Flowers for the Immaculate Conception (Dead of Winter Hermitage death, ed.)


Being at the hermitage for the last time yesterday, grabbing some last minute items such as buckets and a special “stations of the cross” brought lots of memories, lots of nostalgia.

The tree above rises some 140 feet from the top of the ridge right next to the hermitage. The base is something like 12 feet around. I realize the little red flower isn’t a flower, but that’s all there was. I think my guardian angel pointed it out to me.

Here are those stations of the cross, and yes, those are thorns:


And then I recall, next to another hermitage-cave:

I am very grateful to our dear Lord for my time in the hermitage. My whole time was having the privilege of giving flowers to Jesus’ good mom. Again, my favorite, on the path up to the hermitage, destroyed later by – I think – the person who also, on multiple occasions, was throwing out deer rifle rounds in my direction, perhaps a dozen each time. But our Lady remembers them:

flores - holy souls lilies


Filed under Flores

4 responses to “Flowers for the Immaculate Conception (Dead of Winter Hermitage death, ed.)

  1. Cathy

    Why is it your last time?

  2. That’s British Soldier Lichen (I think). I have been an admirer of that plant for years. I am Curious, will there be a photo post on the history of your hermitage in the future?

  3. Aussie Mum

    Our Lady is surely pleased with “the little red flower (that) isn’t a flower (because) that’s all there was”. It’s the thought that counts. Such acts of love for our Blessed Mother have always been important but are even more so now when hateful acts against her are increasing. Last Friday Cardinal Sarah tweeted: “Desecrations are on the rise in Europe. Recent acts targeting statues of the Virgin Mary in French churches show the extent to which these gestures are the result of barbaric hatred …”.
    Such acts of hatred brought to mind what Our Lady said to Sister Lucia in December 1925: “Look, My daughter, at My Heart, encircled with thorns, with which ungrateful men pierce it at every instant with their blasphemy and ingratitude”.

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