My garden and I have been together for thirteen years, and now I'm leaving it behind. And yes, its pulling that trick used by all those about to be jilted, by looking more lovely, and promising more delights, than ever before.
We are moving to a new home, in a new town (village, really) with an entirely new growing zone, soil type, and terrain awaiting me. I'm jazzed about the adventure, and about being able to grow things that our mild southern orange county climate won't allow (repeat after me, peonies, peonies, peonies....)
We've been planning a move for quite some time so I'd stopped buying new plants and left the existing mature shrubs and perennials on cruise control, which has suited them quite nicely. But in the last week or so I've been wandering around the garden more often, checking up on everything, and pondering what to take with me. My angel, of course, and both the Buddhas, the dragon, and the cement rock that reads "I don't remember planting this." Not sure about the bunny statuette or the camellia standard, but i'm going to dig up the clematis, since I heard they thrive in the mountains and its never been that happy here.
and so on... this isn't the garden that hatched my horticulture bug, but it is the one that launched me into design and gardening as a profession. It's been my laboratory, my nursery, my primary spending spree, and the place where I relax and enjoy tiny bits of magic.
There was a balmy summer evening when my husband and I were having dinner near the lawn and became the center of a massive cloud of dragonflies, acrobating in a frenzy of gnat hunting. Ten minutes of open mouthed amazement, seen once in a lifetime, never again yet. Or the possum who, for an entire summer, trudged myopically past my husband smoking his evening cigar, always managing to find the apple i tossed out each night. Or that nearly microscopic fly who luxuriated in the center of a blown out iceberg rose, showing me how even the mundane can be the entire universe for someone.
This garden taught me to stop buying one of everything and think in terms of luxurious masses of a single color or texture, repeated. Or at least to do that in
addition to buying one of every pretty little temptation.
In this garden, I learned about great black elephant ears, tiny Virginia stock, the unbelievable coastal sweetness of Salvia clevelandii, and began my ongoing search for more lemon rose thyme. (I am definitely not leaving my one patch of it behind...)
I discovered that hummingbirds like to bathe in the bubble at the top of the fountain and on wet rose leaves, that bushtits will eat the 'bad' bugs if you don't poison the garden, and that Santa Rose plum trees like to be just left alone, yes, you with the hose and fertilizer.
I'm an Army brat, and moving is truly in my blood. I love to winnow, to pack, to set up a new household. I'm not sentimental enough to feel sad that I'm leaving my garden, but I am hoping that the new owner will appreciate it enough to prune back the infant peach and apple trees, throw down coffee grounds around the Golden Celebration and Easter Egg roses, and keep the fountain clean for the flocks of birds who rely on it for their public gatherings.
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| BUNNY VISITOR |
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| ROSES FROM THE GARDEN |
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| FEATHER GRASS IN THE SUN |
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| DROUGHT TOLERANT COTTAGE GARDEN IN PLACE OF LAWN |
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| LAVENDER PATH |
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| BIRD WATERFALL |
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| POT OF THYME |
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| POTTING BENCH |
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| BOTTLEBRUSH FOR THE HUMMINGBIRDS |
And I think I will take that camellia, since after three years its finally recovered from spider mite and put on such a show...
Linking up to Sarah's Garden Party
