Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
I accidentally hit the publish button before writing any text. Perhaps that is fitting. There is too much to say. It is the one-year anniversary of my starting this garden blog. Spring has been stunning - at first too fast, then slower with cooler weather. I am struggling with being a gardener whose house is for sale. Do I put in new plants? Or do the minimum effort necessary to keep the garden looking good? It is sad to know I will have to leave a garden that I have created for the past eight-plus years. (Sometimes, however, the stress of not knowing gets to me and I just want to turn my back on the garden and start a new one, this time with more sun.)
The garden after many years is maturing to that full, more cottagey effect, with serendipity playing a large part in the garden's look. The columbine, below, self-seeded in profusion among flagstones.
Tiarella (foamflower) is adorable along the path edges and a long bloomer, though photos never do it justice.
The light transforms a mainly green scene.
Tulips fall from the sky. Usually they are broken and faded, and my husband and I have been known to disparage the "mess" created by poplars. But this one was a gift. I now understand why the tree is called a tulip popular.
Iris cristata has taken over a large swath of shady slope in just 2-3 years.
The stunner in my garden the last two weeks has been the grape-purple columbine of an unknown variety purchased from the farmer's market 2 years ago.
Azaleas are now past their peak, but here are a few photos from a week or so ago.
Japanese roof iris spreads beautifully.
Bugleweed seeds itself around, but I let it.
More of the purple columbine edging the path.
Green and gold is probably my favorite groundcover. Tough, easy, native, pretty.
Japanese kerria has graceful arching branches. It thrives in part shade and fits a woodland aesthetic. It is past its peak now, but was at its prime a few days ago.
Monday, April 2, 2012
I wish it were possible to state in so
few words my errand in the world; quite simply
forestalling all inquiry, the oak offers his leaves
largehandedly. And in winter his integral magnificent order
decrees, says solemnly who he is
in the great thrusting limbs that are all finally
one: a return, a permanent riverandsea.
So the rose is its own credential, a certain
unattainable effortless form: wearing its heart
visibly, it gives us heart too: bud, fullness and fall.
~ Daniel Berrigan
~ Daniel Berrigan