When we moved to our first house, now 6 years ago, it was late summer, and all I had time to do was note what was in the garden, and plan for the next season. Well, the only thing that grew in my garden the next year was weeds, as Enormodome was born the following May. As time progressed and Little Round Top came around, I found that I had even less time to devote to my little garden. This past summer was the first time that I actually had more than a few moments to work on things, and with my new-found hobby, I found bliss.
Something about working in the soil just calms me down- seeing the new shoots blossom almost before my eyes is quietly thrilling. I cherish my "alone time", even when it is aimless puttering; I even love the meditative quality of pulling weeds. I don't have a green thumb by nature (no pun intended), and I have killed a great many plants in my time, but I think that I am finally catching on. I used to think that the garden had to be perfect immediately (like so many of my more established neighbors), and I lacked the patience of an experienced gardener. In my haste, I made a great many costly mistakes, and my early lessons were hard earned.
Still, my appreciation of Nature's amazing beauty and variety has grown exponentially, and though I still consider myself a novice, I have come a long way. With my new-found knowledge comes a modicum of patience, and while I still feel the need to sneak out in the early morning and urge my plants to move faster, I know that it will be years before my garden is where I want it to be. I love finding odd objects to nestle in between my favorite plants, and dream of building raised beds with old barn stone. My climbing roses are just starting to take off, and it is so lovely to doze in the sun with the bees buzzing amidst their sweet scent.
It has become harder and harder to put the beds to sleep for the season, and though the Fall is my favorite time of year, I am anxious for the Spring, when I can get my hands back in the soil...
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