I was not unhappy that the number of slipped lilies this morning went down to 831. These peak days are very beautiful, but the work of cleaning up the garden each morning is grueling. Not boring (Ed asked -- how can you count to 831 without being bored?). Just hard. The bugs, the tall wet plants, the soggy snipped flowers -- you love doing it until you don't. I'd say that right around the 400 count, you switch from "lovely" to "ugh."
And yet, just because it's tedious stuff, that doesn't mean I'm going to stop. Flower growing is like that: lots of excitement, pleasure and visual rewards, alongside tedium, exertion, frustration. If you are in the business of creating gardens, you are agreeing to both sets of emotions. [I remember the first person I met -- aside from my grandparents out in the Polish countryside -- who loved plants: her name was Carol and I was her au paire, taking care of her little girl for several summers and months in between. Carol had a room full of plants in their summer country home. Each morning, she would spend some time trimming or watering them, picking out those that needed replacement. For a long time, these were my images of a gardener: a person with a lovely little watering can and a pair of special snipping scissors and an account at a plant store. Until I got my hands on real soil in a couple of balcony flower pots, and soon after -- a patch of dirt by a small house. Then I understood -- the challenges, the sweat, the joy. A lifetime of learning how to do it better, knowing that you never really are guaranteed a good outcome. A thousand things might, and will go wrong. And yet you continue.]
Today's photos were of a cloudy morning, with a hint of coming rain. And yes, there were bugs. The frogs were ready for them!
(the secret path)
(the "porch lilies: where it all began...)
(a glance at the peach orchard meadow...)
Breakfast? Right here:
With a view to the flower fields.
(Dance had an unusually long morning amble outside; this is her, after breakfast)
I then made many attempts to do some weeding, always interrupted by either drizzle or excessive bug presence. Still, I pull some weeds. That's always a good thing. It speaks of not giving up yet!
(Big Bed)
(flower field by the parked cars)
The day is otherwise devoted to making very detailed plans for the week before me. Tomorrow, my younger girl is here with her family and on Sunday, they're leaving Primrose at the farmhouse with me for a week of Grandma Camp (or Gaga Camp, depending on whom you ask). My mornings will be with just Primrose, my afternoons and possibly evenings -- with all three older grandkids. I expect that Ocean posts will be brief!
In the meantime, allow me to take a 72-year old's nap in anticipation of the week ahead.
with love...
