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Celias Garden shea butter seaweed soap

Celias Garden shea butter seaweed soap
Celias Garden shea butter seaweed soap
Travel back in time to 1861 on Appledore Island off the coast of New Hampshire and saunter through Celia Thaxter's garden. You will find yourself surrounded by prominent artists, literary artists, and musicians of that time.All gathered in her gardens dressed in Victorian garb.Musical notes from Schumann are carried on a sea breeze and blooms of flowers fill the air on this island kingdom. Celia's garden still grows on this tiny island after almost 150 years! On summer mornings today, you can take a boat ride from Rye Harbour out to her garden and see the various lush blooms that she loved so much and planted with care. I have added seaweed and sea salt to this bar as well as heavenly fragrances of flowers that you can find there along with a touch of sea spray and adoration.
1 (one) bar

Celia Thaxter was a poet in the 19th century here on the coast of New Hampshire. She paved the way for many women poets and literary writers. Celia lived most of her life on the tiny cluster of Islands appropriately named “Isle of Shoals” that are 10 miles off the coast of New Hampshire and Maine. The 2 states share these islands. Celia had the most incredible garden on the island of Appledore and she loved those islands and called them home until the day she died in 1894.Celia marked the way for women writers today- a true pioneer of her time. This garden still grows abundantly today after all those years with the help of volunteers. To find out more on this incredible woman http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/thaxter/garden/garden.html


The bar is loaded with Wild Atlantic Dulse seaweed that is harvested off the coast of Maine. To read the incredible journey made by local Maine “Sea Farmers” check out: www.ironboundisland.com

I hope you will  enjoy this poem by Celia...she was said to have written it from her home in Newton Ma. when she could not get back to her island..

Land Locked

Black lie the hills; swiftly doth daylight flee;
And, catching gleams of sunset's dying smile,
Through the dusk land for many a changing mile
The river runneth softly to the sea.

O happy river, could I follow thee!
O yearning heart, that never can be still!
O wistful eyes, that watch the steadfast hill,
Longing for level line of solemn sea!

Have patience; here are flowers and songs of birds,
Beauty and fragrance, wealth of sound and sight,
All summer's glory thine from morn till night,
And life too full of joy for uttered words.

Neither am I ungrateful; but I dream
Deliciously how twilight falls to-night
Over the glimmering water, how the light
Dies blissfully away, until I seem

To feel the wind, sea-scented, on my cheek,
To catch the sound of dusky flapping sail
And dip of oars, and voices on the gale
Afar off, calling low, -- my name they speak!

O Earth! Thy summer song of joy may soar
Ringing to heaven in triumph. I but crave
The sad, caressing murmur of the wave
That breaks in tender music on the shore.

Celia Thaxter ©
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