A friend and I were discussing perspective, when one’s life is changing, on how we lose sight of what is important.
I was born under the sign of the fishes, but wonder if I will become a turtle and try to carry all of my history on my back. I have lived here for more than half my adult life, twenty four years has seen many changes in the property. I wonder if I should dig up all the small plantings that nature has made possible these past few years to take with us when we move.
I have dug and divided at least a half dozen times to help others start their gardens, will I miss all my memory plants if I don’t take them with me?
The mint that came from India via a co-worker of my father, the day lilies from Mrs. Kelly and her wild roses. The hostas from my sister, the wild plum and the currents, gooseberries and elderberries the birds keep replanting in the most unlikely places. The white poplar that I started as cuttings from wind fall from our local water station, the Dolgo crab apples that make the best ever jelly. The red peony’s from Dixy years ago and then her white lilac from last year, still waiting for it to bloom. Then there is all the irises from the church garden sale, those old fashioned ones that smell like grape koolade.The list is endless it seems.
Mary helped me plant the narcissus recurvis, a cloud of white today, then there is the paper whites from Avril, the double daffodils that were here, an amazing perfume, the wild hyacinths all Mrs. Hendricks’s plantings from forty years ago at a guess. The Crane’s bill geranium is a favorite; this one blooms from June to a hard frost. Oh there is so much to consider.
My work, I think will be easy to leave behind; it was never about the product, always about the journey, so very disposable.