When I was a little girl my mother 'gave' me a corner of her garden to plant some flowers seeds which my grandmother had given me. I grew up in the midwest where the summer days were hot and we grew everything from seeds. I'm sure they had starts in a garden nursery, but we didn't have a local nursery. Our seeds were ordered in the winter so that when the ground thawed enough to plant, and the last frost had passed, we were all set to go. My favorite flowers to grow were zinnias because they were so colorful, substantial, and sturdy enough to withstand the ungraceful ways of a young gardener. My summer was spent planting, weeding, and watering my garden; as I proved that I took my gardening job seriously, mother gradually gave me more space, to where I had a respectable flower patch which the neighbors graciously admired. This was a summer event for me until I grew old enough that gardening wasn't 'cool', and I moved on to adolescent activities which were much less fulfilling, but socially acceptable! As an adult, I always had a small garden in my yard but it always took a backseat to the job, graduate school, friends, and all the things that keep us all so busy.
In 1986 I took a job in New England, and bought a small historical house just a stroll away from the Atlantic ocean. It needed work, as most of my homes always did. It had a large yard in the front, and a small rock ledge around the patio in the back. I bought the house in the late fall and thought all winter about the seeds I would plant in the spring, after the snow melt was gone. I walked through the patio every morning as I left for work, and would come back through at the end of the day. The days were warming up and the snow was slowly melting. One day I noticed these small green sprouts coming up through the last of the snow and was so excited! These sprouts turned into gorgeous little green mounds with the most graceful little purple and yellow flowers that I had ever seen! Right behind them were the spring bulbs, and behind them were other surprises which I hadn't counted on. That first year, I was just delighted to witness the fruits of someone else's labor, and what a gift they had left behind. Throughout that spring, summer, and fall I was constantly amazed at how the garden would change, and just when you thought it was all over, something else would emerge. I didn't realize it at the moment, but what I came to learn was the joy of perennial gardening. When planned and planted well, you can truly experience a three season explosion of color and texture. A visual delight, and in my mind, nothing short of nature's miracle. I started learning more, adding a few of my treasures, and enjoyed four years of that wonderful garden. When it was my time to leave, I left that garden knowing that it was full of surprises for the new owner. When spring came around the following year, even though I was 4000 miles away, I could see that garden in my mind and knew what delight the new owner must be experiencing!
I left my little garden on the New England coast for a tiny garden on the shores of Puget Sound....at The James House. Loaded with inspiration, every year we would turn a little more of the grass into a flower bed, planted bulbs, seeds, and starts, and waited to see the fruits of our labor. Nineteen years later, you can enjoy our vision of a perennial garden. It isn't perfect, but it is lovely. We share it with our guests, our friends, and the growing family of deer who are just as delighted as we are when the flowers start emerging in the early spring. I have come to understand that perennial gardening is a lot about patience, anticipation, and hope. Good life lessons for now, but knowing that what is planted now will be here for years to come is the real inspiration. Enjoy!
