Sowing Seeds

“My kind of composing is more like the work of a gardener. The gardener takes his seeds and scatters them, knowing what he is planting but not quite what will grow where and when – and he won’t necessarily be able to reproduce it again afterwards either.”…Brian Eno

It’s mid-May and in the Northern Hemisphere we are enjoying Spring. This May those April showers have continued along with some cool days, hail, and nearly freezing nights. Nevertheless, the rapid greening of the earth continues.

I’ve been sowing seeds, dividing and replanting hostas, and tending very young starters from a seasonal grower. It’s a labor of love as every gardener knows. Not only that but a reminder of how, much as we may try, we don’t know with certainty what will grow where or when. Perhaps some things won’t come to fruition at all. We can only hope.

On the other hand, we can metaphorically plant seeds without even knowing and later discover they have grown or meant something. Old New Englanders are more reserved than their counterparts in other areas of the country. In fact, in my experience we are more like the British which could be why I just love “VeryBritishProblems” on Instagram (started as a British TV series). Distant neighbors briefly greeted for years who become real friends is one example but I recall another which started when my dog lifted his leg to someone’s mailbox placed next to the sidewalk closest to the street and not on her lawn. She charged out and gave me hell. After all these years, she still doesn’t speak when I walk by. Little did I know...

Here are some observations from the past week:

The rhododendron which I pruned back so vigorously about 5 years ago reacted negatively by ceasing to produce, or, at best, produced only a few pink flowers. Ah, so different this year…the bush is now filled with bursting buds and flowers of white with tinges of bright pink. I read that white is especially attractive to pollinators. I wonder how I got so lucky. And also, whether next year will be the same.

The hummingbird feeder is back out and just in time for my returning slightly larger than bumblebee sized hummer, surely exhausted from its long journey from Central or South America. These creatures are highly territorial and will tolerate no other hummingbird’s presence at the feeder. Yet what did I see twice yesterday but a hairy woodpecker drinking the nectar from that very feeder. I’d never seen such a thing but after checking a few online bird sites, learned that occasionally this happens. I wonder what will occur if there’s an encounter…a duel?

I planted a clematis last week. I don’t know why, I’ve never had any luck bringing them to fruition. On the other hand, my Dutch Sister Friend who has lovely front and back gardens can grow them without effort. Actually I shouldn’t compare my garden to hers since she lives in a gentle climate with fertile soil but I still strive for comparable results. So much so that I even have a trellis up for the little thing which has yet to show promise of growth. I wonder if this is the year I’ll finally have a clematis of my own on one side of the porch. I wonder why I feel so optimistic this year.

That David Austin bare root rambling rose put in the ground a couple of weeks ago is just starting to show tiny green leaves on a few of the stems. Each time I’m on the porch I look down and send my hopes and pleas to grow, grow. If it blooms this year which it may well not, I will be over the moon with happiness. I wonder if it will.

I have a raised garden cart planter on the deck this year, new and just sown with sweet peas (thank you, lovely

Sarah Barker

for mentioning your mother’s and your own sweet peas which reminded me of how much I loved them as a child), ranunculus which I’ve never grown tho buy whenever I can, along with ixia corms my food co-op was selling, another flower I haven’t grown. I’m uncertain whether the drainage in this planter will be sufficient to handle the rain we’ve been having. Maybe I should make a kind of tent to put over it when downpours are predicted. And just now…as I was writing this post I looked up to see a squirrel eating a corm he had dug out. I detest those marauding bushy tailed rodents. I wonder whether that whole cart planter idea, good as it looks on the deck, was a mistake and a waste of seed, corms, soil, money and they will be no pleasure.

I enjoy writing immensely. Producing two posts a week on a variety of subjects which I think women will enjoy is not too great an effort. (Of course, men may find words of interest in the pieces too but realistically, there aren’t so many of them as subscribers or followers.) I wonder if looking at the stats on each post is useful or not. It’s for certain, I haven’t been able to predict which ones will generate greater interest. I also wonder why new writers I subscribed to or follow have gone silent. Did they burn out? They sowed some beautiful seeds and then…nothing. Did they find a better environment in which to grow? I wonder why I care given the fact that I can’t keep up with all the good writing still on the platform. Yet I do.

It’s your turn now. What seeds are you sowing? What are you wondering?

I’ll close with (who else ?) Mary Oliver:

The Gardener

By Mary Oliver

“Have I lived enough?

Have I loved enough?

Have I considered Right Action enough, have I

come to any conclusion?

Have I experienced happiness with sufficient gratitude?

Have I endured loneliness with grace?

I say this, or perhaps I’m just thinking it.

Actually, I probably think too much.

Then I step out into the garden,

where the gardener, who is said to be a simple man,

Is tending his children, the roses.”