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Flowers from My Mother’s Garden

I walked around my mother's neighborhood this morning, first out through the back yard in the early morning sunlight, then back. The sun was higher, the light different but not yet high. These photos are being shown in the order they were taken, as the sky brightens, as I leave and return.

Aside from the lushness of the flowers, the first thing I really noticed was the softness of the air, the relatively low humidity, at least as compared with Tennessee, the gentle caress of a steady soft breeze on my skin. It is unusual to go from Tennessee to Texas and find a kinder, gentler climate. And although this is not the fist time this has happened, I continue to be surprised when the world upsets my expectations.

As I walked, my senses began to experiences the differences between the neighborhood and the one I had walked a mere 24 hours earlier. Both of us live in neighborhood with manicured lawns, where homes have sprinkler systems, and yet nothing was the same. Of course the plants are different in Texas than in my Tennessee neighborhood, but there were other signs of difference as well. Garland Texas is not in the midst of a drought, and the air is rich with the smell of earth, of green leaves and continued growth. Autumn is not advancing as quickly here.

Even though I live in a neighborhood filled with sprinklers, we cannot water enough to counterbalance the continued heat and the lack of rain. Texas as well has suffered a heat wave, but the availability of water, and the plethora of more heat tolerant plants is evident. Walking in Knoxville I smell dry dusty earth, browning leaves, decay. Walking in Garland I smell flowers, freshly mowed grass that smells of new growth, wet earth. The scent of a freshly watered lawn still in the flush of growth is markedly different than a freshly watered lawn that is nonetheless struggling to survive.

I notice other things as well. The birdsong is different. I hear the sounds of the marching band coming from the nearby high school, although I would probably hear something similar if I lived near a high school in Tennessee. I am reminded that it is Friday, that there will be a pep rally, and I am carried back to my own high school days.

I think about the drive to Texas, the long ride into the extended Texas sunset, broad and wide and filling the sky with a different kind of light than I see in Tennessee, where one feels closer to the earth perhaps, and less dwarfed by the sky. I think about how I watched the motion of the grasses on the sides of the road in Arkansas, the movement of the air through the leaves, the changes in wave motion and velocity as different vehicles passed in close proximity. I wondered why I had never noticed this before. I wondered about how easy it is to pass through life without really paying attention.

Sometimes I struggle with travel, with the idea of travel on an intellectual level, not the desire for it. Sometimes I think of travel as going someplace exotic, and put visiting family in a different category, travel that is not really travel with a capital T. But that isn't really fair. All travel, all experiences outside the constraints of our normal boundaries can open our eyes, expand our horizons. I remain unconvinced that we really need to travel in order to learn to open our eyes, but perhaps we do, perhaps we need to be forced out of the boundaries of our normal habits. Perhaps it is the interruption that is as important as the location, the interruption that allows us to stop our internal monologue for just a moment, and see something a little differently.

September 27, 2019
Monday Miscellany

A few highlights, diversions and meandering thoughts from last week…

Radish Greens Soup

I had purchased radishes, as much for their beautiful greens as for the radishes themselves at the farmer's market the Saturday before I burned my hand, and since I did not want those gorgeous greens to go to waste I managed to make soup, despite the burn, although it was a more time-consuming process than I might usually expect. I was using Béatrice Peltre's recipe from My French Family Table, which I had used a year and half ago, before the book was packed away. That first time I had noted that the soup was too redolent of potato for me, and needed more onion and so this time I halved the potato and added a leek to the shallot that was called for in the recipe, mostly because I had a leek on hand. I also sweated the leek, shallot, and celery slowly over very low heat, rather than sautéing them over medium heat as directed. Although I probably did not need to, I used homemade chicken stock in the soup, and given that I tend to make a rich bone-broth-type of stock, my final soup is really more of a green chicken soup than was intended. I probably didn't need the chicken stock at all, of perhaps only one cup of stock and three cups of water. The soup was delicious though, and a good thing to have on hand.

Downton Abbey

It will come as no surprise that I loved Downton Abbey and am ready to see it again anytime. I loved the series after all. Perhaps my mom would like to go see it, although I've had difficulty getting her out to movies in the recent past. At the same time perhaps my affection is surprising given that, aside from British literature, I am not an anglophile and care not a flip for the hoopla over royal weddings and babies, but there you are. I am nothing if not inconsistent, and although I love the costumes, I also love the story lines, and the idea of fine acting around smaller themes, the idea that one can float ideas without blowing things up, that one can participate in a system even while knowing it is doomed. Perhaps I just grow tired of darkness and harshness. Perhaps I too just want to look at a pretty dress and smile, relish the witty asides and 15-second references to all too human foibles, perhaps even a hint of nostalgia for something I am well aware was never really the way we imagine it have been.

Garden

General planting and landscaping is delayed by the continued heat and drought, the good news being that although I am surrounded by clay and dirt, at least I am not surrounded by mud. Nonetheless I was thrilled to look outside and see the that the two remaining lace cap hydrangeas are showing signs of budding. I shall enjoy the flowers and hope that this is not an all-out last ditch attempt at replicating themselves before giving up the ghost. Perhaps it is part of my concerted effort to water the existing shrubs, running slow trickles around the few surviving specimens, for long hours, hoping that the water will be absorbed rather than running off. I wonder that even this may not be enough, wonder if my attempts at watering are actually helping or prolonging the agony, although I take comfort in the fact that the plants that once looked peaked and weary seem to have perked up a good bit. Perhaps this is all worth the call from KUB informing me that my water usage has been high… yes, I know. If I had to give up showering in order to water the plants I would do so. I am tired of losing things, not that my own feelings will affect the outcome in any way. I only hope it is enough to keep everything going while I run off to Texas. I will have contractors in the house, but I can't expect them to water the garden.

The Planets

The symphony season opened Thursday with a performance of Gustav Holst's The Planets, which was accompanied by a video presentation of images compiled and collated from NASA. Admittedly I had mixed feelings going in, but felt it worked beautifully, the powerful images mostly playing well with the music and riffing off cultural references (such as Star Wars) that probably 80% of the audience, if not more, was simultaneously running through their heads. The concert hall was almost full on Thursday, when I went, and apparently sold out on Friday, and the music was powerfully and beautifully performed.

And despite all that, perhaps as much because of the pictures as due to the fact that I know the music so well, my mind did wander a little bit. Mostly I was thinking of the music and it's cultural associations, and not just because of Star Wars, and other film and television references. Themes and ideas from the Planets show up in religious music, school songs, popular music, so many places. And of course this is not unique to Holst. I always think that there is a world of educational opportunity out there, that although we have lost a certain degree of musical literacy, much of this strong tradition exists in our cultural memory, although it may be hidden and not overtly recognized. Much the same can be said for Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, early polyphony…. but during the performance of the Holst, I was thrilling to the music and imagining the possibilities of uniting the world, the music of Holst, and Star Wars, Christian Hymns, Frank Zappa, Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath all running through my head. The music has its own weight and presence, but all experience builds on previous experience, and a performance is never just itself, but always this fusion of all that has come before it with al that is happening in the present. A fine evening.

Science in Motion

The same evening that I attended the symphony I also went to an opening reception for a new exhibit at the McClung museum of photographs by Eadweard Muybridge, Berenice Abbot and Harold Edgerton. The exhibit was lovely and well worth attending. I was already familiar with most of the work by Muybridge and Abbot, less familiar with Edgerton, although some of the images are very well known. I found myself as fascinated by reading about the techniques and processes as in viewing the images themselves, thinking about the intersection of art and science, and the radical changes that the world has seen in the past 100 to 150 years. I was also taken with the camera cookies, even though I couldn't eat a one of them.

September 23, 2019
Break Time

The fountain by the small back patio is up and running, for the first time since I moved into this house. Already, I feel its calming vibes.

But you can expect a blog break, beginning today. Yesterday I burnt my right index finger, picking up a roasted eggplant by the stem. The eggplant itself had cooled; the stem had apparently been transformed into a still-burning piece of woody charcoal. I should have known better. Now I do.

Above is a picture of my index finger, all bandaged. Yes it is dirty. Friends drove me out to an Azalea nursery in Sevierville, where I purchased 17 azaleas, some of them good sized. I purchased 7 evergreens and 10 natives, 6 varieties in all. Despite the fact that I was trying to be careful, and I can't really do much with my right hand, certainly not with that index finger, the bandage did get dirty looking for tags on plants. It is OK, I was due for a cleaning and bandage change anyway, and my finger remained clean.

There are things one never things about until forced to do so, the importance of the index finger is one of those things. I can still walk and go to the gym. Salman Rushdie's new novel is waiting for me on the sofa. I may not manage to vacuum the floors.

And now that is all I can type for today. I won't tell you how long this brief post took. Have a good week and I will be back soon.

September 17, 2019
Dreaming of Mythical Trees

I've been thinking about trees.

For a while now there have been talk about a tree in the front yard, and in that same period my mind has been circling around the idea of a magnolia, a small magnolia, if there is such a thing as a small magnolia. But as I look at the space, and look at various magnolias in my neighborhood on my walks, I realize that what I have really been dreaming about is a mythical magnolia, one that is all blossom and seed pod, and pretty leathery magnolia leaves, but which really isn't about the tree itself, its own needs and the demands it makes on the landscape.

How often do we do this? Make decisions based on illusory dreams or on an illusory understanding of the world itself based on assumptions and circumstances we simply take for granted? I do this all the time. I suspect I am not alone. It is too easy to move forward with the dream, without thinking about the consequences only to set oneself up for disappointment later.

During this time since the driveway has been poured I have been thinking about the garden. It seems I spend lots of time thinking about very small things. I hope this will play well with the final result, but it may not, and I accept that the plans and the dreams are just as important to the well-being of the gardener as the garden itself. But as I walked and thought and looked at my garden and the rough plans for what this garden may eventually be, a few points have become evident.

The first problem I noticed and the biggest one is that there is too much sun. Yes I want a small vegetable patch. Yes, I want some roses and peonies and herbs and sunny flowers, but the sun and I are not friends, or more exactly we are friends at a distance. I love the sun as long as I don't have to be in it for very long. The sun does not love my pale northern-European ancestry as reflected in my pale skin that burns and gets rashes from sun exposure. I need more trees to protect myself. I also need more trees because my dream garden is filled with hydrangeas and azaleas, hellebores, Daphnes, and ferns. I love cool colors and shade loving plants. I have more than enough sun for a brief flirtation with roses and irises, dalylillies and peonies.

I need shade and so we added trees. It was only as I started thinking about those trees, that I realized that perhaps my dream of a magnolia is really an impossible dream. I want the flower and not the tree. Most of the magnolias in my neighborhood actually look at little junky at their bases, have nothing growing beneath them. The larger ones look like a great place for imaginary jungle exploration, magical worlds to tempt childhood imagination, but they don't fit in my dream garden. Thiss tree is supposed to be in my front courtyard and I do not like trees surrounded with a circle of mulch. My dream garden leans more toward cottage-garden informality than toward manicured landscapes. I love a tree surrounded by irises or hosts and ferns, a tree blending into the landscape, not a specimen. Perhaps a magnolia is not for me, not at this time, not in this place.

Luckily there are many other choices and my head is dancing with the possibilities. Just wait and see.

August 28, 2019
The Last Big Thing

I took the picture below about 5PM yesterday. The preparatory work for today's concrete pour was winding down, and I was entranced by the warmth of the late afternoon light across the front yard and the driveway. Workers were beginning to drift away, although a couple would be here for another hour, hopefully (at least in my mind) not the same ones who had been here before 8 in the morning, but I know that is just wishful thinking. I've worked with some of these people for a year, they feel like friends.

The pour itself started at 5 AM this morning, and they tell me that it will wind up, that they will be washing and cutting, sometime after 10PM tonight. if the weather holds and they are able to finish the pour today.

As they have been cleaning up, framing the driveway for the pour, and generally getting everything together and in place, the yard has been becoming just that, a yard, a place to live rather than a construction site. It is still a little of both but it is beginning to look like the place I imagined. Better in fact. And that is a testament both to my dreams and ideas but even more so to the fabulous people who have been helping me realize them. You can't really see the future driveway in the picture above, just a bit of crushed stone on the right side, where it will meet the pavers, but it is there. The area of dirt in the back will be grass, even though I think our obsession with grass and lawns is environmentally ill-advised, and it might well evolve into something else over time. The areas covered with black landscape fabric will eventually be planted, but they may also just exist as swaths of mulch for a while, as I figure out what I want to do and buy plants. It is too hot to plant now, too late in the season to order plants if I intend to be particular, and I do, so this will be a garden that evolves. But evolving gardens is something I can do on my own.

Here are more pictures from yesterday afternoon. At one point there were several large mechanical creatures crawling around my driveway: loading, unloading, thumping, packing-down. The house shook. Tikka retreated back under the bed.

But I can really imagine it now, imagine how it will look, someday in my dreams, when I've figured out plants and all that. Which may never happen. I am not interested in a landscape, in hiring someone to toss in a bunch of plants so it looks manicured and neat. I am interested in a garden. Of course there will be the public face, and the more private inner circle…..I don't quite know how that will evolve yet.

But it will. In the photo above I am looking west, into my neighbor's backyard — the private space. And I want my own space to be just as nice, not in the same way, but in my own way. A part of me doubts I can pull it off, not because I am not capable, but because I always have more plans than patience, and I tend to start and never finish. Or maybe I am gaining confidence in my own dreams, and my ability let them fly, as long as I don't let those dreams run away with my common sense. Piles of dirt can become gardens with time and vision and work. I wonder if it is foolish to think about 20-year gardens when I am 61. But why not? The worse thing that can happen is it can become just another overgrown hunk of yard, but it will be my overgrown hunk of yard. Or I can decide I am no longer interested in DIY gardening and capitulate to the landscapers. At the moment I think having something to work toward, even at my own pokey pace, is a joy. This hunk of dirt isn't just a hunk of dirt. It is life. It is potential. It is its own field of dreams.

During a final walk-through yesterday evening, we paused and looked in toward the patio. That patio, its placement and charm, is one of the things that attracted me to the house. Silly I know, to be drawn to plants (most of which are now gone) and ephemeral stuff. But I have maintained the feel of the space, and the intimacy of that small space is still there, but better. One plant I love may or may not survive the work, but others are thriving and a few things I disliked are gone. The colors of the bluestone make me smile and echo the colors of earth and sky and plants all around. In fact the whole back yard is evolving from a space that was just an afterthought, a place I would rather not think about into a space I love. As I mentioned in the first paragraph, it doesn't quite look the way I imagined it, it is better. What I really wanted was a feeling, a space that felt a certain way. And I think we are on our way, this back garden and I.

In fact the thing that has really amazed me is that it is turning out so incredibly nicely. Deep in my heart, throughout this whole process, I have feared this would prove to be a mistake — a folly on a grand scale. It happens a lot. But fear is not necessarily a bad thing. I think it drives us to push ourselves, and even everything had not turned out as well as it appears to be so far, despite upsets and changes, I think I would be glad to have done all this. Perhaps fear is even a good thing. If I am afraid of doing something perhaps it is exactly what I need to do, to push myself, and the fear itself can also be a system of checks, a driving force toward compromise and a brake on arrogance. Of course the fear can also easily get out of control so who knows. This is all just posturing after the worst of it is over.

Of course I still have to see the actual driveway. But whatever happens it has been an adventure.

August 15, 2019
Necessary Accounting and an Update
April has been an interesting month. I have been looking forward to the arrival of May, mostly because it signaled, in my mind at least, the beginning of the end, the countdown to returning home. Of course things are never quite so simple. I learned yesterday that my return will be delayed, and so I ended April with a bit of a whimper, and a need to pull inward for a bit, a need to resettle my rapidly fraying nerves.

But there were good things in April as well.
1. I reconnected with this blog after a month-long sabbatical. I believe the break, and may own process of remodeling and reconstruction, of uprooting and reconsidering, has given me new focus that is reflected here as well as elsewhere in my life.
2. I committed to posting daily, or almost daily, updates on Instagram. This works for me personally, as a way to focus on good things happening, and occasionally not so good. I see the two formats, Instagram and Blog, as different aspects of a personal journal/blog/scrapbook and I keep that I will maintain this format at least for a while. I am trying to avoid duplication between the two sites, but so far that has not happened, and avoiding all duplication may be an unrealistic expectation, just as avoiding duplication and repetition in life is unrealistic.
3. I finally removed the old subscribe button and added a "subscribe by email' on the side of this blog. I should probably add a link to Instagram as well.
4. I've settled more into being comfortable with myself, who I am and who I want to be. This means that I am also far less concerned with what anyone else thinks. That realization and self-acceptance, has allowed me to become something more of a social butterfly than I had ever thought possible. I'm still an introvert, but I'm also definitely a social introvert. And no that is not a contradiction in terms.
5. Many plants that I put in last spring, unsuspecting as I was of the impending disaster area that my yard would become, survived the winter and the demolition and reappeared this year, a joyful reminder that life carries on.
I planted the both the iris tectorum (at the rear) and the other plant with purple flowers last spring. I don't know what the busy plant in front is, with the small purple flowers, but I love it. Luckily I know where I got it, so I may have to take a snippet of the plant with me when I go shopping for more. Much as I would like to be playing in the small garden bed now, I have been forcing myself to hols back. As you will see below, too much is yet to happen. And yet the blooming of the garden gives me great joy, and this small side bed is the one off-limits area of the garden, a constant source of renewal, and a reminder of both what my garden once was, and what my new garden might be.

In fact, I was actually looking at a photo of last year's garden earlier this week, when I was re-reading a post from April 2018. I remember the garden fondly. and I suppose it is a good sign, a sign of my increasingly equanimity and recovery from the shock of upsets that started this project, that I no longer despair at what was lost but am beginning to look forward to what may someday be. (a long someday in the future I might add).

But of course that garden disappeared in November and much has changed in the intervening months, and although I am thrilled with my contractors and the increasingly evident results, the process has been more than challenging. I am now at the point where I sometimes feel stretched thin, nigh unto snapping, balancing my joy with the results against my own almost permanent state of high-strung nervous overwhelm. Of course I won't snap. I am more resourceful than that. But my limits have been tested, and, at this point, I occasionally feel like every nerve ending, physical, emotional, psychological is at the point where it will soon vibrate at some frequency that I cannot control. And then I calm. The garden helps me calm. The small progresses. Instagram is good for that. An ongoing record of my happy places.

This was the front yard Monday morning. A little over half of the driveway had been removed. The remainder was removed Monday afternoon (shown below). And now we start the process of replacing the hardscaping. To me this looks like progress. The house is no longer surrounded by a shattered driveway, deep clay-filled trenches, and piles of gravel. The outside work will not be finished by the time I move in. The house itself is closing in on finishing time, but the yard is just beginning. I have come to terms with the idea that my five-year plan became a one-year plan. I may need four years in recovery.

If I had known all this, would I have started this project? The kitchen appliances were failing and needed to be replaced. One reason I bought this house was to marry my love an old house with the kitchen of my dreams. Still, had I known, would I have bought this house? Probably yes. I fell in love with this house and I wanted to do this. I have no one to blame but myself. That said, there is a big difference between knowing in one's head that things may get out of hand, and actually living through the experience when they do. The entire experience is certainly forcing me to focus far more closely on what is important and what, quite simply, is not. We'll see where that leads in the long run.

At the same time, exciting things are happening, and I hope the excitement begins to overtakes the overwhelm. Between the time I started this post and the time I finished, I was once again at the house. The countertop was installed in the guest bathroom. I love how it is turning out, love how the warm matte black of the soapstone fits with the black cabinet and the Mexican tile. I love the texture of the stone surface itself, it just calls out to be touched, to be caressed. I wanted to just stand there and pet it. I find the tactile appeal of the stone itself, its textured surface, its veins and lines to be very warm and calming. It may not be the most practical of vanity surfaces, but this is just a guest room, not the main bathroom, so it will not get heavy use.

When I don't have guests, this may just be one of my calm places. I can stand here, fingers gliding across the sensuous warmth of the stone, looking out the windows on the neighborhood I love, at my neighbors walking their dogs, and let my tensions melt away.
May 2, 2019
Pockets of Bloom in the Midst of Construction

Not many words again today. I have indeed strained my eyes, and I am supposed to be resting them. Yesterday I was to abstain from all reading, watching and driving, and I did, for the most part. Only a few minutes here and there, less than 10 minutes over the course of the day. It has made a difference and I can tell when my eyes grow tired.

Instead today I shall show you flowers. Yes a few things have survived the men in boots and heavy machinery, and they dare to bloom in the midst of chaos.

I can definitely see a big improvement today. I do have to go out this morning but the excursions are short, less than 2 miles each direction. I'm not sure which is worse, driving or looking at my phone to call an uber, so I will opt to drive myself and see how my eyes hold up. Then I will know if I can drive downtown this evening for the symphony, or if I should uber or call a friend instead. I can close my eyes while I listen to the music. In the meantime I am knitting (yes, with my eyes mostly closed) and resting as needed until my eyes recover. I will be back to this blog next week.

February 15, 2019
The Tendrils of My Thoughts

I am a little scattered this morning. My sinuses are draining, which may account for at least some of the randomness of my thoughts as every time I seem to get settled on a particular track, I am stopped and rerouted by a trip to the tissue box.

It seems therefore that this is proving to be the perfect morning for a few random bits.

I replaced the hose on my gravity feed iron this morning. The previous (yellow) hose had proven to be a problem when I was working on the Christening gown, not surprisingly as it was actually a piece of medical tubing I had dug out of George's box of essential supplies after he passed away. The hose had served for a few years, when I was only sewing lightly and in short bursts, but it did not stand up to the prolonged heat necessary for a larger project. This is not surprising; it was never meant to go on a hot iron. Admitting defeat, I ordered a proper hose, one intended for use with a hot iron. Yesterday I removed the old hose, which also required some scraping, soaking, and general work to remove areas of melted rubber from the metal parts of the iron. This morning the new hose went into place, and I am ready for prolonged work in the studio, without the frustrations of working with inadequate equipment. Of course the problem was one of my own making, but that seems to be often the case with human endeavor, not that I am willing to go down that path very often (admitting to mistakes, not the making of them, a process in which I engage far too frequently).

One of the amaryllis bulbs is about to open. I am very much looking forward to the big reveal.

A friend and I attended a reception yesterday evening, where the upcoming season of the Knoxville Symphony Orchestra was announced. It was a lovely evening, and the presentation was interspersed with musical interludes performed by the symphony's Wind Quintet, Looking at the amaryllis bulb this morning reminds me of one such interlude, where they musicians were playing some 17th century Hungarian dances. The music felt joyous and peaceful, and wrapped itself around my thoughts like the tendrils of a climbing vine, gently winding their way into my thoughts and opening up, like a flower into new vistas.

Such I suppose will be the case with the Amaryllis. I am looking forward to the exuberance of the big reveal, and already in a musical state of mind, I am reminded of the vibrant joyousness of last week's symphony performance, which ended with an excess of joyful exuberance as the Knoxville Symphony and the members of the Youth Symphony performed Dvorak's Symphony #9, "From the New World". I was particularly tickled by this (I have always loved that symphony) because George always hated it, thinking it was far too populist and overwrought. And yet George's memory accompanied me to that concert as the Dvorak, among other things, was paired with one of George's favorite pieces, Korngold's Violin Concerto in D major. It is quite possible that in my youth I felt much the same way about the Korngold as George did about the Dvorak. Anyway, the Korngold was stunningly performed. Tessa Lark brought a beauty and lyricism to the piece, which too my ears had always seemed to full of schmaltz for comfort. I think I believe both new depths and new lightness was revealed, a newly discovered sense of joy, as well as the deep peacefulness that comes when one recognizes how one is shaped by one's past, and yet not necessarily defined by it.

And lastly, Tikka. Here she is sleeping in my closet, her head resting on some metal hand weights. This seems particularly uncomfortable to me, but as it is one of her favorite spots, I must assume our understandings and experiences of comfort are different.

Tikka was diagnosed with Cushing's Disease around Christmas and it took a few weeks to get the details of the diagnosis and treatment squared away. She started her new medicine late last week, and although not all of her symptoms have abated, she is already a much lighter spirited, bouncier and happier dog. I am reminded of how she slowed down over a period of months and how we thought the problem was back or hip issues, both of which are present, but now I see that this disease was probably just building up slowly, see how things can sneak up on us before we realize what is going on, see how powerful healing can be.

January 23, 2019
slash and burn

There was a blog post scheduled for yesterday morning, but well, life got in my face in a rather major way and I couldn't finish it. I think I will post it later in the week probably as a slightly different post than originally intended, but hey, I'll just see what happens. I am pretty sanguine, but I am not quite yet in a place where I am ready to make promises. Yesterday was a bit of an emotional roller coaster of a day.

I remember how just a few days ago, I reviewed preliminary ideas for future landscaping. A good part of it further in the future than I might like, it turns out, simply because of the way I am staging things. But I realize that I have made the right decisions for me, and in the conflict between my desire for instant gratification and uncertainty about what I actually want and/or need, time is my ally. Anything good is worth waiting for. I posted this collage of plans, hinting at where I hope we are going, on Instagram. Apologies if you have seen them. At the time, I had no intention of blogging about garden plans.

I simply planned on coming to my construction site, talking to my house, watering the front plantings, and communing, consoling, comforting and communicating with this place I call home. I hoped the quiet peaceful bits of sanctuary I find in my gardens, my space, the space I share with this house, and yes I do think that each house has its own unique needs, would sooth my soul even as so much is torn up and I dream about the future.

That was before Monday afternoon, when I drove by the house to get mail. Apparently the landscape crew had been there on Saturday. As I learned later, when I irately spoke to the head of the landscape company, they had been there with instructions to do light weeding and to remove vines from the roses and hydrangeas. In the perfectly understated terms of my landscape designer, (not at all related to the landscape maintenance company that perpetrated the crime) speaking from a position of greater detachment than I was able to muster, they "over performed". My initial reactions were not so kind, and still, although I acknowledge "over performance" is indeed what happened, the wound itself remains raw.

Luckily the first thing I saw was the side bed, where some weeds had been cleared out, as had, unfortunately a lovely tree peony, "High Noon" which I had planted this spring and which was settling in beautifully. Some of the iris crostata "Tennessee white" are also missing, a plant that I had been looking for since I moved to Tennessee and only found this past spring. I hope the nursery has them again next year, as they are one of my favorite small iris varieties. Today, with a heavy heart but cooler head, I can see the iris are dying back as it is August after all, and if one was not paying much attention, one might confuse them for crab-grass. More likely someone was paying no attention at all, and pulled up peony and iris indiscriminately.

But then I looked up. It looked like someone had just taken a chainsaw across all my shrubs. Everything was hacked off, all the new growth on the hydrangeas. The undergrowth was ripped out, including hellebores. It looked like devastation; it felt like violation. The arching oak leaf hydrangeas by my private little courtyard had been stripped back to twigs, the camellias slashed back by more than half. The ground laid bare, the branches stripped of growth, shrubs and trees hacked away, in ways I would never have eve dreamed of stripping them, denying them their essential nature. It felt as if everything I believed and loved about this garden had been deemed worthless and destroyed.

Will these little twigs, all that remains of one oak leaf hydrangea, come back? I don't expect I'll see much in terms of blossoms next year. At least there are still some leaves. In a few years, when my garden is full and lush again, I may look back and laugh. Not so much now. It is not about the plants. They are gone. What is left will survive or it will not. What is done cannot be undone. I am actually calm about that aspect of the situation. Plants may be replaced, or not. What is lost is lost; what survives will be stronger, life and beauty will win in the end.

But that is my brain. My heart remains knotted in outrage, in a sense of having been violated. My space was brutally assaulted. The words, slash, pillage, maim, keep echoing through my thoughts, although my thoughts are admittedly calmer than they were. I spoke civilly but angrily. to the owner of the landscape company. I really see no point in using brutal language, although I felt like doing so. He saw the problem. He apologized. We both acknowledged that my anger was justified. As the day progressed, I slowly relinquish the idea that I should hang whoever slashed my shrubs by the thumbs in the sun.

No, I am not normally a fan of torture. But I also accept that we have to accept our emotions. Our history, our literature, even our holy liturgies are full fo it, full of violence and outrage. To deny its existence is to deny part of what it means to be human. Equally so to act out our rage. No, I will not collect eye for an eye, a chain-saw welding hand for a garden. There are healthier ways to deal with rage, anger, hurt.

It may be only a garden, but I admit that I have not been so angry since a hapless young man broke up with my (step)daughter on the eve of her move across state-lines, giving up everything she had built to be with him…..the coward chickening out at the last minute. At the time I was in full mother-bear mode and I shocked myself. For the first time I fully understood why someone would be so consumed with rage and hate that they would truss a person up, tie them to the bumper of a car, and drag them down the road. Am I proud of those thoughts? Not really. But I acknowledge that I felt them, even though I would never have acted on them. I felt a similar total outrage Monday, and even yesterday morning. I am not going to deny that I felt anger, outrage even. It is healthy neither to deny emotions nor to give in to them.

But here is the thing. As I wandered around my yard, as I gently pulled a vine out of the Illicium that was planted this spring, and which was thankfully missed by the grounds crew, I realized something else. Whoever cut up my garden did not think they were doing personal harm. I am sure they knew they were not doing what they were supposed to be doing. As I stood there, I could imagine it in my mind. They started with the roses, They are far from the house and were not damaged. But then, working next to the house one could see in the windows, see that all the furniture was gone. I can imagine it now. They wanted to finish, they wanted to do other things, perhaps they even thought they are doing a good thing, preparing the house for a future occupant. Perhaps they simply thought no one cared. I am not excusing them, but I can attempt to understand.

Today, I am not as angry, although I will probably still well up with tears next time I go to the house. I am sanguine about the future. The garden will recover, and this may even be a small boon to the construction timing. Because the foundation plantings have been butchered, it is actually easy right now for the contractors to get into the beds and dig new drains for the downspouts, to fix a drainage issue that would otherwise have waited until winter. Does pragmatism negate the horror? No. But it is best to move forward, not denying, because that is the path to death, but acknowledging and moving on.

Today I will look at the bouquet of flowers I brought home from the farmer's market. I will continue to settle in to my apartment. I will walk and listen to music and read a book. Tomorrow I will go back to the house and move a small camellia that needs to be relocated before excavation begins. I will place it in the front yard where I can water it, where I can be reminded that hope is always present, even though I don't always feel all that hopeful. If I give hope a chance, it will worm its way back into my heart.

August 15, 2018
Monday Miscellany

I'm still here, not doing much, with barely anything to report.

Today it is two weeks before the official construction start date. Next week is moving week, and for now I am still just kind of hanging out between phases of my life, still sorting out what goes where, still packing some things before the movers come, still changing plans, almost daily it seems. I am moving some small things, there are always things that it seems to make sense to move myself, that I don't want to pay someone else to pack, although at the moment I can't say that I honestly don't think it would be easier just to pay someone. I live in and use all three floors of my house, and think nothing of running up and down stairs all day long. But I had forgotten how exhausting it is to carry stuff, 25 to 40 pound loads of stuff, up and down stairs out to my car, up stairs to my apartment, in the heat. No wonder I have little to say.

But here are a few things that have entranced me lately.

1. My small wine rack.

I put this together this morning after hauling the coats, some wine, and a few other kitchen supplies over from the house. It was actually rather gratifying to sit on the cool floor in the empty apartment and bang things together. And I am thrilled to have a coat closet since there has been no place to hang a coat or jacket in this house since I moved in. I still won't have a coat closet when I move back, but I will have a rear entry and space for a coat rack. I jettisoned the coat closet with the extended addition, but that is ok. I am thrilled with what is ahead.

2. Coreopsis.

I picked up the yellow li'l bang coreopsis as a kind of next-best choice. I really wanted a different color, but didn't find it. Now I am happy. I love the way the cheerful yellow flowers play so nicely with the little lime hydrangeas. The south side of the front yard is doing really well considering I just planted it all this year, and we have had some extended dry spells. I've decided I will need a lot more coreopsis next spring.

3. Crape Myrtle.

The crape myrtle on the cool, shady side of the front yard is also doing much better this year after I hacked back a bunch of other trees and shrubs that I really didn't want. I remember talking to my neighbor and he didn't even believe there was a crape myrtle in that thicket. No doubting its presence this year, as the blossoms are quiet evident, although I will have a good bit of weeding out to do again next spring.

4. New Perfume

I treated myself to a decant set of natural perfumes that Duchesse, of the blog passage des perles had recommended and I fell promptly in love with one perfume, Arbolé Arbolé by Hiram Greene. I have been wearing it every day and it just makes me feel grounded and happy. It is sweet without being sugary, at least on me, with hints of patchouli, cedar, and sandalwood, therefore making it somewhat woody and grassy but without the harsh edge of some woodsy fragrances. It also feels a bit spicy, with a little touch of the oriental, but I don't really know if that is an intended part of the perfume, or how I feel wearing it. It reminds me of walking outside at dawn on a summer morning right after a nighttime rainstorm, when one smells the wet, but one also smells the earth, the wood, the perfume of flowers hanging in the air. It is a scent both soft and warm, bruised and also full of hope. I think that is how I feel when I wear Arbolé Arbolé. I feel like I am in a bubble of hopeful equanimity, as if no matter how harsh the storms, how ugly the world, there is still hope that nature and right will win out. For me, for this summer at least, it is the perfect perfume, filled with hope and laughter, calm, and a touch of flirtatiousness, where upsets are melded into new growth, a reminder that as long as there is still beauty and life, there is also still hope.

July 23, 2018