In my
gardens, I find peace, beauty, and wonderful exercise. Whenever I feel troubled about some happening
in my life, I find that pulling weeds, gathering a bouquet or picking some
fresh produce is great therapy.
Very often, after sitting quietly while surveying my gardens
and thinking about the many people in my life or snoozing for a few
minutes, I feel completely refreshed.
There’s no
hustle or bustle, there’s only the sounds of birds singing, chirping or
splashing water in the birdbath, and the antics of busy chipmunks to draw my
attention from the tasks at hand.
When I
moved to my current home, there were no gardens, but there was a collection of
pots, tubs, and baskets filled with perennials, shrubs, and a few small trees
that I brought from my previous home.
Over time, I developed several flower beds and a small vegetable patch,
arranged shrubbery groupings, and successfully planted my trees.
My gardens
represent years of hard work, yes. They
represent also my artistic nature, my respect for all things natural that do
not need chemicals to help them survive, and my invitation to creatures of the
wild – butterflies, bees, birds, spiders, the rabbit that munches on my Swiss
chard, the chipmunk who pulls out small carrots, and the deer that obviously
likes the taste of Hosta plants.
Overall, I
think of my gardens, with their additional features of assorted rocks, a large
tree stump, a cement “Grandma’s Garden” plaque, and a maple burl, as
representations of the wonderful variety of experiences in my life.
Nice! Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteI know this will be an excellent blog, Kathleen. Wonderful!
ReplyDeleteThanks for the encouragement, Mary.
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