I can’t get enough of the beauty of morning glories. Every day, I am treated to a new feast for the eyes.
They really are the most wonderful last-days-of-summer treat. The day lilies are gone. The coneflowers are drying up. A few roses are blooming, as well as the rudbeckia. The morning glories have taken over center stage, thrilling us with their magical, ephemeral beauty.
I never get tired of them. It always seems to take forever for them to grow and produce buds, but they are well worth the wait.
And my hyacinth bean vine, also slow-growing this year, has produced some flowers.
I existed for so many years without a garden. I lived in dorms and apartments and all sorts of rentals that either didn’t have the space for a garden or where planting anything was a no-no. It wasn’t until we rented our Craftsman bungalow in San Diego that I made my first stab at a garden. It was in the backyard – a little plot right by the back door. (The same door that I walked out one day, only to trip and fall and break my left ankle, which resulted in my wearing a cast on that ankle for my wedding. Oh, yes.)
Then we moved out east and lived in a rental cottage. After a year or so, I asked the owners if I could put in a little strip of a garden alongside the house and they said yes. It was quite lovely. I wonder if it’s still there? I also planted a lot of pachysandra under the big pine tree right outside the front door. I hooked a hose up to the bathroom sink and snaked it outside through the window in order to water the plants. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
When we bought this house and moved in – nine years ago on August 30th – I knew I would finally be able to plant and nuture my own gardens.
I was in my fifties.
It took a long time, but it was worth it. And I treasure every minute of it.
I’ve written about my favorite bookstore, the Strand, on Just Let Me Finish This Page. Stop by to see just why I love it so.