A plant is selected for so many reasons by the gardener. Perhaps it's the color, shape, form, reliability or texture? Perhaps it's in anticipation of answered prayer?
There's nothing like a long, pleasant spring and a bunch of garden tours to motivate and inspire. These tours always cause me to come home and look at my garden with fresh eyes. After gardening in the same spot for fifteen years, I can easily become narrow-viewed to the potential for new ideas.
While touring with my friend Pam, I mentioned not having much space left to garden and she simply replied, "oh, there's always more space." Such a matter-of-fact statement that she probably doesn't even recall saying caused me to scrutinize any available spaces.
So I came home and started ripping out grass in a skinny little strip at the drive-way's edge. The soil is beautiful after years of decomposing leaf litter. It gets morning sun and is shaded by the house during the heat of the day. In other words, this is prime gardening real estate!
Then I went in and shopped the house. This old iron piece was perfect for vertical gardening. It probably comes as no surprise that I happened to have a few plants on hand. Gulf Coast penstemon, a red passion flower vine, red salvia coccinea and fall aster (not shown) were among my choices. The name of the plant to the left rear escapes me...anyone know? **Edit: Many thanks to Steph at Rambling Wren for her id which led me in the right direction; the plant is called Persicaria microcephala 'Red Dragon'**
The passion vine is tender here in zone 8 so I will either grow it as an annual or if it's just too happy and I love it, I'll take a cutting this fall.
So far it's happy and I love it ♥
The best part of this new found little bed is that it sits right outside the laundry room window. The transformed view is so much more inviting than the plain, worn fence ever was!
A meandering country road snakes along the river carrying a couple, a long time married.
There
are scarlet buckeyes in bloom and ephemeral beauties with slow beating
wings nonchalantly gathering nectar...confident of tomorrow's abundance.
We give thanks for the invention of the
handle. Without it there would be many
things we couldn't hold on to. As for the
things we can't hold on to anyway, let us
gracefully accept their ungraspable nature
and celebrate all things elusive, fleeting, and
intangible. They mystify us and make us
receptive to truth and beauty. We celebrate
and give thanks.
Amen {The Prayer Tree - Leunig}
These words drifted through the window and pulled me from the comfort of my chair. A small girl excited by the sight of a butterfly stood open mouthed; transfixed by the acrobatic, graceful movements. And I too stood transfixed, marveling at this small child's delight in her simple discovery.
She gets it, I thought to myself. She really gets it. A smile opened itself wide on both our faces as we shared the moment. She reluctantly trailed after her companion and I wanted to yell, wait, wait ... you haven't seen the hummingbirds yet or the many lizards or the swallowtails. But I think she knows. She'll be back.
November 1st. I'm not ready. Yesterday, Halloween, I saw a crew of men decorating the entrance of a nearby neighborhood for Christmas. Wreaths, lights, the whole shebang. Really? Really.
Don't misunderstand. I love Christmas as much as the next girl. But I also love Thanksgiving and I'd like to choke down my pumpkin pie before decking my halls.
During this month of Thanksgiving I'm going to be intentional about appreciating and loving the simple, beautiful abundance of my garden.
I'll be taking the time to enjoy these waning days of autumn. The slant of late afternoon light causes the flowers to glow and there is the soft hum of the furiously beating wings of pollinators working feverishly to collect nourishment.
So I'm digging in my heels and holding firm to the season of Thanksgiving. I'll be loving it for what it is: a simple reminder to stop, look around this life and remember that there is so much to be thankful for.
This is what I tell myself when I'm feeling run over by the garden.
Keep doing what you're doing. It matters.
When another plant up and dies. Or when the rabbits continue to chomp through all that lovely new growth brought by the recent rains. When your sweet, excited, 80 pound dog tromps through the perennials trying to get at said rabbits. When you walk out the front door and discover two never-seen-before insects and wonder if they are friend or foe.
Keep doing what you're doing. It matters.
Did you know that you don't really know a plant until you've killed at least three of them?
That's what a gracious gardening friend tells me when I explain to her that I can't grow something she has growing beautifully in her garden. I tell her, "Oh, I've tried that and it died." She says, "Oh, you don't really know a plant until you've killed it three times!"
Thank you, Lord, for friends like her. There is nothing like genuine encouragement to lift you up.
Keep doing what you're doing. It matters.
And although we can tell ourselves this, it is often nice to hear it from someone else.
So I'm here today telling you that what you do matters. And to encourage you to keep on doing what you do.
Don't give up. Don't be discouraged for long. Gardening and creativity (yes, really, gardeners are creatives) are skills that need to be practiced. And practiced. And practiced.
