Some people do not seem to care for gardens. Their front yards are wastelands of green. Maybe a few bushes up close to the house. Perhaps for a splash of colour, a nod to a garden, there may be some tulips. These will invariably be red.
For some (perhaps) unidentifiable reason, I see the inhabitants as being unimaginative. And sad.
In my travels I have seen streets in towns completely adorned with planters and wee front yards overflowing with blooms. Apartment blocks where it was mandated the residents MUST have a balcony garden, making the building look a colourful painting.
Even the saddest of persons I think must feel a moment of joy at seeing such glory everywhere.
Now, actually, I grew up in the sadder surroundings.
My mother loved flowers and plants and was always so excited when something bloomed and distraught when it died. Yet, very little effort was made for the outdoor garden. Of course, the clay soil made it difficult. My father, who destroyed everything in his path with the lawn mower, made it difficult. The front yard was basically naked. We had a huge willow tree out back. And a lovely lilac on the property line which obtusely had its best show on the other side of the fence. Both were removed when their roots invaded the neighbours' pool next door. I cried for weeks. I still feel an intense attraction to the willow and lilac. There were an assortment of rose bushes and a forsythia that survived in spite of the neglect. And a mock orange that struggled againt the back wall, filling the bedrooms with its scent every spring. My mother loved that tree. That one she fought for.
With the construction finally ended, the trek to the garden centres has begun in earnest. My balcony will not be a wasteland. The first three planters are set up and survived the hailstorm we had the other day. The rest were carefully chosen yesterday. We spent a couple of hours wandering about arranging, picking the right height and colour combinations. All was set in place. And at this rate I will not need to worry about watering them for a while!
A lunch was in order as payment for my neighbour's help and we walked over to the LPH along the bike path. Coming home alone, after my neighbour went shopping, I rounded the corner onto my street
and ran smack into the scent of a mock orange.
Every spring the magnolias are eagerly anticipated. And after that, close inspection of the lilacs are made and great excitement when they finally are in full flower. I love lilacs and so look forward to them. But the mock orange gets short shrift. For some reason I never think about it unless I smell the flowers.
As I turned towards the tree to fill up my soul with the heady aroma
a mock orange
I burst into tears.
I have been weeping ever since.
photos from Ruth's blog
(and I didn't cry then when I saw your pics! It made me happy)