Unearthed Words
This Month's
Unearthed Words
Unearthed Words
The Archives
All the words shared on The Daily Gardener podcast.
A Song of October
by Phebe Ann Holder The softened light, the veiling haze, The calm repose of autumn days, Steal gently over the troubled breast, Soothing life’s weary cares to rest. – Phebe Ann Holder, New England poet, A Song of October November 27, 1824 Today is the birthday of the New England poet…
Phebe Ann Holder: Songs of May Blossoms and October’s Calm
Today’s Garden Words were featured on The Daily Gardener podcast: Click here to see the complete show notes for this episode. Words inspired by the garden are the sweetest, most beautiful words of all. Phebe A. Holder November 27, 2020 Today marks the birthday of Phebe Ann Holder, the New England poet born on this…
Thanks
by Aileen Fisher T Thanks for time to be together, turkey, talk, and tangy weather. H for harvest stored away, home, and hearth, and holiday. A for autumn’s frosty art and abundance in the heart. N for neighbors, and November, nice things, new things to remember. K for kitchen, kettles’ croon, kith, and kin expected…
A Cobbler Crust
by Sarah Addison Allen It looked like the world was covered in a cobbler crust of brown sugar and cinnamon. As featured onThe Daily Gardener podcast: Words inspired by the garden are the sweetest, most beautiful words of all.
Chestnuts
by John Evelyn Chestnuts are delicacies for princes and a lusty and masculine food for rustics and make women well-complexioned. As featured onThe Daily Gardener podcast: Words inspired by the garden are the sweetest, most beautiful words of all.
A Gardener’s Thanksgiving Abundance: Chestnuts, Cobblers, and Words of Thanks
Today’s Garden Words were featured on The Daily Gardener podcast: Click here to see the complete show notes for this episode. Words inspired by the garden are the sweetest, most beautiful words of all. A Gardener’s Thanksgiving Abundance. November 26, 2020 As autumn deepens into its final, flavorful days, our senses fill with the season’s…
The innocent in marble: William Lisle Bowles on Chantrey’s “Sleeping Children”
by William Lisle Bowles So breathing and so beautiful, they seem, As if to die in youth were but to dream Of spring and flowers! Of flowers? Yet nearer stand There is a lily in one little hand, So sleeps that child, not faded, though in death, And seeming still to hear…
The pleasures of planning: Vita Sackville-West on the gardener’s winter work
by Vita Sackville-West If it is true that one of the greatest pleasures of gardening lies in looking forward, then the planning of next year’s beds and borders must be one of the most agreeable occupations in the gardener’s calendar. This should make October and November particularly pleasant months, for then we may begin to…
Lessons from fading leaves: Martine Bailey on November’s quiet solitude
by Martine Bailey, American historical novelist, A Taste for Nightshade The next morning I had to get outside, and so began a period of long walks in the park. Early November continued bright, with the last sun of the year shining low and coppery over the woods. Striding through heaps of rusty autumn leaves, I…
A patchwork of gardens: Amy Stewart on carrying plants through a lifetime
by Amy Stewart Like a chain letter, I will take a plant from this garden to the next and from the next garden to the one after that, and so on, until someday I am an old woman nurturing along with a patchwork quilt of a garden, with cuttings and scraps from every garden I…
The winter garden remembers: Beverley Nichols on November’s quiet beauty
by Beverley Nichols Most people, early in November, take last looks at their gardens and are then prepared to ignore them until the spring. I am quite sure that a garden doesn’t like to be ignored like this. It doesn’t like to be covered in dust sheets, as though it were an old…
A wintry dreamscape: Archibald Lampman’s “In November”
by Archibald Lampman The leafless forests slowly yield To the thick-driving snow. A little while And night shall darken down. In shouting file The woodmen’s carts go by me homeward-wheeled, Past the thin fading stubbles, half concealed, Where the last plowman follows still his row, Turning black furrows through the whitening field. Far off the…
Do you have a Poem
for The Daily Gardener?
email jennifer@thedailygardener.org
