Winter wonders...

The other morning, I woke up to an absolutely amazing, beautiful sound...a hush, if you will. What I heard was almost imperceptible, and it took a few moments for my sleepy mind to put together the two words that to my heart described the sound perfectly: falling quiet. It was blissful, and a bleary-eyed trip to the bedroom window brought a sleepy but joyous smile to my face. It was snowing! That in itself is not so unusual, after all we do live in Colorado. Snow is a frequent visitor to our fields and orchards, but this snow was different. It followed quite a few weeks of my faint grumblings about the cold, windy and dreary weather that seemed to dominate our landscape. I had been missing the lush greens of summer, the cerulean blue of the skies that only a few short months ago would burst upon my eyes and almost make me squint in their vibrancy. So what was it about this snow that awakened deep within me a nascent whisper of a gardener's joy? It was not just the snow, but the fluttering, flitting and sweetly vocal visitors that danced upon its surface, in search of seeds and fruits beneath the white blanket. I'd all but forgotten how charmed I am each year by the juncos and finches that show up just after a drop of fluffy powder, as if spurred and enthused by the challenge of searching out food beneath the soft, snowy crust. Their tweets and twitters sound like tiny giggles and squeals of excitement, with some perched on our numerous bird feeders, happily scuttling niger thistle and sunflower seeds to their companions below. The juncos look like fat little ladies, wrapped in gray and blue fleeces and muffs, gossiping and laughing in the church yard after a winter potluck supper. The house finches, in their own red and buff feathers, would be the dapper, vested gentlemen scurrying to fetch carriages and blankets to whisk their ladies quickly home. As I daydreamed about what these tiny creatures might be thinking and saying to each other, I found myself perfectly happy in that moment, despite the cold that at times makes winter feel interminable to me. I was reminded that the Lord's idea of restoration and renewal is far different from mine, and indeed is much loftier and wise. The cold, sometimes harsh weather that I am prone to decry is simply a clever disguise for the only-sleeping ground and greenery that will in short order burst forth when Spring once again arrives. He asks only that I am patient, trusting Him to know exactly what I and His brilliant Creation need. It needs rest, and as His child, so do I. Perhaps I would grow weary of tending the brilliant flowers and burgeoning trees He brings to my yard each year, if He did not cause my busy hands to cease and rest from their labors. Surely I would come to subtly despise the gifts from our gardens, if all I could do was pick, can, pick and can some more. It is, after all, feverish work for a time, and while it is satisfying and fruitful, it is tiring. So He gives me rest. Rest and quiet, and snowflakes and finches to remind me that I, like those tiny creations, am unique and precious to Him. As I savor the snowflake, He savors me. That is a tremendous thought, and not, I think, too terribly egotistical. So I repented of the previous day's complaining, whispered my thanks, and crawled back into bed beside my toasty warm husband. As I drifted back to sleep, I felt a childlike wonder that perhaps I'd missed or forgotten along life's stormier paths. Spring would come soon enough, but for now, I would rest. And I would savor the winter.

A time for patience...

I'm typically like the proverbial kid in the candy store this time of year. Normally by June, I'm crawling virtually every nursery within fifty miles looking for new and exciting plants for my garden. But this year is a little different, for several reasons. For one, my husband has an especially heavy work load that will require him to be gone from dawn to dusk this summer, so my days are very full keeping up with our three boys. We're also on a bit of a tight budget right now, between an ongoing update (as in from the Dust Bowl days to now) on our old house. With our boys being three very different ages, it seems that I'm almost constantly buying and replacing clothes, shoes, and the ever-disappearing supply of groceries. And did I mention the payments to the orthodontist? But you know what...I'm up to it. As a botanist by training and schooling, and a gardener and horticulturist by passion, I believe I'm perfectly equipped to pull myself up by the gardening clogs and make the most of these so-called 'limitations'. So rather than whine, I'm devoting myself to a summer of dividing, transplanting, mooching/swapping with friends, and burying my nose in my nearly obsessive collection of gardening books for inspiration. When we're caught up on some things this fall, I'll be armed with next year's wish list, and can get a jump on bulbs, rhizomes and seeds for next summer. It'll see me through the long Colorado winter that generally makes October through April a significant challenge to this gardener's endorphins.

But there's definitely things I can do now, too. I planted a large vegetable garden, thanks to my husband's generous gift of some gardening money for seeds this mother's day. We took a tour recently of an elderly gentleman's vast Japanese-style iris gardens. Inspiring doesn't do it justice, that garden was a piece of Heaven! There isn't a perfume company out there that can hold a candle (scented or otherwise) to two acres of bearded iris! That wonderful gentleman is on my visiting list this fall, when many 'professional' gardeners open their doors and hands to the public in order to share their goodies with the horticulturally less fortunate. I say that tongue-in-cheek...there've been many times that I was the one able to share an unusual bounty with other gardeners, and I loved being able to do it. This year it's just my turn to wait, and that's okay, too. It's just another way that gardening has taught me patience, and how to enjoy dreaming during those times when I can't necessarily indulge my gardening whims.

I'm also having fun taking some new photos of the beautiful flowers and plants in my yard, and catching up on the gardening photo albums and journals I've kept the last few years. It's great to see just how far we've come since purchasing our home six years ago. This place was a rat's nest...and now it's just what I dreamed it would become: a piece of Eden, right here. With the world in the horrendous shape it's truly in, my heart rejoices in being able to bring some beauty into the lives of my family and friends. I think it brings hope to others, and I KNOW it does to me.

The dangers of being koi...

Oh come on, can you really blame me for taking advantage of such a wonderful pun??! Today was the first day in a good while that the weather seemed conducive to gardening, so my morning stroll around our koi pond had me giddy with anticipation! Those wriggling little jewels always thrill me when they surface in the spring and add their splash of color to our gardens. I dream of the day, maybe next year, when we can expand the pond and add another level or two, further advancing my dream of creating a Japanese tea garden in my own Rocky Mountain backyard. I know, it's a rather grand vision, but I'm a dreamer at heart and it's one of the things that keep my heart joyful and looking forward to the future. Except for the return of Jesus, nothing will keep me from looking years ahead and envisioning just what changes we'll make to our little landscape. But anyway, back to the pun...

The one thing that is driving me nuts about our gardens, which are well over an acre and thus more than enough to keep me busy for a lifetime, is the stinkin' garter snakes! They abound, thanks to the irrigation ditch that runs through our property. And I'm properly convicted of just what a precious thing that owning the rights to irrigation water is these days, so I really mustn't complain. So I'll shut up...but ughhhh!! Snakes...I do think they're responsible for why every year, one more of our koi seems to slip off into the wild wet yonder, never to be seen again. Okay, shutting up about the snakes now...

The iris are breathtaking this year! I'm partial to Siberian and Japanese iris, and other dwarf types. While they aren't as aromatic as the taller bearded varieties, I do prefer their dainty, slender nature so much more. Their proportionality is so perfect, they're never leggy or prone to lean over, they simply maintain their dignity wherever I put them. Maybe that's why I like them, they inspire me to do the same...stay cool and collected, poised no matter what's going on around me. I was completely inspired yesterday after my husband took me to a local iris garden for a tour...oh, steal my breath away! I fell in love with a Japanese variety I hadn't seen before, that looked completely content nestled under the shade of some evergreens and aspen. Who knew they'd want to grow there at all, much less look so comfy doing so? So true to my nature as a gardening impressionist, I high-tailed it to a local nursery specializing in unusual plants, and found one there to take home! I'm not going to ask mine to fight with evergreens for water, though, and will put it at the base of the pond where it can count on some gentle splash-back from the waterfall. I know just the spot, too, where every year I see frogs hunker down in the afternoon heat. I know they'll appreciate the botanical umbrella. Is there anything cuter than a thankful frog? Um...I don't think so.

I tend to experiment with my containers each year, and have enjoyed using my whiskey barrels to house veggies in recent years. Chili peppers (the mild kind, I'm a wimp) and tomatoes do especially well, and surrounding them with marigolds and monarda serves both to keep bugs away and bring the bees around. Gotta cater to those pollinators. Anyway, I stick birdhouses (made by my kids a few mother's days ago) in each one, adding a bit of whimsy that just tickles my artistic funny bone. My hanging baskets (I call them my hanging gardens of Babylon) take on a life of their own when I stuff them to the brim with nasturtium and potato vine, causing them to explode with richly colored flowers and leaves a few weeks hence. That's when I start to mourn a bit that I don't live on an English countryside estate, where I could have ivy growing up walls and around windows! Not to mention the birdhouse gourds engulfing trellises, etc. Let's face it, I'm a frustrated English dame at heart, so I'll just pursue the vision undaunted for as many years as the Lord gives me here. It's a worthy preoccupation.

Well, I see thunderclouds gathering outside, so I'm going to go get that iris planted, and plop the water hyacinth that I also purchased today into the pond. I realize it's a bit anthropomorphic, but I love to watch the koi 'get excited' by the rain and come to the top to snag bugs, pick at the hyacinth roots, etc. during a storm. My husband's promised to build an arbor over part of the pond this year, so we can move our patio furniture out there and enjoy it over breakfast or dinner, or just a tall glass of iced tea on a hot afternoon. Some of my most vivid and joyful memories from childhood are of strolling the Japanese Tea Garden in San Francisco with my grandparents, and it's a huge source of joy in my life today to gradually create a bit of that magic here in my own backyard.

What started it all?

It's hard to say just when my beautiful obsession with gardening began. I dabbled in it for years during college, when I majored in Botany and assumed that that was enough to make me a reasonably successful gardener. It didn't take me long to find out there's a good deal more to it than that. Sure, it's helpful to know what xylem and phloem do, and just what it means to say Helianthus annuus--the common sunflower--is heliotropic. But that doesn't necessarily mean one knows diddly about what it takes to make something purchased in a pot thrive once it encounters the practical variables of soil character, water availability and microclimate. All the Latin nomenclature in the world wasn't going to get me far if I couldn't put the textbooks aside and quite literally get my hands dirty. Thankfully, this metropolitan-born girl was always a country girl at heart, enchanted by the beauty of creation even before I understood who its Creator was, and I adapted pretty rapidly. Gardening never had a chance to be just a hobby, really, it was almost immediately a passion. And twenty years later, that passion has never waned. Every year without fail, Spring bounds into my world again with its irresistible enthusiasm, transforming the straw-mat and gray landscape into one that is green and bursting with beauty, and I am once again hooked. It reminds me that I have a Wordsworth heart, and that life really can be distilled down to the wonder of a child at fields of golden daffodils, and dew drops clinging to the petals of a rose at sunrise.

There are still a few weeks left until it's safe for any new botanical babies to be deposited in our Colorado soil. I can almost see our weeping willow leaning ever so slightly, arms outstretched over the rose beds that surely have room for one more eager arrival. But wait we both must, though I doubt I will be able to resist fulfilling that desire myself for much longer, and may just visit a few nurseries this weekend in search of that firecracker-red rambler or Old Garden beauty whispering my name!