Growth Potential

In the garden and in life

Days are growing shorter, and the light is failing. It is less troublesome here in Texas than other places I have lived, where the gray begins in November and relentlessly weighs on me through into March or even April. Still, it’s difficult to get out and work in the garden after work, unless I seize the moments without distractions.

There are still leaves on most of the trees, although as you see, the Redbud is going all golden. Many things are blooming in the garden, and by having added pansies (I must get violas!) I am likely to have blossoms all winter to cheer me.

The experimental winter garden is coming along beautifully, in spite of heavy rains that pushed the lighter seeds around. They say to grow where you’re planted. Sometimes? That’s not an option. In this case, there were no roots, so they washed away. Only because it’s a raised bed are they still going to be useful. The peas stayed put, planted more deeply. Perhaps the difference between a person with generations of history in a place, versus someone like me who has rarely lived in one place for a full decade at a time.

Which isn’t to say that we can’t thrive, once we put down roots and are no longer tossed by the vagaries of the storm. Even out of place like my Meyer Lemon a full two zones from where it should grow, we can find a way to thrive, with help. I bring in the lemon in winter’s cold. It is rewarding me with five lemons. A bounty, for such a small tree!

The hollyhock has it’s own approach. A biennial, I planted two this spring from nursery starts. Today as I dug in species tulips nearby, I could see dozens of seedlings. I’ll save a few, for next year’s hollyhock beauty! We all leave our marks on the world, and sometimes those are a few chips off the old block that grow up in time to take the place in the world we leave behind us. The legacy of the hollyhock is more beauty.

The sugar snap peas are springing up and sending out tendrils already.

The Unknown Rose, nameless and indefatigable, blooms on with masses of Spanish crimson colored floral display in the garden. The scent rising from them, on a calm day, is intoxicating.

New growth is springing up everywhere, with the cool and the rain having given life a chance again. Summer’s blast furnace is in the past, and now, it’s time for a season or rest and recovery before it begins again.

Next year will be the fourth growing season in this house, and there is a a saying about perennials: first year plant, second year sleep, third year leap. Having taken the time to grow their roots deeply, they will be ready to burst forth in the spring with renewed vigor, and I am excited to see what comes of the garden. There will be flowers next year. I know there will, because I am planting them now.

Hope springs!