I am so distracted these days, and spring is to blame. There’s the smell of freshness on the breeze, the chirps and calls of birds in the morning, and the daily display of fifty shades of green. All I want to do is work in the yard: clean the beds, rake the lawn, bring out the terracotta pottery, inhale deeply — but I do have a day job that demands much of my time and a post to write.
Writing, though, is near impossible. Spring stimulates all of my senses, and each time I step outside, I am overwhelmed with words, feelings, and adjectives. Rather than write them down, they swirl inside my head as I become lost in the intoxicating world that is spring.
And so, I surrender to those who have already placed their words on paper, words that illustrate the beauty of the gardener’s most magical season.
There are days when I no longer feel like a gardener. There are days when I feel more like a fashion photographer, coordinating colors, waiting for the perfect light, and soothing the tender egos. As I take out the camera, they’re on — strutting and seductive as they all aim to get the cover of Vogue or Elle or Better Homes and Gardens.
“Yes. That’s the shot.”
Today, I became a man.
Today, I channeled my inner Schwarzenegger, and tackled a division of Hostas – or rather, Hosta division.
The thought occurred to me that the Hostas in the front bed were getting quite large and needed to be divided. Actually, that thought occurred to me years ago –and Joe has reminded me of this each season. I always fell back on it’s just not the right time of year to divide – but the shelf life of that excuse was long exhausted.
I always thought I knew my garden, knew all of its ins and outs. I have learned otherwise since starting this blog. Now, I find myself looking at the garden more deeply, always thinking of the next post. In fact, post obsession occupies most of my daily thoughts since I promised myself that I would post twice a week. Could I possibly write that much, especially at this time of year when so much of the garden is leaving or already gone?
That was the thought I had the other day when I pulled into the driveway, the posting question planted firmly in the forefront of my brain. It had been a rainy, gray day — and as I sat in my car, I looked about and I was stunned. My garden had been transformed into a shimmering display of rubies and amber, garnet and topaz. The next day, the sun came out, and when I looked about again, I discovered that my rainy day vision had not been a dream.
Red and Gold, part 1.
Beneath the outer leaves of the Weeping Dogwood, other leaves were making the change.
It's a wonder what a little frost will do to Hosta.
The Climbing Hydrangea has never bloomed. Just leaves.
Euonymus "Burning Bush" is on fire.
Red and Gold, Part 2