I’m pleased with the garden’s progress. Today’s project is to move a few more day lilies farther back. Their bright, ruffled blooms have been so cheerful in the summer sun, but shifting them will give the beds a better balance. The flowers around the fir tree—shaded now by its dense, fragrant branches—will take their place. I can almost smell the resin as I brush past the fir, its needles cool and sharp between my fingers. Little by little, the garden is reshaping itself.
Peanut supervised, of course. He settled into his favorite shady spot, ears twitching at the birds, keeping me company while I dug and lifted. His calm presence makes the rhythm of gardening—dig, place, water—feel even steadier.
Yesterday was full: swimming, shopping, gardening, walking, writing, even making a few cards. Today I’m expecting supplies in the mail for card-making, and I’d like to carve out time for jewelry too. My paintings wait patiently, the colors in my head not yet on canvas. I know there’s time for it all, but this season the garden commands most of my attention. Its growth is immediate, and the weeds never rest, pulling me outside again and again.
Tomorrow evening, when the dentist’s office is closed, I’ll head back there with pruners in hand. Some plants will be cut back hard—stems reduced to stubs, leaves gathered in piles. It always feels ruthless in the moment, the sharp scent of green sap hanging in the air, but I know it clears the way for renewal. Gardening is full of these lessons: knowing when to nurture gently and when to cut boldly so something stronger, more beautiful, can grow in its place.
