Flowers for Sale

Beautiful trays of plants were sold at the Azalea Festival in Muskogee, Oklahoma this spring. After winter the flowers are such a refreshing sight. Coleus comes in many varieties. It was one of my mother-in-laws favorite plants.
Impatiens, petunias, moss rose and so many of the brightest and most loved summer plants can be purchased at farmer’s markets during April.

I bought two new white azaleas and a purple azalea to plant between my pink and red varieties. It should look like this when it all blooms next spring.

Azalea Gardens in Muskogee, Oklahoma

One April morning in Muskogee those azaleas begin to burst open. Everyone has been waiting.
Horse drawn carriages carry the park visitors  around to see the park set on the hills west of town.
Horses are one of the many happy sights.
Ducks and geese are another!
Friends stop to rest on one of the docks that surround the pond.
(Alton, Evan, Julie, Brenna, and Quinton)
One of my favorite azaleas is this wonderful pink variety.
A bride and her maid-of-honor ride in the white carriage.
White azaleas for the bride.
Azaleas are sold at the Festival in April.
This one and the pink favorite above, I bought and have enjoyed in my yard the last few years.
These friends have a tradition of visiting the gardens every spring for a picnic and a hike up the waterfall trail.
These friends have a tradition of enjoying the flowers too.
Don’t miss out on the gardens this year. Tulips and dogwood bloom early, and then azaleas, and later the park shows roses. There is a boardwalk around the pond, a gift and flower shop, and a playground. There are picnic tables under shade trees and a baseball field where children fly kites.
The Azalea Gardens are wonderful!

Azalea Gardens in Muskogee, Oklahoma

One April morning in Muskogee those azaleas begin to burst open. Everyone has been waiting.
Horse drawn carriages carry the park visitors  around to see the park set on the hills west of town.
Horses are one of the many happy sights.
Ducks and geese are another!
Friends stop to rest on one of the docks that surround the pond.
(Alton, Evan, Julie, Brenna, and Quinton)
One of my favorite azaleas is this wonderful pink variety.
A bride and her maid-of-honor ride in the white carriage.
White azaleas for the bride.
Azaleas are sold at the Festival in April.
This one and the pink favorite above, I bought and have enjoyed in my yard the last few years.
These friends have a tradition of visiting the gardens every spring for a picnic and a hike up the waterfall trail.
These friends have a tradition of enjoying the flowers too.
Don’t miss out on the gardens this year. Tulips and dogwood bloom early, and then azaleas, and later the park shows roses. There is a boardwalk around the pond, a gift and flower shop, and a playground. There are picnic tables under shade trees and a baseball field where children fly kites.
The Azalea Gardens are wonderful!

Riding Ranger and Whitey

Brenna rode the white horse home to visit us for the summer. She had a great time learning to ride and only fell off once! Mr. Brian Leist, our neighbor to the south, rode Ranger. He supplied the saddle, tack ,and riding instruction. The horse is now grazing in with Lilly and Shasta. The horse is a fifteen-year-old gelding.
Checking out the farm.
Doesn’t she look like a Indian girl on a wild stallion in this shot? I mean, except for the blond hair and the pink saddle. Would you look at that sky! And how about the sudden green?
Brenna on Whitey setting out for adventure!

Riding Ranger and Whitey

Brenna rode the white horse home to visit us for the summer. She had a great time learning to ride and only fell off once! Mr. Brian Leist, our neighbor to the south, rode Ranger. He supplied the saddle, tack ,and riding instruction. The horse is now grazing in with Lilly and Shasta. The horse is a fifteen-year-old gelding.
Checking out the farm.
Doesn’t she look like a Indian girl on a wild stallion in this shot? I mean, except for the blond hair and the pink saddle. Would you look at that sky! And how about the sudden green?
Brenna on Whitey setting out for adventure!

Announcing Spring!

Like the ruffled skirts of Texas square dancers—the petals of the daffodils stand out and unfurl to wave spring under our hungry noses—to wave yellow—from creamery butter yellow, to pastel Easter egg yellow, to lemon pie custard yellow, to egg yolk.

The flower trumpets—some slender and waxy—some wide and fluted—others round and short blare out to the world the good news. Daffodils are the voice of spring. They shout to our shuttered winter-weary brains, “Hey, you! Spring is here! Yes, it is. Believe it!”

Nothing in nature is yellow in winter. Even the goldfinch is drab gray and pale olive in the winter and doesn’t put on his bright uniform until spring has arrived. All the yellows of fall leaves and bright Chrysanthemums fade and disappear. All the yellows of our world disappear come winter and everything turns gray and brown.

The forsythia sends up yellow pennants on its shooting star branches. The wind comes to dance with her and wave the blue birds to their nesting boxes. You can hear spring coming—just up the road coming closer—humming—not singing out loud yet—just humming the refrain—the promise.

 

Summer will come with sunshine on yellow dandelions, on yellow tulip blossoms, on roses, on marigolds and black-eyed-Susans, on yellow sulphurs flitting over a sky-reflecting puddle, the yellow of a grandbaby’s silky sun-drenched hair, the yellow of promise, the yellow of joy.

The desert and the dry land will become happy; the desert will be glad and will produce flowers. Like a flower, it will have many blooms. It will show its happiness, as if it were shouting for joy.
Isaiah 35 1-2 NCV

Announcing Spring!

Like the ruffled skirts of Texas square dancers—the petals of the daffodils stand out and unfurl to wave spring under our hungry noses—to wave yellow—from creamery butter yellow, to pastel Easter egg yellow, to lemon pie custard yellow, to egg yolk.

The flower trumpets—some slender and waxy—some wide and fluted—others round and short blare out to the world the good news. Daffodils are the voice of spring. They shout to our shuttered winter-weary brains, “Hey, you! Spring is here! Yes, it is. Believe it!”

Nothing in nature is yellow in winter. Even the goldfinch is drab gray and pale olive in the winter and doesn’t put on his bright uniform until spring has arrived. All the yellows of fall leaves and bright Chrysanthemums fade and disappear. All the yellows of our world disappear come winter and everything turns gray and brown.

 

The forsythia sends up yellow pennants on its shooting star branches. The wind comes to dance with her and wave the blue birds to their nesting boxes. You can hear spring coming—just up the road coming closer—humming—not singing out loud yet—just humming the refrain—the promise.

Summer will come with sunshine on yellow dandelions, on yellow tulip blossoms, on roses, on marigolds and black-eyed-Susans, on yellow sulphurs flitting over a sky-reflecting puddle, the yellow of a grandbaby’s silky sun-drenched hair, the yellow of promise, the yellow of joy.

The desert and the dry land will become happy; the desert will be glad and will produce flowers. Like a flower, it will have many blooms. It will show its happiness, as if it were shouting for joy.
Isaiah 35 1-2 NCV