Memories grown here

Spending time in the yard or out in nature has always fed my soul. It’s a thread to memories of my mother.

In my pandemic dream gardens I would walk with my friends, the gardeners, and we would talk. They would offer me cool glasses of water, as if I was one of the plants that they were caring for.

Grug Muse, Where the Vines Will Climb

Since this final move, we again have a young yard that I’m nurturing, feeding, and dressing in different clothes. It’s a simple yard with a huge burst of spring colour. To ensure I have points of summer colour I’ve been transplanting and adding pockets and collars to what I thought was an already dressed yard.

The rhododendrons were magnificent this spring, along with the lilac coloured Aubretia at the feet of many of the shrubs. Now the dwarf campanula in a similar colour create a comparably colourful carpet. Lately the peonies have burst open with their blousy pinkness like a troupe of overfed ballerinas. My clematis must be making an impression with so many walkers-by asking, “what are those!?”

I’ve always loved making the yard pretty and have always learned as much as I can about their names, preferences, and needs. My mother was much the same and certainly knew a thing or two about growing the most abundant tomatoes, the most prolific peonies, the prettiest pansies, and pelargoniums that stood like soldiers keeping guard over her domain.

Spending time in the yard or out in nature has always fed my soul. It’s a thread to memories of my mother.

{I made another video showing some of what is blooming in my June yard if you care to check it out.}

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If you enjoyed this why not share it with a friend or post about it on social media. Thank you for reading and sharing your time with me. — Diane