I like gardens for some of the same reasons I like middle-aged cities. Buildings and shrubs hunker down in place; although things change year to year and season to season, you can find your way around.
Just recently I moved my pot of fuchsias. Now if that isn’t one of the silliest English sentences ever written I don’t know what is. But, my fuchsias are different in their new place. I see them differently, they interact with the green background in new ways, I imagine even they are surprised.
The marigolds and alyssum trailed along, as younger kids will.
While this new spot felt very right, at the moment, I’ll most likely move them back. Right is fleeting. I recommend plant caddies with wheels. Infrastructure is to inspiration as blood flow is to love.
This year my Japanese anemones moved themselves. advancing front and center in the border, like teenagers crowding in front of a group of trick-or-treaters. You let them have the candy, because they want it so, but you think to yourself, “Someone ought to tell them to stand aside.”
Mars Bars, Jujubes, Peanut Butter Cups.
So pretty up close.
But quite tall and leggy. A little pock-marked.
They are perfect for one season. 2016 will be most happily remembered as The Year The Anemones Got Too Big For Their Britches.
Besides, at 5pm, 3 times/week, my California summer sprinklers come on. Joni Mitchell titled an entire album “The Hissing Of Summer Lawns.” They say “sssssssssssssssss.”
Were this a piece of art, hung for purchase, I’d scoff at easy sentiment. But as a five minute piece of back yard theater, I inhaled sharply and then ran forward, crying out, “Oh! Oh!”
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