Need Some Inspiration?

Come into the Garden

I know I do! At the end of a long, cold, bone dry and anxious winter I look forward to the return of my perennial garden's flowery delights. First to arrive are the crocuses but I didn't get any this year perhaps because a gopher ate them or maybe it was just too dry. Next comes the tiny but mighty daffodils, tête-á-téte, the only kind I can make grow here in the high desert. They delighted me this year with that yellow that gives me hope. Then I must endure a long wait until finally in late April the real show begins. The magnificent crabapples put on their fuchsia finery to dance for two weeks of gaiety, during which the first hummingbirds come buzzing in. They are joined in succession by blue creeping veronica, indigo salvia and purple lilacs and iris, each opening deserving a champagne reception. My little patch of fescue turns bright green, the native grasses blow in the wind again. About the first of June my garden's crowning glory, English lavender, lifts its first delicate spears and spreads subtle, delicious scents around my front door. The roses bud and bloom in a riot of orange and red as a crescendo to the spring display. The swallowtail butterflies arrive to revel in the glory.

When summer begins I have pink and blue penstemons, russet Mexican hats, orange butterfly weed, blue mist spirea and purple four o'clocks to dazzle me and provide hiding places for the many lizards who live among them and the cat who hunts them. The black-eyed Susans bloom in August when they are joined by purple coneflower and Maximilian sunflowers. And throughout it all the potted petunias and delphiniums, the Apache plume, spearmint and peppermint, add their quiet moments of beauty. This treasure trove is the product of years of planting, tending and watering and has repaid me with many hours of deep enjoyment, appreciation and contemplation. I look forward to another season of blooms.

Black-eyed Susans to Steal your Heart

Since the election I've been experiencing sadness and fear about our country and our world. Some people tell me they are just ignoring what is going on and that they feel better that way. Some people just prefer not to talk about it. I understand both of these reactions and I do respect them, but I am constitutionally unable to ignore what I perceive as titanic, cruel wickedness running rampant through my values, breaking precious things with careless abandon. Sometimes I do need to talk about it.

I have a dear friend, a gardener whom I call Cassandra of the West and she calls me Cassandra of the Southwest. She suggested I spend more time in the garden. We have soulful conversations on a regular basis. I have another beloved friend, also a gardener, with whom I can talk, who this week encouraged me to turn away from fear and turn toward love. Good advice. This advice is why I wrote this post about my garden. I wanted to offer all my readers something joyful and something beautiful, a piece about living things that comfort and delight us and about the inspiration to remain calm and carry on toward the goal of being the persons we want to be during times of darkness and peril. If you don't have a garden to inspire you maybe there is one nearby you can visit. This spring, if you aren't allergic, try to spend some time walking under flowering trees and among shrubs and flowers to enjoy the beauty you see and the birdsongs you hear. It can't do you any harm!

Jellybean