This is my actual garden gate. It encloses a small area that, this year, does contain plants that were put there on purpose.
The gate itself was made by my late grandfather, Frank Wooters, probably 50 some years ago. This is its second home. It originally gated the pasture at the home in which I grew up; a pasture that held, in no particular order, bum lambs, calves, and neighbor's horses, though never a horse of my own (do you detect a note of bitterness there?).
The pasture was also a playground for me and my horse-loving, horse-owning, and thankfully for me, horse-sharing best friend, Sherry. I couldn't count the number of times we went in and out of this gate, riding our stick horses or pretending to be horses.
When my mother decided to move to a smaller house, I asked to take the gate home with me. Lucky for me I have a husband who not only is handy with tools of all kinds, but who understood my sentimentality towards this crooked wooden family heirloom. He managed to attach the old wooden posts to metal ones, sunk those in the ground, and built the chain link around it. It even still has the loop of rusted baling wire that secures it closed.
And now back to my crazy garden quilt. There's a little poem that goes;
Don't make love
By the garden gate,
'Cause love is blind,
But the neighbors ain't.
It's been running through my head lately, and inspired me to put a garden gate into my quilt. I used my own gate as a pattern, though my gate has never been this white, to my knowledge. I even included the rusted hinges, nails and wire loop. There are sunflowers planted to the right of my gate, but they are only about a foot high right now.