My Summer Garden

May 26, 2012 By

The back yard.

The artist is the confidant of nature,  flowers carry on dialogues with him through the graceful bending of their stems and the harmoniously tinted nuances of their blossoms.  Every flower has a cordial word which nature directs towards him.  – Auguste Rodin

It’s been a perfect spring for reworking the garden.  Throughout May rain has been abundant with regular showers during the late afternoons and the dark of night. Just a few nights ago we had well over an inch of rain which came down fast, heavy and loud, leaving the new additions to my gardens dancing.

Most of the work is done for the summer except for continuous weeding and deadheading to keep the blossoms coming. There is space available for more plants but I wait to find the one that calls my name as I walk past it at the nursery. Or I might marvel at one in someone else’s garden and then do an all out search to find it.

Keeping the garden moist enough so that the plants thrive is another chore throughout the warm season.  In the past I’ve been guilty of over watering many plants causing them to die because they don’t like wet feet.  So this year I’m being extra wary, using a meter that tests the moisture level of the soil when it’s looking too dry.

When we bought this house almost two years ago the bank out front was covered with low growing junipers. They were green year round and were easy to maintain, but not colorful or interesting.  Last summer they started turning brown but then came back to life in the fall.  This spring there was a massive die-out and we removed them all, replacing them with a much more interesting selection of plants with the help of my gardening mentor, Maria. She and her sons have worked with me for years, doing the big, heavy jobs.

The front of the house with newly planted bank.

This year she redesigned the front bank and did all the planting. Many of the them came from Maria’s own nursery as well as from Lowe’s, where at this time of year their plant benches are overflowing with low-priced shrubs and flowers. The secret is to check in daily to see what new goodies have been delivered.

I took on the gardens in the back of the house. There is another bank above the driveway but it’s not the back breaker the one out front is.  Most of it’s in deep shade, which I love. I also added a few annuals to a sunny location for cut flowers.  I love Zinnias and Cosmos. They add boldness and grace to any flower arrangement.

Every morning as I look out into the gardens my heart swells with joy. Simply passing through from the house to the garage, any darkness of mood disappears as I take in the colors and textures around me.  Yellow day lilies, hardy white gardenias and purple coneflowers offset by a riot of soft and sharp greens make the day bright even if the sky is steel-gray.

The shade garden out back.

There is so much more to come as the season progresses and I find myself on the other side of summer.  Late bloomers and fall colors hold until the last leaf drops and the flowers go to seed.  I’ll fill an album with photos as the summer passes, so that next January when it’s cold and dark, my inspiration will continue.  Without my garden I become disconnected, unable to write or paint. It fills me with life, love, and keeps me centered. It feeds my soul.

 I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.  – Claude Monet

A reblooming day lily.

PS  I found the quotes above on one my very favorite blogs. Check out Terri Windling’s artwork and words here.

Filed Under: Life, love, Matters of the Spirit, The Garden, The Seasons Tagged With: , , , ,

The Best Of Intentions

May 6, 2012 By

Eggplant in last years garden.

May 4th, 2012

It’s been one of those days.  Even with my list of intentions I can’t seem to focus.  Instead of coming home after yoga class to start writing, I went to the garden center where I bought another dozen or so plants for the shade garden. I found some interesting Hostas, Astilbes in blushing pink, and a colorful collection of Coral Bells.  These last have tiny bell-shaped flowers that are not particularly spectacular unless you’re a hummingbird.  It’s the color of the leaves that blows me away. And in a shade garden, which is mostly green, I like to throw in some odd color variations to keep my eyes interested. Today I found one with lime tinted leaves.  I also chose one with light, autumn-orange foliage and another with dark maroon leaves etched with silver. Next to that last one, I’ll plant another one called “Berry Smoothie,” with soft rose-pink leaves.  They look stunning together.

Thinking that I was almost done with my garden work for the spring, I quickly remembered that I haven’t yet picked out the tomato plants I plan on putting in the raised bed I use only for veggies and herbs.  Last year I filled it with sweet peppers in green, red and yellow. Never having grown eggplant and not knowing what kind of harvest to expect, I put in six plants.  There are only two mouths to feed in this house and we adore eggplant but it seems I went a bit overboard.

By the end of summer we were tired of eggplant parmesan, ratatouille, and everything else eggplant. When I approached friends with a basket of perfect purple orbs, I found out that most them don’t like it. I took the overflow to the local Food Bank where hopefully they found a stomach or two to fill with my gorgeous garden treasures.

It’s three PM, and I realize that I’ve not been attending to the item that was at the top of today’s list. I am doing about the garden, which was not on the list. I feel a bit guilty and annoyed with myself. I am supposed to be starting on a new blog post to be published on Sunday. I haven’t yet figured out what to write about and since next week is overflowing with places to be, I need to be getting one ready for next weekend as well.  Frustration time!! How do I fit it all in when there’s also the laundry, healthy meals to prepare and friends I want to see.

Writing a memoir and trying to keep my blog updated, is not the easiest thing in the world for me to do.  I love doing both but my head isn’t always in tune with the planned time schedule I put together to keep myself on track. And I have so many interests and passions that I’m constantly trying to figure out a way to keep all of them in my life. The garden is one of those and at this time of year it’s difficult to pass up the opportunity to discover an interesting new plants to add to the work of art I’m creating for myself with live plant material.

The list of intentions I put together every evening for the next day seems to be the driving force in my life along with the clock that is always ticking away in the background.  But should it be?  That page of numbered items does help me get things done and keeps me from running after every spectacular idea that blows my way.  But it doesn’t always provide fun or relaxation and I tend to be OCD about many of my projects.

I do know what to do to take care of my problem.  It’s very simple and at the same time very difficult. Bury the list, the clock, my guilt, and annoyance in a mound of compost. Then go do something else that I feel like doing. It doesn’t have to be anything big, just enough to loosen my shoulders and neck.

It might be taking a nap or smelling the unbelievably red roses that grow down the street.  Maybe it’s lunch with a friend or going up on the Blue Ridge Parkway with a picnic basket to watch the sun go down. When I get back from those little jaunts, I know the compost pile will be smoking with heat from digesting all the stuff I buried inside of it.  I’m refreshed and ready to go back to the writing, which then seems to be flowing like a rain-filled river until I get lost again in my life.

Update, Sunday, May 6:

Today I spent 4 hours in the garden planting all those plants I bought and doing a general cleanup. I found a newly fledged baby woodpecker flitting around the garden unable to fly.  I called the local wildlife sanctuary and they sent someone to pick him up.  He or she will be fed and placed in an area with other baby birds and released when he is able to fend for himself.  I have three cats and there are others in the area.  Not a good place for baby birds who can’t fly!

Filed Under: Life, Memoir, Navigating Through Life, The Garden, Writing Tagged With: ,

Releasing Molly

April 16, 2012 By

Our Little Miss Molly

Bill and I finally scattered Molly’s ashes in the garden a few weeks ago.  They’d been sitting in the small tin box decorated with flowers, provided by the SPCA which I placed on the mantle last November after she passed away.  We could have done it sooner but I just wasn’t ready to let her go.  I’m not sure I was ready on that lovely spring afternoon either. I was teary. I wanted her to come back.  But the freshly planted garden was ready to receive her and she is out in the sunshine, with birds singing praises as they themselves bring forth new life.

Despite the way it might sound I’m fine.  I miss her terribly, but I’m happy and thriving, still full of wonder at what beauty life presents me on a daily basis.

Sam, who I thought would be deeply effected by Molly’s loss was not his usual self for about a month after she died. But now he’s a new dog, full of himself instead of being Molly’s shadow.  He had always been her protector.  Out on the street he’d snarl and threaten any other dog that might be in interested in his one and only.  At doggie daycare where we sent them together once a week to socialize, he’d stick close to her, never letting her out of his site.  He’s now Mr. Popularity every Thursday when he still goes to All Things Pawssable and welcomes newcomers into the pack of “tots” or small dogs he hangs out with. He comes home exhausted, but still has enough energy for Tug of War or Let’s Chase Cats Around The House.  When Molly was still alive, he’d come home and crash, totally exhausted from being Molly’s body-guard all day.

Recently we were asked to take in another small dog who needs a loving home. But we’ve decided that we can’t.  Sam is so happy that I don’t want to rock his boat.  After Molly left, he found his way onto the foot of our bed at night and we’re enjoying having him with us.  But two dogs on the bed is way too much even though they’re small. Sam would have to return to his cozy small bed on the floor, which apparently isn’t as cozy as sleeping with us.

Now I’m keeping an eye on felines Cleo and Peppermint.  Two years ago we were told that Cleo would be gone in just a few months, but she’s hung in there with us.  She’s not looking so good right now and knowing she’s about seventeen years old, I’m not holding my breath.  Pepper is on prednisone for some sort of brain lesion.  I have no idea how long she’ll be with us.

Life moves along as it usually does.  There will be more losses and the thought of my own passing leaves me with one of the only real truths … nothing lasts forever.

Filed Under: Animals I Love, Life, The Garden Tagged With: , ,

What I Have To Say

April 1, 2012 By

The floodgates are straining. They cannot be opened up just a little.  I don’t have the strength to hold them so that only some of the run-off leaks out.  It’s all or nothing. By letting the stream overflow on it’s own, I risk being swept away by the torrent when the gates can longer resist the building pressure of words on the other side. Just a few weeks ago there was a void so deep that I was sure it would never fill again.  Such is the writing life and to be expected, I suppose.

For me it seems to be about satisfaction with life in general.  When the river dried up about a month ago I allowed myself to do other things.  I played, pottered about the house, straightening, neatening, and allowing myself to be at peace with the drought of words. I had time each day to notice the moon and stars as evening slowly overtook my world.  I sat and marveled at the early swelling of flower buds, the unfurling of leaves and a robin chasing his image reflected in the side view mirror of a neighbor’s car.  He was  intent on capturing the heart of the lady robin who appeared to be flirting with him. She disappeared each time he would try reaching out to her. I could feel his frustration growing. Can the desire for a mate and the desire to write be the same?  If it has to do with love, it must be so.

Instead of playing with words, I’ve been planting seedlings in the garden.  A few days ago I planted over three dozen plants: Christmas ferns, bleeding heart, tiny shooting stars, native columbine and Alleghany spurge. They are happily growing in the corner of the yard under blooming dogwoods and forest green hemlocks. Now that corner is aglow with new life, Mr. Robin appears to have found a real Mrs. and they are carrying dried grasses and leaves to a newfound nesting spot.  I’m at my desk writing words.

I’ve come to believe that the muse will never abandon me. We need a break from each other every now and then, like two lovers who go off to travel separate corners of the world.  They return vowing never to leave each other again.  They will of course separate again, but only for a time, because as the old saying goes: “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

I wrote the following poem back in 1991 when I was struggling with words and life in general.  Writing it helped me release the pressure building inside my head and my heart.

Words

Push
Through
Spreading
Fissures
I force
Them back
Repress
Meaning
Sounds
Dismiss them
As inadequate
Already said
Yet they must
Begin somewhere
As if there is
A place to start
Here on this line
Reaching those
Who would hear
What I have to say

A few of the plants I put in.

Filed Under: Gratefulness, love, Poetry, The Garden, The Seasons, Writing Tagged With:

Seeking Balance

March 17, 2012 By

My growing garden.

 I was feeling blocked, unable to unplug the movie I’d been screening in my head.  Writing a memoir is difficult work, especially since I’ve spent most of my time for the last month reliving parts of my life that were less than pleasant.  I needed a break from the past.

This week, the days were in the mid-seventies and eighties, sunny with a few clouds, but only a drop of much-needed rain. It was almost perfect gardening weather. I did a tad of pruning and pulled weeds. I bought four gorgeous hellebores in full bloom and this morning tucked them in the ground on what was once a bank of nothing but Ivy.

In Charlottesville, as in most regions of the state, there is more Ivy than any other kind of plant. It can easily overtake a stonewall and bring it crashing down. It can kill trees, shrubs and any plant that decides to take it on.  Last fall I hired a man to pull up all the Ivy on that bank and we built a small patio on top of the rise. This spring my project is to fill the empty garden space with shade loving plants. Hellebores that often bloom in late January, ferns, and hostas are the most likely candidates. But there are many others that will not be overlooked. Since doing my daily memoir writing was not happening anyway, I figured it was a good time to start.

The garden is a perfect place to come to terms with what’s bothering me. Among the plants and the promises of spring I can do some inner weeding.  When I spend time outside with plants, allowing my hands to dig in the soil, my mind and heart opens, awakening to earth messages and spirits sent at this time of year to heal the land and its creatures after a long, dark winter.

Here in Virginia, the winter has been a warm one. The two snowfalls we’ve had are the joke of the season. Now the land is alive with trees and shrubs that usually begin blooming in mid-April. Today we had our lawn mowed. It no longer looks like a typical hayfield in late July. I’m anxious to go off to the nurseries and find more plants for my garden.  Spring officially arrives early Tuesday morning and I’m ready to dance into the new season.

My hands and fingers are happy that I’ve dipped them in the warming soil. But now they again itch for the keyboard. My heart and mind are clear, ready to process the next part of my story. I will gently place the words on the blank screen that awaits them, and this time I will try to be continually mindful of the state of my emotions so that the wall that I ran into a few weeks ago doesn’t stop me from moving forward.

For me, balance is the key.  I am not like the tightrope walker who gracefully dances her way along the wire while balancing her umbrella on the tip of a finger.  I need stops along the way where I can take the time to recompose myself.  The garden is one of those places.

Hellebores planted today.

Filed Under: Gratefulness, Life, Matters of the Spirit, Memoir, Navigating Through Life, stories, The Garden, The Seasons, Writing Tagged With: ,
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