On Tuesday the weather was balmy. Warm enough to send the llamas for several dips in the pond (which is blessedly high right now) and humid enough to keep my braided hair feeling tangled and matted. I could forgive that small discomfort, though, because my arms and legs were so happy to bake in the open air, soaking up the glorious, energizing sunshine. I wore running shorts and a flimsy tank top and walked everywhere barefoot or with only flip flops and played in the dirt glove-less, touching and massaging the perfect earth until it became part of me. Everywhere I looked, new life was surging forth, growing aggressively, far beyond those first unbelievable sprouts early in March. Now, those plants that had only just broken dormancy are taking shape and boasting new blooms, coming into their own despite whatever doubts I had while they were sleeping beneath the ground all of the long, cold winter.
I worked over one empty raised bed, destined for growing who knows what? and thought to myself that this must be what my firstborn daughter feels like when she stares at a blank canvas or a new sheet of drawing paper. Possibility and thrill. I know from experience it’s how my youngest daughter must feel when she sits with a fresh, unadulterated notebook, an empty vessel begging for her words, making her fingers twitchy to write.
The clean, warm, perfect square of earth was transfixing. I sifted the dirt over and over again, letting it run warm and silky through each of my hands and between my toes, then raking meaningless patterns into the surface, visualizing the colors, textures, and flavors that would soon be appearing there.
At some point on Tuesday I wandered away from the gardens to tidy up the abandoned bee yard. I had intense mixed feelings about how many wild honeybees were at that exact moment visiting the painted hives. I could still smell the old honeycomb, as could they I suppose. The feeling of loss was very real, so I turned back to the gardens where all I could see was life.
Peony divisions my Mom gave me a few years ago are bigger every day. The leaves are lush, green, and healthy. The tight pink buds are numerous. And in my imagination their soon-coming Mother’s Day fragrance is already divine. Behind the peony here you can see a broken clay pot which has become a chalked up plant marker for horseradish, which I only just planted. Both of these developments are so exciting!
The wild Virginia creeper is as old and elegant as ever. If this vine were a lady, she would of course be from the Deep South. She would drink sweet tea and serve unsweetened shortbread. She would read Russian literature but not discuss it openly. Virginia creeper, were she a lady, would preside over the world from her front porch with the blue ceiling and she would bless your heart. It’s possible she’d wear Youth Dew perfume by Estee Lauder.
I realize that in this season before the garden is completely unfurled, most of my photos are extreme close ups. It’s not to hide anything; it’s just that the beginnings are so amazing. The smallest details are incredibly beautiful, and to see them actually happen and then really take hold, well, it makes the bigger picture too much for a while. The secretive thrills make the wide view almost irrelevant.
For the sake of honesty, here are a few snapshots proving that lots of work remains to be done. Things are still overall a bit messy, but to me they are still magical. Mostly because of so many small beginnings.
Lots of leaves to rake, plenty of crabgrass to remove, and bare spots everywhere pleading for riotous color. Oh, and rusty milk cans that need a new home and a sidewalk owned fully by free range chickens. But already the 2015 gardens are outperforming last year’s, and we haven’t even hit tax day yet. Soon I’ll share what’s going on in Seedling Town. I have tried new stuff this year and am super excited to tell you about it!
I hope you connect with us on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram, too. I have lots of readers and friends sharing their garden developments daily, and it makes me so happy! Often you remind me to try something new or revisit something old. Between us all, the wide range of climates and specialty plants amazes me; but the common passion for growing things is what binds us. It’s just wonderful.
Okay, that has been my early April garden update. Thank you for joining me here!! Happy growing!
“Won’t you come into my garden?
I would like my roses to see you.”
~Richard Brinsley Sheridan
XOXOXOXO
