I stand in the garden and stare. I do this often, all this standing and staring. I pace silently, my eyes scanning the shady beds, irritation rising in my throat like bile. The plants lie jumbled, a dog pile of leaves and stems. Brunnera squeezes past the hellebores for a quick glimpse of the sun, stretching across desiccated hostas and pop up violets to announce itself with a slight yelp. Continue reading
Have you ever had a conversation with someone that went a bit like this? Continue reading
I have a sneaky suspicion that my garden is not all it appears to be. To the untrained eye it’s a colorful jumble of flowers, shrubs, and short fat dogs. But to the warren of rabbits snug in their earthen burrows beneath my neighbors foundation, it is the feast that fuels midnight parties, where I suspect the horny hares are quite busy going at it like, well… rabbits. I’m starting to worry that the main thing growing in my garden is simply more rabbits. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. Continue reading
I’ve begun to notice that a variety of garden catalogs are carrying clothing designed just for gardening. This is an intriguing concept. On a typical day in my garden, I am happily clad in whatever holey, stained clothes were closest at hand and pay little to no attention to my appearance. Devoid of makeup and hair care products, my short locks stick out at odd angles and my blonde lashes are rendered invisible. Continue reading
Fact 1: I want an arbor.
Fact 2: I do not have the space or money for an arbor.
Fact 3: I do not care. I want an arbor. Continue reading
Last weekend while millions of people were digging out of a snowstorm, I decided to throw a little party called Yick Yuck Blah. But after reading the news and the stories of other bloggers whose gardens were under several feet of snow, I realized I needed to have a quick talk with myself. Continue reading
I do not have a winter garden. No snow covers evergreens or drifts in small waves at my feet. The berries are gone, long devoured and those remaining hang wrinkled and small. My garden lies like the bleached bones of a whale, exposed and naked, stark branches and limbs jutting at odd angles against a pewter sky. But my garden doesn’t care and neither do I. Continue reading
One of the great advantages of winter is its ability to strip your garden bare, leaving it shivering in its underwear while you dream of summer color and leafy coverage. I do not have a winter garden or much winter interest, aside from a trumpet vine and deutzia that resemble Medusa, but I’m okay with that. My bare bottomed garden gives me a chance to see it as it really is and to make summer plans that work with the bones of my yard. Continue reading