There was a freeze last week so that was the end of my “stunning garden of multicolored cosmos surrounded by a golden border of nasturtiums”. I put this in quotes because that’s what I was hoping for when I started my latest flower project in March, but not quite what I ended up with. I live on seven and a half acres and most of it would qualify for the British term “rewilding”. I like to think that puts me on the cutting edge of things, although at times I imagine a landscape company paying me to put a sign in my yard “Hire us before it’s too late”.
This latest project started when I decided I had to do something with a space that once had a tall evergreen tree in the front yard, topped with a treehouse that friend Wayne built for daughter Rose. I tried to climb up to it once but I got vertigo and barely got back down without the help of a cherry picker. Later it started to die and at Wayne’s suggestion (he’s had quite a history with this tree), the stump and lower branches were left. I actually loved this phase and hung colored glass bottles and solar lamps on it. For several years it was admired by neighbors for the strung Christmas lights (well, one woman commented on it), until some animal or other chewed through the wire. Finally, it was a danger as the whole thing could topple at the slightest touch, and it was removed, leaving a circular area that quickly became filled with tree bark and weeds.
As I looked at it this past spring, all sorts of ideas came to mind: A tiered bed (this would require hiring that landscape company who paid me for the sign), a bed of assorted perennials (too expensive to put in), or……a garden full of annuals encircled with flat rocks that could be found on my property.
I have a huge pile of rocks near the creek where the septic guys dumped them when digging to put in the new tank that for some insane county regulation had to be the size of a small submarine. “Can’t you put it in the same hole that the old tank came out of?” I asked one of the sweet young men from the company. He smiled and simply pointed to the submarine. I got the idea.
The rocks were more problematic than I anticipated as the ones by the creek were too heavy. I had some just the right size in the side yard but they were keeping coyotes and raccoons from digging up pet graves. I eventually found enough that I could lift to more or less surround the area. I thought a circle of rocks was rather sweet.
Next came the compost and the local transfer station (no long referred to as “the dump”) usually had some good stuff for next to nothing, but of course they were out. Feeling a lack of money to go somewhere else for compost, I found some cheap bags of top soil at Home Depot. An older (as in my age) man helped put them in my car and I proudly drove home, visions of glorious blossoms filling my head. The next day I realized that I couldn’t get the bags out of the car without damaging my back, let alone carry them to the garden spot.
The old saying “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” kept repeating itself in my head, and I like that much better than “There’s more ways than one to skin a cat.”, being a cat lover myself. I emptied the Radio Flyer wagon of daughter Helen’s old horse stuff and brought it to the back of the car. I could just lift the bags enough to drop them in the wagon, one at a time, as I had to pull the now heavy wagon across the driveway and into the front yard. This took several days. Halfway through I explained the process to Helen and son-in-law Ian, who offered to help, but by this time I was determined to do it all myself. (This stubbornness has hurt my back in the past.)
With the heavy lifting over, I took a short break (a week or two??) before planting the seeds. I picked multicolored cosmos and nasturtiums. Nasturtiums (my mother’s favorite flower, picked and put In a glass sugar bowl on the sunroom table) went around the outer rim, followed by multicolored cosmos for the next row. The inner row was wildflower seeds, at least two years old that somehow never got planted, but maybe would mature next year.
Watering daily until the plants sprout is a gardening rule I try to follow. I had to buy a new sprinkler as the one I found in the garage fell apart when I picked it up. I threw it out and proudly told Helen as she says (repeatedly) “You never throw anything out!” A request for a birthday present (I try for practical gift ideas) of an expandable hose finished all the prep and supply list and so the monitoring began. This reminded me of my dad who used to walk around our small backyard in Topeka, checking on each plant’s progress. He put any stragglers in a special place near the garage that he called “the intensive care unit”.
It wasn’t long before tiny green leaves began to appear. Pretty soon there was a border of nasturtium leaves and then what looked like a little cosmos fairy fern forest. I told my granddaughter Harper (when she was six months old and would still sit still) that one day we’d make a fairy garden and now I imagine incorporating some fern-like plants.
All this sprouting was quite exciting and so, as spring ended and the long, hot days of summer began, I went out every morning, tea cup in hard, to check on the progress.
The nasturtiums wilted and never really bloomed and some googling told me that they didn’t like the heat (How did my father manage to grow them?). And I was supposed to thin the cosmos and maybe that’s why they got very tall and waited until very late summer to bloom, and then mostly yellow. The wildflower seeds sprouted and then disappeared. It all never quite came up to my earlier visions.
I picked five of the best cosmos blooms before the freeze came and put them in a vase I thought was truly unique until I saw the same one at a friend’s house. It makes me think of another time this summer when I filled this vase.
It was in July when Rose needed a place to stay between apartments so it seemed a good time to replace the hasn’t-worked-in-a-long-time-window-ac in the art/guest bedroom. I say art room because it’s the second bedroom I’ve filled with art supplies.
Things have a way of getting complicated in unexpected ways and when Ian was installing the new ac (inexpensive but good reviews), the window shattered. Not only was Ian generously giving his time to do this, but through the newly opened hole in the window, a wasp stung him and yes, he has a bad allergy to bites. After grandson Tommy and I had delivered an allergy pill and a glass of water to him, I decided a good distraction for a two year old was to pick some flowers. By “distraction” I mean getting out of Ian’s way as he patched up the hole using duck tape and a garbage bag.
It was drizzling so we didn’t stay out long. The cone flowers were at their height and I told Tommy that he could point to the ones he wanted and I’d cut them. Inside I put them in that same “unique” vase. The flowers he picked weren’t ones I would have chosen, not being the most fresh and pretty. Rather some were starting to wilt, even with a few petals falling off. Never mind, I thought, as I could replace them as soon as they left and Tommy would never know. But in the end I decided to leave them, brown spots and all. Each time I saw them above the kitchen sink, I pictured me and a little boy out in the rain, picking flowers.
I think about my less-than-perfect garden project. The planning and imagining, the hauling of heavy rocks and bags of top soil, the planting and watering, the anticipation of those first green leaves, the daily inspection of the progress. I will remember this much more than what the garden looked like in the end. And I will keep these yellow cosmos above my sink for quite a while, even when they start to wilt. Maybe until Tommy comes over and I can ask him if he remembers how we picked flowers in the rain. I certainly will.
