I think spring has finally arrived. I know….bold statement for me to make since I
trust no weather, but at last, the feeling that long cold snaps have passed is there. A couple of weeks ago, I went to
the garden center and purchased a pallet of river rock so we never have to mulch
again and while there I eyed the plants…oh, how I eyed
them, but left without, yearning and unsettled for leaving seven months of brown behind, and springing into riots of colors.
Now, at last, I feel it’s time to make my decisions on what to
plant. Last fall, we changed the house
color from a dusky green to a pale blue with bright white trim and a cobalt
blue front door.
I’m thinking a Monet palette would be in order - yellows,
pinks, whites, lavenders. Tom is a huge
fan of George Meis’ Greek photos comprised of mainly blue and white with red
accents, and this one hangs in the powder room off the kitchen.
Because of that, I am planning on painting the ceramic planters
on the front “porch” a cheerful cherry red and getting more to sit on the rock
where mulch and rabbits used to live.
Since we had the painter also paint the trim in the back the same bright
white, I want to carry the theme to the newly enlarged deck, but therein
it gets tricky. 100% southern exposure
with little to no shade – cactus have died out there, and I’m not the most
attentive of plant mothers. I used to
be. I suppose with determination I could
be again. Isn't that what women of a certain age are supposed to like - wide brimmed hats, flowing shirts, gloved hands, and fully feeling the Earth Mother vibe as we dig into potting soil?
I need to immerse myself into the world of container plants
and figure out what would work best in the vastly different conditions between
the front of the house and the back. I
know that somewhere there will be black eyed Susans since they are the closest
I’ll get to sunflowers (my favorite of all flowers), but after that, I’m at a loss. Even plants on my northern exposure porch have
to be watered twice daily in the summer, but I love the color variety and the
lushness of double impatiens, as delicate as they are. We have a
dead dwarf spruce by the porch (thank you ever so much Mr. DuPont and your
imprelis) that I’ve been trying to get the hubby or son to cut down for
months. There are 4 or 5 bags of river
rock piled up on the porch waiting to take it’s place. I think I need to attire myself in long
sleeves and gloves, find a saw, and do it myself. Timberrrrrrrrrrrr.
I also need to find out where the men-folk put my tins of bird seed, and fill the feeders in the back yard. I need my goldfinch buddies when I’m on the deck.
The much beloved Tupelo tree is no more after a windstorm last
year, and now there is a void in the back yard that was once full of waxy,
beautiful leaves. I need to get
something into that spot also, but it took the Tupelo over 10 years to achieve its
majesty, and I’m not willing to wait that long.
In ten years, I plan on being in a ranch house with no…count them….zero stairs.
I’d like to finish the landscaping around the sides and back
of the house – put pavers with Irish moss between them under the deck. Need to find the original landscape blueprint
from 15 years ago. All I remember are dwarf
lilacs. Then again, this is all probably
for naught this year, as I was warned that this might be the summer we
need to replace the air conditioner (last fall was a new furnace and water
heater.) Why must houses get old? As
soon as I save enough money for a nice vacation, it goes back into the house.
I have an entire summer worth of yard labor with no concrete ideas planned. Anyone game?
