My father in law (Bill... I have two) gave me a book for Christmas.
It's called The Gardener's Journal - An Old-Fashioned Keepbook.
And it is as romantic as the name implies.
It's a garden journal with Victorian quotes and pictures.
It has pages for Our Garden History, winter, spring, summer and fall notes, and beautifully decorated graphing squares - pages and pages of them.
I can't tell you how much I love this book.
Yesterday I knew though it was cold outside, I wanted to work on the Butterfly/Faery Garden.
So I grabbed my garden books - some mundane, and some magickal - and a glass of tea and sat in the sun with my journal.
How lovely it was!
I contemplated what needed to be moved from and into the faery garden, watched the birds flit about, noted the greening of the grass, watched my daughter play.
I made my first entry into that journal.
And because of it - working in the faery garden - I was nose to earth.
I found yarrow plants that were no more than an inch wide. I discovered lemon balm (lemon balm is coming up everywhere, now... but I don't mind, it's one of my Favorite Things). I found echinacea that just needed to be dusted off a bit in order to be seen - so tiny also, was it.
I took out some of the over-grown peppermint, and moved it to where it'd be welcome and happy - to the rose garden. Right where the mint needed to go (as there is no catnip there, and this particular rose is often plaqued with aphids) I found clover in that exact spot. Clover was on my list of new things to bring in for the butterflies. Imagine that.
So the rocks are lying to the north where they belong -resituated, standing tall with the yarrow.
Rocks to shelter the butterflies, to encourage them to rest in the sun, and for the fey to play their games of hide-and-seek.
To the west are the shasta daisies, betony (lamb's ear) and a large abilone shell that soon shall hold water, inviting the butterflies and fairies to splash as they will.
To the south is a bit of tall red-hot poker and cinquefoil, and the toad-stool Inn. To the east grows the peppermint, echinacea, lemon balm, and clover.
It the center of the garden is part of an old tree stump. It's been the center of this small garden for a few years. On it sits a fading faery with a skirt full of birdseed.
The garden is finished. At least for now.
And upon my pages are sketches of Who Lives Where, and notes and notes of what makes the fey and butterflies smile.
It's a fine beginning.