I came late to gardening, only really getting started in the last dozen years or so.
There was no real family tradition of growing flowers at my house or, if there was one, I was oblivious.
My husband and I have learned mostly by trial and error . . . lots of trials, lots and lots of errors. But we had some successes and were pleased.
Then, five years ago, our area was hit by flooding. The lake we live on reached record-high water levels and stayed there for 6 weeks. (As you know, you can click on the small photos to see more detail)
Our lawns and gardens were covered in water and sludge for weeks, and everything died.
We had a tabula rasa. A nasty, brown blank slate.
So, you will understand the awe I feel now, all spring and summer, when beauty happens here. I am dumbstruck that we have accomplished so much, with so little knowledge but hard work and patience.
The flowers amaze me, enthrall me.
In spite of all this beauty, only one part of the garden matters to some people.
We grow catnip under the protective cover of staked wire baskets so “some people” won’t rip it out by the roots and eviscerate the little plants.
They get drunk on catnip, I find my intoxication elsewhere.