Tag: Quaboag River

The Guardians

Five years have gone by since I’ve come to this place. This old house on the Quaboag River. When first I looked at the house, it was to the yard I went to be with the green of May. I hesitated until October and despite the crimp of a week-long migraine, rose up and agreed to come here. I could only try.

There was a presence when I first moved in that took to knocking things around. When the Indian Corn ornament “fell” and rolled all over the floor, I yelled and we’ve been at peace ever since. I blessed this house by smoke of sage and sprinkle of sea water. Yes, yes, must do again as the moon when ducks fly has come. Storms will come. They always do.

What has my fascination here are the guardians. A line of maple trees marks the border of the property. The tall trees that give the sensation of an allee, which gives birth to the name Tranquility Vale at times. Doesn’t every place want naming? It is a tranquil place and it is my home. Strange to think I’ve been in one place for this long. The urge to roam comes and goes, especially when the birds flock for the journey south. Why am I left behind again! My bones don’t forget and curl up in distaste of winter to come.

The guardians carry what I don’t know. Who was here? Did you see the house built? What do you know? The guardians root deep in the sandy soil. I wonder if the roots reach the river. The leaves are coming off fast. The carpet of yellow, orange and rust. The fuzzy Woolly Bear caterpillars are about. The woodpeckers have come out of the forest to the suet cake already. The geese fly over in the V calling on the way as they follow the Libra Sun.

Sometimes I see the door at the hollow of the tree. I see it only at twilight time and pondered the myth of wee folk. Be there hobbits about? These trees, they stand up and reach for the sky.

*********************************************************

We want the stars in the warm days, we want the earth in the month when leaves fall. In the twilight time of year, we talk. Again we go to sleep, we go to earth for rest, finally, simply rest, we go to our home, our comfort our joy. We are old. We were here before the creatures. We grow tall. We are more. We love sun. We feel wind as a song. We never die. We don’t see you at all. I need nothing but where I am and what I am. I carry nothing. I ask nothing. You cannot imagine my being. To sway with the earth, to feel her roll. I stand so still to feel her roll. Can you stand so still? Can you feel the river under your feet? I can stand by this forever. We keep the way. We are guardians.

Written by Frances Wychorski

@FrancesAnnWy

Tranquility Vale ~ Reclaiming Garden Space

A few years ago, I bought a little house in the country. The first time I set foot on the property as a potential buyer, I did not go in the house, but into the garden. Above all else, a larger goal in life has been to have a garden to tend with a bit of wildness around.

I had to name this space, this place of seasons, sun and serenity. I toyed with Artemis Hollow for a while and thought to bring in statuary in honor of this goddess. She still may come. But, above all else, I wanted a place where it was safe and quiet. So it is, along the riverside, protected by an alee of maples and made splendid by the long off trill of the wood thrush on warm evenings. So, it is Tranquility Vale.

This place in Massachusetts is dominated by the Quaboag River and the township was settled as the Quaboag Plantation. The Native Americans long where here and had a winter camp at the Rock House Reservation. There are tall rock outcroppings, shallow caves, that create a natural shelter for animals and humans. They are unique and seem created as a respite against the elements. This place has been preserved and is enjoyed daily by hikers and those looking for a tangible connection to the past. The roof of the rock faces are black from centuries of camp fires.

The Native people made a great push off against the Europeans who settled the township. From the West Brookfield Historical Commission, “King Phillips War. Between August 1 and November 10, 1675, Indians did not leave a single one of Massachusetts’s eight towns on the Connecticut River unscathed. Five of the eight towns sustained major attacks and three of them, Brookfield, Northfield, and Deerfield were burned, destroyed, and abandoned. Brookfield suffered the first rout. The siege lasted three days. These attacks severed an important communication link between eastern Massachusetts and the Connecticut River. The settlers of Brookfield took refuge in the Fortified House August 2-4 until reinforcements from Marlborough arrived. After the siege ended, the settlers departed with the troops and Brookfield was not resettled by the English for more than a decade.”

My house: my little Atlas. I gave it the name after the winter of 2011 when the snow never stopped and the January thaw never came and an igloo was forming around us. When the snow and ice where shoveled off the roof that February, the banks were so enormous and the weight so crushing, that my respect for its old bones gave to the name Little Atlas. The house has male energy and the garden female. It’s a happy union most of the time.

Reclaiming a Weedy Walk

This article is meant to be about reclaiming garden space from under the weeds. The side yard which faces east/south east was dominated by the overhanging branches from the neighbor’s maple tree. In the fall of 2012, I had an arborist come in and clear out the branches leaning over on the house and casting too much shade on this side yard. The borders are a natural forsythia fence which after three years of pruning, have decided to grow up rather than out into the space.

One of the previous owners was a gardener and left behind liriope, frothergilla, hosta, vinca and a large grandiflora hydrangea in this area. The liriope is one tough perennial which I highly recommend as a plant that can take road traffic and adapts to most light conditions. The flower comes in late August into October if the fall is mild.

The space was reclaimed as a walk by creating a pathway from the lawn area, laying large stones dug up from around the property leading into the space. The hosta were originally planted at the lower end of the walk but were moved up to frame the walkway and give it direction. The ginger was planted two years ago and is beginning to spread. There was once a larger amount of lily of the valley but the native violets have vigorously claimed space under the hydrangea.

The material used to frame the path and stop the weeds from taking over was cardboard boxes. I laid the path over the area during the winter.

I raked and cleared away this debris and readied the path again in April. I layered the boxes, raked in new leaves. Of all things, I promised not to use chemicals or plastics in my garden. This is how it looks now. I have to lay something between the stones and the path to stop unwanted plants growing. It’s starting to look quite smashing now as the perennials are growing fast with the warmth and sun of May. From an awful eyesore to a tender garden path. Easily done with simple materials normally thrown away. A no cost way to reclaim space.