Such a Work-in-Progress: Morris Frank, Sécateurs, It's The Time of the Season

favorite, only

Today was a day for rising early. I got up at 5:30. Something called me.

a quarter moon in the eastern sky

Yesterday I did some planting and wondered, as I wandered around, if I was still mourning my Dad. A short while later, my cousin Carol and I exchanged sentiments about our Dads who loved their gardens so. Whenever I work outside, I feel a closeness to him that leaves me to wonder if I’d be enjoying any of this without his hand. There is no doubt that my visual acuity, such as it is, came from him.

As I planted this, I could feel his spirit. His was such an eye for form. In so many ways, I am such a work-in-progress, I said to myself. They never leave you.

a note from Lois Frank, after his passing

Years ago, when I was in high school, I had the opportunity to work for Morris Frank, one of the founders of the Seeing Eye. It was a remarkable experience, one that changed me. At that time, I often wondered at his fearlessness and how he could travel to India and ride an elephant. I once sat in his kitchen and watched him clean a bowl of just-picked green beans. Back then, he worked via cards with braille notes on them. Buddy(s) would sit on the floor and wait for him to summon. That was when the Park Square Building and The Green were a much different place, still magical in my eyes. These days, I still think of Morris Frank – because I wonder what it would be like to never see what I am seeing. I will never take for granted my gift of sight.

Definition of SECATEUR (courtesy Merriam Webster)

chiefly British
: pruning shears —usually used in plural
Origin of SECATEUR

French sécateur, from Latin secare to cut
First Known Use: 1881

sec•a•teurs (ˈsɛk ə tərz, -ˌtɜrz) (courtesy The Free Dictionary)

n. (used with a sing. or pl. v.) Chiefly Brit.
pruning shears.
[1880–85; < French < Latin sec(āre) to cut + French -ateurs (pl.) < Latin -ātor -ator]

I have an odd fascination with certain words. They are not always English and they just randomly pop into my head.

Yesterday, after lunch I finally sat down with my new volume of Charlotte Moss’ Garden Inspirations which arrived yesterday. I could tell immediately this would be a book I would prefer to savor over awhile, as if getting to know someone you really have an affinity for, like those from Bunny Williams and Carolyne Roehm, two of my contemporary teachers. The first few pages immediately drew me into that kind of swoon I get only when I see amazingly beautiful things and places. The intricacies of the rose formations and their delicate pastel tones soothed my tired mind while at the same time called me forward. The next page showed a pair of beautiful open sécateurs, and I stopped. Sécateurs…… a word I love. I have no idea where I would have first of ever heard anyone use this form of the word for pruning shears. Surely it was not used in my household growing up. Undoubtedly, I read it in a book on gardening somewhere long ago.

My favorite Sécateurs are my two pair from Japan that I purchased years ago at Takashimaya in New York City, now gone. A lady from the Morristown Garden Club, where I belonged many years ago, said one day, “if you ever do one thing, treat yourself to a pair of these”. I did so, twice, having one pair in New Jersey and one pair at the Cape house. They are the only ones I ever use and I do indeed love them. I visited that lady’s garden in Bernardsville, NJ one day, probably about 10 years ago and it was classically old-fashioned and appealing. She lived in a stately old colonial house which smelled pleasantly musty, as from a bygone era. She had a fairly large back yard which dropped off in a soft slope and was well cared for. Everything about it was charming and rang typically of old line Bernardsville. I could see myself living here, except that, while cozy, the house was too dark for me. But, I never forgot it, or her advice.

Seeing Charlotte Moss’ wooden-handled sécateurs instantly caused a desire to google “antique garden implements” and go a-searching. But, the day was so beautiful and perfectly tempered that I just stayed outside, preferring to capture as much of it as I could.

Ask my kids and they’ll tell you I am constantly after them to get a hair cut. When they were little, I gave them haircuts, much to their chagrin. They will probably seek out a therapist about this at some point, toting photos of bowl-cuts. For me, there’s something terribly off-putting about being ragged looking, unkempt. And so, often you’ll find me outside, giving someone a hair cut with my sécateurs.

Today, however, is another day for rejoicing, for it is The Time of the Season for Loving….. The Zombies, circa 1967.

such promise