Progress or something like it.

Hello! It is march! I am sore. No really. This post is brought to you by the sound of a rake not raking. Because it broke.  I would probably be raking right now if not for the fact that the tools can't keep up, so big and vast is the scale of our yard neglect. The minute I feel like a capable home-owner, a little thing like moss comes and ruins everything. Some time in October, while standing in an unused patch of side-yard that rarely sees the sun,  I said to myself, ' Hey, look at that. Is that moss? Huh.' And then walked away. Fast forward to the present day where the moss has grown to kill every single blade of grass and green living thing within a 25 foot radius. It is the Hulk Hogan of moss. I almost want to buy it a tiny little spandex romper. And according to the lawn experts, the only way to make it go away is with liquid iron, and then to RAKE EVERY SINGLE FORSAKEN PIECE OUT. So now we have a barren patch of dirt. Make that many barren patches of dirt. Who knew?! 

This is Oregon and it is normal for plants to grow on top of other plants that grown on other plants, and I really should have known. In my defense, this winter has been one of the wettest and warmest even our (old-school Oregonian) neighbors can remember, and the cherry trees started blooming in February. My apologies to those still snow-bound. If it makes you feel any better, it has rained, snowed and hailed in the last 45 minutes alone, and there's a good chance all the blooms will die. Am I the weather harbinger of doom? A little bit. I have spent every weekend of the last month raking my little heart out, re-seeding, planting fruit trees, covering every square inch of space in peat-moss (by hand), and planning the transformation of this thing we call a 'yard' into an actual garden. A garden, you guys. I am dreaming big.

Whenever I get a moment to myself (which is rare), I fantasize about a cottage garden that doesn't yet exist. With a cedar picket fence. A landscaped slope full of rosemary and lavender and jasmine flowering it's heart out on a arbor. (We live on a steep hill currently covered in patchy grass moss.) Raised stone beds in the backyard for veggies. Flowering plums for the sidewalk patch. Pale pink camelia and hellebores galore. Blue Tolix chairs under the lilac tree, which is thankfully, already there. I know you are thinking, 'Hey, aren't you the one who loves fiberglass chairs and all that?' To which I will say, 'Yes. But not outside.' Cement gardens and perfectly manicured rectangles full of tan nonsense make me sad. Weepy even. My garden dream is straight out of Country Living magazine, complete with peonies, Hunter boots, and spunky dogs. Maybe a pond or two.

I probably should have warned you at the beginning that this little rant was going to be all about moss and green things. But it's more than that. Nobody tells you that when you plant two little pear trees, you begin to see things that aren't there. Things that could be. After you plant the trees and rake the moss, it suddenly occurs to you why on earth you've been so distant from even yourself for nearly eight months. 'You are working too hard. Too much. Your mind is always elsewhere. ' It is bewilderingly simple. Something has to give. These are important little lessons a garden can teach you. Aaron and I are working on an amazing project, a big, hopes and dreams and unicorns kind of project, yet I have been too tired to read through proposals in the evenings, talk about design, pour over photos; I fall asleep at the dinner table. So I am learning how to say no to everything else. How to step away. How to take back time as my own if I want to continue doing the things I love-- writing, planning, walking, kissing my husband, games of fetch. The garden that isn't, but could be. Showering would be awesome. Change is around the corner, and right now I kind of want to make out with it. And have a glass or seven of wine. I'll buy a new rake tomorrow.

All love,
*Andrea    

  

Comments

[Erin Chaney]

we share the same vision and are aspiring for the same goal.
:)

[Nadia Lewis]

Cherry blossoms up here in Vancouver in JANUARY. Insane! :) But gorgeous.

[Nik]

So glad you're making progress, or even something like it. You're fabulous. I miss you, but I understand what it's like. I know you've got some pretty fabulous blossoms ahead of you!!!

[lluize]

Your post made me think of The Secret Garden (the children's book). I am sure everything will turn out fine, you'll see. Love,
Maria

[mj]

I love this post (which I probably say every time you write). My gardening problems are the opposite since I live in the hot, humid, south where July and August I completely lose control. Gardening seems feasible in March and April, though, so there's always lots of planning. My husband is getting excited by the prospect this year and planting lots of fruit trees in pots so we can take them if we move. We'll see if anything comes from it, but it's fun to see him with momentum.

I understand that feeling of busyness and not having the energy to move forward. Glad you can see the progress coming though.

[shari]

i like your idea of a garden. wish i could come over and help you rake. xoxo

[joAnn]

I have actually always wanted a lawn consisting of moss rather than grass... a dream of a green-carpeted floor on which to walk with no shoes.

[holly]

we did the same thing here. somehow a small palm sago in a pot for the table on the deck turned into walking past the same neighbors' house THREE times in one day to understand how they created such a beautiful perfect yard. it made me feel crazypants but the dogs liked it.

good luck with your moss. we are wrestling algae or something here on our fence and it's sort of embarrassing.

[emily]

these blossoms are stunning. as is your writing, as always. change sounds exciting!

[Amy]

I always wait eagerly for one of your posts.

I have an allotment and that's the thing I have neglected recently because I've been busy. I always end up being too scared to even go there (it's a couple of miles from my house) because in my imagination it becomes a wild overgrown place.
Then I go and it's only partially wild and over run with brambles but not as bad as I imagined. Maybe this will be the week I conquer it.

[Jenny Snyder]

After the last snow storm melted Saturday, I ventured outside to look at our yard. I took one look at the weeds, previously unraked leaves and patches of remaining snow -- did an about face and raced back to the safety of the couch. God bless you in your efforts! I've decided beyond walks along trails, being outdoors is no longer my gift!

[gracia]

I yearn for a cottage garden too. Herbaceous borders and colour measured. I've nothing to rake in my courtyard but it is green and thriving thanks to a week of autumnal showers.

be well, g

[Miranda]

I just recently ordered a subscription to Cottage Gardens because I too dream of a lush, colorful garden. Good luck and I hope you keep us updated with your garden's progress!

[Alicia P.]

"Things that could be." It's always so amazing how that feeling hits like a fever in the spring. Most of the year, I'm busy thinking other things. But then, that one warm day in February or March when we go out to un-gunk the yard, it comes on like a flush of scarlet, and you're right -- in that feverish daze I start seeing things that aren't (yet) there.

The people who owned this house before us took every single plant they could actually take out of the yard when they left. It's taken us ten years of really hard work (and more money than I could've imagined) just to put things back. Tired.

You would probably really like the gardens at Bishops Close off of Macadam Ave. in SW. It's a good dreaming spot.