Last year I was an emotional wreck during the months when normally I would have been poring over seed and plant catalogues. Late in spring I ordered plants from just one vendor, and the box sat and sat and finally I gave it away, unopened.
Summer came, and fall, and I did almost nothing in the yard. Every week Enrique’s crew came to mow, but in the gardens, the weeds grew and grew. I had a new passion – crocheting – and spent my money on yarn and other craft supplies instead of on the garden. I spent my time on that, too. The gardens were almost wholly neglected. Fortunately, we had enough rain, so nothing cooked for lack of my interest in watering.
This year, I want to buy plants again. I mean, I really want to buy plants. There are days when I’ve had to take my afternoon tranquilizer early to keep myself from buying plants. I never realized till then how much anxiety contributes to indiscriminate spending.
Why can’t I buy? Continue reading
it’s just not interesting enough for me. I design gardens carefully, paying attention to details, crafting vignettes, and this garden was a jumble of a few unrelated colors and invasive plants. All I really wanted to keep were the Siberian irises and the peonies. Well, not even the peonies, but I figured I could plant some things around them to ease the shocking effect of the color.