David bought me this heron as a gift during the spring of 2009. A gift that sits weathered in the center of my garden among the lichen-covered stones and cracked birdbath.
2009. A turning point in my life and in my garden.
With the heron as my muse, I seed curves of bull's blood beets and rhubarb red swiss chard. Arugula and chamomile rest in drifts along the field stone steppers anchored into the sandy loam. Although I still pull out the quackgrass that invades the perimeter, I leave the milkweed and bergamot that have crept in. I've relaxed my rules a bit.
My dad doesn't understand my garden design. He taught me to lay out straight lines to create straight rows. "Makes the tilling easier", he said.
"It does make sense", I say to myself. But I'm still seeding curves instead of rows this year because I like how it looks. My garden, with the exception of my metal muse, is living, breathing art. Art that produces a bunch of chocolate mint tea, potatoes and gigantic sunflowers when all is said and done.
I love the planting and weeding and wandering through almost more than the harvesting. It gives me a chance to keep tabs on the phoebe family under the deck.
My garden.
This spring I finally have time to write about it.
2009. A turning point in my life and in my garden.
With the heron as my muse, I seed curves of bull's blood beets and rhubarb red swiss chard. Arugula and chamomile rest in drifts along the field stone steppers anchored into the sandy loam. Although I still pull out the quackgrass that invades the perimeter, I leave the milkweed and bergamot that have crept in. I've relaxed my rules a bit.
My dad doesn't understand my garden design. He taught me to lay out straight lines to create straight rows. "Makes the tilling easier", he said.
"It does make sense", I say to myself. But I'm still seeding curves instead of rows this year because I like how it looks. My garden, with the exception of my metal muse, is living, breathing art. Art that produces a bunch of chocolate mint tea, potatoes and gigantic sunflowers when all is said and done.
I love the planting and weeding and wandering through almost more than the harvesting. It gives me a chance to keep tabs on the phoebe family under the deck.
My garden.
This spring I finally have time to write about it.
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