Wednesday, August 28, 2013

distracted by the annuals

Hidden by the thriving and multiplying bleeding hearts, I assumed it was also happily growing and gaining strength for the long winter.  But this highbush cranberry was silently shriveling away.
It has survived two previous moves - one from a shady location where it sat patiently, not growing, not doing anything.  It put on green leaves for the summer and sat there.  So I moved it into the sandbox beside the play house.  (Ok - sometimes I have too many plants, don't know where to put them, and dare them to bring beauty to a desolate place).  Well it put leaves on again in the spring after it's move, but started getting kind of spindly.  Last fall I decided the sand box was too harsh, and besides, I needed room for raspberries. So out it came again and into another border location. Mostly shady but some dappled sunlight. Bleeding hearts beside it seeded out and went to town. But this poor struggling highbush cranberry is the picture of despair. I'm putting water on it today, but it may be to late.


Meanwhile its classmate (purchased at the same time) who was put into a more favorable location and never transplanted, has been growing happily and even put on a few berries.

I bought a few more shrubs last fall as well, to fill in the back fence border.  Well.  I apparently have been underestimating the amount  of water the poplar steals from its neighborhood, and overestimating the resiliance of these new shrubs. 


One has turned red far too early - it's a beautiful brilliant red flag signalling distress, I think.  One other shrub, a vibernum, looks unhappy, but completely detached.  No wilting despair or flashing red like the highbush cranberries - it just stands there with many bare branches. The leaves that are there look healthy and green, but the whole shrub looks, well, like its hanging on by a thread. No idea whether it'll last the winter.  And it is not asking for help.  I'm watering it anyway. 

That's the story from the shrubbery.  The part of the yard where Darlene assumes things will thrive, and leaves them alone for far too long. 

Always translateable into my life. 

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

edges of the morning

panic has settled around the edges of the morning
if I turn to stare it down
it dissipates
but insists on lingering on the fringe of my vision

two meetings, one for endings and one for beginnings
both in my home

emails yet unsent

the warmth of a new morning
marked by rampant velvety purple morning glory vines
trying to induce me to linger
chickadees singing just on the other side of the fence

these days - this season
marks Mom's transport into glory

these summer savory, green bean producing
hot yet waning days of August

ah. perhaps therein
lies the source of this sense of panic
something escaping my grasp