Seeds

Hope

We spent a lovely afternoon at the Dallas Arboretum, meandering about the gardens, most not wholly recovered from January’s chills and no where near ready for Spring.  But being able to walk about in warm sunshine and see some color, well it was time well spent. And my money was well spent too when we stopped by the gift shop. 

I bought several seed packets!

·      Two packs of Perennial Blooms for the full sun, promising blooms from spring to frost.

·      Two packs of Southern Hills and plains, promising blooms from spring to fall. (Can there be a frost before fall?)

·      One packet of Hummingbird Haven, again to be planted in full sun – and months of goodies for the little birdies. And finally,

·      Two packets for Made in the Shade – obviously suited for the corners of our garden that are tucked under foliage and trees.

What’s more, the recommended planting is two weeks before the last frost, which can come in late March.

The weather for several days has been superb  -- the darker the news, the brighter and warmer it has been.

·      How fair is a garden amid the trials and passions of existence. ~Benjamin Disraeli

Today was as a long cool drink  -- I am thankful to have lived through it, enjoying the gifts of so many people whose generosity and hard work made our outing a seamless pleasure.  And who knew a few lavish little seed packets could stir up such happy anticipation?

Cleaning Up the Outside

What I did today I sometimes put off until the first of June in Maryland—that is, cleaning up the outside seating area. But pollen and tree gunk seem to arrive earlier in Dallas. So, I swept and dusted and hosed down the back porch – and edited a few more pots, before planting a hosta and a drought resistant something or other.

Tomorrow, begins summer morning reading outside, albeit two months ahead of June 21. Sometimes it was June before I could sit outside comfortably in Maryland.

De-pollened, Dusted and Ready for Action!

Thursday Morning Bible Study ends this coming week – it has been another watershed year.  We studied the life of Moses recorded in Exodus, Leviticus Numbers and Deuteronomy and a few New Testament cross-references. He was an old man when he answered a call that changed Moses and the world – literally.

Because God said – This is the way I want you to live, behave and believe – Moses went from a murderer on the run to a man who spoke with God face to face.  

Yet, the voice that seems to dominate is the one that asks, did God say ____?

Looking all around – from neighbors and friends, to nightly news, etc. – the pain and problems, 

. . . the air quality in my spirit stumbles into a downward spiral. My prayers get smaller. My dreams get pared down and my visions get a reality check. The smog of intimidation begins to infect even the Most Holy Place. (The Smog of Intimidation)

That’s why just being able to move this morning and do something about brightening up a space was a tonic. And the above “Snap Out of It!” meditation jerked me out of the remorse, fear, depression that settle on my heart the way the pollen and gunk coated my comfy outdoor chairs and table.

Just taking a broom in hand was exhilarating – and seeing the spiffy spot all primed and ready for me tomorrow – reminds me that Christ said He is at work even today preparing a place from me – and thee – where rust and moth, pollen and dust, will not be a problem.   

Hope the mosquitoes sleep in.

The End of Summer

 

September 23, 2011 is weeks away, the official end of summer. But today is Labor Day – and the temperature is 69 degrees – with an anticipated high of 86! However many hot days may come, the triple digits appear to struck their tents and departed.

A photograph from last Labor Day shows a few of the roses we enjoyed through out the end of August and into September. What a difference a few months of 100+ days can make, huh? Perhaps the cool weather will comfort those old rose bushes . . . until rains can deeply revive their roots? Living through an almost record –setting time  has been a wee bit wearing, and expensive.  But because of air conditioning, perhaps a contributor to the high temperature according to some, we did better than the roses in our back yard.

Growing up, I dreaded Labor Day; it meant getting back into academic harness again. It also was the day our community pool closed, ending the days of unstructured hours, and all the promises spring made as she slipped into summer. When we were ourselves pool owners, I felt daring keeping our pool open beyond this holiday – as if I were breaking an unwritten rule.  Keeping it open staved off the feelings of regret about all I did not accomplish [again] with so much free time.

By the way, those unwritten rules about the end of summer still affect me; they include no white or patent leather shoes. And today I am somewhat anxious to set aside summer purses, summery jewelry, and all the linen apparel, although the anxiety is manageable with another cup of coffee and the prospect reading a good book, outside on our patio. 

Hope your day, dear reader, is blessed with relief, rest and renewal. Some borrowed thoughts to share on this refreshingly cool (but dry) Dallas morning:  

• Take rest; a field that has rested gives a bountiful crop.  ~Ovid
• God give me work, till my life shall end
  And life, till my work is done. ~Epitaph of Winifred Holtby (a 20^th century English novelist)

The News from Texas:

 

I got out and walked this morning, before it got too hot; ten weeks from now what feels warm – 85+ degrees – will feel chilly, portending the coming of fall. Until then, every day I can get out and about, breathing in and out comfortably, I am glad.  

In our back yard, the battle with the squirrels over the domain rights to my growing collection of flower and plant pots continues. I tried applying concentrated pepper, and got talked into (dried) fox urine – sprinkling it around the edges of the pots. After a few days, the squirrels may have noticed, no fox was lurking – and perhaps, because this is Texas, the squirrels don’t mind extra pepper.  Today, when I noticed one persistent critter, digging in a freshly potted hibiscus I resolutely added both pepper and urine to all the pots!  Hope the plants survive.

Speaking of my garden: at least half a dozen black-eyed Susan’s are waving bravely in the sun and this mornings gentle breeze.  Started from seeds last year, they did not appear until this spring; I despaired that they would bloom. Chilly weather and strong winds have knocked them about; some rains and hail pummeled them – but they were upright and boldly at attention when I took action against the squirrels – cheery reminders of the Old Line State.

Also emerging unexpectedly – for I worried the squirrels had forged the bulbs – a stargazer lily. Other shoots are tentatively appearing. Another surprise, and reappearing this year with more blooms and brighter colors, is canna lilies, planted by the former owner. The flowers are a combination of brilliant red and pure yellow against deep green foliage – Viva Mexico! Alas, the freesias are languishing. Perhaps they resent the squirrels’ incessant foraging? Or maybe pepper and fox urine discouraged them?

On another hopeful gardening note, though, the pansies have not given up. The remains of what I planted in the fall, pansies and ornamental cabbage, seem inexhaustible.  Daily, as I cut them to file tiny arrangements in the house, more flowers appear. Indeed, my gardening friend told me pansies are also known as the grandmother’s flowers, for busy little hands can never wholly demolish their beds.

And speaking of grandchildren, my morning walks have become as if I have a small child in tow. This morning, just as I reached a heart-healthy pace, the magnolia trees distracted me. The blooms are lovely and profuse this year, tempting me to draw close, bend a branch down and inhale their unique fragrance.  Slowing down, I had to have a stern talk with myself about not touching other people’s property.  Mercifully, I didn’t have to explain why to myself.  

Reading My Garden

Sydney Eddison, gardener and author,  observed, “Gardens are a form of autobiography,” and I see a comparison between my gardening adventures and my life.  In Maryland I knew what I wanted to plant, but I didn’t always bother with a few important details of how to make the plants flourish. Sometimes, I put the flowers in an inhospitable location – like the year I planted Black-eyed Susans.  I didn’t have so much luck growing them in Maryland. I made some basic gardening mistakes the time I tried. I  didn’t transplant the containers of flowers deep enough into prepared soil. I chose a part of the garden that didn’t get as much sustained sunlight, and the soil was too sandy to retain water, and I did not divide them at the end of the season or deadhead expired blooms.

So, they did not flourish or bloom again.

Doing the right things in the wrong way – or with the wrong attitude – often ends badly, no matter how hard I worked. Just because I wanted to plant something, didn’t mean I knew how; just because I wanted it to grow in a particular spot, didn’t mean it could or would. Soil preparation, proper plant tending, light and water matter – so does knowledge.

But,  as grim a reflection of my gardening skills (and character defects) that  my gardens sometimes show, they are happy reminders that God redeems what I count as losses.  He shows me that ignorant enthusiasm can be harnessed, and redirected. And the mystery of life is grander than my blunders. However, as I now read more carefully the directions jammed in the plant pots, I make sure where I plant plants corresponds with what is labeled with bright yellow or purple suns.  By building on what I am learning, I am not killing so many plants. Except for the pineapple sage I just planted in the wrong place.

Now, I am hoping I had time to add some Maryland color in our Texas garden.  Starting some Black-eyed Susans from seeds, yesterday, I knew I was late . . . two months late. They’re  wild flowers, one of the most common, so I am hoping the seeds I just committed to starter containers will not be temperamental.

Reading the directions on the packet, I learned the seeds, smaller than poppy seeds, need sun to germinate. And I needed to press them ever so slightly into the soil without covering them up. Teeny-tiny black seeds are hard to see against dark brown potting soil, and figuring out how much pressure presses a minuscule seed no deeper than one-eighth of an inch were challenges,  so late in yesterday’s 100+ degree heat.

Now, I am nervous, wondering how hard I pushed those seeds down – if the spot is too sunny, too hot, or too dry – or if I started too late? I really would like to see them sprout. If they emerge, I will have a perennial reminder of Maryland for they are the state flower of Maryland – and another page in my autobiography.