A few weeks ago, I got all enthusiastic about my garden again and planted lots of flowers and things. I planted seeds and already-growing blossoms, got my veggie patch ready, weeded and hoed, and was READY!
It’s a good thing I chose hardy species.
And I think I need to stick with perennials that require little interference from human beings. Yeah, it’s that bad.
My garden patch is being overtaken by weeds. I’m hoping to remedy that tomorrow, but I said it yesterday and the day before. The raspberries, blueberries, lettuce, and chives don’t seem to be complaining, although the strawberries are being bullied a bit. Some poplars have taken root and are doing well right around my rose bush, bleeding hearts, and the other two things that I can’t remember the names of right now — not sure if the flowers like being shaded or if the baby trees are crowding them. Also not sure whether the bulbs are producing or whether it’s just really long weeds in there.
I am a terrible, terrible plant grower. I don’t mind weeding, but I have a hard time discerning which are weeds and which are buds that need to be left to grow. Of the herbs I selected to cultivate indoors, two have died and one is on the verge. I guess I neglected to check which ones needed full sun…
But the perennials I put in last year — the berries, and a variety of things I planted in my front yard — they’re doing fine. So that’s something.
I still have a grand vision of moving our old car shelter into the back so I can have a nice shady area in which to compose my words, while gazing at my growing flora and inhaling their sweet scents on the breeze… (For some reason, I keep seeing images from Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, the Importance of Being Earnest — the lady in the meadow tent, her writing desk at hand, a romantic ideal that I know I likely won’t achieve, but still want to try.)
I have to keep reminding myself: It’s only the beginning of July. I’m painfully aware that the time is going to move quickly, and for some reason I’m pressuring myself to accomplish far too much in the brief summer we’re given. I don’t want to miss any of it, but there’s far too much to do. I have a tendency to overwhelm myself. As much as I want to have a beautiful, functional garden for making teas, canning (that’s hubby’s job), and pressing flowers, to try making essential oils and soaps, to have fresh salads and teach the children about the importance of the environment, I may have to accept some of my own limitations.
I have a hard time doing that.