As I put down the shovel and for the hundredth time wash off the mud from my gloves, I think -- today is one of those times when everything comes together in the garden. I've planted most everything I will plant this year. I've weeded the main beds and did some last minute moves of flowers. And, to make things neat around the edges, Ed did a super mowing job and he fixed the grass whipper so that I could trim stuff that can't be mowed.
It's sort of like the day when I shave Ed's beard (an event that takes place ideally every month, but in reality -- less often): I look at him then and think, wow, this is when he looks spruced up and ready to take to the stage. So, too, does the garden today.
Of course, it wont last. You have to maintain, maintain, maintain... until... well, until you're done for the year.
But today, I am so at peace with what's out there right now. It's not perfect. It can never be perfect. But it's good! Really good!
As Ed and I drive to Natalie's Greenhouse (before breakfast, we're that dedicated!) to pick up the last of the annuals for the porch, we talk about future projects: to level the land in the back of the barn and plant... buckwheat? a prairie? trees? And less ambitiously -- to slope down the farmette land to meet whatever it is that's being put in place at our borders. They're vague images. Lovely ideas. Nothing more than that for now. This year, we're done with our investment. Now we just work our tails off to keep it vibrant and lush and beautiful all spring and summer long.
(the tulips' last hurrah...)
Breakfast is late and leisurely, I suggest we take it outside. I mean, all the way outside: to the picnic table (that is more like a utility table... I've never seen anyone eat a meal here before). Close to the blooming crab.
And framed by the blooming lilac.
... while the cheepers scoot this way and that...
... in and around and through the flower beds.
May can be fickle: it can surprise you with a cool shoulder or with radiant sunshine. This year, it more than made up for April's late start. It's hard to believe that just a couple of weeks ago I complained that it was too cold and that nothing was growing yet...
It's sort of like the day when I shave Ed's beard (an event that takes place ideally every month, but in reality -- less often): I look at him then and think, wow, this is when he looks spruced up and ready to take to the stage. So, too, does the garden today.
Of course, it wont last. You have to maintain, maintain, maintain... until... well, until you're done for the year.
But today, I am so at peace with what's out there right now. It's not perfect. It can never be perfect. But it's good! Really good!
As Ed and I drive to Natalie's Greenhouse (before breakfast, we're that dedicated!) to pick up the last of the annuals for the porch, we talk about future projects: to level the land in the back of the barn and plant... buckwheat? a prairie? trees? And less ambitiously -- to slope down the farmette land to meet whatever it is that's being put in place at our borders. They're vague images. Lovely ideas. Nothing more than that for now. This year, we're done with our investment. Now we just work our tails off to keep it vibrant and lush and beautiful all spring and summer long.
(the tulips' last hurrah...)
Breakfast is late and leisurely, I suggest we take it outside. I mean, all the way outside: to the picnic table (that is more like a utility table... I've never seen anyone eat a meal here before). Close to the blooming crab.
And framed by the blooming lilac.
... while the cheepers scoot this way and that...
... in and around and through the flower beds.
May can be fickle: it can surprise you with a cool shoulder or with radiant sunshine. This year, it more than made up for April's late start. It's hard to believe that just a couple of weeks ago I complained that it was too cold and that nothing was growing yet...
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