Was I happy? Yes - for an instant. I looked at it and knew I finally had it - the colors, the textures, the shape and even the three-season interest that seems so difficult to accomplish. For a moment I glowed in the feeling of victory that I suppose we must all hope for at some time each year.
But that only lasted an instant. What followed was panic. Pure and simple panic. I had it right. So now that reason did I have to continue to exist as a gardener? I had made myself redundant. I had nothing left to strive for. The joy and the challenge of gardening was gone.
I had done myself in.
Luckily, that instant was pretty instantaneous. I walked around to squint a bit more closely at the left side of the bed, hoping to spot an imperfection. I was peering quite closely at the plants, where the hostas melded with the ferns and blended with the white wood asters and purple Heuchera, all brightened by the golds of sedges and Hakonechloa. And suddenly - to my immense relief! - I saw a daylily with thrips. Then I looked up and saw a whole bed that needed trimming and raking and pruning and deadheading and weeding. I looked up to see the other nine areas that I call gardens - and none of them were right yet.
I also remembered that time (and the garden) does not stand still that there will be weeds and deer and death even in that one small place that seemed at the moment to be so devoid of flaws.
And I was relieved.
But I've got to tell you - for a moment, looking at that garden in all of its unsullied beauty was pretty heady stuff.
(Note: All the photos included in this article are signs of hope that I found in my own garden today, March 9, 2000. If all that bloom this early isn't hopeful (especially after last year's drought!) I don't know what is!
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