Garden Desire

Since moving into my house close to two years ago, I have enjoyed my garden immensely. It is small, bordered by a low-ish brick wall, and features a curving path, a raised patio, and is just altogether lovely. The people who lived here before the previous owners designed it and cared for it well. Unfortunately, their successors did not care for it quite so much.

Shortly after moving in two July's ago, the heaving and hauling began. I removed a bush of burs - I don't what plant it actually was, but it was not welcome any longer - that was two feet high. I pulled and lugged at crabgrass, dandelions and all kinds of other overgrown plants. I enjoyed the roses, and lilies, and wondered whether or not to trim the bushes down.

I spent quite a lot of that first summer in the garden, mucking around and finding all the remnants of the plastic flowers (and grapes) the former owners seemed to love so dearly. It was lovely, to put my energy into something that gave me so much. Last summer I was away for 6 weeks, but I came home to pull weeds and trim down plants. Even more lovely!

This spring, I'm enjoying watching the budding, and the greening, but I'm also a little saddened. Most of the green out there right now is comprised of weeds. I am aching to dig in and get them out. But I know that if I do that, I will be so happy doing it that I am very likely to not stop until my body forces me to do so. And then I will be out for a day. And the dishes will pile up again, as will the laundry and, so on and so on.

So I'm going to pretend that those weeds are really beautiful flowers (which they are, really) that I wanted to put there for my enjoyment. And I'm going to look up at the ivy, and the trees, and enjoy the teensy little buds that are appearing, and I am going to wait impatiently for the lilies to bloom so they will take all my attention away from the parts I don't want to see. And yes, I will deal with the frustration of not being able to do yet another thing I long to do.