I finally heard it - maybe you have too?

I thought I'd become immune.

I thought I'd gotten

 too hardened,

 frustrated to the point of no return.

But I kept being called out, drawn into the garden spaces.

I pretended to see if I needed to trim something a bit...

but then I'd stop to admire while acknowledging nothing needed trimming.

As I ventured out in my garden beds, I began hearing something.  At first it was barely audible.

But it happened again...and again.

A little snatch of tune...a snippet of melody...just the notes at first.  Until finally...the words became

just 

clear 

enough...to catch.  I had to actively listen, to hear.

To finally admit and understand.

It was only, ever, going to be a matter of time.

Because when it comes to the great awakening of garden and gardener alike? We silly humans may swear we are done, that this gardening thing, it is all over. We can say we have washed our hands and walked away forever.

But the garden, deep in her heart, she simply knows better.

Time, as always, is on her side.

Sings my garden:

Time is on my side, yes it is

Time is on my side, yes it is

Now you all would say, that you wanna be free

But you'll come running back (Like I said you would, baby)

You'll come running back (Like I told ya so many times before)

You'll come running back to me, yeah

You're searchin' for good times, but just wait and see.

You'll come running back (I said you would, darlin')

You'll come running back 

You'll come running back to me

Go ahead, baby, go ahead. Go ahead and light up the town.

Baby, do anything your heart desires remember, I'll always be around

I know, I know like I told ya so many times before

You're gonna come back, yeah you're gonna come back, baby 

'Cause I got the real love the kind that you need

You'll come running back (I knew you would one day)

You'll come running back (Like I told you before)

You'll come running back to me, yeah

Via Wikipedia: "Time Is on My Side" is a song written by Jerry Ragovoy (under the pseudonym of Norman Meade). First recorded by jazz trombonist Kai Winding and his Orchestra in 1963, it was covered (with additional lyrics by Jimmy Norman) by both soul singer Irma Thomas and the Rolling Stones in 1964.
 

Gardening (and loss)

Recent hail storms in the Central Texas area reminded everybody in no uncertain terms how humans make plans while the weather always manages to have the last word.

The destruction in our neighborhood was significantly less severe than in areas just a couple of miles away.  Arbitrary, insensate, the storm shuffled and hurled walls of ice, accompanied by flattening winds.  The track of the storm displayed no care for garden, or gardener.

In combination with this date's many celebrations of Earth Day, it all got me to thinking about gardening.  More specifically about how, hard as a gardener might work to get a garden "just so", as with any living thing, change is the only constant.

Black chin or rufous?  Impossible to tell in this photo but appearing the morning after the hail storm, and first of the season.

Whatever corner of the outdoor world we frequent, it is filled with little creatures working through life cycles that can seem accelerated to human sensibilities.  The gardener, out and about, working in and enjoying spaces in wildlife's company, cannot help but be aware of their arrivals, and occasionally even of their passing.

Blanket flower/Gaillardia pulchella

Plants go in and out of favor.  Last year's weed becomes this year's coveted native ground cover.  Horseherb, long considered a bane to St. Augustine lawns, is now just as often welcomed as a low growing xeric alternative to grassy monocultures.

Horseherb/Calyptocarpus vialis

Other native plants are sought out and valued not only for their toughness and willingness to spread.  Blooms that attract butterflies are valued for the enjoyment they bring in combination.  Flower spiders, though uninvited, are equally pleased with the arrangement.

Crab spider/Thomisidae captures a Juniper Hairstreak/Callophyrys gryneus, aka dinner.

Unless of course, said native also delivers everybody's least favorite irritant (urushoil).  Poison ivy is native across the lower 48 states and as far as I can tell, universally reviled.  Despite all that it has berries birds love and also attracts butterflies.  As wonderful as I ordinarily find those two qualities to be, I yet spent hours yesterday in amateur hazmat gear, carefully removing every sprig I could find.

Poison ivy/Toxicodendron radicans

As a gardener, my plans and practices offer the pretext of control.  I determine what is pet and what is pest.

No-spot ladybug, Cycloneda munda on Pink Evening Primrose, Oenothera speciosa

I move about consciously dealing out death to targeted lives.  On this individual scale my actions could read every bit as arbitrary and insensate as the violent weather fronts that damage one garden, while leaving another garden unscathed.

Striped Rabdotus snail/Raddotus alternatus

Lessons learned or ignored, beauty is yet a constant companion.  Generations of a native flower discovered and then taken from a graveyard now bring joy to countless other spaces dedicated to growth and life.

Henry Duelberg salvia/Salvia farinacea

Color and form are there to be appreciated at every scale.

Black-and-yellow Lichen Moth/Lycomorpha pholus on Lance-leafed Coreopsis/Coreopsis lanceolata

We human beings want what we want.  Carelessly I can accept desired results as my just reward while experiencing undesired results as an personal affront.

Clasping coneflower/Dracopis amplexicaulis

All along, while we alternately chafe and cheer, natural systems patiently play out their schemes, both long and short.  Things live, things die, things change.

Winecup/Callirhoe involucrata

The earth, carrying its life forms as both blessing and burden, moves mysteriously in and out of our conscious consideration.

We plan, we plant, we celebrate successes and mourn losses.  We fret and we frolic, right up to the moment when we ourselves leave this life for whatever comes next.

I find it all a little overwhelming.  When I think about it at all.

Seven Year Itch

Seven years can be a long time in the life of a plant.

Working backwards, six years prior, the opuntia cluster shown in the photo below (to the right of the pink periwinkles), had dutifully grown from a single pad. That pad arrived one year prior, after spotting a pile of "Free - Help Yourself" spineless opuntia at the curbing in a neighbor's yard.  I took a few paddles home and placed each one on the soil where I thought a mature clump of opuntia would eventually provide structure and interest.

In several spots, including alongside our driveway, I had to create growing space on the soil for the pads by clearing away pre-existing ground covers originally planted decades ago by the previous owners.  I wondered, would the cactus take hold quickly enough to compete?  I know now I need not have worried - the opuntia rooted and easily held its ground.

Looking west, six years ago.

Fast forward to late last year, at some point between the departure of Halloween porch pumpkins and the arrival of holiday door wreaths. Gazing out with a critical eye I abruptly realized: the appearance of that opuntia had become jarring.  After the most recent replacement of asian jasmine and vinca major with native perennials of varying sizes and the easing in of additional rocks and gravel to further delineate the open spaces created, the cactus wasn't working.

The thick pads of the opuntia were now too much, too weighty looking, too close to the drive.  A natural curve had developed to follow the sun and drip line under overhanging oak trees, and the opuntia was fighting that curve.  My mind was made up.  It simply had to go.

The same space in a photo taken in early October of 2014

And yet I hesitated.  How easy would it be to remove an established opuntia cluster with its woody base and multiple "stems"?  This variety is designated "spineless" but that is a misnomer.  These cacti sport stealth spines on every pad.  There were other perennial plants growing in close proximity to consider. Would I be able to dig out the opuntia without tearing up everything growing around it?

There was only one way to find out.  Enticed by the prospects of a warm and sunny afternoon, I grabbed my trusty shovel, (dubbed "sprinkler killer" by my Hub after multiple wire cuttings) and headed out to do some experimental heave ho-ing.  To my surprise and delight the opuntia popped right out of the shallow soil, leaving only the slightest of indentations.

The cacti cluster had one several foot long root growing horizontally back through the ground covers that required a little extra teasing out.  As is frighteningly typical, after pulling out that root, the surface of the jasmine closed seamlessly back over the opening created, rendering it invisible. Asian jasmine is scary stuff, folks.  But that's a story for another day. Overall the opuntia removal was painless. For the gardener, at least.

The same area, January 2015.  I took out the opuntia.  Freezing weather took care of the rest.

Without the visual interruption of that chunky opuntia, the negative space recently enlarged along the driveway's edge works much better as both a contrast to and a lead in towards the multi-layered xeric plantings growing just beyond. I'll pull out more of the jasmine later (as I do every year), and as temperatures warm this spring, I'm hopeful native wildflower seed previously scattered will germinate, flourish, and bloom, attracting appreciative glances and pollinators both.

I work hard to support the plants growing here and even with species that are easily propagated I do not take the removal of an established native lightly. That said, at times the best addition made to a garden space can actually be a subtraction.

Seasonal

A dear friend of mine organized and leads a once per week session of yoga exercises at a nearby church.

Though I don't attend worship services there or attend the yoga sessions either one, I remain on the email reminder list for each session, because I don't want to miss the gentle urgings that are delivered right along with the class meeting times.

Each message reminds me to slow down, pay attention to my body, and gently care for myself, all as part of my caring for the world around me.

Hamelia patens with berries

Most recently the class reminder included the observation that (and I'm paraphrasing here a bit) "when the third Christmas cookie did not satisfy, I slowed down enough to realize I had never been hungry for the first.".  This slowing down and taking in, he went on to say, is an ongoing part of yoga practice.

Yoga is, for him, intentional attention, a "practice of noticing".  For my friend when it comes to yoga, his goals include a degree of presence and attention that moves the class sessions from exercise to meditative spiritual practice.

It struck me this morning.  The way my friend approaches yoga is the way I approach gardening with native plants in order to attract local wildlife.  For me, gardening this way requires more practice in noticing.  Working in and around the earth becomes, on a good day, a meditative spiritual practice.

Happy Holidays to all.  May your days be merry, bright, and filled with the wonder of growing.