Sharon's blog: Searching for color

Being an artist, being a visual, being older than most, I must have color in my world. Some days, like today, I have to search for it.

It's darkish, it's dreary, the sun peeped through for a few hours this morning. The time changed last night, but my days mostly are spent clock free anyway, so I only notice the difference in the light of day. Today's light is waning, but the shine of tonight's moon promises enough light to read by, if only the clouds drift away.

My friend in DC tells me it's the Beaver Moon. I used to know most moon names, Aunt Bett and Ninna referred to the moons by their Native American names; I should have remembered. At any rate, I have my friend to remind me.

• Full Beaver Moon – November This was the time to set beaver traps before the swamps froze, to ensure a supply of warm winter furs. Another interpretation suggests that the name Full Beaver Moon comes from the fact that the beavers are now actively preparing for winter. It is sometimes also referred to as the Frosty Moon.

Farmer's Almanac

So today I again went searching for color. I was also going to clean out another flower bed. I got a little side tracked. It happens quite often these days.

For years I've been calling this early and late bloomer Sophy's Rose. That's the name on the metal tag, and I always leave metal tags attached. Sophy provides me with the first rose of summer and the last rose of autumn. But now I find that the name doesn't fit the rose. My friends who know all about roses tell me this rose is misnamed. How terrible to go through life with the wrong name. No matter what she proves to be, I think I'll always call her Sophy. She's answered to Sophy for years. Calling her Delores or Lydia might only serve to confuse, both the rose and me.

Sophy she will always be.

I walked up the hill to the daylily bed. It's the one I was thinking of cleaning. But I was met with the hot pink face of another bloom, and yet another.

New blooms, new buds, new growth, all matching the changing colors of the bushes that belong to the neighbor behind me. I can't possibly clear out this bed. It still has color, and some of that color is wrapped in seeds that birds might need if it snows. I think this bed might need to wait till spring. I think I'll just continue to enjoy the color.

There's just something about red. It's necessary. In its various shades it yells, it shouts, it screams, 'Look at me, look at me, look at me!" And heads turn and faces smile to see that glorious color on a dreary day.

I had a white garden for years. It's along the eastern end of my house. It got only the early morning light and was shaded by a huge oak that I planted 35 years ago when I owned the lot beside my house. The oak sat just on the far side of the lot line.

I sold that extra lot a few years ago and a house was built by new owners. It was a cute house, but for whatever reason it's had 4 owners in the past 10 years. Seems economic problems have created traffic even in my little neighborhood. The most recent owner, who has now sold and is moving away again, decided when he bought the house 2 years ago that he didn't like the oak tree. Idiot.  So he had it removed last year, even though it was a wonderful tree. He said he was afraid it would lose branches if we ever had another ice storm like the one of '09. He was afraid the branches would smash his garage. So the magnificent oak tree was the loser.  And that owner is now gone. That's probably a good thing since I harbored ill feelings over the oak tree.

So I lost, too. I lost the shade on my white garden. I lost that glorious oak.

My Russian sage finally looks lovely now that it's cooler, but it struggled most of the summer. It's still located in the white garden that I used to have. I need to move it, but I don't have another oak tree to give it shade.

I didn't get a thing done in the garden this morning. I did, however, find the color I needed.

And maybe tonight I'll wander outside again, finding color by the light of the Beaver Moon.

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