garden musing, 2021

I sold my garden in August, 2019. I have missed it.

It was a small, suburban garden across a corner of the front lawn. Nothing much; but I had built it up over twenty years to automatically die back in the fall only to triumphantly return with explosions of tulips and poppies and coreopsis, irises, peonies, and fragrant purple Angel Face roses. And daisies. And daylilies. And hollyhocks later in the summer thanks to the gift of seeds from a dear friend’s garden.

Audrey Hepburn is quoted as saying, “He who plants a garden believes in tomorrow.” Were I still living in the little house that sat on the lot with my garden, I would, this morning, be up early with my cup of coffee peering at the dead ground; searching for the tiniest tips of spring bulbs proving yet again that life cycles back. The woman who bought my garden, killed it. Covered it with black plastic and dead looking mulch. Now there is only the house, and it looks plain, and sad; suburban. To each her own, I guess, maybe she is allergic, but I like to think, because I know it will happen, that every year some resistant root will swell and tear through the plastic to make a run at claiming its right to bloom where it was planted. You cannot truly kill a garden, Missy <heh heh heh>.

As for me this morning, I found the tiniest green sprouts in the pots that line my balcony. Poppies! I tossed out the seeds earlier this year after a quick snow. And I am watching for the tulips buried in the potting soil to break through the surface. And then, when it’s warmer, I shall plant new daisies, and delphinium, and cosmos, and a few other perrennials, and a couple herbs in Anne’s honor, maybe even some hollyhocks, all of which will fill their spaces, die back in the fall, and rise again next year. The HOA has not idea I’ve started a new garden without permission.

I believe in the future!

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