Spring in January, Here in Georgia

My Cherry Tree is starting to bloom. In January!

3 days later: full bloom!

These sunny, warm January days
Are remarkable and rare.
What sirens they are,
Shameless and seductive.

“Aah,” say we kindly, impatient humans
Tipping our grateful faces skyward,
Soaking up the light
And breathing deep,
Flaunting our bare legs and arms,
Laughing in the light,
Feasting on the early earthly heat.
“How wonderful.”

“Too soon,” murmurs the winter wind,
Waiting patiently.
For it knows it will have one last turn.
Or at least it will try.
And it will have its arrogant way,
Breathing cruel, icy air
Over everything,
Just because it can.

But sweet Spring innocents,
Deaf to whispered warnings,
Are programmed to respond
To this beckoning siren string
Of strangely warm, January days.

Now, dutifully taking their cue,
One by one,
The cherry trees wake their branches
For the big show.
Tender scarlet buds swell, and open.
The jonquils bloom in my woods.
And the fragile, coiled tendrils of the ferns
Emerge on my hill.

“Too soon,” cry the breezes,
And the singing birds,
And I.

“Too soon.”

-Poem by Susie Berta-

Copyright 2012

New Year’s Day, 2012

Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who made the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and the crotchety—

best preacher that ever was,
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness,
to ease us with warm touching,
to hold us in the great hands of light—
good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.

– Poem by Mary Oliver –

Decisions Take You Forward

I had a painting professor at SCAD who taught me an important lesson – beyond the concrete lessons of art, like color theory and the rules of perspective (not that there’s anything wrong with those). I was having a tough time making up my mind about how to handle the subject matter of a painting I was working on. I was stuck. Afraid to choose. What if I made the wrong choice? Deadline looming, I was way behind, frozen solid in a blizzard of emotional snow and indecision.

He said to me, “Decisions take you forward.” My first thought was “But what if I choose something that turns out to be a big mistake and the painting sucks?” In other words, “What if I’m – gulp – WRONG?” And he told me, ” Don’t be afraid. Don’t be foolhardy. Take action. Make the wisest decision you can, and then learn from your mistakes. You fix them, or you paint another painting. A better one. And you keep going forward with every decision. Being stuck gets you nowhere. Right or wrong, decisions take you forward.”

Everyone’s decision-making process is different. But I think a functional decision-making process is best thought of as an active means to an end, not an excuse to procrastinate endlessly. Decisions aren’t necessarily simple. Or easy. They just need to happen if you want to make any progress.

So, I recently came to a decision – just one – to make a cairn in the middle of an ugly new bare spot in my yard… see previous post “Eureka Moment in the Garden.” How I came to that decision was through action. I tossed a few rocks. That decision led the way to another, and another, and the bed is being transformed, slowly but surely. Action! Progress! Hooray!

Here are two “before” pictures and two “after” pictures. “After” should really be translated as: “In Progress.”

“In Progress” pictures: The plants at the back are Encore azaleas. To the right are two hydrangeas that were already there, accompanied by a third one transplanted from a spot where it was not happy. Hopefully it will settle into its new group environs and the old-timers will welcome the new guy to the ‘hood. The two buckets on the left that aren’t planted yet are Camellia sasanqua. Fall blooms! Oh boy! My plans for the two pine straw beds on either side of the entry include a variety of perennials that I will probably plant in the spring. The rocks are from a bulk-stone place about 14 miles from my house. I got 1/4 scoop of small egg rock and 1/4 scoop of medium egg rock and they dumped it at the end of my driveway. I would like to thank my husband for hauling wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of those rocks! Oh, and I also got 4 larger rocks for visual interest. Now my husband is talking about wanting a fig tree. I don’t know a thing about fig trees, but I’m willing to consider it. Might help shade the hydrangeas a bit if I put a fig tree in the bed to the right of the entry.

I like the way this is going. I’d love your thoughts.

Before: A bare bed with a cairn in the center

Before: closer view of empty bed with cairn in center

After: Progress!

After: with rocks and plants watered in.

Eureka Moment in the Garden: Embracing Change and Finding Balance

My Back Yard

It was a lovely, shady spot in the back yard… two small dogwood trees, surrounded by lush green ivy ground cover, neatly kept by a curving bed line at the grassy sod on one side, and by the rock wall that borders the woodland path on the other side. For years it was this way. I grew used to it. Comfortable. Constant. Familiar. Beautiful. Low maintenance!

Then, things started changing. The dogwoods got sick, and spindly, their branches producing fewer leaves, and those that remained were yellowing and falling off. We pulled all the ivy underneath, hoping to clear the roots of any competition for food and water. We fed them with tree spikes. To no avail. The dogwoods continued to struggle and die.

So we made plans. The dogwoods came down, and we had a glaringly ugly, bare slash of ground that was once tranquil and lush. It changed everything. The shade was gone. The unfamiliarity of the new environment put me off kilter. It no longer felt comfortable. It was all so different, and it put my mind in an immediate state of unease. What to do? We dreamed of a lovely patio pad, perhaps a place to put chairs and a fire pit in the fall and spring; in summer it would be a sensible pad for our grandson’s inflatable kiddie pool, eliminating the worries of placing the pool on expensive sod. I was already envisioning what plantings I would place around it to settle it in and give it what I call the all-important “nestle factor.” We could do this ourselves, we decided with confidence, and so we eagerly got string and wood and started staking it off.

Enter reality. There was more of a slope than we had realized in the bed from the front edge of the grass bed line down to the wall. It would require significant leveling if there were to be any kind of patio, enough to require major digging and major footings, and more manpower than we were willing – or, let’s face it, able – to dedicate . This dream was no longer a simple DIY weekend project. We called a landscaper to bid the project. Our budget was around $1500. When the bid came in it was $3900, and our dream went down the tubes. We simply could not afford it.

When I am forced to take a philosophical approach – usually when I don’t get what I want – I am given two options. Pout and get angry, shut down, and abandon all hope. Or, (optional: pout, get angry), and then move on, opening my mind to the possibility of exploring other options. I chose the latter. Defeat would simply not be an option. This approach doesn’t always produce the ideas for those other options right away, of course. But giving myself permission to accept that a creative idea will come, whenever it comes, opens up the channels. Being closed off and inflexible creates nothing but an impossible void surrounded by impenetrable walls, where creativity is neither welcome nor possible.

So I decided I would “be with it” for a while. I had no idea what I would do with our bare spot, but I decided to let it perk. I gave myself permission to embrace the change that was forced upon me. I was “ready to receive.” Several weeks went by as I patiently studied that spot. Every time I came up with nothing, I told myself it was a process, and it would take what it takes. I had to trust in the process.

Then just yesterday, after the lawn was mowed and the backyard was clean and smelled of newly mowed grass, and the day was crystal clear and sunny, I took my place on the bench across the yard from “the spot.” This time I felt something shift in my brain, like dropping a piece of a puzzle into place. I saw the stones that had been serving as border stones in a single file on the grass edge like I was seeing them for the first time. I walked over and starting chucking the stones into the center of the bed. I wasn’t exactly sure why yet, but I knew I didn’t want that stone border any more. Clearing the border of stones was transformational, like clearing a place in my mind for the next step. How such a simple thing could feel so invigorating was astonishing. It was like I had been suffocating and suddenly I could breathe again! I saw the pile I had made in the center, at first meant to be a temporary repository. And another piece fell into place in my brain. A CAIRN! YES!!!!

I approached the pile of stones and mindfully began choosing certain ones, stacking and carefully balancing them like a totem. It was the funkiest sculpture I had ever seen, and simply the most mind-bendingly satisfying, zen-like artistic endeavor imaginable. EUREKA! This is it!! I will create a spot where nothing is forever… where nothing is constant and everything is changing… that invites, even requires, interaction. Now I am aware that this pretty much describes what gardeners do anyway. Nothing we plant is forever. And we are constantly interacting, moving plants and creating new spaces. So I guess this space would be no different. But coming to this solution with this particular space seemed like an entirely new, revelatory process, most likely because it involved not only creative input from me as creator-gardener, but also from anyone visiting my garden.  Rarely – ok, never – have I ever planted a bed with the thought that any old soul passing by had permission to totally dismantle it and create their own vision. No, this spot is uniquely different. The simple, beautiful cairn I built will stand as it is until someone – anyone – walks by and chooses to make their own version with the stones available there. Or until the wind blows it down, or a squirrel dislodges a stone and it all tumbles over. Whatever happens, it’s destined for change, always an opportunity waiting to happen. A lesson in letting go, embracing change, starting over, re-building, finding balance. Interactive, meditative, changing, creative art. How exciting is that!

My First Cairn

Cairns have an ancient history, having been built for a number of reasons. They often mark burial places, but they also exist as markers to travelers, pointing the way to safety or home; also symbols of friendship and hope; and as metaphors for spiritual beings. These are rock formations – sculptures – that stand serenely balanced, without benefit of cement. As traditions all over the world, cairns are everywhere, from Scotland to Sedona. And now, in my back yard.

I still haven’t figured out exactly what to put in the rest of the bed, but I have my first cairn as the seed from which the ideas will germinate. In time. I’m already seeing more and different kinds of stones incorporated as ground cover – and, no doubt, fodder.

I recently watched my DVD of one of my favorite musical productions, “Sunday in the Park with George”, based on the painter, Seurat, and his revolutionary painting, “La Grand Jatte.” It’s probably no coincidence the music and lyrics from the show resonate within me and have no doubt been quietly at work during this whole process, also reminding me of the elements to be considered: “Order. Design. Tension. Color. Balance. Light.”

I want to move on
I want to explore the light
I want to know how to get through,
Through to something new,
Something of my own…

Thanks be to the universe. Eureka. I’m on my way.

Life Lessons in the Garden

My precious grandson, Harper, is 3. He calls me “Gamma.” He calls his grandfather “Grampa Rick,” speaking it fluidly as though it were all one word: “Gramparick.” I love that child more than I can express, and Gramparick, who is plum foolish over him, does, too  – which may be one reason Harper likes to come over to our house and play. He feels all that love. And he returns it equally. Win-Win!

He gets 100 per cent of our attention when he’s here. I’m not the least bit apologetic about it, either. We all find each other extremely entertaining, uber amusing, and we enjoy his company as much as anyone on the planet. We three love to sing, and laugh, and swing, and run, and play indoors and out … in the house, in the playhouse, in the sandbox, in the yard, in the garden. We have treasure hunts and dress like pirates. We paint on easels with real paints and brushes. His favorite color is orange. We sing silly songs. We play, play, play.

We also talk. A lot. His favorite expression is one word: “Why?” Try answering that question multiple times in rapid succession, and see how you do. As challenging (and, ok, exasperating) as that is, it is also a teachable moment, a golden opportunity to talk to him about whatever he asks – every time he asks – over and over again. My motto concerning a 3-yr old’s curiosity and incessant questions: ask and ye shall receive. Always. Gramparick and I give him straight answers, too. You just never know how much of any given answer will stick, so give it your all and see what happens. Gramparick’s been telling him about Boyle’s Law since he was an infant. Go figure.

Day lilies

Harper is sharp, and observant. One recent spring day, as we walked through the yard toward his swing set, he noticed the bright green blades of the day lilies poking up through the pine straw on the bank where only a week earlier there had been nothing. “Woh!” he exclaimed, “What’s all THAT?!”  And we were off.  ”Those are the day lilies coming up” (“Why?) “because it’s spring and that’s what they do in the spring” (“Why?) “because nature has cycles, you know, seasons: summer, fall, winter, and spring” (“Why?”) “so that plants can grow, and then they bloom, and then the leaves replace the blooms, and then they rest, and then they die back in winter, and then when spring comes, it starts all over again.” (“Why?”) “It’s the circle of life,” I replied. A gust of wind blew pink blossoms through the air, drawing his attention to the big cherry tree near his swing set. “Do you see all the cherry blossoms on that tree, and all the blossoms blowing in the air?” I asked him. “Yeaaaahh” he whispered, “they are snowing all over the ground!” “This is part of the circle,” I said, “and when those blossoms are all gone off the tree, there will be green leaves on that tree all summer long. And then in the fall, the leaves will turn brown and fall to the ground, and during the winter the tree will rest up so it can blossom all over again in the spring. That’s the full circle.” By this time we had reached the swings, and he was happily swinging back and forth, his gaze still fixed on the big cherry tree . “You watch that tree every time we come out here to swing and you will see it all happen,” I said. He stopped asking why. It was time for swinging. He was satisfied. I had no idea if he would retain even a fraction of the information, but as long as he was asking, I would happily oblige him with answers as best I could.

Fast forward to the next day, a sunny Saturday when Gramparick was home and Harper had returned to play for a little while. As the three of us walked on the grass past the emerging day lilies on the bank, Harper turned to Gramparick and chirped happily, “Gamma taught me all about the flowers and trees and the circle of life yesterday!”

You could’ve knocked me over with a day lily. I don’t think I’ve been that thrilled in a long time.

Woodland Paths

Back gate to woodland path

So this is the back gate to one of the woodland paths on my property. Don’t let anyone tell you that woodland gardens and paths are “no maintenance.” My paths and beds require a yearly springtime ritual of leaf-raking and re-mulching – a real workout – but it is SO worth the effort. When tidied like this, the paths and beds are inviting and just naturally beautiful. How satisfying!

The self-seeded Hellebore babies are being transplanted from the middle to the sides

This spring the Hellebores (Lenten Roses) have self-seeded their babies all over the middle of the smaller central path, so I am moving them out of harm’s way and over to the sides to complete the border down the length of the path. Imagine, all those beautiful baby plants are FREE!! Such a gift.

This path is strictly a one-person walking path. The other paths are friendly, two-people paths, and one is a working path wide enough for driving the tractor-mower back and forth. But this little one is singularly special. It’s the path that invites one person on a solitary, slow meander; a quiet, reverent tiptoe down the slenderest of openings right through the middle of heaven and those verdant Hellebores. Just magical, to my mind. And a balm to my spirit.

Spring is my time to attend to my paths – all of them: those already there, and those I create that will lead somewhere new. Spring renews my very soul, and thus, the garden becomes the outward manifestation of a parallel inner spiritual journey – and the woodland paths always show me the way…

You Must Believe in Spring

“When lonely feelings chill the meadows of your mind,
just think if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
Beneath the deepest snows, the secret of a rose
is merely that it knows you must believe in spring!

Just as a tree is sure its leaves will reappear,
it knows its emptiness is just a time of year,
the frozen mountain dreams of April’s melting streams,
how crystal clear it seems, you must believe in spring!

You must believe in love and trust it’s on its way,
just as the sleeping rose awaits the kiss of may,
so in a world of snow, of things that come and go,
where what you think you know, you can’t be certain of,
you must believe in spring… and love.”

–Bergman/Legrand