The lower case d wasn’t a mistake. It was a reminder of having space in mind before you start. In 43 degree weather I have two men digging up my front yard for the first step of a plan. Sometime last week I read, “A plan is what’s between nothing and a dream.” Some part of me is always a gardener Both dads grew things from rows of corn to tomato plants to hills of beans. Back yards or vacant lots next door were tended in early morning or late afternoon, and something always needed care or picking. My mother kept a bricked bed for pansies or prolific Shasta Daisies to bring color to the bowls of ivy that were indoors all year. A gigantic hydrangea thrived in east to west sun on the far side of the driveway.
I had beds like I wanted them at our Rice house. When we moved to Swift, the yard and the sun were different and I had other calls on my time Something was missing Last fall I just stepped forward. I dug out grass in half of the front yard and laid out some dirt. I invited neighborhood children over one Sunday afternoon, and we scattered and stomped wild flower seeds…and waited.
This half planned idea was beyond my anticipation. From March to late August plants blossomed through a spectrum of colors following their cycles. One month only the white bloomed, giving way to reds, and yellows were the triumphant ending. I could sit in my living room and watch the helical flight of butterflies. Begrudgingly, I cut back at the beginning of September.
For the gardener, there is always another spring. I called my yard lady. (Other women have fashion consultants.) On a piece of paper to scale is the plan that will take my nothing yard to a dream come true. Enough perennials are added to keep dormant from being synonymous with death. Paths and lighting are included and a bench to sit on at needed moments and, perhaps, to be the place to envision the back yard for vegetables.
The flowers appear on the earth and the time of singing has come.
Song of Solomon 2:12
Let Me Tell Ya 