Until today, I thought our April showers were bringing swampland rather than May flowers. Admittedly, I was avoiding slogging thru the muck and therefore did not spend any time admiring the trees. Last evening I popped my head out after the latest storm had passed and said ‘Hey! The lilacs and apple trees have buds!’ Dave, who has mowed the lawn and done some trimming, gave me a blank look. ‘Well yeah.’
Okay so I’m not a natural gardener. I know the skill is in my gene pool. (Somewhere. Most likely in the very deep end. To tell the truth, I’d rather stick to the shallow end with a sparkling cool drink resting on the ledge. Maybe with a delightful snack next to it…but I digress.) My maternal grandfather’s yard was nothing short of amazing. Fronted by a rather busy street, Grandpa’s house was flanked with box hedges trimmed with a military precision. Walk up to the unassuming front door and thru the house to the backyard – a different time and space awaited.
The hedge continued standing sentry on the perimeter of the double deep lot. In front of that, giant hydrangea bushes. And the center of the yard? The largest, and tidiest vegetable garden you have ever seen. Stand on the small patio, sound dampened by two rows of bushes, breathing the scent of sweet basil, one was transported to another world. A place of grasshoppers and caterpillars, humming bees and birds of every color. Lately, my mind has been returning to that yard. As Thomas Wolfe so famously said, “You can’t go home again.” However……
‘Hey Dave….what if we put in raised bed(s) and planted herbs and stuff?’
Dave just looked at me and took a deep breath.
Right. The truth is: While the gardening skill might lurk deep inside me, the passion, the true love that created the yard of my childhood memories, doesn’t.
‘How about we plant a couple of hydrangea bushes?’
‘We could do that.’
Thanks for reading. Don’t forget, we’re in this together.