A post about an astonishing garden, and another about the two lives of a beautiful room, are in the works. I might even post something mean about the Kluge house in Virginia if popular demand is strong enough, but in the meantime, a little miscellany until organized.
I tend to be very unsociable on Sundays—I spend the rest of the week at beck and call, and only a very close friend, or a customer wishing to drop a LOT of money, or an emergency, or a combination of all three, like a customer who is a good friend having an emergency need to spend lots of money at my store, can blast me out of solitude on that day. Or, in season, a boat….
The meadow behind the Dilettante’s house is alive with thousands, if not millions, of buttercups by day, easily photographed. By night the meadow is even more spectacularly alive with thousands, if not millions, of fireflies, unfortunately impossible to photograph. Both are displays that make me slow down for a moment and watch.
The move into the new shop continues at snail’s (or Dilettante’s) pace. I spent much of the middle of the day painting, painting, painting my new office-to-be, only to run out of paint three minutes before the paint store closed. I never can remember that they now close at 2:00 on Sundays.
Frustrated by the lack of paint, I race to Ellsworth, the nearest big box town, to see if anybody is open who carries Benjamin Moore primer. Nope, but by the time I’m on the far side of town at Marden’s Surplus & Salvage, contemplating $9.00 jeans and .50 cent beauty supplies in slightly damaged packaging Sometimes there are great finds—an Armani shirt for $10.00, giant Italian terra cotta pots for $7.00, sometimes not. Today was not. Unless I needed a pastel golf bag. Ever heard me mention golf? Exactly. (Although I would give anything to know how the golf ball I found on my bedroom floor the other day got there. I’m two miles uphill from the local country club.)
Now I was as close to Mt. Desert Island as home, and it being as spectacular a day as can be imagined, I decided to go hiking on one of the island trails.
I’ve long been planning a post about the extraordinary Asticou Azalea Garden, so stopped on the way to take pictures. Stay tuned.
I am now at my destination, the Asticou Terraces and the Eliot Mountain trail. The light is very beautiful, the air unexpectedly balmy, and fragrant with sea air and balsam, the scent of Down East Maine. There used to be a third ingredient in the perfume, fish bait, but as our fishing industry declines, and the plutocrat to pine tree ratio narrows, this has changed.
Along the way, the trail passes through the beautiful Thuja garden, one of Maine’s loveliest sights in August (I’ll post about it then), but there was this Himalayan blue poppy (Meconopsis) in unexpected bloom. For those who don’t know, this is one of the holy grails of cool climate gardening.
Back home, no paint, but pleasantly tired from the hike, and full of vows to do it more often (See also, Resolutions, New Year’s, Broken). Passing the local lobster shack, I realize that a crab roll, a side of onion rings, and a vanilla shake hold far more appeal and far less preparation than the tofu and broccoli stir-fry I’d been planning (no, I’m not kidding—), and braked quickly. It was delicious. And the tofu and the broccoli are still in the refrigerator…..waiting…..