Sharing our garden

I cannot begin to describe how much it means to me that K enjoys the gardens I’m creating for us. I love “seeing” it through her eyes as we walk around the beds and borders enjoying the blooms and dreaming about the future. Yesterday, she surprised me with a series of photos she’d taken — a chance to really see it as she does.

Skychasing | 07.10.19

In the last decade, I’ve slowly evolved into a morning person. The light of dawn wakes me before my alarm on most days. The first hours of each day are where I find a beautiful mix of peace and productivity, a time to reflect and prepare myself before the day starts rolling around me. Some days, like today, the world reminds me to reflect on its majesty.

Skychasing | 07.10.19

Adjusting to change

A few weeks ago, I transplanted four ostrich ferns from another garden to ours, and they promptly fell to the ground in a heap of botanical despair. I thought they were goners, so I cut them back to the crown. This week, they’ve all shot up new fronds and look renewed. Whenever we’re presented with a big change in our lives, it takes time to adjust, right? Guess it’s no different with plants.

Another season of potential

Lilacs are the most perfect of buds, expertly wrapped in leathery veneer. Once the weather turns, they swell before our eyes, making kinetic the potential stored in them all winter.

I remember my mother cutting flowers from the lilac bush outside our back door, bouquets that spilled over a large snifter vase — the centerpiece of our dining room table. If I close my eyes, I can almost smell the memories.

Another season of potential

Uncovering hidden growth

I spent most of yesterday cleaning away leaf litter and the remnants of last year’s garden. What started out as a chilly morning quickly moved to no-coat status courtesy of a bright, warming sun. I sawed — yes, sawed — down the dried plumes of Miscanthus and removed spent Sedum, Echinacea, and Rudbeckia stems that provided texture and height all winter.

Uncovering hidden growth

Presence over time

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It’s interesting how those of us in four-season climates talk about the plants in our gardens — in terms of how long they’ll last. Annuals come and go in one growing season. Perennials come back every year, but mostly lie dormant below the ground in winter. Trees and shrubs — we think of them as the bones, the stalwart foundation, that last for years, perhaps a lifetime. We cherish them for their presence over time, rather than their value in the moment.

We do the same for people, don’t we?

Presence over time