We're almost to mid-April and the official end of the threat of frost in central North Carolina. My grandmother consulted the Farmer's Almanac for advice on planting and now I consult with my Master Gardener, Brother-in-Law, Winslow. He recommends putting things in the ground after April 15th. To prepare for planting, I bought my seed packs last week and felt a boost of energy, looking forward to watching those seeds pushing up through the soil.
A year ago, Winslow helped me create my patio garden. This year, I don't have the same amount of work required; I'll just need to replenish the soil in the flower and herb bed and put in the new seeds. I look back at my words in my post last year To Plant a Garden and see that I sowed in faith and have lived another year to start the cycle all over:
"To plant a garden is to outwardly show you trust the future; you'll be around to see those seeds sprout, those plants grow. You invest in soil, fertilizer, seeds, plants, and tools to form the garden of your dreams. It's a display of the colors of your heart, the patterns of your mind, the creative force of your soul."
Last year, before I could fill the area around the garden with gravel, we had heavy downpours that washed my first seeds of morning glories and sunflowers away. I had to buy seeds a second time and germinated them in peat pots while I brought in loads of gravel. My planting was later so the flowers were later--as I watched each day--looking for those blooms to finally arrive. How much joy I got from all those happy yellow faces of sunflowers and the blues, pinks, and purples of the morning glories that softened the stark white fence. Early in the morning, I sat out at my patio table and felt so grateful for my secret garden, my sanctuary of color and satisfaction that came from seeds.
This year, I'll reap ongoing rewards from all the work I put into getting the garden in shape last spring. And unlike last year, now I have bluebirds building a nest in the house that was unoccupied until now. My grandsons love watering my plants and filling the bird feeder; Now, I'm a real grandmother teaching them about birds and how to care for flowers.
When I was a girl, I'd spend a week at my Grandma Smith's each summer. She had flowers growing everywhere around her house: petunias in old tire planters, gladiolas in long garden rows, pots of plants on her front porch. I remember how sweet the petunias smelled after a summer shower. I helped Grandma in her garden early in the morning before it was too hot. She was a patient teacher--telling me about each flower. She kept cut flowers in the house, using vases and pitchers to display them in the kitchen and living room. Mama did the same thing, and then I followed their example with my beloved sunflowers.
After attending the Van Gogh Immersive Experience last year, I had a greater appreciation for sunflowers at all stages of blooming. It wasn't just those at their peak, the ones like those in the picture above that you'd buy at a florist; I loved the ones that were on their 'last leg' or last spindly bloom.
Now, after looking at my pictures of my garden from last season, I'm ready to plant next week. I'm reminded of the cycle of life, of the seasons and feel grateful that I have another year for planting. It reminds me of Daddy--and how I loved coming home from school on the bus and seeing him on his Farmall tractor plowing the field. The dark dirt that had rested through winter was being prepared for the seeds that would bring a summer harvest. While my garden is a tiny plot compared to Daddy's acres, all who garden know that great satisfaction of seeing this cycle of life, of a time to plant followed by a time to reap the harvest.
Wishing you a week of planting in hope for your future harvest,
Connie
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