My garden is in full flush and I feel prideful. I'm good at gardening. It's about as 'science-y' as I get, my control over this little environment. I understand the sun, and the movement of the planet and moisture and shade. I've thought about what makes a place visually interesting across months. I've considered height and color and themes. There are some things that are not happy here: day lilies. hyssop. But most everything else hums along.
The trees are VERY happy here. I have no idea why. They grow at least a foot each year when they are only supposed to eke out something less. Django and I miss the patch of grass on the lower terrace but I remain pleased with my decision to remove it, as I was the only person taking care of it and grass is fussy. Too fussy. I can't abide fussy from a garden. Either thrive (with a little support) or get out. I don't have time.
Another garden pattern? Some things THRIVE one year and lay low the next. Except the rhubarb, which is enormous and aggressively flouncy every year. This year, the cherry tree is resplendent with fruit. You can almost hear the birds gossiping about it. And the trillium under the maple tree is sad and brown around the edges and has no children when she had three proud babies in 2016. I'm concerned.I've not seen any praying mantis yet this year but am very hopeful one will come back and lay another egg sack, and this one I won't destroy. I am so so sorry about ruining that egg sack. I won't be scared of it this time and chop it up into bits with a trowel. I promise.
The bumblebees are copious, and act like angry drunks, but only toward each other, not me.
A red-wing black bird couple shows up and sings. I tell them, there is no lake here! There is no field! No meadow! You are confused! Fly away from the cats on Clinton Ave!
