I am not a happy gardener lately.
We are preparing here for some impending construction. A crumbling patio and a deteriorating roofline have made some repairs necessary. I always knew the day would come, but who can tell a gardener to wait for years? I made the most of our open sunshine-filled yard. I gardened with abandon.
Well, now the day has come. Actually, it probably will arrive next week in the form of a small excavator. In order to protect the trees in our yard and maintain the top soil, we’re carving out a carefully planned path for the machinery and destruction. We’ll be spreading out loads of wood chips and fencing off most of the planted areas so that clay and debris doesn’t get dumped there.
We spent long hours during August and September moving plants out of harm's way and heeling them in odd places. Like any crazed plant lover, I would like to save them all. Many of them are hard to come by in retail stores, and besides, I hate waste. My husband, a wonderful cook but terrible gardener, has better sense. He reels me in from compulsive plant insanity sometimes.
No matter what it is discouraging work. Getting your garden plants to grow in a orderly but artistic way is never easy. It takes years. Now I feel like a conductor silencing the choir. Seeming like puzzled divas, some of the plants flop over in their new locations.
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