The Joy of Gardening

We have resided in our house on the hill for one year. With the purchase of our welcoming green house that sits up high on the cul de sac, we gained a beautiful and intimidating garden. With each previous house we have decided to make a home, I have created intricate and breathtaking landscapes in my head. And then reality intervened and well, either I did not have the income or I did not have the dedicated time or realistically, both. But, last April, when we settled into our lovely house in Cary, some of my visions came to fruition. We are now the proud owners of a double decked stone walled garden that constantly blooms. Doesn't that sound divine? Oh. My. Gosh. The weeds. The fertilizing. The pruning. The dead heading and no that does not mean following a Jerry Garcia Band around the country. The splitting of bulbs. The replanting. The mulch. The analyzing. The geometric shapes. Oh, why did I NOT pay attention to high school geometry?!? The realization hits me hard that I am so not a gardener but more someone who needs an income to afford a gardener and then take all the credit. Sigh. Right now, as I sit here typing these words, I am overlooking my beautiful garden in the dim glow of porch lights and a very unnatural computer glow and I have to say, "Job well done today!". The garden, at this very moment, is a sight to behold. And maybe, just maybe, I can do this whole gardening thing.

Our "Dr. Seuss"

Early in the spring we welcomed a bunch of tulips that blazed orange and yellow. The tall dancing flowers called people to look at our constant garden sunset. This week, Irises in various shades of pink, purple and blue purple stand proud and unwavering before their stems give way to the heavy blooms that lead them tragically to the ground. We have a delightful plant I have named Dr. Suess. I have no idea what type of species this beautiful creature belongs to, but she takes all spring to sprout and then she lasts for only two short days. She is tall, slender, whimsical and completely unique. We love her. We have butterfly bushes and trees. We have tiger lilies with baby buds. We have hydrangeas, tea roses and lavender. And we have lots of shrubs that I have yet to identify but add dimension and color to the landscape.
Today I spent a great deal of time in the garden. I have let our garden sit for a season so I can determine what I like, what I do not, what needs to be replanted, what needs to be removed and what needs to be added. The time today was completely therapeutic. The thick, husky scent of overturned dirt that imbedded itself underneath my nails and inside the wrinkled beds of skin on my hands. The sun warming my back and arms while beads of sweat bubbled up on my skin. For a day, I dug up weeds and unwanted plants. I wiped my brow. I stepped back studied the changes. I sketched in my head the possibilities of next year and I became excited. With every pull of a stubborn weed, I claimed new territory and exalted the beauty that God has bestowed in front of me. I am his servant after all, tending his world, his garden. My payment is the beauty that comes from the tending, the tilling, the toiling and the treading. And the simple discoveries. This morning, we found a small turtle taking refuge underneath the leaves of the purple blooming butterfly bush. I watched worms clinging to clumps of sod that came out with the roots of dandelions and other stubborn weeds. Butterflies fluttered and chased one another. Bees buzzed and hovered. Birds swooped. Salamanders scurried. And probably a few things I am glad I missed  that slithered, zipped and popped along.
I have a long way to go with our garden to make it my own. I would like to turn part of the area into a herb garden and maybe add some vegetables. The woman before me raised butterflies so her garden is filled with flowers, bushes and plants that attract those beautiful insects but my heart does not carry the same passion. Instead, I look forward to creating a new landscape for our house on the hill. One that tells the story of us and reminds me that in each of us lies a gardener waiting to joyfully bloom. Until we weed again......