Thanks so much for having a virtual cuppa with me yesterday, and listening. Your words meant an awful lot.
Confession: I can never resist having a garden party every year about this time.
I bring into the laundry room all of my houseplants that need tending—trimming, repotting, dividing, and miscellaneous TLC—and then I start digging. A delightful small comrade joins me, and begs to do it herself. But I say We will do it together.
This is the purest of therapy for me, a little green oasis that will last me till spring.
I plant freshly-rooted stems into rich soil.
I upscale the spider plants that have outgrown their old lodgings.
(My husband comes in and starts shooting photos. I know; I’m not really dressed for potting plants, but I have a coffee break with a friend to slip in there. And I figure it all washes.)
I start garden seeds.
(Did I tell you we have a new camera? It’s amazing. Now we have to learn how to use it.)
(And no, this will not become a photo blog. Except for this post and maybe a few others I don’t know about yet.)
I pull off dead leaves and work up packed soil.
I mix and match colors—a central spike with purple Wandering Jew.
I savor the contrasts—daintiest shamrock flowers,
spikey cactus things whose name escapes me.
Most of these plants were gifts from people I love, for a birthday or a death or an exchange or a friendship. I remember their names in my heart as I work, and I say them to myself.
My sister gave me the handsomest peace lily I’ve ever seen. The card says “He is safe. And someday you will hold him…” My heart broke a couple of weeks ago, and though I cannot bring myself to speak of it much just yet, I cannot help bumping into its edges: I have joined the women who have unborn babies with Jesus.
I put the peace lily into an enormous crock from my grandma. It is perfect.
I replace all of my metal planters, or line them with plastic. I love the look of metal pots, especially antique pails salvaged from here and there, but I have had terrible success with growing plants in them. One plant got all spotted and died off, though it grew back in perfect health from its own roots when moved to another pot. Another developed leaf irritation where it touched the edges of the planter. Can this be this so?
I tell my son, Gardening is like art. It may not turn out exactly like you had in mind, but it’s going to be beautiful.
Yes, this is my hope.
If you are local, I’d love to swap starts with you… Do you see something you like?