I knew I wanted a flower garden, just as we had while I was growing up in The Netherlands. As a child I was given my own little plot to work in, and the first flowers I ever grew were pink Tulips and Dutch Irises. Many years later, when I married The Spouse, my wedding bouquet consisted of pink Tulips and Dutch Irises.
My Dad loved gardening and although I never really gardened along side him, I wish he could see me now. My Mom was the non-gardener among us. Deadly afraid of anything without legs, she would not walk past the garden after a rainy day in fear of imaginary killer worms.
The Spouse, born and raised in the Lower East Side of New York City, will always be a city kid who found himself somehow transported to the suburbs. Among our friends he is known as the under gardener, assisting in big jobs, such as lifting really heavy plants or rocks. When it became time to dig the hole for our first pond, he was there, pick ax in hand, to dig deep in that solid clay.
In the years since, my garden has been changed from a bare plot to a lush garden. Although small, it is my haven. In it I welcome friends and fellow gardeners. I make a quick tour of my garden in the morning, and linger in the evening when the weather permits it.
Although the North East does not have twelve months of decent weather for gardening, I do enjoy a short break in late fall and early winter. Then, like many gardeners, I start seedlings in the basement to keep myself busy waiting for spring. This story is about my garden, about what happens from month to month, and how it unfolds. And you know, even after years of gardening, waiting is still the hardest part of all.
Clink the link below to download and read the journals.