Ferns, rumored to be finicky, seem to flourish in our yard
Coneflowers and ornamental grasses
Neil surprised me with this beautiful garden ornament I thought looked like a
Tomie dePaola illustration.
I spent two hours weeding our rock garden last weekend. The succulents we planted last spring have nearly quadrupled in size and are the most vibrant beautiful array of colors. The rock garden is filled with happy earthworms who didn’t seem happy to see me.
This mint, although still small, is so fragrant it can be smelled
the moment you open the door.
Tons upon tons of oregano and basil already. We can’t wait for the pesto!
This shrub, which doesn’t seem to be the appropriate term is so beautiful and vibrant you can see it from the next block.
Beautiful miniature Daffodils
A tiny chime I made from salvaged garden ornaments.
And finally, our tomatoes. They are leaps and bounds ahead of the peppers,
that I can’t seem to will to sprout with my mind.
If you live in much of the country, this has been a phenomenal spring so far. With temperatures averaging more than 10 degrees above normal, growth zones have seemingly vanished and everything is in bloom. I think we’ve earned it though right? This winter was particularly long and cold, (the coldest in thirty years in Missouri) so an unseasonably warm spring filled with all the beautiful things we’ve been without for months is more than owed if you ask me.
After my Grandma passed away in November it seems no coincidence that her favorite season is so exceptionally beautiful this year. I think of all the things she’d have to say about our garden. The way she worked the soil with her bare fingers, extolling the virtues of connecting with God by getting your hands dirty. The way she’d make us puppets from snapdragons and tell us stories and old German nursery rhymes. And every year, on the first 50 degree day, she’d plant dozens of flowers along the highway so people would have pretty things to look at on their way to wherever it was they were headed. She is Spring to me, and even though I know rationally she isn’t here, she’s everywhere I look in my garden.