They are so fluffy and so beautiful, so I found some seeds and are waiting for them to come up!
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below.....two weeks later......they're up! This is where I planted them, so I think this is them.
Lots of flowers come up here that are NOT what we planted there though...so we will see. LOL
Hope your summer weekend was nice! We did a tiny amount of gardening, it's just too hot. I planted my sweet tater vine that I sprouted off a bigger one. And then I started a new baby one. I deadheaded flowers in pots yesterday after sunset.
IT WAS HOT HERE, but lots of daily rain. Hope you are staying cool where you are and I'm glad you stopped by to visit me!
OH, those white poppies are beautiful! I don't think I've ever seen them! I do hope yours will grow! They are so lovely. And I hope your sweet 'taters grow too! And Sunday after noon naps are a must (as are every afternoon here! LOL). We are not getting enough rain, but I think there's a storm brewing this week, so we shall see what develops. Take care my friend. Love to you.
ReplyDeleteOh, I have to tell you!!! My Dear Friend, you do beat all for wonderful finds and sharings, but today you've given me more than an hour of reminiscence of things far before my time, but these flowers took me there. I was looking along, just reciting the verses of FLANDERS FIELD in my mind, and got caught up way down in a verse. So I looked it up, read the words, and continued on into the hand-written jottings of the poem in a WWII Nurse's notebook.
ReplyDeleteHer name was Ella Osborn, and she worked at Mt. Sinai in New York, I believe, before she took up the flag and volunteered for work right on the front lines in France---they were right under the bombers and felt the sounds and damages of the ordnance whilst they stood in their operating rooms or repairing rooms, hands deep in the wounds of soldiers, til sleep almost swept them off their feet.
She wrote the poem on pages in and amongst numbers of lost, hours at the operating table, and small simple joys of an outing away from the melee into a town for a bowl of soup. Her diary/daybook/nurse's scheduling held the diary of her days, from her term of service there, January 1918 to April 1919. A year and some-odd of a Hell no one could imagine.
And I just held her to my heart, with the absolute kinship of a family tragedy, with my Dad's two older brothers before he was born: The two little boys, 5 and 7, died within a week of each other in 1918, and I spent lots of hours of my own childhood scribing my finger along the grooves of the lettering on their fading stones, as well as such searing pangs as a Mother, later, of how in the world my Mammaw lived through that, pregnant with the Daddy's sister born two months after their deaths, and then Daddy's birth a year later. (She also lived through a rattlesnake bite in the pea patch when Daddy was a teen---he drove their old Ford five miles on dirt roads to town, with his Sis holding on to her in the back. She "swoll up fit to pop" but she lived---oh she lived). She was with us until 1987, circling the century and missing her hundredth year by a few months.
So your floats of white poppies have brought on a whole Pantheon of history, most not my own, but of the time and sorrow, with their innocent faces raised to the sun, and their unknown origin, but there just the same for this moment. I'm off now to read more about the valiant Miss Osborn. She's definitely my hero.
ETA: That's WW I, not II.
ReplyDeleteThose fluffy white flowers in the farmer's field look absolutely beautiful. It's fascinating that they just appeared, likely carried by wind or birds. Your friend's identification as wild white poppies makes a lot of sense, especially given their delicate appearance. It's exciting that you've planted some seeds and they're already coming up. Hopefully, they're the same gorgeous poppies. It's totally understandable to keep gardening light when it's so hotnaps and indoor tasks are definitely the way to go with daily rain.
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