A Rainy Day

I have been busy renewing a long-neglected garden. Most plants are planted and seeds are sprouting. It has been a long time since I've had a spring that was free to spend in my garden and my potting shed. Yesterday I stopped at a little nursery I love and picked out just a couple more flowers to plant--white ones--nicotiana, penta and nierembergia. But I'll have to wait a couple days until the garden dries out a little. We had quite a bit of rain last night. The storm has left the garden looking like a bad party. On bright sunny days the golden coreopsis stands tall, swaying with the lightest breeze, attracting the rusty colored Fritillary. This morning its stems are laying every which way leaning into nearby feverfew and peony. As I approach to get a closer look a cloud of goldfinches takes to the air. I wonder why they were in the coreopsis. Can there be seeds there already for them? The fairy rose that normally arches gracefully with long branches of light pink blooms has become heavy and sodden—drooping over an area much bigger than its allotted space. I have to find a tall stake to prop up the clematis, “Polish Spirit” that is pulling over a trellis far too small for all its exuberant growth. It is thick with purple starry flowers. My son brought it home for me from a nursery where he held a summer job last year. It was tiny when he gave it to me in a black plastic pot. True to its name it now needs a sturdy support, which my husband promises to build for me in the west border very soon. The lady’s mantle is mud-splattered, a fading lily has lost its last petals and the borders generally look beaten down. But I know the earth has benefited from the deep soaking of the storm followed by a night of steady rain and the next sunny day will bring a burst of growth similar to a rain forest. I’ve seen it many times. I check on the striped green caterpillars of the black swallowtail. There were about ten of them on the rue, parsley and dill. There are fewer now and I wonder if some of them have fed birds that are always looking for morsels in the garden. I have read that a person can have many butterflies or many birds, but not both. At dusk two deer come out of the back woods to visit a salt block and nibble some nearby grass. They are pretty but I hope they don’t make their way up to the garden. As I get ready for bed I hear the distant call of a whippoorwill.

The Potting Shed

I am planting my tiny lavender seedlings into larger pots today. It’s been a while since I’ve handled such little plants. The first few seedlings make me feel like all my fingers are thumbs. I’m trying not to disturb the tiny roots while setting them down into dark premoistened potting soil in which I’ve made an opening just the right size for the new plant. I try to push the fresh soil around the roots without mashing them. It gets easier after a while and I develop a comfortable rhythm. Scratch growing plants to sell from my list of possible futures. But growing for myself is definitely right there on top, clumsy as I feel. Working with fragrant plants is an instant “high.” I water them and find I have no way to make a mist fine enough to keep from toppling the little plants right over. I run water into large flats and set the pots into the flats to absorb moisture from below. I make a mental note to buy a fine sprayer. I set the flats into my cold frame and cover them with window screen to provide some shade until they adjust to the outside. I plan to leave them in the cold frame until fall, at least, to allow them to develop strong roots before I transplant them again. A cold frame appeals to my nurturing nature. Providing a shelter for tiny plants evokes the protective feeling I experienced when all my children were small and cozy inside our home, protected from the storms outside. My cold frame is on the warm south side of my garden shed. It is bordered by wild Tartarian honeysuckle on the east side. Brown thrashers and mockingbirds fly through and provide a background of activity along with robins and cardinals. A pair of bluebirds gather nest-building materials. A wren is singing its lilting little song and the cat is asleep under the garden bench. On another day he will be working to control the bird population and I’ll have to work not to be mad at him, but not this morning. The red anemones are beautiful against their background of white strawberry flowers, the snow-in-summer is blending with blue forget-me-nots, the roses are in full bud and a soft breeze stirs bell tones from my chimes hanging from a copper verdigris sun under the shed overhang. I like to think my tiny plants love the world around them as much as I do.

It’s officially spring and it feels like spring!! On our deck the sun is shining, birds are singing and Carl the cat is sleeping under the table. I have a t-shirt on and I’m up to my elbow in potting soil. I have lavender, thyme, marjoram and alyssum to plant in flats. I also have 6 starts of rosemary that rooted in water on my windowsill. I am doing one of the things I love most—growing plants. As I’m sprinkling tiny seeds of lavender over dark, rich, potting soil, I’m dreaming of Provence where lavender fields bloom. I think it must be close to heaven to be in the midst of so much fragrance. Knowing, though, that if I chose to fly to Provence, I’d be looking back at my home with little heartstring tugs when our car pulled away to leave for the airport, I don’t know if I’ll ever go. I’m going to plant my own little lavender field right here. Last fall my husband tilled up a square in the garden for me. I’ll move some plants I already have there and I’ll root cuttings to make more. If these tiny seeds grow, I’ll have even more. I’ll dry lavender to put between sheets in the linen closet and in sachets for my drawers. I’ll make lavender bath salts, lavender water, lavender wands and, occasionally on laundry day, I’ll lay a white cotton gown over the bushes to dry and absorb the fragrance. For today my planting is done and Carl and I will sit and watch the birds for a while in the sun. Maybe I’ll plant a little tiny catnip patch for him.