It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day; the sky was clear and serene, and nature wore that rich and golden livery which we always associate with the idea of abundance. The forests had put on their sober brown and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet.... As Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his eye... ranged with delight over the treasures of jolly autumn. ~Washington Irving, "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow"
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
My heat loving, chicken dusting garden; reborn
Then something happened a few years ago. I started to remember the names of things. I could even remember the"diabrotica". That's probably not how it's spelled but it's phonetically close. The diabrotica was a bad little lady bug. Instead of being red with black spots, it was green with black spots and ate plants instead of other bugs. I started remembering names like Escallonia, Lonicera japonica (honeysuckle) and Aquilegia (the lovely farie in the shade; the Columbine). Beautiful names. Names that make poetry when you say them. Buddleia davidii....., and one of Mom's favorites that still climbs on our old patio that Dad built in 1951......, Campsis radicans, the lovely Trumpet Vine. I look at these names and I remember my childhood. I may not remember the names to tell you, in a conversation, but they are familiar sounds from my childhood, and some are in my garden now. It was a gift from my mother that I didn't open until I was a middle aged woman. What a lovely surprise to find that when your life is built on a good foundation, like a garden with good soil, it can produce a bounty of wonderful memories.