The snow has melted from what-passes-for-grass in my yard and the annual winter toll on the house and driveway is apparent.It's time to think about taking action, starting with enlarging the front beds again to accommodate more edibles and yes, reduce the amount of area covered by what passes-for-grass. If this sounds contrary to resting open, I invite you to continue.
Getting rid of grass in my already smallish yard became something of an obsession for me last year as I neared retirement. In its first blush I aimed for the grass clumps between the stones in my front walk. Admittedly a tidy-up job, not unlike cleaning out the dresser, this effort led me to discover that the walk was actually two stones wide--half of them had been hidden by untended and out of control grass. Now they are connected by creeping phlox, the winner in a contest with creeping thyme. At least the phlox will be easier to keep cut back than the grass and it adds some contrasting texture.
Once the walkway problems were under control, my obsession led me to the notion that maybe a big swath of grass could go if I created a wide bed on the outside of the walkway, where some pretty sorry looking grass then stood. I envisioned a country-cottage-magazine beautiful path between beds that any visitor would find charming and also from which I could reach and tend to the edible experiments of front yard herbs, squash, tomatoes, peppers, and eggplant. My ambition exhausted me. Thank Gardener's Supply for my Cape Cod Cutter tool, decorated with a bright yellow ribbon so I could find it easily in the mess I was making.
What I did not intend (as in set out to accomplish), but what I noticed as I wrestled with the unwanted greenery and accompanying weeds, is that my body became intently focused on the physical task. My mind on the other hand was, well, utterly blank. Even if I did have a thought unrelated to my task, I could not hold it for long. I couldn't worry about anything or even ponder great questions because I was just too darned focused on ripping out that grass mat or digging enrichments into the soil.
I had stumbled onto gardening-as-meditation, a chance to free my hyperactive mind and simply tend the earth, the plants. Maybe I just needed a distraction from the scary prospect of retirement. My perspective changed. Time slowed down. I made friends with my plants and my birthday present Arctic Blue Willow tree. Yes, I talked to them, mostly encouraging them and nudging them along their own growth path.
Now the perennials are reemerging. Their juices are flowing and so are mine. I see an even wider bed now, perhaps bordered eventually by low-profile blueberry bushes, and divided unobtrusively by little walkways that will give me access to the center section that is too far to reach from either side. It's time to find the Cape Cod Cutter tool and wash my gardening gloves, get the hose out from under the house and put the snow shovels away.
But nothing is going to happen in a hurry. It is only early April. The hanging baskets won't even appear until close to Mother's Day and there is no way I am planting anything in the ground before mid-May except maybe spinach and lettuces. I can rest open for a while longer, chatting up the huechera and geraniums as they emerge and pondering what yummies I will plant among them.
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