MY GARDEN
The bearded Irises are my absolute favorites. I love the
symmetry of the petals. I love the royal
purple coloring. And the short week they
spend with me is my favorite week of the year.
The daffodils are the first sign of hope for warmer weather. The crocuses really show up first. They always
seem to sneak up on me and fill me with optimism. But then the last snowstorm of the year rolls
in and kills them all. So I really celebrate spring and my rebirth from the
winter with the arrival of the daffodils.
Just as I notice that the daffodils are finished, the tulips
show up. My tulips seem to alternate
bloom years. They don’t bloom
consistently every year. Sometimes I
have 6 blooms. This year I had 11. When the tulips show up, I know spring is
here to stay. And then the forsythia rolls
in right around this time as well. I
seem to smell them before I actually notice their vibrant yellow hue. They are tucked behind other bushes so they
are discrete as they pop in to the landscape.
For some reason, they remind me of Christopher. I don’t know why but
they do and I want to hang on to them forever.
But like Christopher, they don’t hand around long enough and suddenly,
they are gone too soon.
My magnolia tree begins to sprout fussy buds and then
magnificent flowers blossom and the petals scatter across my yard. These petals
look like giant snowflakes, blowing and swirling in the wind.
The lilacs are fragrant and stir thoughts of my mother. We had a huge lilac tree in our back yard and
my mother had fresh lilacs on the table for what seemed to me to be all
summer. They seem to disappear as
quickly as they appear and I am always sorry to see them go.
The hostras go from little buds sticking their heads out one
day and the next day, dominating the garden.
The day lilies are quickly establishing their place in the yard and they
seem to multiply more than any perennial in the garden.
The azaleas seem to offer me more and more color variations
each year. I have pinks and red and
whites and variegated hues. And last year I noticed that I have large faced
azaleas. Where did they come from?
Some sort of snowy white flowers popped up on an old, leafy
bush. They reminded me of snowballs.
This bush has been around for years but these white flowers are a new, welcomed
addition.
I cut back some brush last fall and today, the clematis
bloomed and took over this entire new space by my shed. I welcomed them with great delight. They, too, are a rich, deep dark purple; my
favorite color for a flower. I noticed them just as I was about to leave on a
four-day trip and for a moment, I contemplated cancelling my trip so I could
spend some more time in adoration of this large bloom. If this bush doesn’t bloom next year, I will
kick myself for being responsible and leaving this moment behind.
My hydrangeas bloom inconsistently. The bushes on the side of the house bloom in
early spring. The ones deep in the yard,
hidden from the direct sunlight, show up late spring. My dogwood tree struggles. I have transplanted it three times so maybe I
shouldn’t expect so much. But I only get
one bloom each year. I guess one bloom
is better than nothing.
The new crab tree doubled in size from one summer to
another. The Rose of Sharon plants
reproduce like crazy. If I am not
careful, they will take over the yard.
They are pink and white. I have
seen a red variation in someone’s yard.
I may approach her this summer and see if she wants to trade variations
with me.
All sorts of yellow flowers show up throughout the
summer. I don’t remember ever planting
them. But one spring I tried growing
from seeds. I put my pots out too soon
because one night, some damn creature came along and reeked havoc on all of my
plantings. My little planting pots were
scattered all over the neighborhood.
Some of these extradious yellow plants may be the end product of this
destruction.
Around August I begin to tell myself, “No mums. You can’t do mum”. But then I find some small pots on sale for a
dollar so I can’t resist the temptation and I come home with too much planting
to do on a hot, sticky August afternoon. Some of the mums get planted and
others die a slow, painful death from procrastination.
Slowly, but always too soon, I notice the day lilies begin
to die. They are out of blooms and their
stems begin to get woody in texture. I
pull the stems out and use them as kindling for my first fire of the fall
season. The mums bloom sporadically and
they don’t seem to last any more than 2 seasons. The white daisies seem to be the last to go
and when they go, I’m sad. It’s the end of another great season of hues of
colorful flowers, fragrant smells, magnificent bugs and butterflies and lots
and lots of photos of this space that occupies so much of my time.
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