WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY ROSES???
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By JANE SAWYER
Our climate on the island is perfect for growing roses…except this year, for me anyway. All that spring rain we had, with a little bit of wind thrown in, was disastrous for my climbers. With the sun, a few are recovering, thankfully. They were glorious last year and perhaps next year, mine will have truly bounced back.
Gardening is a metaphor for life, impermanent and always changing.
My island garden is how I mark time. Early spring brings me my first Fine Gardening magazine and catalogs and I can hardly wait to get out there, every plant looks like a good idea. I literally dream about combinations of color, textures, all the possibilities. I am so grateful for the longer days and take advantage of the evenings after I get home to clear, plant and move things around.
And then like clockwork, by the end of July, I am truly tired of watering and just want to clear it all out and promise myself that next year, I will only plant things that are drought-tolerant.
In September, I enjoy the last bits of color and look forward to putting the garden to bed for the winter and switch my interest to new knitting projects. Year after year, the cycle goes on and I never tire of it.
Our island is teaming with wonderful gardens and gardeners. We have the garden tour with stunningly beautiful masterpieces and then we have so many charming gardens that are hidden behind hedges and are so entirely personal, ever evolving.
I love to visit these gardener friends and wander around their gardens; I come away with so many brilliant ideas.
I saw the most beautiful Cecil Brunner climbing up a tree 20 feet in the air; it was stunning and wild and just so perfect.
I have another friend who plants these charming vignettes, down every path and around every corner there is a delight.
I love the gardens that are a landscape with small splashes of color, not classic gardens at all, more like a still life you are choreographing.
Ponds with weeping willows, teaming with birds and native plants.
We have cleared a wood lot to build a studio and suddenly, I have more space to extend the landscaping. I can’t stop and am in danger of creating a monster, I tell myself not to be a slave to my garden. I want to see my friends and family, I want time to read in my hammock.
Gardening is a kind of beautiful illness.
My garden is like my personality, big bursts of color with a head of lettuce thrown under the roses in an effort to be practical. It started out a place to grow vegetables but because I am all about form and less about function, I only plant the vegetables that have beautiful leaves—sweet peas crowd out snap peas. It is optimistic and chaotic; my nasturtiums and calendula obstruct the paths and the cabbage leaves have blocked all the sun from the radishes. It is a riot of color and makes me happy every time I open the gate.
A friend who is a brilliant gardener passed on this GARDENING NEWSLETTER which is so well organized and informative and I have every intention of following all this practical advice…next year.
What was Paradise but a
Garden
An Orchard Full of Trees
And herbs
Full of Pleasures and
Nothing there but Delights
—William Lawson