Today, between a visit to the chiropractor (same old problem of displaced ribs…yes…feeling better now thank you), an excursion for a bundle of packing tape, watching the dogs race around the dog park, photographing and listing new pieces, washing the dishes, seeing a house guest off and weeding the rose garden,
I stopped over at the nursery to pick up a new mint plant.
I already have a mint plant. It’s Moroccan mint and it’s only half as potent as I’d like it to be. In point of fact, I like it less than the wild mint that grows around beaver ponds or Northern bogs. It’s good stuff but it’s somewhat less robust than a good and gangly chocolate mint plant growing in the back yard. So I snaggled one of those for myself and while strolling away from the herb section at the nursery, I keeled over when I caught a whiff of something divine and when I figured out what it was that smelled so luscious, I brought it home as well:
It’s lemon verbena.
It smells like the wings of angels.
And I love it.
I will name it Millicent and concoct teas and potions with it
and together we will be two very happy things that belong to the green
and bow down to the ether. Gladly.
I’ve been thinking, quite a lot, about why on earth I enjoy gardening so well. Let’s face it, it’s hard work. There’s always something to be thinned, weeded, watered, hoed, staked or harvested. There are pests, deer, rock chucks, rabbits, bugs, Penelope and the chickens who will want to eat it first. The sun tries to burn it up. The wind tries to blow it all down. The hail tries to bruise it to bits and pulverize it to smithereens. Once you start a garden, it doesn’t end until it’s finished producing or the frosts come and slay it stealthily and quietly with icy fingers in the night under the light of the Big Dipper.
Unless you live somewhere tropical, it all seems rather futile (excluding perennials). Doesn’t it?
But then this evening, whilst sitting in the rose garden, watching the sun drop down, and moving with the motion of a quiet summer breeze I realized I garden because it feels good to be part of the growth of plants. They need me and I need what they produce whether it’s food or beauty. I crave it. There’s a healthy and symbiotic relationship between my garden and I. A give and take, for certain.
Plus, when things are really bolting and looking brilliant, here at The Gables, it’s so satisfying to sit on the front porch with a book and a cold drink in the dawdling evening light while listening to strangers comment on the beautiful and darling little home of mine as they walk past with their dogs.
Satisfying indeed.
So I guess what I’m saying is,
if you can,
whenever you want,
do come on by for lemon verbena, raspberry leaf and mint tea
in the evening sometime.
Penelope will delight in keeping your lap warm
and we’ll delight in watching the sun swing West
before the sky opens up and the stars rain down.
xx
