Time Is On My Side
The daylilies, slowly, one by oh wait for it one, are blooming.
There's a patch in the corner of the front yard that's been here since I got the place. I dug up a square yard or so of them a few years ago and put them in the side yard, and those seem to be multiplying, or, at least, I think so, when I wade through the weeds to look at them.
There's a patch of irises near them, a patch that's grown from one little bulb my friend R* gave me many years ago. Those started to bloom in May so I weedeated around them and they could be seen when you looked down on them from the hillside.
This whole ensemble is usually drawn together when the jerusalem artichokes outgrow the weeds around them and bloom above a sea of fescue.
Farmers have lousy gardens, runs the old cliche, and kill houseplants. Determined to avoid such a stereotype, I envision a lovely garden beside the house, one that will eventually run to the West behind the house, and maybe then stretch to the branch.
In eight years, I've planted irises, daylilies and jerusalem artichokes. I consider that to be a good start, Rome after all, not being ....
I can look across the broad vista that is this farm and feel like there's a hell of a lot that I've gotten done since I got here, what with keeping three acres of veggies going year after year, building a barn and a walk-in cooler, two greenhouses, a chicken coop, and keeping all the equipment in more or less fair repair. Then I wake up in a different mood and look around and see a hundred uncompleted projects and empty spaces where I wanted to do this or that or something else.
I can't do much this year but tread water, so there's time to re-evaluate. I draw no firm conclusions, though, more than standard cliches about glasses being half-planted or half-weeded. That in and of itself may be an accomplishment. Time rolls on and the planet spins around the sun, and there's no point in counting. Someone promised me some geranium seeds, so there'll be another addition to the garden soon. Unless I don't plant them.
There's a patch in the corner of the front yard that's been here since I got the place. I dug up a square yard or so of them a few years ago and put them in the side yard, and those seem to be multiplying, or, at least, I think so, when I wade through the weeds to look at them.
There's a patch of irises near them, a patch that's grown from one little bulb my friend R* gave me many years ago. Those started to bloom in May so I weedeated around them and they could be seen when you looked down on them from the hillside.
This whole ensemble is usually drawn together when the jerusalem artichokes outgrow the weeds around them and bloom above a sea of fescue.
Farmers have lousy gardens, runs the old cliche, and kill houseplants. Determined to avoid such a stereotype, I envision a lovely garden beside the house, one that will eventually run to the West behind the house, and maybe then stretch to the branch.
In eight years, I've planted irises, daylilies and jerusalem artichokes. I consider that to be a good start, Rome after all, not being ....
I can look across the broad vista that is this farm and feel like there's a hell of a lot that I've gotten done since I got here, what with keeping three acres of veggies going year after year, building a barn and a walk-in cooler, two greenhouses, a chicken coop, and keeping all the equipment in more or less fair repair. Then I wake up in a different mood and look around and see a hundred uncompleted projects and empty spaces where I wanted to do this or that or something else.
I can't do much this year but tread water, so there's time to re-evaluate. I draw no firm conclusions, though, more than standard cliches about glasses being half-planted or half-weeded. That in and of itself may be an accomplishment. Time rolls on and the planet spins around the sun, and there's no point in counting. Someone promised me some geranium seeds, so there'll be another addition to the garden soon. Unless I don't plant them.
1 Comments:
At June 13, 2006 9:59 PM,
Casey said…
Just today I was looking around the house and the yard, thinking similar thoughts. Some day, I may even finish the truly unfinished project of painting the upstairs blue . . .
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