Gardens go with the gardener

I’m happily ensconced in my new home now, though I have to admit that I get a pang when I look at pictures of my old garden. It’s gone now. Pretty much obliterated.

DSCN4272The best laid plans… ah well. I had made arrangements to move my favourites slowly through October and into  spring and leave behind a low-maintenance design. But then my landlady became seriously ill and her rather tyrannical father, who co-owns the house, growled that he wasn’t going to look after gardens. The text message arrived at 3PM on a Friday afternoon telling me that everything was to be pulled out the next day and that I should stop by if I wanted anything. Holy crap.

I stopped by… and since it was all coming out anyway I hauled 4 truck loads of plants to my new home that weekend. And to my regret, I could have taken 4 more. Such a waste.

Needless to say everything ended up heeled into some hastily prepared beds, and I have only a vague idea of what ended up where. I hired two helpers and they worked fast – too fast for me to organize the plants and make sure my carefully prepared labels remained intact. Clematis, daylillies, grasses, surprise! It’ll take a year or two to sort them all out. But the best of my plants are safe. I have no complaints, other than sadness for the creatures who made their home outside my door. Evicted. It’s been paved over with green asphalt.

Gardens go with the gardener. It’s humbling. I somehow thought that by creating habitat for nature and beauty for myself, I was doing something important and changing the world. But I was only changing my little piece of the world, for a little while.