Sunday January 29, 2023
It's Sunday Morning
Of the journalists that I admire, perhaps none stands taller in my life that Charles Kuralt, a fellow North Carolinian who opened my eyes to the wonders of the wider world - whether one reach those wonders by plane, or a casual stroll through one’s neighborhood. F2S is borrowing an idea that Kuralt developed for the long-running CBS News show, Sunday Morning, where Kuralt paired first-rate videography and sound to create a few moments for people to simply sit and admire and be made aware anew of the beauty around them.
We are pairing poetry and photos of gardens, pictures I’ve taken over the past year at spots both here and abroad in Spain.
From us to you - happy Sunday morning.
The Glory of the Garden
by Rudyard Kipling
Our England is a garden that is full of stately views,
Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,
With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by;
But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.
For where the old thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall,
You'll find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of all,
The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dungpits and the tanks,
The rollers, carts and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the planks.
And there you'll see the gardeners, the men and ’prentice boys
Told off to do as they are bid and do it without noise;
For, except when seeds are planted and we shout to scare the birds,
The Glory of the Garden it abideth not in words.
And some can pot begonias and some can bud a rose,
And some are hardly fit to trust with anything that grows;
But they can roll and trim the lawns and sift the sand and loam,
For the Glory of the Garden occupieth all who come.
Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made
By singing:—‘Oh, how beautiful,’ and sitting in the shade,
While better men than we go out and start their working lives
At grubbing weeds from gravel-paths with broken dinner-knives.
There’s not a pair of legs so thin, there’s not a head so thick,
There’s not a hand so weak and white, nor yet a heart so sick,
But it can find some needful job that’s crying to be done,
For the Glory of the Garden glorifieth every one.
Then seek your job with thankfulness and work till further orders,
If it’s only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders;
And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to harden,
You will find yourself a partner in the Glory of the Garden.
Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him sees
That half a proper gardeners work is done upon his knees,
So when your work is finished, you can wash your hands and pray
For the Glory of the Garden that it may not pass away!
And the Glory of the Garden it shall never pass away!
Will your photos be next?
Have photos of nature, grouped around a theme, that you’d like to share? Email editoratF2S@gmail.com.
Love Kuralt