My front garden had turned into a jungle by the time I returned after nearly three weeks away; I expected that, but didn’t anticipate all of the species that would get tangled together. Some of them, like the nigella and poppies, were way past their prime and I could simply pull them out.
There was a certain weed that had flourished under the asparagus fronds and was climbing by means of its yard-long stems up behind and over the germander, which is just starting to bloom. It also was growing in the cracks in the walkway. I knew I had seen it before somewhere, but never in this quantity, so I looked it up: Black Medick. I pulled at least most of it out, and added that to the green bin.
I bought cosmos and some shorter flowers to replace all the things that I removed; and a few basil, summer squash and zinnia plants to put in the planter boxes. Because spring was cool here, the Iceland poppies are still blooming, and welcomed me home.
The Showy Milkweed is blooming and the bees are on it.
In Greece, in addition to the live, rustic and thorny version of acanthus I’d seen on Paros, I saw plenty of carved acanthus leaf designs in the ancient Byzantine architecture in Thessaloniki. I came home to see my own plants looking more majestic than ever.
The lavender has come out, and the Mock Orange, and the little campanula that hides under the Mock Orange. The Golden Marguerite that I’d pulled out of the front garden last year — it returned, and was aggressively invading my new landscape, so I cut it back, and stuck the clippings in a vase. After all that, and a few days recovery from jet lag, I’m beginning to feel myself again ❤
I keep reminding myself that it will be okay. There is an automatic irrigation system, there are friends and neighbors and landscapers and possibly even a daughter, to caretake in my absence. Yesterday morning it must have been God Who woke me up at 4:00 a.m. so that I found myself in the garden before the sun rose, and witnessed a leaky irrigation hose spraying against the pine tree instead of giving drink to the plants on down the line. I turned off the system and later on Trusty Alejandro was able to come and repair that, and another leak that he discovered by testing the whole system. If I hadn’t quite unusually been out to witness that (and to bathe in the heavenly and oh-so-earthly atmosphere at that time of day), it likely would have wasted that precious water several times a week, and many plants would have suffered before I got back. For anyone who is not aware of the fact, our summer season in California is typically rainless.
In my pre-trip melancholy I keep going out to peruse the little kingdom that God has made me a steward and a lover of, and I see new and amazing things every time. I also find more little weeds to pull, or yellowed leaves to pinch off. There will probably be dirty dishes in the sink when I depart, but I hope no spent irises or Iceland poppy stems standing tall and naked.
peas growing on the trellis, and zucchini as well. As it is, volunteer sweet peas have flourished, because those boxes are irrigated on a timer that gives them a little water every day. This week I pulled out all the burr clover and aphid-infested collards and Swiss chard, to make room for the flowers, and to plant more seeds.
My guests and I didn’t only talk about books over the course of our leisurely afternoon, but many book titles popped up in our conversation, more than I even know about. A few that I can recall just from our last hour together were: The Ethics of Beauty; St. Ephrem the Syrian: Hymns On Paradise; The Hidden Rainbow; Christ the Conqueror of Hell; The Little Liar; and Orthodoxy and the Religion of the Future.
Gladsome Lights 