In the micro-climate behind our grill, a daffodil has already poked the first straps of its green leaves through the ground, along with a flower bud. I hadn’t been looking for such signs of life because it’s much earlier than they usually appear, but it caught my attention as I made one of the first surveys of the yard. It gave me a thrill of hope, not so much for the global warming as for the return of spring. Even if this was a tease and a great big snowstorm comes to take it all away, we’re nearing the best time of the year. It put me in the mind of summer days and pool gatherings…
We have a minor revamping of our pool in the works for this year – a new liner and stairs if all goes according to plan – and such thoughts are happy and plausible goals to have. To get there, though, requires some forethought, and that’s what I do best. I’ve been making an earnest attempt to live in the moment, but the Virgo in me adores a plan of action, however loose or subject to change it may be. With a basic structure in place, all the adornments can be made, and adornments are the best part of life.
Since we moved in to our home almost two decades ago, we’ve both been chagrined by having to use a ladder to get in and out of the pool. A set of steps would be easier on Andy’s back, more aesthetically pleasing, and afford additional lounging opportunities for visitors to the pool. (And I don’t mean the squirrels.)
There have been a lot of changes to our yard in the last few years. A pair of cherry trees bloomed reliably early every spring, but eventually grew too big for their allotted space and had to be excised. A small patch of lilies of the valley took over the edge of the yard and now pokes up through the lawn, but they’re so pretty I’ve left them alone for now. The thin row of Thuja ‘Green Giant’ plants have grown into a living wall that threatens to overtake the narrow walkway along which it grows. We lost two prime specimens of Fargesia nitida – the fountain bamboo – part of the mass-flowering and subsequent die-off that only occurs once a century; I will look to find a couple to replace them now that that batch has finished its die-off. Such is the promise of the garden – no matter what has happened, there’s always a chance to grow again.
