Earth to Earth

Posted in response to the Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge.  This week’s theme ‘Earth’.

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Yup, this is a picture of my compost heap.  I know… not beautiful and most definitely not the most glorious respresentation of earth that you will see for this challenge.  However, I would argue that it is the most wonderous.

It will never cease to amaze me that I can chuck all manner of organic waste in there, including (but not limited to) manky vegetables and peelings, teabags, newspapers, grass cuttings, and even woolly jumpers, and given a few months it will all rot down and become a beautiful crumbly and sweet smelling compost that works wonders, feeding my soil and making flowers and vegetables strong, healthy and colourful.  It is the eighth wonder of the world.

It is also quite a comfort to me to witness that waste produce something beautiful.  Not being of a religious nature, I don’t believe in an afterlife, but knowing that whatever happens to my, and my families bodies once we’ve finished with them, whether they are burnt and scattered in the wind or buried, those organic remains will feed the earth and help to nourish the planet one way or another.  All I ask is that my family don’t choose to keep my ashes in a pot on the mantlepiece!  Well, that would be just creepy anyway. 🙂

Well, this is all getting a bit gloomy, so here’s some evidence that my beautiful compost is doing it’s work already this spring.

 

Love in a vase

Last Sunday was Mother’s Day here in England. My twin daughters live at different ends of the country, and because of their, and my, schedules we were, to my dismay, destined not to meet up for the day.  They were though, dutiful enough to send sweet and thoughtful mother’s day cards, and to my surprise and delight, also both sent the most wonderful bouquets.  I wish I could harness the scent, which fills our living room, to share with you, but in the absence of smellyblog here are a few studies I took of the flowers.

The Christmas Tree Forest

 

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We are lucky that, close to where we live, there is a forest where they produce trees for Christmas.  Traditionally, my husband would take our daughters up to the forest to choose a Christmas tree for us, while I stayed at home and raided the garden for sprigs of holly and tendrils of ivy to decorate the house with.  They would usually be gone an hour or two, spending plenty of time finding the ‘right’ tree – not too tall, not too small, good shape, with no awkward sticky out branches, and bushy right to the top, it also had to be one of the type that doesn’t drop needles all over the house, so they were pretty picky, but they’d always come home with a perfect specimen wedged in the car.  They’d demand hot chocolate to warm themselves up before we set about covering said specimen in so many baubles and lights that you could barely see it anyway.  We always, always, had Christmas music playing and would sing along in loud discordance with tinsel around our necks and baubles hanging from our ears.

The girls can’t get home to choose the tree these days, so me and my husband trek to the forest together. We went last Friday, and for some reason, just saw a tree and thought it would be ok (it is) in less than five minutes.  We came home and decorated it in wistful silence. It looks pretty, but I wonder if I’ll ever stop missing the old days?