider (aka a zipper spider) egg sac suspended between two Okefenokee hooded pitcher plants had been spotted in the Carnivorous Plant Collection – and we found it.
one side (above) and the other side (below)
Inside are up to a thousand or more tiny, dormant eggs. Creating this warm silk sac was one of the last endeavors of their mother’s life – yellow garden spider adults usually don’t survive the first hard frost. If all goes well, the eggs will spend the winter safe in this sac, emerging as itsy bitsy spiderlings in spring. … This particular pitcher plant variety is native only to the Okefenokee Swamp in southeastern Georgia. (There’s also an introduced population in North Carolina.) ~ North Carolina Botanical Garden (Facebook, December 17, 2025)
Quite impressive. Silk is very strong, but can be weakened by wetness and sunlight. Time will tell if this egg sac will make it though the winter. We’ve already had some morning temperatures in the teens.
I am often at a loss for words these days, but a couple of hours of birdwatching with a new friend was a welcome interlude in the grieving process.
northern cardinal
white-throated sparrow
white-throated sparrow
downy woodpecker
eastern towhee
eastern towhee
northern cardinal
The beauty, variety, and unexpected behaviors of birds can inspire feelings of joy, awe, and wonder, which can be a powerful counterbalance to grief. ~ AI
10.7.25 ~ North Carolina Botanical Garden 37th Annual Sculpture in the Garden
So, we haven’t visited the botanical garden since the end of May, over four months ago. I wasn’t about to risk any more seed tick attacks. On this new try, I had Tim spray my shoes and pant legs with picaridin, giving up on previously tried deet and permethrin. So far, so good, but I’ve not been attacked in the month of October before so maybe I didn’t need it. Not taking any chances, though.
October skies aster
I didn’t get too many pictures of the sculptures this year. I guess I was starved for the beauty of flowers and berries!
deciduous holly
eastern carpenter bee
“Sonoran Sentinel” by Gary Taber A contemporary reimagining of a desert giant, drawing inspiration from the formidable presence of arid landscapes. ~ Gary Taber
wildflowers in the sassafras sapling grove (this spot always enchants me)
ditch daisy
asters
black-eyed Susan
When we got to the boardwalk going through the Coastal Plain Habitat we were amazed to find ourselves surrounded by a sea of black-eyed Susans, some of them quite tall, enjoying the sunshine.
Even though there were a lot of old favorites to delight my eyes, some new-to-me flowers presented themselves, sending me peeking into the greenery looking for id signs. If none could be located there was research to do at home. It felt good to get back out there and into the swing of things again.
“Marshland Morning” by Forrest Greenslade My egret reaches for the sky to greet the day. ~ Forrest Greenslade
coastal plain tickseed
boneset
blue mistflower
“Guardian of the Night” by Nana Abreu Taíno Moon Goddess symbolizes renewal, mystery, and unseen life forces, representing the feminine rhythm of existence while illuminating the shadowed side of nature. ~ Nana Abreu
phlox
Chinese aconite aka Carmichael’s monkshood
‘Pampas Plume’ celosia
“Opossum in the Cherry Orchard” by Bronwyn Watson Local opossum in early summer after an enjoyable night dining in a cherry tree. ~ Bronwyn Watson
Everywhere, from sunup to sunup, the world is full of song. The days are hot, hot, and all the day long I listen to the bees lifting from flower to flower, to the watchful chipmunk sounding its chock chock chock alarm while the red-tailed hawk wheels, crying, high in the sky. I can’t see the songbirds in the dappled light of a thousand leafy branches, but I can hear them calling from the trees. ~ Margaret Renkl (The Comfort of Crows: A Backyard Year)
