Years ago, when I was a young gardener, I would have been mortified to take a walk in the garden that I found myself in today.
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My Crape Myrtle, finally blooming, is laden with rainwater. |
Back then, I was still deluded by my own self-serving grandiosity. I believed I could weave perfection out of weeds and dirt chunks. I could design eye-candy out of waterlogged detritus. Transform the desert into an oasis. Anything less was failure.
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Fuchsia, Joe Pye and Kiss-Me-Over-the-Garden-Gate with the chartreuse foliage of Himalayan Honeysuckle. |
As my kids got older and their play structures were relegated to Goodwill, I had my expanding blank canvas. There wasn't much that was too difficult for my designer's mind to wrap itself around.
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The final show of a Hosta |
Most of what I enjoy today is the result of those sore muscles and impetuosity. I'm grateful that the really heavy work is behind me.
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Aging Cotinus foliage doused with rainwater. |
An early October deluge has rendered my garden pretty sad looking. This, after a dry summer. Lacking measurable rainfall for about two and a half months, my plants had been forced to anchor their roots in hardpan. Leaves turned brown and shriveled into unrecognizable masses; stems that once held the prettiest of flowers were now brown and crispy.
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Hydrangea 'Glowing Embers' |
But then the rains came. And now many once-vertical stems are laying prostrate, encroaching on walkways and their neighbors. If it's not one thing, it's another.
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Lespedeza on a good year. |
Good thing I've got a sense of humor about it all. I'm older now. Grand illusions of perfection don't occupy every inch of my gray matter. The garden evolves and devolves.
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The Fuchsia are still looking great. |
Rather than scrutinize the entire garden, I seek out small victories. Raindrops on a dangling Fuchsia...
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Shiny seeds from Lantana |
Pretty seed pods or a lone spider clinging to its web, (at which point I go somewhere else).
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"Poor Man's Orchid" or Impatiens balfouri seedpod. |
And because I'm so easily amused by plants, sometimes I'll saunter over to my Poor Man's Orchid and grasp a long, thin seedpod and let it pop in my hand. I know, silly, right?