My first full year in my home has convinced me of one fact: For all intents and purposes, you can kiss your first year in the garden goodbye. Maybe it's just me. Maybe having a major home reno job on my hands took up too much energy. I've basically spent a year living in an episode of Sanford and Son.
Come spring, I left my job thinking I'd get another one soon...and didn't . Then a family member died. Then the new company I was employed with told me to take all the time I needed to deal with the funeral et al. They then decided to give me all the time I needed permanently.
I landed on my feet come September, just in time for the season to end.
My garden's a wreck. Desiccated pine bushes abound. Those woodchips I meant to rake up are still there. My roses limped through one of the hottest summers on record. And thank God my significant other took to raking the leaves. I was nowhere to be found this fall. On top of all this, I've got a huge spiria bush on the verge of collapse, as its branches are top heavy and need a trim.
The garden simply trudged along this year. There were a few minor triumphs along the way, like a patch of grass that managed to regenerate and some wildflower seeds that actually ended up turning into wildflowers. This was despite the fact that I had sown them in a fit of horticultural dementia when an unusual hot spell hit in March. A week later we had snow, but they survived it.
They didn't, however, survive a strangler vine that soon made its way into the backyard and proceeded to live up to its namesake by wrapping itself around every flower I had and wrestling it to the ground. The backyard never really bounced back after that.
In short, I haven't been writing in this journal because I haven't been doing anything in my garden. Why check in only to itemize my neglect? Despite this, somehow, my garden has survived. Lord only knows what some regular watering and fertilization will accomplish.
Here's to next spring.
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