A garden's diary

June 27—I have noticed that the “Robin” baby birds have not only a momma, but they also have a father whose presence is very much noticeably around them... always, always watching his brood, sometimes from a near tree branch, sometimes just standing strong and defiant above the nest, and often throughout the day, you'd see him sharing duties with momma Robin, as they take turns among themselves to care for their wee babies…  

I have noticed too, that Papa Robins is a daring little thing; less afraid of human proximity, or any sudden movement coming from us. He even allows me to come in and out of the house without giving a flint; not so like his wife Mrs. Robin here, always a little flutter of a bird the very moment I move.  I’ve seen them both looking at each other, eye to eye, and wonder if perhaps Mr. Robin has spoken to her about me not wanting to hurt her or her babies.  He might have even offered a word or two on my behalf?  But, of course, that’s still to be seen. 

June 29—Days are a lovely assortment of birds, fluffy white clouds and the color green.  I sit on my throne in the middle of the garden and count my minutes and my hours in bird songs and the hum on wings of wind at 2:00pm.

But of course, don’t you ever think I would stand being idle for too long—those are just my ‘in between work’ moments of rest and contemplation. 

...because I can never, ever... be still!

  

Work work work—people often ask me why I work so much in the garden.  “Why, what’s there to be done now?”, and “you’ve already done everything”, and “what are you doing now, I thought your job in the garden was all done”.  Done? The garden never sleeps, except for the winter, and even in the winter it’s still working…

It is a constant mumble of growing things around here, things rising up, things mounting, duding, emerging, producing.  As you would understand, I couldn’t sit for too long, could I?  I have to keep up with the garden, or else, Mary Lenox will be moving in, and what would she’ll be finding here, if it isn’t the same chaos I found when I moved here last fall?  I just won’t want her to think that I too had abandoned this garden.  No, that’s not 'going to happen.

July 7—There are no roses to be seen in the garden these days.  Not a bloom not a petal to entice my senses and call upon my soul, and there’s a spot on a certain corner in this same garden that has been afflicted by some evil imp.  One upon a time, a white rose used to bloom just right there, but this spot has been cursed by some peculiar entity from the undergrown, I'm sure... a most execrable thing indeed!  For nothing would grow there, no root would travel deep into the soil nor extract life from the source of life.  Everything I plant in that spot must be taken out—dried as an autumn leaf. 

On the contrary, the Shasta daisy on the opposite side of the garden have flourished madly through the years, and have proliferated beyond limits...

...they will need to be dugout and divided this winter most certainly.  The only problem, as I see it, is to find them a place in this little plot of mine sunnier enough and spacious enough for them to be happy.  But where?

The same is to be said of the salvia; lovely purplish-blue salvia, with its tendency to open out from its center, leaving that epicenter bare, like some open head without a brain.  These beauties must be kept pruned and divided often, or that’s what you’d get.

The other day the mystery of the mixed PEONIES was finally revealed to me… by no other than the Fisherman himself!  Indeed, I do have two variety of peonies growing in my garden.  From that one single plant I bought and later divided, several bushes have been stablished, but then there’s that other variety of peonies growing here, as well—those with the beautiful magenta blooms. They didn’t propagate by a miracle, as I might had thought so.  The other day, while reminiscing about many a thing, the Fisherman reminded me of that Saturday morning long ago when driving around some dusty country roads I spotted a little house where hundreds of peonies grew all around it.  I immediately asked the Fisherman to stop the car, got out and went straight to ask the lady who lived in that little country house if perhaps she would share a little cutting with me?  She most graciously did, and that’s why I have two varieties of peonies embellishing my garden every spring.  I had forgotten all about it, and what a pleasant thing it was to be reminded of it…

Those are the very peonies that I dry in the spring and put in beautiful vases to embellish my home with, throughout the year!

I love them!

I hope you are all doing fine, and enjoying your summer days!  Much love!