Coming Home to Rhubarb, Phlox and Mayapple
hanging out with old friends in the gardens that compost makes
Greetings friend!
Sunlit Rhubarb welcomes me home from my North Carolina adventure.1
Transplants find their way…2
remembering what was, in the company of chives, whose pinky purple lead to the pinks of Wild Geranium on a hillside.
That was then, this is now.3
A few plants figuring it out.
The familiar pink in the company of a creeping phlox,
recalls other phlox in other garden spaces I’ve loved.
And the creeping phlox brings me to purple Woodland Phlox, which my grandmother had in abundance.
Have you smelled Woodland Phlox? For me, pure joy.4
And just beyond the Woodland Phlox, Mayapple and Lily of the Valley. That entire shade garden was once open lawn. Amazing what a few decades can produce.
How could I not bring these friends along? While not actual transplants, they came from last year’s local garden club sale.
These are the gardens that compost makes, then and now.
Soil amendments welcome plants just as plants welcome us, wherever we are.
Leaf geometries the same, then and now. They welcome me home not just from a trip, but also to myself - - that person grounded to place and curious about all that is there, even in its infancy, and noticing new shapes, like these Joe Pye Weed - - A perspective I didn’t have before…
…and my aunt Evie’s doubly transplanted Peony is bravely making it happen.5
Welcome home to the gardens that compost makes, even on a narrow strip of shared land by our still new condo in Vermont.6
With gratitude for you being you,
Lyn
If you read last week’s post, you’ll know that I was in Charlotte attending a food waste conference (From Where I Stand)
I hope you don’t get confused, but the images in this post go back and forth between my established garden at our old house in New Hampshire and the infant garden at our new condo in Vermont. Although we moved almost two years ago, it all still feels new. It’s about the one year anniversary since I planted most of these early spring bloomers.
If you’ve been reading 13 Tons of Love for a while, you might notice that last year at about this time, I wrote a similar kind of post called Old Friends - - it was near the anniversary of my mother’s death. There are plenty of images of rhubarb and phlox in that one as well. Oh well. These plants clearly carry some powerful energy for me!
It’s interesting how I associate the flower with my grandmother’s garden, really by its scent. Her flower bed was a mass of color and texture, but it was this smell that I remember. It’s perfumey - - some people might not like it.
Actually, this peony has been transplanted more than a few times - - First from her garden in the Hudson Valley in 2021 to our garden in New Hampshire. Then from a holding bed at our condo while we redid the terrace to it’s new home…until a few weeks ago when I moved it for what I hope will be the last time for a long while. Hearty soul, like my aunt who nurtured it in her abundant garden by her pool.
How long does it take to call a place home, without distinguishing it from past homes? This all still feels new, even after almost two years. Nesting and feeling connected to a place takes time, that’s for sure!
Colors! Shapes! You are so right, it takes old friends to help us move from one place to another and grow to love the new place for its own self. The only plants I moved from my old house were rhubarb, and daddy’s narcissus bulbs. Rhubarb has obliged with nice leaves and a big new plant, but the stems are skinny, not fat and juicy. I need to complete the setting for my old friend to accept that it’s here now💕(advice welcomed).