#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

“I trust your Garden was willing to die ... I do not think that mine was—it perished with beautiful reluctance, like an evening star—"
—Emily Dickinson, in a letter to her Aunt Katie Sweetser, 1880 (found on Poetry.org)

Before I was even dressed I was drawn out into the yard. I was so eager to be out with the plants, this morning, in my own gardens. Charlie was sad. I couldn’t help myself. There were plants to water and I was barefoot on the dewy grass. And then I wanted to plant some lavender I bought yesterday and pull up some ferns gone mad running rampant over other plants. And then I got dressed and drove to the landscaping store – I brought Charlie – to buy some paving stones I decided must be laid in a shady area by the driveway that’s been bothering me. And then, with the car loaded with good stones, I decided I needed some more shrubs, and Charlie and I drove to Home Depot. And then I had plenty of more work cut out for me, digging, laying stone, weeding, planting. So, my walk today was all around my own yard in and out of my various gardens. And as I look around the property today I see that so much of what has been planted here has been planted by me. When my parents bought their house on Brush Hill, when I was three months old, it was a small ranch in the middle of a field, and it had no landscaping at all. Early pictures confirm this. My father did it all himself over decades spent outdoors; days when he never wanted to come indoors either. It was so sunny and pleasant. After all my work, in the afternoon, I called Charlie to come and we walked to the river in the bright afternoon. Today, I decided, to celebrate my gardens, where my daily walks begin. And, for a brief time, today, there was a wedding plan, to take place on Sept. 7 by the river. But who knows? We shall see. Whatever happens on Sept. 7, I know my gardens will give me great satisfaction, and I am very grateful I learned the joy of landscaping from my father.