Dirt Under My Fingernails and the Computer Shut Down

Spring/early summer is upon Kentucky, and this brief glorious period (before oppressive heat and humidity and worries about lack of rain sets in) coincides with my complete lack of attention to anything but the most pressing of matters – and my garden. My stack of library books gather cobwebs in the corner (I have a goal of reading 125 books this year, and while I started off strong, I am now at least two books behind schedule), the dust bunnies are colonizing and likely planning to overthrow the current regime, and the oven hasn’t been on in days. This space too suffers, as it has been two weeks since my last blog post, and only guilt prompts these words I write now (it is Historic Preservation Month after all!). I simply have no interest in writing when it seems like the very soil is singing and every spare minute finds me planting, weeding, transplanting, and planning.

We’ve been on the farm for four years now, and it is sometimes harder to have oodles of space within which to work than being confined to a narrow suburban lot. Basic hardscaping like a fence or a garage or outbuilding are absent, and sometimes I struggle to create my garden rooms and define spaces.

And sometimes I plant too quickly and then am left wondering how to deal with an amazing climbing rose (Leontine Gervais) that has spread SO much in three years that I now know my woven wire fence is probably not going to be able to support it long term…

I always learn something new from gardening. And I’ve met some wonderful people through gardening.

Other gardeners are one of the greatest things about gardening! I don’t get the chance to visit and talk with fellow gardeners nearly often enough. But every time I look at a particular pass-along plant, or shrub, or tree in my gardens, I think of them, and marvel at how our paths crossed and how nature connects us all.

Anne Vincent Ferguson met me in Lexington one day with a bag of Rose of Sharon shrubs (Hibiscus syriacus) and Patrick Kennedy brought me the same from Owen County. Donna Horn-Taylor, a historic preservationist and avid gardener, met me off of the Interstate one day with forsythias, peonies, viburnums, and other treasures from Laurel County.

I’ve gathered garden books, plants, and wisdom from Master Gardener and librarian Susan Daole. Her generosity and suggestions are helping me slowly, slowly wrap my mind around the prospect of growing flowers for a flower CSA.

A former nearby neighbor and artist, Susan Dworkin, has also passed along plants that are now brightening my gardens. And I know I have forgotten someone…but not the time I was invited to take a division from an ancient spirea and had to recruit help as the truly large shrub refused to yield to my shovel, and my pregnant belly just kept getting in the way! (Ann Wilkinson, that clump of spirea is now four thriving separate shrubs.)

Even though it seems like there aren’t enough hours in the day to get all of my gardening tasks accomplished, I still find every minute spent outside to be contemplative and restorative. Tiny surprises greet me as I go from the west gardens to the east gardens (it sounds fancier saying that rather than “over by the rain barrels” or “between the driveways”).

So if you don’t hear from me again until July…don’t fret. I’m still around, but I am more than likely outside, and blogs and social media pale in importance to the joy of playing in the dirt.  Or sometimes, just doing nothing and gazing at the sky.