English Emma Blooms

 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.

It’s another beautiful morning, and I’m looking forward to a full day in the garden. Yesterday, I spent time outside digging, trimming, and getting my hands dirty, and it was exactly what I needed. I  weeded a few beds, and soaked in the joy of watching everything thrive under the summer sun.

After a little walk with Peanut (who was already in full patrol mode), I dove straight into the front and side beds. There’s something about the rhythm of gardening that steadies me. I noticed which plants were thriving and which ones needed a bit more love—and I started dreaming about where I might tuck in some late-summer blooms.

As I worked in the garden, a chipmunk darted out and then back again—just a flash of curiosity. Peanut, however, was not amused. He stood his ground when a truly giant dog passed by, barking with all the confidence of a dog ten times his size. He’s small, but he sees himself as the guardian of our green kingdom.

Later in the day, I went to Connie’s to help with her garden. She has a lovely space, but there was quite a bit of poison ivy. I told her right away—I don’t do ivy! Sure enough, I brushed against some, so I washed up with Dawn dish soap before heading back into the dirt. Despite the scare, I ended up gardening for about an hour. It felt good to help a neighbor bring some order and beauty to her space.

Once I was home, I took a long, hot shower—my favorite reward after a full day of digging and pulling. That familiar, earned ache from being in the garden is one of my favorite feelings.