I would say I'm getting acclimated to living on the edge of the American prairie because I gardened today, in July (!!).
In the first few years after we returned from Europe I usually hid in the basement from May until October. I'm sure the neighbors thought I'd been done away with (a re-do from when we returned to Munich after a 6-month absence because of my husband's military retirement, and my reclusive ways caused a former neighbor, prior to our chance meeting in front of Baskin-Robbins in the PX lobby, to think my husband and I had been divorced; I'm no social butterfly [Chad's mom, in case eldest son is reading along]). And I didn't go outside because I'm getting used to summer heat (didn't like it when I was four years old in South Dakota where we'd moved from London -- I remember the instant of deciding I didn't like it; don't like it now), but only that I now have memories of what the garden looks like when I emerge from my hobbit hole in October having not gardened all summer: CRABGRASS, CHICKWEED, SAPLING JUNGLE!!
But here it is, July (!!) no less, and I was outside this morning doing battle with the volunteer saplings in the perennial bed. (Why is it that the plants I want to grow require work, babying, and cash sacrifices to procure specially blended dirt in order to prosper -- and then prosper very slowly -- while volunteers not only show up with no help from anyone, but settle in and cheekily thrive in the face of active mechanical and chemical discouragement from me?) But now I can say that the perennial bed looks more like a perennial bed, and less like a very small abandoned lot. Because it's a hot and humid July day, I get bonus points for household chores.
I'd show you a snapshot of the tidier perennial bed, but I'm not going outside again without some serious bribery.
Recent Comments