Craft No. 4

When winter ended here in NEPA (What was that? A week or two ago?), I had grand plans to build a “secret garden” in our side yard, a little stamp of dirt that’s hemmed in by our neighbors’ fences and very much unkempt. (One neighbor said the tenants who lived in our apartment several years ago tried to grow pot there, which explained why sometimes I get a whiff of it in our office. And here I thought Nora was just going through her rebellious years...) Our bedroom window looks out into this tiny space and I thought it would be lovely to see a nice garden instead of a rotting leaf/trash depository. So a month or two ago, I measured the yard and designed a planting schedule. I asked Bert to rake it out. I even priced plants at different nurseries to see where I could get the best deal.

Then another neighbor – who happens to be a landscaper and knows a whole lot more about these things than I do – pointed out that my secret garden didn’t get very much sun. In fact, once he mentioned it, I realized it doesn’t really get any: a few minutes in the morning, maybe, but if my ten square feet of dirt was a planet, it would be somewhere out there with the rock-formally-known as Pluto, chillin’ out and supporting zero life. Our side yard is not a patch of dirt due to neglect. It is a patch of dirt because photosynthesis is logistically impossible. Just my luck.

So my secret garden plans hit the fan and all my gardening since then has been consigned to pots and boxes. I bought three baskets of impatients – two for our front porch and one for our side – not because I like impatients (I actually hate them. Buying impatients is like eating white chocolate when you could be eating dark.) but because a wholesaler had them priced at $5 a basket and that was the only way I could afford three. The compromise was necessary because I blew the budget on basil plants, which I deemed much more important because you can actually eat them. (Food = Priority. 'Nuff said.)

To bolster the lackluster impatients, I transplanted a few marigold and zinnia shoots into two old clementine boxes and put them on our front steps. I’ve had these boxes forever – previously, I used them to hold toiletries in the bathroom – and I absolutely love the way they look: bright, fun, and unexpected. I might add a few more plants once they take off, but I want to make sure there’s no overcrowded for now.

In a rare moment of attentiveness, Lardbutt guards the home front.

In another randomhappy circumstance, I discovered we have honeysuckle growing in our front yard. Well, “discovery” may be a bit of an overstatement. It’s actually taking over our front porch and hedge, so “called in my Southern husband to verify the species” may be a bit more accurate. Georgia Boy confirmed that the amazing smelling flowers were indeed honeysuckle and then showed me how to pull the honey out with the stamen. Too cute. Does this stuff not grow in New England? I'm not sure if I've ever seen it before. (Granted, I did spent five years in Virginia without noticing any outside of my roommate's tattoo. I may just be oblivious.) Regardless, I've embraced its pest-like race to overtake our front yard and help train its tendrils up our front porch everyday. A new addition to my top ten favorite flowers? You better believe it.