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Memory is very selective. I remember that large rock I moved was heavy, but now months later, seeing it in place, I forget just how heavy. I forget just how wet I got that day I was spreading compost in a steady rain with my hands so muddy I could barely grip the handle of the shovel. After the muscle-aches are gone and the scratches and the blisters have healed, I can't recall specifically where or when I got them. It no longer matters because the results are worth it. And the results will be remembered.
July 15th was the day of my 6th Annual Open Garden, and the garden has never looked better. The day was perfect, with sunshine and the temperature in the mid 70's. About 40 people visited my garden that day, many seeing it for the first time. Pleasant memories for all, I hope.
The day of my Open Garden is a milestone of the year in and of itself. It also marks the cessation of all garden projects for a time. Now is the time for me to just "be" in the garden and enjoy it for what it is without having to accomplish anything beyond simple maintenance. Work will resume in early Fall to get a jump on next year, but now it's time to relax for a couple of months. It's a time to sit in the garden and think and read and listen to music and dream and let the garden speak to me. To create memories for later. Here I am completely free to choose what, and what not, to think about.
The back garden lies east of the house. As the sun sinks lower in the early evening the shadow of the house lengthens and extends itself across the garden. On a warm summer day, this is my favorite time. Magic hour! Now, out of the glare of the sun, colors soften and shadows open up. The entire garden and all the plants in it seem to relax a bit and unwind at the end of the day. Am I merely projecting my own experience on to the garden? Or is it the other way around?
It's at this time I like to go to my favorite spot. Where the two conjoined circles of the Herb Garden meet there is a small cement step linking the upper circle with the lower. Sitting in this spot, I feel totally immersed in the garden. Nowhere else do I feel more connected.
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First, it is very close to the geometric center of the yard, so it is very much the heart of the garden. And secondly, there is a dramatic change of perspective. Being closer to the ground gives me a different point of view and I see and experience things which are familiar in new ways. I can lie back on a thick, soft bed of Woolly Thyme and look into the cloudless blue sky. Recently, while doing this, about 6 or 8 swallows put on an amazing aerobatics display directly above me. Shortly thereafter, a flock of Bush Tits came in like a wave. These cute, little birds always move in large groups, like a band of tiny marauders, gleaning the trees of insects, before quickly moving on.
When sitting upright in this spot I am at eye level with a large Lavender (Lavendula angustifolia "Vera"). When in flower it is swarming with bees, but they don't mind my presence, being so intent on their work. I watch them from only inches away as they move diligently from one spike to another, sipping nectar from each tiny purple flower.
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But the sights aren't the only thing to be enjoyed from this location. The change from sunlight to shade brings shifts in temperature which causes subtle movements of air. And in an herb garden various fragrances gently make themselves known. Sometimes singularly, sometimes in complex combinations. The warmth of the Lavender, the lime-like scent of Southernwood. The understated fragrance of the Woolly Thyme, spicy Oregano, or the sweetness of the nearby Rose, "Smoky."
Not the most vigorous of growers and the blooms are sometimes misshapen, but "Smoky" is a longtime favorite of mine. The blooms are an unmatchable color, a dusky reddish-plum, looking as if they'd been dusted with charcoal, and they have a most remarkable and intense fragrance of fresh raspberries.
The garden is at it's zenith. All the thinking and planning and digging and planting, all the weeding and fussing, is paying off, delighting each of my senses. Surrounded by these living, growing leaves, enveloped in Life, I feel contented and very much alive.
Yet, just as in mid-winter there are signs of garden life and growth, even now amidst the robustness of Summer there are signs of the impending turn of the next season. Many flowers are quite spent and setting seed, the potato vines have begun dying back, and berries are becoming scarce. In a little more than a month's time Autumn will arrive, and bring with it chilling winds, and the dropping of leaves, and the last flower, and the first frost.
But as I lie back down on my bed of Thyme, I choose not to think of that right now.