I know this gardener will regret uttering those words come August, but today I had planned needed to get some gardening done between thunderstorms and soaking rains. Alas. The rain settled in hours earlier than I realized it would. Weeding and planting will have to wait once again.
May Day
A delicate fabric of bird song
Floats in the air,
The smell of wet wild earth
Is everywhere…
By Sara Teasdale
The Dallas/Fort Worth area received nearly two and a half inches of rain on the last day of April and we are forecast to get an additional two to four inches this week. The gardens look especially beautiful at the moment – so lush and so many shades of green. But. The weeds! One needs to be wary of the weeds that are threatening to grab you by the ankles and not let go! I don’t know if the smell of wet wild earth is everywhere today, but my corner of the earth is wet and it is wild!
Of course everything is blooming most recklessly: if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.
~ Rainer Maria Rilke
The bright red hardy amaryllis, shown above, is a staple of many southern gardens and for good reason. It is extremely reliable – plant once and it will bloom and multiply for decades to come. The hardy amaryllis is also a great passalong plant, assuming one has a sturdy back and an equally sturdy pitchfork to wrestle a few bulbs out of the ground. In this region, the amaryllis is the year’s first bright pop of color, blooming right as the daffodils are beginning to fade away yet before summer’s riot of flowers take over.
Another southern favorite – Crinum “Milk and Wine Lily,” shown below – is as delicate looking as the amaryllis is bold. The flowers are white, tinged with pastel pink streaks, but don’t be fooled by the softness of the flower. Crinum lilies are Texas tough and able to withstand our weather extremes.
Bulbs for both the hardy amaryllis and crinum lily can be purchased at The Southern Bulb Company. Both are considered heirloom plants – plants that withstand the passage of time, plants that can be passed down from one generation to the next.
To everything…there is a season…
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap…
And a time to every purpose under heaven
~ Peter Seeger
We describe garden plants as being hardy, but gardeners are also hardy. We take the weather and the seasons as they come. Sometimes we have too much rain. Other times, not enough. Too hot. Too cold. Yes, we complain about the weather, but we garden on. Some seasons we have the time and energy to throw ourselves headlong in to our gardens. Other seasons, our gardens may run feral. This is the season I immerse myself deeply in the comfort of my gardens.
My dad passed away on March 13th, just days after his 78th birthday. My gardens have always been my refuge, my escape when the world is too much. In the days after my dad’s death, I found myself wanting to be alone in the back garden, away from passing neighbors out front, to seek peace and quiet in nature, to reflect on the past, to think ahead to the future.
I grew up in the rural Midwest, surrounded by generations of gardeners and farmers. My dad’s parents – my grandparents – often took me fishing when I was growing up and my grandma and I would pick the gooseberries that grew wild along the path as we walked down to the fishing spot. Fried fish and gooseberry pie would be the evening meal. My grandma’s dad – my great-grandfather – grew red roses over a white arbor at the entrance to his vegetable patch. In the front yard, he grew a hedge of pink peonies and I always loved to watch the ants crawling over the blossoms, though I was years away from knowing or understanding their symbiotic relationship. Those roots – and memories – run deep. I am still the happiest with dirt under my nails, mud streaked across my cheeks and caked on my kneecaps. My dad was the last of his siblings, the last of that branch of our family tree. I have found myself grieving that generation lost as much as the individual. Time has a way of marching on, though, doesn’t it? Time doesn’t cease to move forward just because we are grieving and reflecting on the past. Seven weeks have now passed since my dad died. It may seem strange that I planted tomatoes the day after he died, but deep down in my soul I knew – To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow. (Audrey Hepburn)
Our lives should not be overcast by gloom of the past or future… Both are mere reflections. The past should reflect the light of pleasant memories upon our present, and contemplation of the future should shed its rays of hope upon our to-day.
~ Ellsworth R. Bathrick
Black strawberry tomato, shown below.
All photographs taken April 28th in my Denton County, Texas, garden.
the melodious garden 