My Dear Garden…

Rudbeckia sp.

My Dear Garden,

I feel the need to offer both thanks and apologies, along with new promises, in this letter to you, my dear garden, for what you’ve been through these last few months and for how well you did, overall.

First, let us get the apologies out of the way so we can end on a high note and I can put my regrets behind us and begin anew.

I am sorry that the heat drove me indoors and left you too often to fend for yourself with no rain and just my watering to keep you going.  I was not as faithful with watering as I should have been. There were even a few weeks when I let you go almost too far to recover.

You have to admit, though, that I did care and always wanted to do better. Even when I left town for a week – alright, ten days – I arranged for my sister to come and water.  She did a great job, didn’t she? The vegetable garden should be particularly thankful.

Then came the watering ban, and I was even less faithful with the watering. But what could I do? I have to work to support your habit of new plants.  I couldn’t just stand there and water all the time. 

But all is bygones now, right? You surely loved that two inches of rain on Sunday morning, even with the wind. I know the weeds enjoyed it.

Let us move on, together.

Thank you, my dear garden, for doing as well as you did through the hottest, driest summer you’ve ever experienced, that I’ve ever experienced, that anyone has ever experienced.  You came through it and showed me what you are made of.  And you continue to show me every day how resilient you really are.  Thank you.

Now, my promise to you, my dear garden, is to fill you with more plants that do well when it is hot and dry, like the black-eyed susan, Rudbeckia sp., pictured above. I remember a time when I pulled so much of this out of the garden and tossed it like a weed onto the compost pile. No more!  It is made for hot summers like this one. I am grateful you saved this one seedling for me. You knew all along that one day I’d appreciate it, didn’t you?  I should trust you more, my dear garden.

And tall sedum, Hylotelephium sp. -what were they thinking to give this plant such an awful name?

Hylotelephium sp.

I know now not to disparage this plant as common and uninteresting. It will surely shine in the autumn sun when it is in bloom. I must divide this and spread it out into other areas of the garden

Truly, my dear garden, the best is yet to come.  

My sculpture was featured in the local paper

Just look at how you’ve embraced the new sculpture.  I can only imagine what you could have done with rain or better watering on my part. I look forward to turning imagination into reality in the seasons ahead.

My dear garden, I promise forever to not desert you in the heat, again. I promise to water, and to weed, too. I promise to find you more plants that will do well with less fuss even if we have another dry season.  I hope you know I am sincere.  Didn’t you see me out weeding this evening? Surely that showed how sincere I really am. 

Not only am I sincere, I am also re-inspired, my dear garden, now that I see what a difference a little rain, a little deadheading, and some weeding have made so far, in just one day! I promise to return and continue the good start, the good restart, we’ve made now that we’ve gotten some rain.

Thank you, my dear garden,

Hortifully,
Carol