What the garden whispered today
Whilst I watered on a hot summer morning
On hot summer mornings, you’ll most likely find me watering the garden, still in my pyjamas, barefoot and staring at the world around me.
It’s quite a sight and the neighbours must laugh!
We don’t have a fancy automatic watering system and that’s ok because, I love standing there, pointing the hose towards the ground and watching water soak into the soil. There’s something meditative about it. Like when you wash the dishes by hand or do the ironing.
If I miss watering on a hot morning, I’ll normally water at dusk instead. It’s not as fun though - the mozzies are out. And so is Trevor. Well, Trevor’s the highlight of evening watering time. He was my neighbour and while we watered our gardens at night, we had a good old blether about life.
But, Trevor doesn’t live next door anymore. He and Judy, his wife, moved away after 8 years of living next door. And can I tell you something? I really miss Trevor and Judy.
You know that neighbour who would mow their grassy nature strip but also do your tiny, little bit of lawn as well just to make your life easier? That was Trevor.
The type of person who would always stop for a chat any time of day and be more interested in checking in with how you were than talking about themselves. That was Trevor.
And his wife, Judy? Well, she’s a woman I adore. Friendly, caring, motivated and talented. She’d make homemade date scones for my kids and invite us over for afternoon tea. She’d tell me about the wedding dress she’d sewn for her daughter … like that’s just a thing everyone does! She worked full-time as a teacher and never missed her twice-a-day walks. Having Judy as a neighbour was wonderful.
8 years of living next door to each other. Now they’re gone, and watering time just isn’t the same.
Now when I water the garden, it’s quiet. There’s no more swapping stories. But the garden speaks to me instead.
I have the time to notice things around me more. Like subtle changes in the plants. Signs to show we are moving from one season to the next. Moving from Summer to Autumn.
The point at which one season starts and the other ends is blurred. Nature doesn’t follow a calendar and then suddenly burst into Spring colour just because the date ticked over to September 1st. Nope, the process is built from the essence of everything being connected. And the fact that this big, blue ball we live on called Earth doesn’t stand up straight and its orbit is a bit lopsided.
Because of this, I’ve noticed these things in my garden this week:
The tomatoes are full, ripe, and red, but the lower leaves are turning brown and crispy.
The pumpkins are plump and changing colour, but their lower leaves are going yellow and crispy
One rose bush has a second flush of flowers, while another bush is covered in rosehips that are turning from green to orange.
The magnolia has flowered and after the petals fell off, left behind what looks like fancy, brown Christmas ornaments
The ‘Annabelle’ hydrangeas have turned a pale green from white
The sedum ‘Autumn Joy’ has a pink tinge on its tips to signal that the famous burst of crimson is on its way …. and with it Autumn
All signs of change. Just one moment in the lifecycle of these plants. And so beautiful at each stage.
It could be easy to think that the plants above are past their peak and it’s time to get in there and prune off all the dead bits. Sometimes that’s needed. But the more time I spend observing gardens, the more respect I have for gardeners who can use plants at any stage of their growth in garden design. Not just at the pretty flowery or juicy-fruity stage.
We’re trained to look at plants this way though. Think about the plant tags that come with seedlings or small plants. They often show the flower only, and not the whole plant. I get frustrated when I buy flower seedlings online, and the website only shows a photo of the flower close up, not what the rest of the plant looks like.
I’d have a much better experience buying seeds and plants if there was a resource that showed plants at maturity, then in fruit or flower and then at the seed stage [please and thank you!]
Some of my favourite plants look their best when they are going to seed. I love the rounded pods of poppies, the dandelion-like heads of Scabiosa stellata, the hairy pods of Nigella, the pom pom-like balls of Allium and the translucent papery pods of Honesty and Dill’s umbrellas.
Deciduous trees that are bare and grasses that are dried and brown can still provide so much beauty and structure to a garden in their “off-season”.
On a deeper level, I feel it’s an appreciation of what was and a recognition of what could be while waiting for what is to come. Brown won’t be there forever. Soon enough, green pokes through and the next stage of the cycle is underway.
To be honest, I don’t think a garden ever stands still. It’s always in transition. Whether it’s preparing, storing, moving downwards, moving upwards, moving outwards, absorbing and exchanging, with each stage cascading straight into the next.
For me, my life has recently seen a lot of transitions:
The transition back to work after 8 years as a primary caregiver
The transition back to school for my children after the summer holidays
The transition of my children from little kids to pre-teen age
The transition of my husband from cancer patient to cancer survivor
The transition from a pre-covid world to a post-covid world
The transition of neighbours moving away and new neighbours moving in
And the transition to mid-life
Summer. Autumn. Winter. Spring.
And all the times in between.
So what did my garden whisper to me today as I watered?
Trust the process. It’s all beautiful.
Beautifully written. ‘Trust the process.’