Inspiration
On nearby Star Island, Celia Thaxter tended her garden amidst an idyllic yet rugged coastal environment a century ago. I have visited the island on a handful of summer days and always leave inspired. I leave you with her poem entitled RockWeed 
So bleak these shores, wind-swept and all the year Washed by the wild Atlantic's restless tide, You would not dream that flowers the woods hold dear Amid such desolation dare abide.
Yet when the bitter winter breaks, some day,
With soft winds fluttering her garments' hem, Up from the sweet South comes the lingering May, Sets the first wind-flower trembling on its stem;
Scatters her violets with lavish hands,
White, blue, and amber; calls the columbine, Till like clear flame in lonely nooks, gay bands Swinging their scarlet bells, obey the sign; Makes buttercups and dandelions blaze, And throws in glimmering patches here and there, The little eyebright's pearls, and gently lays The impress of her beauty everywhere.
Later, June bids the sweet wild rose to blow;
Wakes from its dream the drowsy pimpernel; Unfolds the bindweed's ivory buds, that glow As delicately blushing as a shell.
Then purple Iris smiles, and hour by hour,
The fair procession multiplies; and soon, In clusters creamy white, the elder-flower Waves its broad disk against the rising moon.
O'er quiet beaches shelving to the sea
Tall mulleins sway, and thistles; all day long Flows in the wooing water dreamily, With subtile music in its slumberous song. Herb-robert hears, and princess'-feather bright, And goldthread clasps the little skull-cap blue; And troops of swallows, gathering for their flight, O'er goldenrod and asters hold review. The barren island dreams in flowers, while blow The south winds, drawing haze o'er sea and land; Yet the great heart of ocean, throbbing slow, Makes the frail blossoms vibrate where they stand; And hints of heavier pulses soon to shake Its mighty breast when summer is no more, And devastating waves sweep on and break, And clasp with girdle white the iron shore. Close folded, safe within the sheltering seed, Blossom and bell and leafy beauty hide; Nor icy blast, nor bitter spray they heed, But patiently their wondrous change abide. The heart of God through his creation stirs, We thrill to feel it, trembling as the flowers That die to live again, -- his messengers, To keep faith firm in these sad souls of ours. The waves of Time may devastate our lives, The frosts of age may check our failing breath, They shall not touch the spirit that survives Triumphant over doubt and pain and death.
Life is Short Travel Well!
Peggy
Serendipity Traveler | 
Does anyone want to go sailing in The British Virgin Islands this winter? It is easy, relaxing, and quite simply a blissful adventure. Our family has sailed these waters numerous times. The islands are beautiful, snorkeling is super, and the trade winds gentle and comfortable for the average active woman. If you like islands and think this could be a perfect way to escape old man winter ....email me at