Spring Bouquet

I am practically jumping out of my skin. As soon as the morning rush hour dies down (assuming I can be patient that long), I’m driving across town to my favorite discount plant nursery. This place and the planting that followed used to be a spring break ritual for me. I eagerly anticipated the trip, making lists and amending them as their availability page updated. I would fill my car with a hundred small plants (what? they’re cheap!), carefully stacking and wedging pots. The day would be spent planting – the soil my canvas and the plants, my paint.

After the divorce and the subsequent loss of the house, I missed my spring ritual. I mourned the loss of my garden and my daily walks within its walls. I ached for the sight of the new growth pushing through the soil every spring. I wondered how my plants, carefully tended from small starters, were faring under their new owners. My spirit felt the empty hole left by the removal of my garden.

I substituted a membership to the botanical gardens for my own, finding some connection to the soil and nature’s rhythm in that public space.

But it was never the same.

And I wondered if it would ever be.

bulb-care-daff

We moved into this house in September. One of the reasons we chose the house was its outdoor space. It was full of potential. While waiting for the house to close, I brainstormed a list of plants I wanted to acquire that would complement the space. I started painting the garden in my mind, filling the space with blooms and greenery.

Yet I resisted actually getting my hands dirty.

Some of it was practical.

I was busy painting and moving and setting up the interior space. It was a cold and wet fall, not ideal for planting. And, as the yard and I had just been introduced, I felt like I needed to get to know it a bit better before I went sinking my hands into its depths.

But some of it was emotional.

I poured a lot of my soul into my old garden. And its loss was painful. So painful, that I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to start again. I had become accustomed to being mobile. Setting down literal roots is a commitment. And I wasn’t sure I could handle that risk.

I planned to do some planting this spring, but I didn’t have my old excitement, my old drive, about it. It was matter-of-fact.

Until I pulled up the plant availability page at my favorite nursery two weeks ago.

And then I got giddy. Alive with excitement and possibility.

So now, here I am. My fingers are twitching in anticipation of the trowel. A tarp lies in wait in my trunk, ready to accept its verdant cargo. The beds have been weeded and the trees trimmed. The compost and fertilizer are staged at the side of the yard. All I need are the plants. And some patience:)

I have a garden again.

Colorful_spring_garden

 

In honor of the re-establishment of my spring ritual, here is a bouquet of spring garden themed posts.They are partly about literal gardens. But they are also are metaphorical, highlighting the similarities between nature’s rhythms and our own. All have pictures that remind us that beauty follows even the harshest of winters and words that remind us not to be afraid to bloom.

 

The Garden

In my old life I had a garden.

When we first moved into our home, the 1 acre yard was a motley medley of scraggly grass and tenacious weeds; too wet to mow and too shady for grass to thrive. It was a blank canvas. Slowly, I began to paint, using the medium of small starter plants, tree seedlings obtained from the forestry department, and cuttings and divisions nurtured from friends and neighbors. Click to read the rest.

 

The Beauty of an Early Spring Garden is in the Details

At first glance, the early spring garden is barren. There are few leaves, few flowers, no raucous plants fighting for attention. It is a different garden.

The beauty of an early spring garden is in the details, subtle interplay of color and texture, and the bright green of new growth tentatively poking its head though the soil. In order to see the beauty, the quiet spectacle that is the wakening garden, one must be patient and in tune with the rhythm of life. Click to read the rest.

 

Awakening From Hibernation

Ahh, February. It’s not quite spring but we are well over winter. In the south, the trees and flowers are jut beginning to stir. The first signs of the cherry blossoms have appeared. The daffodils are letting their yellow undercoats peek out at the tepid sun. Tree branches are rounded with the soft buds of the new leaves. The stirrings are not limited to the plants. Joggers are beginning to fill the trails, especially on those days between cold and rain fronts. The squirrels are out in force, digging up the acorns they buried months ago. The birds have lifted their self-imposed ban on song and their chirps and warbles fill the mornings once again.

It’s natural to hibernate when the world outside becomes too harsh to bear. It’s instinctive to curl up and tuck in, settling into a protective stasis. We do it annually to some extent as we follow the natural rhythms of shorter days and colder nights. We tend to narrow our worlds in the winter, paring back and slowing down. It is a time of restoration. Click to read the rest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Water the Flowers

In my old life, I had a one acre yard that I was determined to turn into a woodland garden. Every year, from February to June and again in the fall, I planted small starter plants and divisions. By the third year, I had these petite and vulnerable plants spread across the entire yard. Watering them became a real chore and usually resulted in someone being ignored (and possibly even killed if it was particularly hot or dry). Something had to change.

I spent one summer laying out a complicated, serpentine labyrinth of soaker hoses, each long run connected to a water source with an individual control. I planned it out so that the water guzzlers had the higher pressure lines and the more drought tolerant had the lower pressure side. Once my project was complete, I could water the entire yard throughout a day with only five minutes of actual effort.

And it worked. The plants that were tucked in the back of the yard or in easily forgotten corners finally received a regular drink just like their more prominent brethren. They showed their appreciation by putting on size, often triple that from the year before.

Whatever we nurture, grows.

By the following season, there was a marked change in my garden. The tiny little plants, once isolated in their adult-sized spacings, began to knit together. When I gave a tour of the yard, I no longer had to speak for my plants, explaining the vision. They spoke for themselves. They were healthier. And I was happier, as my time could be used for more skilled and pleasant chores than holding a hose.

Yet all was not roses.  There were a few runs where the soaker hoses had to cross a no man’s land, filled with scrabbly grass and weeds, in order to get to next planting area. As I was watering my flowers, I was inadvertently watering my weeds as well. As a result, I had thick, lush patches of chickweed and knotweed, more prodigous than any desired plant.

Whatever we nurture, grows.

In the garden, this is an easy fix. I replaced the soaker hose with a solid one in the areas where no water was needed. As a result, the weeds failed to thrive and were losing the war against the now-stronger desired plants. By paying attention to the flowers and ignoring the weeds, the garden grew.

Whatever we nurture, grows.

This is true in our lives as well. Think about where you energy (physical or mental) goes. Are you fixated on a problem area in your life? Do you focus more on your weaknesses than your strengths? Is your emphasis on what is wrong rather than what is right?

Whatever we nurture, grows.

When we spend too much time and energy on the weeds in life, we inadvertently water them. They grow. We fail to see the blossoms through the thicket of weeds. And, if we continue to nurture the negativity, it will eventually choke out the blooms, leaving only the thistles behind.

Every life, like every yard, has weeds.

Yet every life

Every relationship

Every encounter

Every situation

also has blooms, spots of beauty and joy and exuberance.

So water the flowers.

Whatever we nurture, grows.

Related: The Garden

The Garden

English: Rhododendron in The Roughs These purp...
Image via Wikipedia

In my old life I had a garden.

When we first moved into our home, the 1 acre yard was a motley medley of scraggly grass and tenacious weeds; too wet to mow and too shady for grass to thrive.  It was a blank canvas.  Slowly, I began to paint, using the medium of small starter plants, tree seedlings obtained from the forestry department, and cuttings and divisions nurtured from friends and neighbors.

I had a vision of a magical woodland retreat, filled with the soft haze of ferns and the subtle flowers of the understory.  For years, this image existed only in my head, the reality of small, young plants planted in a vast, weed-strewn yard looked nothing like a garden.  I spent hours on the weekends and after work attacking weeds and planting replacements.  On days when the weather was prohibitive, I would research plants and growing conditions.  I made annual treks to a budget nursery in a nearby town, filling my car to the bursting points with dreams held in the bright green folds of new growth.

But slowly, it emerged.  I watched 2 foot bald cypress saplings grow to 30 foot trees.  Ferns and hostas spread their roots far and wide under the protective shade of the understory.  Hydrangea proudly held their blooms high, as though no longer ashamed of their companions.  Colors would come and go throughout the weeks: daylilies, Lenten rose, iris, geraniums, azaleas.  Their spectacular shows provided endless variety and interest.

From February through November, I would begin most every day with a walk along the stone path, through the pergolas, and over the boardwalk.  Examining the new growth,watching the wildlife, reveling in the beauty of the plants.  On the weekends, I would bring my papers to grade out to one of the hammocks to enjoy the breezes through the leaves and the interplay of light and shadow.

In my old life I had a garden.

It was painful to walk away from my plants, nurtured for so many years.  I found myself staring at plants around town wistfully, thinking of their counterparts in my yard.  As with much of my transition, it was painful, but also freeing.  I no longer had to worry about the assaults of deer, the dangers of a last freeze, or the effects of a flood.  My weekends were not filled with weeding.  My hands no longer frozen from the cold February soil.

But still, I mourned my plants.  I purchased a pass to the botanical gardens and promised myself a monthly visit.  Now, I walk their perfectly manicured paths and appreciate the beauty created by teams of professionals.  The gardens are stunning, but it’s not the same as one created by my own labor.  My own dreams.

In my old life I had a garden.

The last few years, my nurturing energies have been turned inwards, helping myself to grow and thrive.  I have tried to eliminate the weeds, start new plantings, and encourage growth.  I have become my own garden.

And, now, with home ownership again on the horizon, I look forward to creating a new garden, filled with both familiar and untried plants. A testament to the persistence of life and the beauty of growth.

American Eastern Redbud Tree (Cercis canadensis)
Image via Wikipedia

7 Life Lessons From the Trees

English: A scenic photo taken near Madison, Wi...
English: A scenic photo taken near Madison, Wisconsin of a red pine (Pinus resinosa). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I learned how to garden before I ever learned how to cultivate my own life. My introduction to gardening came with the planting of a single bald cypress sapling, its spindly form centered in an enormous mound of amended soil encircled by a protective fence.  Over the years, I perfected my techniques until I knew exactly what to do to grow a healthy and beautiful tree. Those years spent with my hands in the soil taught me many lessons that I now apply to the rest of my life.

 

Digging In

With my first tree, I had not yet found the balance between effort and effect. My three-foot sapling sat in a hole that required moving what felt like a metric ton of dense Georgia red clay. That amount of effort was not sustainable for the dozens of other trees that were eventually planted. I learned to dig wide, avoid the roots, and focus on loosening rather than removing the soil. This method still made the trees happy yet did not cause me misery in the process. Outside the garden, life should be a balance between effort and ease. Do not be afraid to work hard but do not work harder than necessary.

 

Amending the Soil

The existing soil in my one-acre plot was inhospitable to sensitive roots; its clay base would not allow air to circulate and would suffocate the life out of young trees if it was left to its own devices. However, if I amended the soil too much, the roots would never learn how to survive in the more difficult terrain once they outgrew their initial hole. I had to find the right balance between hard clay and soft soil to provide a safe environment for the saplings that would still allow them to venture out into the harsher world. Be aware of much you amend your own surroundings in your life. It’s good to be comfortable but be careful that you are not so snug that you cannot grow and expand beyond your current boundaries.

 

English: A picture of compost soil
English: A picture of compost soil (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Support Only When Needed

I have to chuckle when I see young trees corseted up in bindings and stakes like a character in Fifty Shades of Grey. This support certainly prevents the immature roots from pulling out of the soil or the narrow trunk from snapping in the wind, but it also keeps the tree weak. A tree that has never had to face the buffeting wind or driving rains unprotected will not learn how to become strong in the face of adversity. I let my trees fend for themselves in all but the harshest storms, where I would run out into the yard and throw heavy bags around their bases to act as temporary anchors. Support is wonderful when it is needed but it should only be used as much as it is necessary. It’s important to be able to accept help when you need it but also recognize when you can do it on your own. Once your roots are established, it’s time to let your trunk grow strong.

 

Use Natural Fertilizer

With my first tree, I fell sway to the advertising. I surrounded my tree with granules and mixed fertilizers into the water in the hopes of helping my tree grow faster and become healthier. The tree showed no response, but my wallet sure did.  Once I switched to natural compost, the trees and my wallet thrived. I look at most fertilizers like processed foods – you pay a premium for a product when the natural form is often cheaper and better. In fertilizer as with food, there is often an inverse relationship between advertising dollars and the healthfulness of a product. Nourish your body with natural foods and allow them to fertilize your health and vitality. Your vibrant body can then become the advertising.

 

Water Deeply

I made the classic beginner’s mistake – I watered my new plantings frequently, but briefly, scattering drops of water that never fully penetrated the surface of the soil. Although the trees appeared to be sitting in moist soil, the needed water never made it to their parched roots. I learned that the best way to water the roots is to leave the hose dripping near the trunk for hours. Proper watering cannot be rushed. I am sometimes guilty of shallow watering in life as well. I may find myself in a yoga class but my mind is elsewhere. I might be at a romantic dinner while my brain is planning for work. Or, in my biggest struggle, I rush through meditation without allowing the peace to soak in. In your life, fully commit to what you choose to do so that you can gain the full benefits.

 

Let the Light In

Pruning hurts. I was scared to make those first cuts, very aware that they were permanent. I was afraid I would ruin my tree, afraid that it would never be the same. The fear was unfounded. Although the tree looked alien at first, its white scars advertising the new cuts, I soon grew used to its new appearance. The removal of some of the unneeded branches allowed light to permeate the canopy which before had cast darkness on all around it. New plants were able to dance in the sun that now filtered through the tree. I faced the most painful pruning of all in life – the removal of a husband. Like with my trees, it took time to adapt and adjust to the new reality, but now there is light beneath the canopy. Sometimes we have to prune back some branches in our lives to let the sun in.

 

Plant Companions

My first tree was a loner for a season, standing tall in a sea of grass. Over the next few years, I planted companions, shrubs and perennials that kept the sapling company and enhanced its beauty. A wonderful symbiosis began to occur; the tree provided needed shelter from the hot Georgia sun and the companions held in the moisture around the base of the tree. In your life, choose companions that enhance your beauty and find ways to improve their lives as well. An abundant life is always more glorious than a single tree standing alone.

Alaska forest - trees
Alaska forest – trees (Photo credit: blmiers2)

The Beauty of a Summer Garden is in Its Abundance

 

The beauty of a summer garden is found in its abundance.  The welcoming sunshine and needed rain uniting to provide the ideal conditions for growth.  Beds become a beautiful, riotous mess even under the watchful eyes of trained gardeners and hundreds of volunteers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They refuse to follow the rules and color within the lines; instead their reach extends into walkways, obscuring the path.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The eye dances along the woven green tapestries formed by the intertwining stems.  Their bold blooms fight for attention and resist being reigned in.  These are not flowers to be controlled, to be clipped and tucked into proper arrangements.  Rather, these are blossoms of pure, unbridled exuberance.

There are seasons in our lives that are like a summer garden.  Times when our moments are filled with new ideas, new experiences, and new relationships.  Celebrate the abundance in those seasons.  Revel in the new growth.  Don’t be concerned when your path is obscured.  It will be revealed in time.  Don’t worry that the garden bed of your life is becoming too full.  There is time enough for pruning later.  Do not fret if your mind’s eye has trouble settling on a single bloom.  Rather, let it explore the interconnectedness of your sprouting life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stand tall among your summer blooms and enjoy the beauty of its abundance.

The Beauty of an Early Spring Garden is in the Details