I am hopeful and ready to cultivate something verdant and lush, a wonderful secret garden, a tonic for a feeling of well-being and happiness wherein the garden fence I can be a caretaker of living things and feel at home, a place out under the sky where the nameless meadowy wild flowers and grasses thrive along side vines of berries, succulent sedums, herbs, foxglove, sturdy fruit trees. All together keeping time of the seasons together under the showers, and the comforting shade skips around in a merry frolic with the suns rays. In wet months miners lettuce explodes in edible clusters, and somewhere near, maybe a lucky mushroom pops up…
“Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them.” A. A. Milne
Foraging about in a garden, a secret garden, the kind only a few people visit (namely myself) … with a lovely and nice gate to keep the world out and the magic in. Garden gates utterly fascinate me right now. Here is our garden gate from five years ago . . .
The garden is like a favorite room in a house. In mornings of April through October there’s me holding a watering hose in one hand and cup of coffee in the other, with knitting bag slung across my shoulders. I am dreaming a thriving green oasis from within my Charcoal Forest, and garden with walls of pink jasmine (just planted, six plants!) to vine and cover the lower fence, and shield from vision the blackest of burn, and the apple trees trying to shake off the scorched leaves of last Autumn’s wildfire as their new leaves are determined to emerge soon, very soon, they must, because I just see them in my mind!
“Flowers are restful to look at. They have neither emotions nor conflicts.” Sigmund Freud
A place to go, to work hard and get dirt beneath my nails, a place where the soul meets life, and the worries of the world are forgotten. My thoughts these days are of knitting, and of a garden with knitting trail made new.