Rebuilding

The garden wall is broken.  Weeds grow between crevices, an indication of poor construction from the beginning.  And then there are the rabbits and ground squirrels who tunnel, digging beneath strawberry plants, lavender, and yarrows.  Colorado plants may be hardy, but even they can’t tolerate these tunnels.  Lest I forget, there is also the damage from the flood of 2015.  The one that ruined our basement.  And my garden.

I come from pioneer stock.   Great-Great Grandma migrated from Wales in a covered wagon, traveling to Colorado when she was only three months old.  Life took from her three beloved adult children, whom she was required to bury.  Yet she somehow found the strength to plant her “tomorrow's” with a sense of hope.  I adored Mabel.  And I think she adored me.  Mabel taught me to love English tea, served with a splash of milk in real china cups.  She taught me to crochet.  And she was my first Master Gardener (my Dad was my second).   I remember Mabel’s green house – the smell of peat and dirt.  The smell of fertilizer and cow shit.  The smell of life. 

Great-Grandma didn’t let the Colorado wind, the critters, the dryness, the droughts, the floods stop her.  She grieved and mourned, but she continued to plant new life each season.  In her garden, and in her family.  She saw all of us.  Her children.  Her grandchildren.  Her great-grandchildren.  We were all part of the garden she cultivated.

Sometimes, it benefits us to sit in silence, to observe our surroundings, to take stock of the plants that remain in our life, and to appreciate those plants that were destined to go.  To reconstruct.  And when required, to harden.  Add pebbles and rocks so the critters can’t tunnel through. 

Here’s to the 2016 Garden Caretaker Blog.  And to rebuilding the garden wall.