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Gardeners and their Gardens

Every spring I tell myself that this will be the year that my container plantings will be “knock out gorgeous.” But somehow, what I see in my mind's eye doesn’t come close to the reality of what’s in front of me. They aren’t awful,  just amateurish.

After two very successful seasons of trapping and relocating groundhogs, I thought I had finally conquered my four-footed enemy.  Since there had been no sign of him after July, I felt confident that he was gone for good... or at least one season. So, I went ahead and put in my dream spring garden.  I planted cabbage and broccoli, spinach and lettuce, bok choy and snow peas, carrots, radishes, onions, potatoes. I even added some marigold seeds to ward off uninvited insects.  Bordered with pots of pansies, it was beautiful!  I was happy.

My granddaughter and I were browsing through some seed catalogs on Sunday when out of the blue she said “PINK “ in her tone that implies don’t argue with me. “Ok,” I agreed, we can try some pinks this year if you want. They probably won’t do too well with our soil, but maybe we can do a big pot full of them.”  “NO!  I want to plant all pink flowers this year.”  Considering that this child is as “ungirly” as you can get, the demand for only pink threw me, especially since I had my heart set on a burst of vibrant colors this year. But if Holly wants a pink garden, pink it will be!

As I was leaving the grocery store last Monday, the cashier merrily called out, “Enjoy this glorious weather!” While I appreciated the heartfelt send off, I have to admit I cringed inside. 72 degrees in February in mid-Missouri isn’t glorious; it’s dangerous, at least by phenological standards. 

I was leafing through a magazine Sunday afternoon when I ran across an article about Mindful Gardening. My immediate reaction was a snarky comment about mindful being the latest empty pop culture buzz word.  My daughter immediately took issue with my remark, accusing me of not knowing what the word really meant. Having lived through the 60s, I assured her that I did indeed know the meaning – had in fact known it for 20 years before she was even born. But just to be on the safe side, I snuck a peak at today’s meaning and, of course, learned a few things.

We are having our typical February break from winter. The sun is shining and it’s even warm enough to trade the heavy winter coat for a light jacket. No matter what chores are looming inside, the pull is to be outdoors and in the garden. Obviously it isn’t time to plant (here in Missouri we are almost guaranteed another burst of winter soon), but it is a great time to plan. 

My five year old granddaughter came bursting into the house on Sunday as excited as I have ever seen her. In her hands she clutched a somewhat frazzled bouquet of tulips. “I bought them for you,” she said, “because you like flowers and I like pink.”  Moments later, the bouquet delivered, she was off on a five-year-old's important pursuit and I was left there thinking about how much love those eight pink tulips communicated. 

I gave myself an after-Christmas gift last week  –  the monograph Piet Oudolf  At Work, produced by the London- based publisher, Phaidon.  Oudolf, a world renowned Dutch designer, was the featured speaker at a perennial plant conference I attended a few years back, and I’ve been a fan of his work ever since. His gardens are what I want mine to be –  seemingly wild, yet subtly restrained and coherent. Everything in his designs fits together beautifully throughout all of the seasons of the year.