May Day Morning

"I grow plants for many reasons: to please my eye or to please my soul, to challenge the elements or to challenge my patience, for novelty or for nostalgia, but mostly for the joy in seeing them grow."~David Hobson

The tiny grapes on this vine are just starting their journey.

  The magical process of becoming.

The hothouse rose, a gift from my sister, that I transplanted this morning has one flower left from many... but with nurturing and some good soil. it will grow its beautiful pink, peony-like flowers again and again this summer and remind me of my sister's visit all summer.
Gardens are so wabi sabi in their growth. I like formal gardens, but it is the comfortable, country gardens that are my favorites with their rambling nature and irreverent attitude.

 All the flowers seem to get along and each is tolerant of being with the others.

The sage sits next to the chrysanthemum.

And  the succulent shares a bed with the sweet alyssum and a wise Buddha.

There is mystery at work here.

A small viola that grow in the rocks where they were not planted. 

I'm not the only gardener in this garden.

Someone else is rearranging my initial choices to plant a flower in a certain place. The critters and birds that share this garden with me have decided that one of the yellow pansies would look better in the rocks and so it is.

I might call this "my" garden... but it really belongs to many others... The multitude of creatures that surround me while I weed and plant. The saying " It takes a village..." is true.
It takes the pollinating bees, the worms and  the spiders to make this garden healthy. It would be presumptuous of me to take the credit and say that I do all of the work in this place. There are birds that would disagree. There are many helpers here.
I weed, hoe, plant and compost. I plan and create structures... add some garden art.

 The Rockrose that grows all over the hillside with astounding beauty this time of the year...does not bloom because of me. I planted it, but there are other forces at play. I water... but it takes the sun to make it bloom.

 The Pittosporum, near the porch is blooming too. I always confuse this shrub with the Mexican Orange, the Choisya.  I though my mother called this plant a mock orange. I'm still not sure which is which. I only know that it is variegated and  fills the air with a heady aroma.
This garden, that overwhelms the senses in Spring, is not completely of my own doing. I'm more like one component of this orchestra. Without all the various instrumentalist, the sound and the soul of this garden couldn't be played. Every insect, bird and creature is there for a reason. This makes me feel like a grateful part of something amazing and wonderful.

"Everything that slows us down and forces patience, everything that sets us back into the slow circles of nature, is a help. Gardening is an instrument of grace." ~May Sarton

My mother understood this... and her mother before her. 

 As one of my garden signs says.....

"In search of my mother's garden, I found my own. "~ Alice Walker