Happy (belated) Bloom Day

Donnie's Buttercups

Donnie's Buttercups

Happy (Belated) Bloom Day

I learned of a tradition this morning. Technically, I’ve missed it, but I figure since I just found out I’ll be forgiven my tardiness.

Besides my punkin’s birthday, June 15th is the garden bloggers’ Show off Your Blooms Day or Bloom Day.

I’ve been showing off my blooms for weeks now, so it’s a no-brainer that I’m all over this even if I’m not strictly a garden blogger. [Note: I have no idea what kind of blogger I am – I’m still feeling my way.]

minature rose

Minature rose in the kitchen cottage garden.

The new garden is starting to fill in a bit. For weeks now, I’ve been planting new stuff and re-arranging the stuff I’d just planted. The little darlings haven’t had time to settle in and grow. For the most part, the white garden still has the new haircut look – a bit too tidy – rather geeky looking.

Still. The wisteria is sending out tendrils, the new roses are blooming, the calla lilies are now two feet tall, and the spreading/trailing plants are beginning to spread and bloom. My blueberry plant has berries forming and I haven’t killed the tomato yet. The moss roses (portulaca) have grown in height and will spill over and begin trailing out of the baskets any second.

I finally got the hummingbird feeders up and already I have hummingbird rumbles in the jungle – watching hummingbirds fight is reminiscent of watching new kittens attack one another.

Mmmmmm...white roses

Mmmmmm...white roses

The garden (and some other things) has been my salvation. Back in December, I despaired that life events were conspiring to make me lose my sense of humor. My ability to laugh at life is my greatest strength and the feeling that it was slipping away was frightening.

My gardens contain many plants given to me by friends and family. Tending to them has firmed up the circle of life. Remembering a friend that died while admiring the buttercups she gave me grounded her memory in my heart. Photographing my great-grandmother’s irises allowed masses of memories to cascade. Remembering the passings of these loved people is not sad in the garden. Amidst the life and decay of a normal garden, remembering becomes part of the natural order and I can admire the blooms of their lives – now past.

Moss on the patio.

Moss on the patio.

With all the rain we’ve been having, the moss is spreading through the crevices on my patio more than ever before.  Perhaps oddly, the spreading moss is symbolic of those memories, but also of life in general.  While I certainly never intended for moss to grow there, its presence is both comforting and delightful even while I pray for the rain to stop.

Happy (belated) Bloom Day.

6 thoughts on “Happy (belated) Bloom Day

  1. Lovely blooms-I think the buttercups are my favorite. I like what you said about connecting the memory of the person who shared the plant with you to the blooms-I feel the same way about my flowers.

  2. It must have been something about December… I used to be known for my smile and long about the end of the year (the first day of ’08 was marked by my mother’s death) I realized I had become a complainer. What happened to that Pollyanna person? Where did she go and how could I go about finding her? I read a story yesterday from a collection of “summer reading” in a book called Tin House. The narrator talked about the difference between events and developments. It was an interesting concept. My mother’s death was an event–the lawsuit instigated by my brother was a development. It’s all pretty much over now and the dust is beginning to settle. I still feel impoverished by the entire affair but since the only constant is change; this too shall pass. But I’m not sure it’s a guarantee of getting my glow back, I think that may take some serious gardening, both in my yard and especially in my heart. I have to pull the weeds of frustration and nurture the little signs of cheer. I absolutely must seek out a reason for gratitude in any of it’s many guises, whether it’s the rain that makes me feel like crying and washes away my sadness or the lettuce that perks up with the cool moist drops layering on its leaves. The gardening metaphor is monstrously all encompassing when you take a few minutes to relate it to learning about life. In fact, when my dad died in May of ’85 he was raking out the irises. He made a pile of the leaves and debris and when his heart attacked him, like a little kid in autumn, he fell into the pile but never got up again. I finding there’s something about sore muscles that seems to be an antidote for an aching heart. Connie, you are entirely correct, the cycle of renewal and the promise of loveliness puts our brief lives into a beautiful perspective. Thank you for allowing me to join you in tiptoeing through the tulips.

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