Fixer-upper available: Old abandoned homeplace needs loving family
Over by the fence, roses bloom as if having just today discovered their ability to dazzle. In the butterfly garden, ethereal creatures flutter, sip and turn, choreographing the perfect show outside my window. The bird feeders boast visits from rare and exotic birds and colorful local species. Weeds refuse to grow. There are no temperamental plants, only glorious successes. It rains just enough. Days are sunny just as often as they need to be. Summer is never too hot or humid and fall lasts forever. Every single plant blooms at the same time and the blooms go on and on--no deadheading ever needed.
Ah, yes, the garden in my head is exquisite.
Ah, yes, the garden in my head is exquisite.
However . . . the actual garden in my yard is a different matter entirely.
There are always too many weeds and only rare are the glorious successes. The butterflies and birds are welcome and appreciated, but unlikely to be anything rare or exotic.
Things never turn out quite as planned. The “easy” plants that novices and children can grow by carelessly spitting the seeds outdoors at random do nothing for me but curl up and die; the “difficult” ones for which the gardening gurus admonish constant care, get planted by me and forgotten and then they multiply and take over, necessitating the contemplation of hiring a bulldozer to solve the problem. The plant that grew upward to tickle the gutters will only squat against the ground and sulk when moved to a more spacious location. The short, well-behaved bush that shrinks timidly in the back of the garden roars upward like Jack’s beanstalk when moved to the front of the rows. And I have never, and I do mean never, ever grown a decent bell pepper in my entire life.
No wonder November is the best gardening month of all. There’s no other garden to compete with, not even the ones in our heads. Everybody’s garden is brown and ragged. Nobody’s plants look good. Even the green-thumb neighbors on the block have given it up and gone indoors to plot strategy for next spring.
It’s cold—well at least by Georgia standards, meaning the high temperature will be in 50s by afternoon. I think I’ll throw on a sweater and go out to sit on the patio and enjoy the sight of no more weeding, deadheading or watering to be done. For once, my garden really is as good as anybody’s and the to-do list has dwindled.
There are always too many weeds and only rare are the glorious successes. The butterflies and birds are welcome and appreciated, but unlikely to be anything rare or exotic.
Things never turn out quite as planned. The “easy” plants that novices and children can grow by carelessly spitting the seeds outdoors at random do nothing for me but curl up and die; the “difficult” ones for which the gardening gurus admonish constant care, get planted by me and forgotten and then they multiply and take over, necessitating the contemplation of hiring a bulldozer to solve the problem. The plant that grew upward to tickle the gutters will only squat against the ground and sulk when moved to a more spacious location. The short, well-behaved bush that shrinks timidly in the back of the garden roars upward like Jack’s beanstalk when moved to the front of the rows. And I have never, and I do mean never, ever grown a decent bell pepper in my entire life.
No wonder November is the best gardening month of all. There’s no other garden to compete with, not even the ones in our heads. Everybody’s garden is brown and ragged. Nobody’s plants look good. Even the green-thumb neighbors on the block have given it up and gone indoors to plot strategy for next spring.
It’s cold—well at least by Georgia standards, meaning the high temperature will be in 50s by afternoon. I think I’ll throw on a sweater and go out to sit on the patio and enjoy the sight of no more weeding, deadheading or watering to be done. For once, my garden really is as good as anybody’s and the to-do list has dwindled.
Meanwhile, the spring 2009 garden slumbers in my brain, ready to be summoned to all its magnificence at the merest hint of a spring day. And, yesterday the first garden catalog arrived; already my thoughts race with possibilities to come.
Copyright 2008 by Edith Flowers Kilgo. All rights reserved. May not be used elsewhere without prior permission and attribution.
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