The Glory of Spring . . . and Gardening (Patricia Potter)

I come to gardening late.

My father loved tinkering in the garden. He indulged his roses, tended his many azaleas, planted and dearly loved troublesome but lovely Magnolia trees. He also had a magnificent vegetable garden that kept me in luscious home-grown tomatoes all summer.

While I admired his industry and appreciated its results, I couldn't imagine why he so happily spent hundreds of hours on his knees planting seeds and feeding his plants.

I understand now. I bought a house with a big empty yard because I dearly wanted a swimming pool. Of all activities in the world, I love swimming the most. I got my pool, but then I had nothing around it. In truth, part of my yard was a swamp.

I planted some crepe myrtles to give the yard some color, but I still had a swamp. Every rain, the grass gradually disappeared in a sea of mud. Okay, I thought. I'll turn the swamp into a flower garden. The plants would soak up the water.

The garden, shaded by the crepe myrtles, grew and grew. I became enchanted.

Have I mentioned I have a compulsive personality? If a few flowers are good, more are better. The garden grew. I discovered an unexpected joy in digging in the dirt, and adding more plants.

Then I adopted the Wild Indians – my Australian Shepherd sisters – who loved to dig holes under the fence. The only barrier to such activity, I found, was planting rose bushes where the holes were possible.

The behavior was corrected, but like a gambler, I couldn't stop adding. If a little color was good around the fence, more would be better.

Three weeks ago, I took a look at the non-garden parts of my yard. The Wild Indians had destroyed the grass. So for the past few weeks, I've been buying sod, carrying it to my back yard, and laying it, square by square.

Backbreaking work, but I found myself loving it. Love the exercise, but but even more I enjoyed seeing the green return to my yard, square foot by square foot, and I did it myself. Like Maggie, I found great satisfaction in doing something I'd previously depended on someone else to do.

The joy of Memphis is a long flower season. We had azaleas in bloom three weeks ago, along with flowering peach trees and Dogwoods. Now tulips and irises are everywhere. My roses are blooming. I just planted fifty multi-colored impatiens, and it's pure joy taking my coffee in their midst. My roses are thriving, and every week I find something else to add. By the end of summer, my yard will be fence-to-fence flowers.

I'm thinking now about a vegetable plot, but I hesitate. Like my flowers, I fear it will grow like Topsy's garden, and I'll never get to write again. So I'm resisting until I finish The Devil's Shadow.

And then . . .

But I'll tell you about that later. In the meantime, have any of you caught the gardening bug and if so, what most do you love to grow?