Back To The Garden
Five a.m. on a gray Wednesday morning. I sit on the glider on the Temple porch. A ten-foot vermillion rhododendron is in full flower to my left – a gift from an unknown gardener from decades ago. To my right, the pansies I put out in window boxes on the access ramp are a profusion of purple and white faces and still remind me of a painting my grandmother had on her wall a half-century ago.
I’m delighted to have come home to this familiar green surplus. Arriving from the airport late yesterday afternoon, I slip my suitcase inside the kitchen door and immediately take off for an inspection tour. Much in the garden has come and gone over the three weeks, but I easily find my way back into the familiar patterns of unfolding shapes and colors.
As I had been forewarned, the hosta have indeed been shredded by the hail-storm last week. From a distance they look fine, but move a little closer and you see the tears and holes the hailstones left. It doesn’t look life-threatening, but their graceful and now slightly tattered leaves will spend the summer reminding us of a wild twenty minutes in the late spring.
My potted plants and seedlings have fared much better. (Thank you Jason for your faithful watering!) The marigolds that were just small sprouts are now six inches tall and ready to be planted en mass as a sunny border along the wood chip path behind the Temple. And the cosmos cuttings I separated from the mother plant in early spring are now ready for another permanent home.
There is much to be done in the garden and I am happy for it. I can already feel the dirt on my hands and the quiet satisfaction of the digging and planting, of taking care of what needs to be done. I too am rooted in this garden and nourished by its continual unfolding.