This Year: A Garden
Standing in the middle of a garden center early this spring, I was suddenly seized with a deep desire that seemed to come out of nowhere. I want a garden, a real garden, and I want it this year.
We have lovely little flower plantings, a raised herb bed, a little kitchen garden, and a wildflower garden that’s quickly becoming a weed patch, but no big garden.
Frank is puzzled. “Why do you need a big garden? Do you have time to take care of one? Where will you put it?”
A big garden is one of my heart’s desires, and I call that a need. I need sunshine, I need music, I need art and books, I need fresh and healthy food, and my soul begs for a garden. Of course I don’t possibly have time, but I keep asking myself: If not now, when? And the garden will go in the front yard parallel to the house and the road.
Remember the garden in Enchanted April? That’s what I have in mind.
How can I work a garden if I can’t walk more than a few feet and can’t stand at all? That’s simple, I plan to plant in squares, not rows, and I’ll put a long weed barrier through the middle of it so I can roll up and down it and work from my little cart. If the garden is big enough, I might even have two or three paths. That way I can still get in and out even if the ground is wet.
And wet it has been all this spring. Rain nearly every day. Farmers haven’t been able to get in their fields to plant, creeks have flooded, and water is pooling because it has nowhere to go.
Any day now, I expect my neighbor to roar up the hill in his tractor to plow where I’ve vaguely laid out the dimensions. I’m sure he’s busy now, but I can barely wait.
I have visions of reading and napping in a lounger, surrounded by tall plants around the perimeter–sweet corn, vines, and sunflowers. I can hear bees busily pollinating the corn and hummingbirds hovering above the nectar-filled flowers.
For the nonce, I sift through my growing collection of seed packets: delphiniums, snapdragons, nasturtiums (taste nippy in salads), lobelia, heavenly-scented sweet peas, violas. That’s just one bag from my latest foray to the seed store.
The rolling thunder tells me we’ll have another rain storm tonight. Yes, the rain has come, and the frogs sing their little hearts out.
And so to bed, dreaming of a re-creation of the garden of my childhood.