The Family *roll

When I was around 10 years old, I hit upon a very gratifying spring activity: lined up on the south side of our substantial yard were many, many peony bushes. For those not in the know, here is a picture of a peony. Now, my 10-yr old self was decidely uninterested in the peony’s beautiful bloom, so nicely featured in the picture. What appealed to me were the “flower balls” — the tight balls of pre-bloom flower, that were sitting up nicely around 10-yr old chest height. Like baseballs teed up on pedestals. Just waiting to be hit out of the park. And hit them out I did. In one afternoon of supreme pleasure, I whacked the tops off my mother’s peonies with a baseball bat.

Prepping our new Dogwoods for planting

I really couldn’t understand why my mother was so upset about the whole thing. I mean they’re just plants. They’ll grow back, right? And they’re just plants. Who cares? Well, some 20 years later, I can now say I get it. We have spent a lot of time in our garden these past three weeks. Em will give a full run down in a post soon. Suffice it to say that there was no garden to speak of when we moved in, unless a massive thistle patch in front of the house counts as a garden. We did some preliminary work on the garden last summer, but this summer we have big plans.

What suprises me most is that I love working in the garden. I’m always looking for stretches of time when I can get out there to water, plant, clear, cut, weed etc. What makes grownig a garden so gratifying is,  I think, not so different from “growing” a child or, as people normally put it, watching a child grow. In both cases, you invest a lot of time and in both cases you’re in it for the long haul. Finally, in both cases you’re watching something that starts out very small literally grow and thrive as a result of your care and concern. There’s just something inherently satisfying in that.

So, at the ripe age of 31, I can now sincerely say: Sorry about the peonies mom.

One reason we can spend so much time in the garden: Eleanor loves the dirt.