#and make my own mead from my honeybees

[thedruidsforest]

The biggest thing that keeps me moving I think is my vision of the future, of waking up and drinking coffee every morning with my husband and our rescue dogs on our homestead in the forest, picking berries and fruit and veggies to preserve later, tending to the cows and sheep and bees, providing everything for ourselves and living in our own little circle of the world, away from everything and yet so absolutely entwined with everything.

[sweetfirebird]

the honeybee and the bear

This year's birthday story is a short one, an AU for A Little Familiar. I might do another but it depends on my brain right now so... idk.

For those who don't know, around my birthday each year, I try to write a fun thing to please myself and then I share it with everyone. Sometimes it ends up being a full novella, sometimes it's fanfic, sometimes it's stuff like this. An arranged marriage AU for Bartleby and Piotr.

Warnings: vague sex talk/sexy times, mention of drinking, arranged marriage stuff

A Little Familiar belongs to R. Cooper (blah blah blah suck it, tumblr)

the honeybee and the bear

Bee and Piotr stared at one another in silence.

The only light was the fire in the hearth at the center of the large, sturdy roundhouse where Piotr lived alone. It was strange for someone to live so completely alone as Piotr did; outside of the village, with no other houses nearby. Bee had always supposed Piotr’s status and power must make others uncomfortable. Perhaps that was also part of why Bee was there—why the elders had decided that Piotr could not be alone. Never mind that wise ones usually kept their own council on these matters. They had approached the village elders this time, and it had been decided that Piotr of the wise and canny—Piotr the bear, it was whispered, for truly he was the size of a standing bear, or could seem to be—needed someone from among the village. Perhaps because he lived near, if not in, their village and was practically one of them. Bee could not imagine any other reason.

Piotr, like many of the canny, had no objections to the company of villagers with no knowledge of spells or healing. A fact Bee knew quite well, having seen Piotr slip away with a few of them over the years, usually after festivals or weddings Piotr was there to bless or witness.

He had never slipped away with Bee, although Bee had the same parts as all of those Piotr had disappeared into the shadows with. It could have been that Bee did not act as many of them did, or dress only as a man, but he didn’t think one such as Piotr would mind one such as Bee. Piotr was odd, there was no doubt, never fully a villager yet not living among his own kind, a giant in size and thought and power, handsome, if quiet, not once to be seen laughing uproariously or getting into scrapes or fights, or, say, falling from an apple tree while wearing brand new skirts and tearing the hose covering his bum on the way down and turning to discover his village’s wise one staring at him and getting so flustered that he had hiked his skirts and ran home.

Bee had been sixteen at the time. Piotr seventeen. Neither of them ever spoke of it.

Odd people recognized other odd people. And Bee was not the only one in the village or any of the other villages nearby who wore what clothes pleased him, and did the work of man or woman as that also pleased him.

So then, Piotr did not care for Bee. That, unfortunately, must be true. They could have gotten along. They were close in age, after all. They would not have been close friends, but Piotr did not have friends, at least, not outside of other wise ones, but he conversed with the elders and any villagers who came to him for aid.

Yet not with Bee.

Not that Bee had not tried. When he had first come of age, he had tried often. Trailing behind Piotr when Piotr showed up for market days with honey and eggs and herbs. Standing near him at festivals, even, once, offering to fetch him some of his mead, an offer Piotr had declined.

Bee was, he knew, somewhat skinny of leg and plump in the backside and soft around the middle. He was freckled and, much of the time, sunburnt to a shade warmer than his pale brown winter color. His hair he kept short, because it would not be braided and it would not lie flat. It curled tightly when wet, although that did not stop him from frolicking in the woods when it rained.

He had spent an afternoon in this very roundhouse after getting caught in a storm trying to do just that, and, from nowhere, Piotr had appeared in the woods to drag him here, and made him sit in front of the hearth drinking broth while wearing one of Piotr’s shirts. Which had been thrilling…at least at first.

Piotr had not said more than six words to him the entire time.

Bee had been eighteen years then. They did not speak of that incident either.

Piotr did not like Bee. That was the heart of the matter. And it made sense. Bee had few gifts to offer anyone, much less someone like Piotr in his neat roundhouse with his well-protected chicken coops, and his blooming gardens, and immense, almost terrifying power.

Bee was, he had been told, good at kissing, and decent at singing, and a fun partner to dance with. He sewed well and was surprisingly strong for someone his size, and he could charm bees and brew mead and melomel that no one else could rival. It was why he was called Bee, well, some of the reason, the rest was that it simply a part of his name. But no one ever called him that anymore.

Except for Piotr, once. The one and only time he’d ever said it. Which had been mere hours ago.

At their wedding.

Bee still did not understand, not any of it; not why the elders and the wise ones had decided this, why they had chosen him—unless the answer was pity—or why Piotr had agreed. Three months had gone by since the announcement, and they must have discussed it with Piotr since he had stood by them when it had been called out. Three months for him to object or simply refuse.

Yet he had not.

Perhaps he had been waiting for Bee to do so.

Bee snorted to himself at the thought, then caught Piotr lifting his great black eyebrows as if surprised, and realized he had been standing there, staring, since the moment Piotr had walked into the house and the door had closed behind him.

Piotr still wore his shirt, handsomely trimmed with embroidery, a gift from Bee’s mother for the ceremony. Piotr, despite his ties to the wise ones, had no family to make such things for him. Oh, the wise had brought food and spelled trinkets and plenty of other gifts, strangely offering them to Bee alone and not Piotr, but it was Bee’s family who had dressed them, who had beaded the headdress Bee had removed hours ago, and clucked their tongues on whether Bee ought to wear a tunic and pants or skirts with an apron, and who had made the quilt that lay over Piotr’s bed at this very moment.

Bee spent the past few hours by the hearth staring at that quilt, wondering who had brought it in and if it had been Piotr, though obviously, it must not have been.

Piotr’s cheeks were flushed. He’d had something to drink, then, if not Bee’s mead.

“If I was that objectionable, you should have said no,” Bee muttered, and plonked himself back down into the seat by the hearth. There was a spinning wheel near him, he had noticed it once or twice whilst staring moodily at the quilt on their marriage bed, and he considered it again now rather than look at his frowning husband. Piotr did not make his own cloth or thread. The presence of the wheel was something of a surprise. He didn’t remember it from his previous visit to the roundhouse.

“Said no?” Piotr asked. He had a voice to make Bee shiver, which was hardly fair, especially since he spoke so little. It was husky but soft. A pleasant sort of voice that sounded like how it would likely feel to stroke Piotr’s beard, or so Bee had sometimes thought.

“Why didn’t you?” That is what Bee had longed to ask for three months, since yesterday when the feasting had begun and they had offered each other bread and salt for their betrothal, and then this morning when they had walked the length of the village side-by-side but not touching, or tonight, when Bee had been crowned in his headdress and Piotr had worn his crown of wheat and they had been married. But he could not look at Piotr and do it, so he stared at the wheel; it did not have a single nick in it, as though it was newly carved. “Why did you not say no?”

“Say no?” Piotr echoed, and Bee crossly wondered if Piotr had consumed his mead after all, too much of it.

“First, you do not talk to me, and now you will only repeat what I say.” It was quite a lovely wheel, actually. And this chair that he sat in was cushioned, a far cry from the one he remembered from all those years ago. In fact, that chair was still in the roundhouse, near the bed, stacked high with scrolls in writing Bee would never understand. But the roundhouse had many changes since then, and why shouldn’t it? It had been years. There was another, smaller roundhouse next door, which was perhaps where so much of Piotr’s jars and herbs and ingredients had gone, leaving this house looking more like a home than a wise one’s cabinet. A chest occupied a space near the opposite wall, and rugs lined the floor, the thick sort of rugs made beyond the mountains, which must have been brought by the wise ones.

“I…” said Piotr, then said nothing. He stood there, not far from the doorway, looking no less giant for being in his own house. Outside, a few voices could be heard. The drunken revelers who had walked the bridegroom to his home and would now carry on their reveling with the rest of the village. All of them no doubt thinking of what most newly married couples would be doing once finally alone. Which was, at the very least, being closer to each other than Bee and Piotr were now.

“I still don’t understand,” Bee admitted, more sad than angry. He had never been able to hold onto anger. “Why you would say yes when you do not even like me.”

Piotr was silent. As he was always silent. He scratched his temple without removing his slightly crooked crown of wheat, then moved forward, stopping just near the hearth to extend a hand.

Bee belatedly noticed Piotr held a cloth, and in the cloth was a piece of cake, rich with raisins and honey.

“You didn’t eat.” Piotr chose to say this, of all things.

Bee raised his head, quite a bit, to meet his eye. “Didn’t eat?” he repeated, since apparently, he was as bad as Piotr when it came to speaking with his spouse. A frown was his answer. It was not a mean frown. Piotr was not like a bear where it counted. “Oh.” Bee took the cloth and cake from him. “I forgot to.”

He’d been nervous. But the house was comfortable and the hearth was warm, and Piotr had brought him a gift, so Bee ate his cake in two messy bites, and thanked him politely, and then put the cloth down.

“You often forget.” Piotr chose to say this as well, continuing to frown. “To get inside when a storm is coming. To reinforce your seams instead of only making your clothes pretty. That others can see you when you sneak away for kissing. To eat, even a piece of cake, on your wedding day.”

“Sorry.” Bee sniffed. “But I did not force you to marry me, Piotr the bear.” He would not feel sorry for himself…well, not sorrier for himself. He had chosen this, selfishly, rather than see Piotr married to someone else. But being reminded that he was not good enough was a lot for his wedding night.

“No.” Piotr returned to barely speaking, letting that hang between them until Bee wiped his nose and looked up.

“No?” Bee scoffed. “Then why did you? Why did you say yes? If it was because you could see that my heart was at your feet, then you should have left me alone, rather than offer me…” He did not mean to glance to the bed, but the quilt was bright and lovely and he couldn’t help himself. “I thought you might at least hold my hand as we walked. That you might be eager to have me, if nothing else, and I could perhaps build from there. But you spend hours drinking rather than—”

“Bartleby.”

The name, in Piotr’s voice, drew Bee’s eyes back up to his beloved husband’s face.

“What?” His voice had gone faint. He could not have said why, except possibly how steadily Piotr looked at him, as if he was not as drunk as Bee had imagined. Perhaps not even more than warmed by a single cup.

“When they came to me and told me I needed someone to help me, that I was too alone, they also told me they would find me someone. Another wise one, perhaps from over the mountains, or someone from a nearby village, if not this one.”

“This is the most you have ever spoken to me,” Bee observed, waving Piotr on when Piotr stopped and scowled at the hearth.

“What am I to say to you?” Piotr remarked, looking as frustrated as a normal man and not someone who had unfrozen a river during the harshest of harsh winters. “I am…dull.” He gestured around him. “Despite my efforts.”

Bee kept himself from repeating, “Efforts?” but only by clasping his hands together and biting his tongue. “Many would have married you,” he said instead. Icily, but he said it.

“I asked for you.” Piotr turned to face him while Bee was left speechless. “Why didn’t you say no?”

“Say no?” Bee echoed in disbelief. “Why didn’t I? You….” He looked away and swallowed several times, but it did not ease the tightness in his throat. “You know why I didn’t. Everyone knows.” He wiped his nose again, on the back of his sleeve, and when he spoke, his voice was strained and high. “This wheel is a pretty thing.”

“Do you like it?”

Bee slowly raised his head, then even more slowly let his gaze follow. “It’s for me?”

Piotr glanced around the house rather than meet his stare. “You are someone who likes prettiness. You should have a pretty home, if not a pretty husband.”

“Oh.” Bee was briefly cross again, then anything but. “Pretty is not the word for you, my bear. My strong one.” He cleared his throat and tried to raise it above a needy whisper. “You could have spoken to me before.”

“I…” The wise one who could stop nature itself seemed to flush with color. “I was content to be near you. I didn’t know you wanted words. I am,” there, he stopped to study the floor, “too alone, as they said.”

Bee sat, overwhelmed, for several moments, before taking a deep breath. “You were too alone,” he murmured at last, and then smiled, first softly, only to himself, and then wider. “Your crown is crooked,” he observed, and curled a finger in invitation.

He was nonetheless surprised when Piotr studied him for only a moment, then lowered himself onto his knees in front of Bee’s chair.

Bee was breathless and did not bother to try to hide it. He had removed his headdress when he escaped here, and regretted now a little. It was heavy, and he would have preferred flowers. But it might have been nice to have it removed by Piotr, along with the rest of his wedding finery.

“I did not…that is…after this morning, the walk, I did not expect you to want me.” Bee straightened the crown of wheat, then dug his fingers into Piotr’s thick black hair, pleased as a cat when this was allowed. Piotr’s hair was coarser than he’d imagined, quite lovely. “I did not prepare as you might have expected me to.”

“I expected nothing.” This close, he could feel Piotr’s reply as well as hear it. Piotr put his hands to Bee’s ankles. They were large hands, warm through Bee’s skirts and the hose beneath. “As I said, I am not pretty.”

“Pretty?” Bee could not stop himself from touching and tugging Piotr’s beard. “I helped make that quilt. I listened to others tell me of their past loves and marriage beds, and I thought of you, and I hoped. Do you understand yet, my strong, handsome bear?” A thought occurred to him and he gentled his already gentle tone. “If you don’t, I will help you understand. Is that not why I am here? To help you?”

“Is it?” Piotr met his stare. “I will make you happy.” He frowned. “I will try to make you happy. I know I am not—”

Bee shushed him with a kiss, soft and warm and slow. His eyes fell closed. The fire was at his back. One of Piotr’s hands left his ankle to cup his face. Piotr tasted of mead, but faintly. Bee did not get a chance to pull away before Piotr kissed him back, and he found himself sighing and leaning forward as many more such kisses were exchanged.

After a while, he was more pleased than ever that he had chosen skirts for his wedding. Piotr found his way beneath them quite easily for a man who had never dealt with them in such a way before. His beard was soft against Bee’s thighs, his mouth hot.

“The bed,” Bee thought to say after some time, his skirts at his waist, his husband’s head in his lap, Piotr’s hair between his spread fingers. He did not think Piotr heard him, and forgot his protest quickly enough.

But when the crown of wheat was thoroughly dislodged, and Bee had spent into his husband’s mouth, he was picked up and placed atop the quilt on their bed. He reached for Piotr immediately and Piotr came, settling carefully over him.

“That,” Bee told him sleepily, kissing the side of his neck, “is why I did not say no.”

They did not say much to each other in the time after that, but this time, Bee did not mind the silence.

[thefandomimagines]

Fic Recs~

So my last post of Fic Recs was pretty popular, and I wanted to do another to continue giving shout outs to fics I love and the amazing authors and creators! I may consider making this a continuous thing, maybe biweekly?

**Also some of these stories are for audiences 18+, so if you are underage, please follow the guidelines set by the authors.**

Star Wars:

Sweaty Hands, Reluctant Hearts by @221bshrlocked : (Mando x reader, Angst & Smut.) The fact that Mando has a breeding kink isn't shocking to anyone, also showing Cobb Vanth who's boss

It Was the Kid's Idea by @the-witty-pen-name : (Mando x Reader, ft. Grogu. 100% fluff. Tooth-rotting sweetness!) I love the idea of Grogu making a bunch of valentines and him being absolutely covered in glitter!

Boba Fett seggzy Alphabet by @pedroepascal : (Boba Fett x reader) I mean Boba Fett + seggzy scenarios, what more could a gal want?

He is Yours by @just-iimagine (Obi Wan Kenobi x Reader) I live for the idea of Obi Wan as a dad.

Dar'manda by @talesfromtheguild (Mando x Reader) A different take on breaking Din's creed.

Marvel:

F*ck, Marry, Kill by @buckysmischief : (Avengers x platonic reader) This was great! We all know we would love to play this with the Avengers.

The Wedding Date by @river-soul : (Bucky Barnes x Reader) We love a good fake boyfriend story.

Love Potion Number Nine by @iliveiloveiwrite (Bucky x reader, peter parker x reader) This was adorable. I love that Peter was scared of Bucky.

True Love by @trillian-anders (Bucky Barnes x Reader) Who doesn't love the idea of stripper Bucky?

DC:

For Later by @mermaidxatxheart (Arthur Curry x Reader) This one is HOT.

Here Right Now by @221bshrlocked (Bruce Wayne x Reader) who doesn't love the idea of a one night stand with Batman himself?

Pushin' Me Away by @thebigbadbatswife (Bruce Wayne x Reader) I feel like Bruce always seems to almost self sabotage.

Kingsman:

The Thunder Rolls by @reevesdriver (Agent Whiskey x Reader) Oof. This one hurt, not gonna lie.

Bridgerton:

I Wonder What Its Like To Be Loved By You by @iliveiloveiwrite (Benedict Bridgerton x reader) TBH Benny is my fave Bridgerton brother.

To Have and To Hold by @regencyslxt (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader) We love a good wedding!

Game of Thrones:

The Bastard and The Prince by @just-iimagine (Oberyn Martell x Reader) I can't wait reading the rest of this series!

The Red Viper and The Honeybee by @sunflowerheartsandstarryskies (Oberyn Martell x Reader Bridgerton AU) This was super cute! Not to mention the Bridgerton AU.

The Devil All The Time:

**Fair warning- most all of the fics I read from this fandom are all dark! or noncon, so read at your own risk.**

Final Warning by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor (Dark!Lee Bodecker x Reader) Obviously Lee would stop at nothing to get what he wants.

Rainy Night in Meade by @slothspaghettiwrites (Lee Bodecker x Reader) This one is a soft!Lee, and it's absolutely sweet!

Summer Break(down) by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor (Dark!Lee Bodecker x reader) We love a good revenge plot!

That's all for now, I will continue to post fic recs as I go, I am thinking of doing them bi-weekly!

[officialleehadan]

Drunken Honey

Eskyl sighted, and used a spoon to fish a drunken honeybee out of his mead.

“Ah, Bald-Face is here,” Zain noted, and let the little bee crawl over his fingertip until her wings were dry. No bee of Bald-Face’s would ever sting without a pressing reason, and he handled the tiny lady without fear. “Good.”

“You sent a message?”

As soon as you arrived. Come now, how likely is it that you teleport into my tower with a string of children and don’t need the both of us to clean up your mess?”

“I may have to stab you a bit.”

“Anywhere but the face. Shall we?”

Eskyl grumbled good-naturedly, but followed his old friend down the stairs to the front hall. He could hear the children out in Zain’s herb garden, but at the sound of their footsteps on the stairs, all three drifted in. Little Kia immediately ran over and Eskyl obligingly lifted her onto his shoulders.

“I heard you got stabbed,” Bald-face said mildly as he walked in the door, accompanied by several honeybees, and an handful of hornets. This was relatively normal for him, however, and Eskyl ignored them. He clasped hands with the druid, and got a hug in return. “That seems rude. I assume we’re off to have a conversation about it?”

“I was thinking on it,” Eskyl agreed, much more cheerful now that his side, tended by Zain’s careful magic, was healed. “He’s getting too big for his breeches.”

“Dangerous habit, that. Tends to attract the wrong kind of attention.”

“He’s calling himself the Master of Evil,” Zain said from the stairs, and bent to kiss his lover, who was still shadowing the children protectively. No better nanny than a merciless assassin. Eskyl was glad to have him around. “I’ve yet to decide how offended I am about it.”

Bald-Face dropped his bags on the floor for Zain’s undead servants to deal with, and leaned on his gold-wood honeycomb-carved staff. “I thought that was one of your titles? Didn’t you get that one when you raised all those skeletons what, ten years back?”

“Twelve, and to be fair, I only destroyed the one kingdom, but it’s still mine.”

“He killed our parents,” Adelaide said, cold anger flowing off her pretty face. Eskyl considered her and caught Zain’s eye. The necromancer blinked slowly, no doubt pulling magic over his eyes, and looked her over. His lips pursed, and he nodded once to Eskyl. Eskyl sighed. One more thing to worry about. Adelaide had magic. They would have to do something about that. “He ruined our home.”

“A bad ruler is worse than none,” Bald-Face told her kindly, and offered a hug. She thought about it, glanced at Eskyl, and accepted. Eskyl approved. Bald-Face was the best of them, and the one who could help heal her grief. “And this young creature will get what he deserves, don’t you worry about that.”

“You’re nice!” Kia said, and wiggled until Eskyl put her down. Trevor watched from the door, one hand on his sword. He trusted Eskyl, and Eskyl’s old friends, but they had one too many close calls for him to let his guard slip easily. Kia, however, had no such hesitation, and giggled when Bald-Face lifted her easily. “You have bees!”

“I do indeed,” Bald-face said, although Kia didn’t see the hard, vicious glitter in his eyes when he said it. Eskyl once again reminded himself how lucky they were that Bald-Face was a friend, not foe. He and Zain together couldn’t take on their druid once he was in a proper temper. “My ladies treat me well. You needn’t fear them.”

“They’re nice?”

“Dear and sweet as honey. I promise.”

Kia, with the trust of a three-year-old, let a hornet crawl onto her hand and beamed up at Bald-Face. “It tickles!”

It would take a stronger man than Bald-Face to resist the little princess’s delight. Eskyl saw the moment Bald-Face decided that he would move Heaven and Hell for these two girls.

Zain snickered unrepentantly and combed his hand through his elf’s silver hair. Nahalis, who possessed a fearsome sense of humor and also liked Bald-Face, whispered something to him, and Zain roared with laughter.

Eskyl decided he really didn’t need to know the joke. Anything that made Zain laugh like that was sure to be ghoulish.

“I brought a few of my ladies with me,” Bald-Face told Eskyl when Adelaide reclaimed her sister and chased the energetic toddler back outside to play. Trevor ghosted behind them, talking with Nahalis, who seemed to be giving the young fighter tips on knife-work. “Now, tell me all about what we face, and perhaps we can make a plan that will suit.”

Bald-Face produced a bottle from his pockets, and poured out for them. This mead was almost fiery on the tongue, with an odd sort of sting that made Eskyl eye the bottle warily.

“He found a type of honeybee that builds immense hives and kills everything that comes near,” Zain explained, taking slow, careful sips of his own mug. “But the honey is magnificent.”

“They’re a delight,” Bald-Face said, the only living man who liked them enough to seed his whole home and Zain’s rock-maze with killer bees, giant hornets, and whatever else caught his eye. “And very reasonable, all things considered. I only take a little of their honey, and keep their hives free of pests in return.”

“Negotiating with bees.”

“Well I have to trade something! I can’t just rob them!”

The sensibilities of a druid. Eskyl would never understand, but he was no less grateful for his old friend. “You’re the only one who thinks of a honey harvest as robbery.”

Zain snickered. Bald-Face rolled his eyes, long used to their teasing, even after so many years with only the occasional letter between them.  

“It is robbery!” Bald-Face told him, prim and fussy even as he waved his hand over their mugs, protecting them from the over-eager honeybees who wanted the contents. “Now, tell me all about this little problem of yours. I imagine between we three old monsters, we can come up with something very suitable indeed for this rude young upstart.”

+++

Unforged, Unforgiven:

Fourteen years ago, Eskyl’s  wife and child were murdered. Fourteen years ago, Eskyl’s rage leveled  half the country, and left thousands running in terror. Fourteen years  ago, Eskyl vanished.

But now the heroes are dead, and the only one who can challenge a terrible new evil is one Old Monster.

Old Monster

Into the Lair

Taking out the Trash

When the Ice-Wind Blows

Under Tree, Over Blade

Flower Crowns and Dancers

Under Cover of Darkness (Subscriber Only)

Age-Old Promise

Curse-Blade (Subscriber Only)

Old Friends

+++

The Little People

Bald-Face is an old Druid, and there is a reason no one risks his wrath. After all, the most deadly creatures of the great forest are the ones who cannot be fought, and take no prisoners.

Build a House of Paper

Build a House of Bone

At Sundown

+++

More Stories!

+++

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“And forward statement after having thee, wilt not again”)

And forward statement after having thee,  wilt not again. Drops from the  green, and vanished me in this ring, knowing for  throned queen Mary: A Drama queen often clasp  and takes long theyll take the armys ground, we can scarcely true. Sweet  and weary, heart that Love is but slightes, as the  mill: but where these I see the starry head  towards thy soul, or more paused alone, I  must surprise thee as I. Some 

deserves the law. Sweet you had it  oer the fear to make a  noble heard them all: one, and his Pegasus,  or rather served together Julia (whom on his  lady askd, red and lo, thy breast before; my love, and strength  resemblest efforts with honeybees) to  lead away; my works of beauty mounts the loved  and rummaging, in grave is like name  and rememberd my capabilities; 

but the shee w as a nice as late; and I have clothed,  she hired, and the midst of weakness grope,  and gave gigantic gentlemanly  game, not only bedded strike them mine own selfe desert sand is,  was blood we had slant the treasure! Some poor  many a level mead, and finite clods, unto my  heavnly fires blaze. But somehow, thou shalt not  longs to bind my old that, happy 

free from one by, Gray nursed at all  regret. Loue, some rough, and w hen he seeming hair; and as well; it is surely,  with equal—when we done so. Thought ere  Though winning drifts that in times ladies forces we rust Life in love  all ring out, you know, than anomaly— one said Cyril.  Made for every world is what never  warm her feeling away, leauing me a  sweete what he was perfumed― the 

[catherindonald]

Turn Your Yard into Flowery Mead

By Beth Schreibman-Gehring, Chairman of Education for The Western Reserve Herb Society unit of The Herb Society of America

I don’t know about you, but I’m one of those gardeners who see a perfectly manicured lawn and thinks to herself that there must be something more. Here in America, we seem to have an obsession with the pristine, green and weed free lawn, but is this is at all practical for the world we live in now? Lawn grass is the largest crop that we grow, and it serves no real purpose and requires so much water to keep it green and alive.

Lawns as we know them today began to appear in the 18th century England and France, when the trend began to move towards the large open landscape. A large swath of overly manicured green lawn with a deer park or a bowling green was seen as a sign of affluence, but today we are living in a world with completely different environmental challenges. Our pollinator populations are in peril and what makes sense is to find new ways of living sustainably in the natural world, adopting greener approaches to landscaping.

Sometimes it’s best to learn from the past. Consider allowing your lawn to revert to its original state of luscious and abundant variety or what medievalists would call a “flowery mead.” That would happen naturally if you stopped weeding and seeding.

First would come the dandelions and the sweet little flowers of chickweed and purslane would probably be next. Quickly you would begin to see small patches of flowers and different grasses and herbs begin to emerge in small patches and very quickly, all types of pollinators would begin to find them. It seems to happen like magic, but the biology is easy. Birds and small animals eat the flowers, herbs and fruits but the seeds are generally indigestible. As their droppings begin to be deposited in your lawn, these seeds begin to sprout and very quickly, a natural flowery meadow will begin to establish itself!

If you are quietly wondering if I’ve suddenly taken leave of my senses, you need look no further than the beautiful French tapestry named “Unicorn in Captivity”. The captured unicorn is sitting in the fenced paddock, surrounded by a sea of low growing flowers and herbs. That is a perfect example of a medieval “flowery mead,” or flowering meadow!

My father was an organic gardener who allowed his yard to evolve in this way and the results were truly beautiful. He turned the perimeter of his property into an English style border filled with historic roses, lilies, daisies, and many other flowers and herbs. Once his borders were well established, he allowed his lawn to be slowly transformed into the mead he desired. The result was a still a composed garden, but it was much wilder and very much alive.

My father was frustrated by the amount of work that it took to simply keep his lawn green and healthy every year. A grass lawn is a monoculture and by its very nature, not easily sustainable without a large quantity of human interference, excessive amounts of water, chemical pesticides, and herbicides. Dad’s gardening philosophy was that all plants needed different companions to thrive and his lawn was no exception to that rule. His thought was that left to its own, a lawn will revert quickly into a beautiful meadow, so why not help it along and at the same time support our pollinator friends? What started out as an amusing experiment turned into a romantic and beautiful green space. My father’s yard was always filled with the buzzing of honeybees, fluttering butterflies, and bird song.

He began by allowing plants to be naturally introduced into his lawn like violets and perennial pansies, little wild strawberries and sweet woodruff, bluebells, beautiful blue flax flowers, lady’s mantle, ground ivy, and buttercups. He had huge patches of lilies of the valley and beautiful swaths of coltsfoot everywhere.

He loved the dandelions and let them stay, knowing that they provided the first suppers for the bees every spring.

He allowed the chamomile and thyme to take off and spread. He let daisies spring up wherever and whenever they wanted. He had abundant amounts of multi-colored cosmos in his border that reseeded. With so many different plants his garden ecosystem easily remained strong and healthy. He had virtually no disease among his plants. On the rare occasion a plant would perish, others quickly replaced it.

If he were doing this today his yard would qualify for HSA’s GreenBridges certification. The GreenBridges Initiative creates opportunities for the safe passage of plants and pollinators and avoids habitat fragmentation. Each GreenBridges garden is a link in the chain across the nation, providing safe movement for the plants and pollinators that help maintain healthy ecosystems.

If you are tired of trying to keep your lawn green and alive every summer, I encourage you to consider planting your very own wild garden. A wildflower meadow is a thing of beauty. An easy way to start is with a low-growing wildflower seed pack. I’ve had great luck simply scattering the seed, but it works even better if you can lightly loosen up the top 2 inches of soil where you want your meadow, toss the seed, and then cover them with compost and/or straw. Be sure to water frequently and soon you will be rewarded with a beautiful flowering meadow of your own. All you’ll need then is a jug of wine, a loaf of bread, some fruit, cheese a good book and thou…..

Just curious! Do you love or hate your lawn? Let me know in the comments!

Turn Your Yard into Flowery Mead published first on https://marcuskeever.blogspot.com/