“Figurines de pierre (stone) dans un potager,” between 1859 and 1910, by Eugène Trutat, via Bibliothèque de Toulouse Commons on flickr.
Unfortunately, the old image is not very clear.
The location of the vegetable garden was not noted, but the Bibliothèque assigns it to the Germany album. Trutat took a large number of pictures while traveling in the Rhineland-Palatinate region in the early 1920s.
This photo was among a set of 1938 photos of Baltimore, Maryland, by John Vachon, via Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division (all four pictures).
“Resident of Dover, Delaware,” July 1938, by John Vachon.
“Morning mail, Omaha, Nebraska,” November 1938, by John Vachon.
“On the porch of a general store in Hinesville, Georgia,” April 1941, by Jack Delano.
And this.
A repeat from December 2012. . . . I love this bleary little photo.
Paul and Henri at Cornusson, Parisot Commune, in the Pyrenees, France, ca. 1870 — like yesterday’s post — by Eugène Trutat, via the Bibliothèque de Toulouse Commons on flickr.
As from the house your mother seesYou playing round the garden trees,So you may see, if you will lookThrough the windows of this book,Another child, far, far away,And in another garden, play.But do not think you can at all,By knocking on the window, callThat child to hear you. He intentIs all on his play-business bent.He does not hear; he will not look,Nor yet be lured out of this book.For, long ago, the truth to say,He has grown up and gone away,And it is but a child of airThat lingers in the garden there.— Robert Louis Stevenson, “To Any Reader”
The walled garden of Chalet Magazin, Ax-les-Thermes, France,” July 1906, by Eugène Trutat, via Bibliothèque de Toulouse Commons on flickr.
From over the wall I could hear the laughter of women
in a foreign tongue, in the sun-rinsed air of the city. . . .
. . . the sound filled up the garden and lifted
like bubbles spilling over the bricks that enclosed them. . .
— Mary-Sherman Willis, from “The Laughter of Women“
On a weekend walk in the southern suburbs of Stuttgart, I paused near a bus stop to admire the long uncut grass between the sidewalk and the street.
(Click on any of the thumbnails above to scroll through larger versions of the photos.)
Many public green spaces in the area have been left unmown this spring, and they could hardly be more beautiful.
Sumer is i-cumin in—
Lhude sing, cuccu!
Groweth sed and bloweth med
And springth the wude nu.
Sing, cuccu![Summer has arrived,
Loudly sing, cuckoo!
The seed grows
and the meadow blooms
And the wood springs anew,
Sing, cuckoo!]— Anonymous, from “Sumer is i-cumin in“
ADDENDUM: I just realized that today this blog is four years old. Thanks for visiting!
enclos*ure 