A: Plastic tulips, of course!
Jeremy and I took a walk during his lunch break last week on what had to be the warmest winter day in Nebraska ever. It was gorgeous outside. Jeremy spotted some blooms in on a corner lot and we had to investigate what kind of plant was blooming at this time of year. Hah! So now I’m both tickled and perplexed by the notion of a plastic plant gardener.
…when it kind of looks like summer. But I know so many of you love fall when it gets chilly and rainy. At any rate, fall is here to stay, and this little yellow leaf is a sign of things to come.
It’s a dark and rainy morning and my newborn photo shoot is officially on a rain delay. Mumford is blaring over the speakers while I catch up on email, Facebook, online life as it is. The dog rests behind me, ears flattened a bit—I don’t think he appreciates Roll Away Your Stone as much as I do. I’m finally finally finally easing back into a normal existence after having elbow surgery five weeks ago. Being down and out for that long was both depressing and enlightening. Apparently I’m not much of a patient patient. Back to Mumford & Sons. They played in Council Bluffs two days ago and I. wasn’t. there. Can’t tell you how unfair that seemed. I heard that show sold out in minutes. Ah well, good for them.
Jeremy, Liv and I planted some vincas and impatiens and begonias and lobelias the other day. We’ve got more work to do, but we made a good start using some amazing dirt from our compost pile. Livia loves planting. It wasn’t until later that day when she was contentedly watching tv and I was finishing the potting that I realized, Wow, planting by myself is much easier than doing it with her around! Always, a mama needs to slow down to adjust for younger fingers on a task. As silly as it sounds, I think sometimes we expect Liv to act like an adult. But it takes a long time to nurture this little soul–what a job we’ve been given to train up this child.
Enough with my Thursday ramblings. I’m off to conquer a few piles of laundry.
I just deleted an entire post on gardening. It seemed boring and I’m not sure anyone else is interested in the topic. So if you actually read my posts on gardening, let me know.
Is anyone blogging any more?
Flowers make me happy. I know several gals who’d rather receive a potted plant or a foot massage or have the trash taken out rather than get flowers from their spouses. I am not that girl. I think this is why I love spring so much. I love the bursts of color coming from my yard right now and slowly Livia is learning to adore them, too. This morning she kept yelling for me to come outside to see something. When I turned the corner I admired her discovery: the first little rose blooming on our David City rosebush. (We have a small rosebush from Jeremy’s grandparents’ home in David City, Nebraska. It’s extra special to me.)
Most plants in our yard come from unglamorous origins. The peony pictured above came from Sam’s Club many years ago. Most bulbs died, but two survived and continue to make me happy year after year. Other blooms have come from garden store shopping trips over the past ten springs. There’s the clematis from Earl May, the pincushion flower from a neighborhood greenhouse, the gorgeous blue Columbines that Jeremy picked out from a location I can’t recall. The gardens are a constant work-in-progress. Some plants naturally die out after a few years; others are victims of rabbits or over-eager weed spraying. Some are divided and transplanted in better locations where they thrive with more or less sunshine.
I cringe to think of moving and leaving our beloved yard behind. I want to dig up each plant and take it with us. But Jeremy has a more positive take on the move. He reminds me that we can start again—and, I daresay, we’ll be smarter about it this time around. We’ll use the last ten years of knowledge to start something new. Like an artist with a blank canvas, we’ll see endless possibilities in a new space. And hopefully the new Prairie Box homeowners, whoever they are, will enjoy the peonies when they come up, fresh and lovely, next spring.
**Update on moving. No, we haven’t sold the house. No, it’s not on the market yet. We’ve got a few more renovations to make before listing it. But if you or someone you know would like a lovely 1915 home with three bedrooms, let me know!
Livia likes to bring me something she calls “love gifts.” She’ll scour the yard—or any place we’re going on a walk—to find something beautiful to bring me. What can I say? The kid speaks my love language!
We have very few tulips in the yard, so I was a bit surprised when Livia walked through the door with a tulip in hand. I didn’t want her picking them as I was hoping they’d brighten up our rainy spring garden. But as it turns out, that one tulip did more for my spirit indoors. It was so lovely. And, as the sun came out, it opened wide each day, receiving all the rays with open petals.
Liv has the right idea, in so many ways. Showing love freely, enjoying beauty when she sees it, bringing joyful bits of the outdoors inside to cherish. I’m glad for her six-year-old eyes.
I’ve grown to love our sedum plants. Their leaves are rubbery and they seem more fit for the desert than Nebraska. But they are hardy. And green. And so eager to grow towards the sun early in the spring. I love ‘em.
I am made for sunshine, green grass and little jewels like miniature daffodils and sprouting red buds. The cold, dying cycle of winter is behind us for another year and the reward of warm seasons stretches before us. The trees here in Lincoln are still bony statues, but I can take it in with hope and excitement because soon their arms will be covered in green. Everything rejoices at new life. It’s the season of resurrection—which we’ll celebrate wholeheartedly in a few weeks on Easter Sunday. Christ the Lord is risen today, alleluia! Even more than being made for spring, I am made to worship and live in the joy of the resurrected Son of God. Easter, like spring, is worth waiting for.
