Suddenly, as it's likely to do around here, summer has burst onto the scene. We went from a few days ago when the temperature was in the 50s to a weekend where the mercury is climbing well into the 70s. What a crazy place we live!
Saturday was a day for housework and laundry and for planting the Easter bulbs and "get well" plants that I've received. I'm crossing my fingers that I'm not pushing it too much because my mother always told me never to plant anything outside until Memorial Day. It could be a disaster, but I need to get these things done while I'm still feeling well.
When we first moved into this house thirty years ago it was easy to plant things because there was very little landscaping and therefore appropriate places all over the yard. Now I need to give it a little thought. I planted the mini-daffodils in with the ones from Easters past, and put the tulip bulbs in that area too. Hopefully the daffodils will turn off the deer enough to save the tulips next year. The azalea and the hydrangeas will eventually go along the side property line where I'm hoping in about ten years we'll have a nice hedge of them. There are some hyacinths which I'll put in the side garden because I love the scent and want to catch it when I come and go from the house.
Every year is a crap shoot with these things. I'm not much of a gardener and I know they won't all survive, but over the years I've had about 50% of the things I've planted after Easter flourish. There are some beautiful big hydrangeas out there that my mother sent us over the years and I think of her whenever I see them. So - I put them all into the ground and next year it will be fun to see what comes up when the weather turns warm.
My mother was a great gardener. It's sad for me to see her once beautiful gardens so overgrown and full of weeds now. It's been three summers now and there isn't much left of them. But on beautiful summer days I can still see her out there in my mind when I'm standing in my kitchen. I always went out to talk with her when I saw her hunched over the garden. It's a memory I cherish. She loved to use the garden as a metaphor for life and often talked about the things she thought about when she was busy working the soil. They were like little sermons and I'm grateful for those conversations. She was still teaching me well into my 50s!
I wish I were a gardener like my mother was. But I just don't get the joy out of it that she did. I love the results but I hate the work. And to that statement she would have smiled and said "What a surprise!". She knew me so well...