The rain stopped long enough for me to plant a flat of sage.
The pots were mercifully small, which meant tiny holes and minimal exertion;
but I had no idea where to plant the herbs.
My family keeps saying, "Less is more."
They know how I am. But I took their advice and planted a dinky
row in one bed and a messy clump (don't ask) in another.
I thought gardening would be a simple matter of digging a hole--okay, a bunch of holes--
and adding plants. They would "magic" themselves into a fetching arrangement by height and color. Images on Pinterest and Houzz reinforced this idea.
In my mind's eye, I imagined a garden like this:
The perennials (dutifully purchased in "fives") are going on the path.
The verbena, ivy, and mums are earmarked for our neglected urns.
My plan was to begin with a few yellow mums and verbena for a summery but transitional look. Then, in September, I would buy burnt orange mums, pumpkins, gourds, and hay stacks.
Armed with potting soil and Gatoraid, I slogged into the steamy August afternoon.
.jpg)
I really tried to follow the "thrill, fill, and spill" formula, but honestly, I couldn't find a single thriller at Home Depot. The thrills were probably there, but my novice eyes could not see them. I opted for stumpy ivy and vine-like verbena.
Anything would be an improvement, right?
Small mums went into the lone concrete urn (you can see my Christmas urn
disaster HERE.)
I was perspiring mightily by the time I attacked the little wire planter, which
has suffered. The weeds and old dirt came out, and fresh dirt went in,
along with a tiny mum and a few vines.
My husband had played a joke the other day by sticking the camellia in the old
bee skep, and then shoving the arrangement into another Lone Urn. I
added a larger mum, a sprawling verbena, ivy, and spider plants.
More is okay in my book.
A large verbena went into the broken concrete urn, spruced up with fillers and spillers.
I added hydrangeas to amuse myself, though my mother swears they'll last for weeks.
Four planters, and I'm wasted.
Totally.
I'm about to faint. But first I must water my little darlings. Then the porch needs to be hosed down.
Now I've got to figure out how to plant my clumps of "five."
Nevermind that everything is the same height.
Nevermind that False Dragonwhatevers are invasive and prolific.
I'm worried about digging fifteen holes.
It's tricksy.
Will says that August is the wrong time to plant. He's right. But I am in the grip of a green fever and will not be deterred. In my mind's eye, I see tall clumps of purple-blue Russian Sage at the far end of the path. And over here, I see mounds of coneflowers. Everything will sort of flow like a colorful river.
Ain't gonna happen.
Every time my shovel hits the ground, I discover irrigation hoses and electrical wires. Who knew??
I absolutely don't want to nick anything. So the plants will go where they must go.
List:
Shovel
Gloves
Hat
Gatoraid
Wear boots, not ballerina flats
No comments:
Post a Comment