Gardens

Windy Days

by Denise Marotta Lopes on May 16, 2024 category Gardens

The wind blows steadily today. I recently told my grandson to take note of windy days following rainy ones. It is still cloudy and overcast, the air is temperate—in the 60s. It is simply beautiful. I watch as the trees yield to the pressure. They bend but keep standing. The leaves blow and I am reminded of those with hair long enough to blow in front of their eyes.

I can see the bottoms of the leaves as well as the tops, the contrasting light (almost white) and light green. The trees are tall and lanky, designed to grow up more than out. The leaves are serrated. The birds have found this tree, now in its third year and find it steady enough to land in, yet not sturdy enough to build a nest there.

While entire tops of trees are moved in the gale-force winds, only one part of my honeysuckle is moving. It’s a vine that has reached beyond the top of my deck railing and has not yet decided where it would like to land. Last week, I wove it through the railings thinking how lovely it would look to have the yellow flowers decorate the side of the deck. In a day, the plant told me this was not a good idea. The leaves had started to wilt and while the rest of the plant looked happy, this one vine did not. I quickly unraveled it and let it go free. When the sun is out, it follows the light from one side of the deck to the other; when the wind blows, it allows itself to be moved.

I realize that I am not the one to decide where it lands. I make sure it has water and sun. I speak kindly to it. I admire it. I call it by name. Where it chooses to wind itself more permanently is up to the honeysuckle itself. In the meantime I enjoy watching it decide.

Rainy Days

by Denise Marotta Lopes on May 10, 2024 category Gardens

I’ve come to love rainy days. For one thing, the neighborhood is quieter. No leaf blowers, hedge trimmers, lawn edgers to interrupt the sound of singing birds and rustling leaves. There is a smell that I associate with rain. I can sense it coming. The first time I remember that feeling was when I was young growing up in Yonkers, NY. It was summer and I was walking along McLean Avenue (which separated Yonkers from the Bronx) near the city park across the street from my apartment building. It was late afternoon and the sky had become ominously dark, the signs in store windows more pronounced. The fragrance in the air had changed to something fresh, clean, electric. I could sense it at the bridge of my nose. If I could have seen it, it would have been a steely gray. It was right before a thunderstorm which would soon wash the streets and sidewalks clean of the grit and grime of the city’s buses, cars, and trucks.

Today is one of the rainy spring days that rather than coming down in torrents, comes in a steady strong mist, a shower that waters every plant, tree, flower. The birds seem not to be bothered by rain. In fact, they are quite active. I watched a raven be chased by both mockingbird and blue jay. Now that the feeders are clean and fresh nyjer thistle set out, the goldfinches are back in their yellow glory, happily eating. The cardinals prefer the safflower cylinder and will sometimes share the space with house sparrows that live in my neighbor’s hedge; other times they chase the sparrows around and around and around the circular base. Aptly named, the catbird has returned and I look forward to hearing the cry that sounds very much like a cat in great need. In a surprising moment, a red-bellied woodpecker found the cylinder this morning, and later, the more common visitor, the downy (or was it a hairy?) woodpecker.

I am anxious to see what new growth will be displayed tomorrow morning after the rain stops and the sun returns. I wonder if the hummingbirds will stop for a drink at my feeder while on their way north. I wonder if my honeysuckle vine will be tall enough for me to encourage its winding around my deck railings. Let the rain come. Let it feed our souls. Let it bring us thoughts of what tomorrow will bring while we enjoy the quiet hum of the falling drops today.

Plants Carry Stories

by Denise Marotta Lopes on May 4, 2024 category Gardens

One recent morning I came to my screened porch to pray and looked outside to discover the first iris had opened in the garden. I gasped at the sight of it. A first fruit, standing tall and proud signaling to the world that it had arrived. Plants carry stories.

Not far beyond it, the primrose had started to wither, giving up its spot in the limelight to the neighboring, spreading lavender—a gift I had purchased for my dad shortly before he died. I brought it back home and planted it in his memory.

With the changing of the red bud from purple to green, the peonies make their appearance known in a big way. There is nothing shy about a peony, particularly that of the dinner plate variety.

I spend time contemplating how many of the flowers were given to me by my friend, Cathy. When I would visit, she’d grab a big shovel and dig up whatever I wanted. When she visited, it was often with a bag containing plants and soil. The wild geraniums are subtle and had been growing on her property for years and each spring I ask her to remind me of their name. The irises were given to her by her mother-in-law and now spread across states from Cathy’s home to mine.

The variegated hosta were from my Uncle Sal. He gave me several from his garden in Yorktown Heights, NY and I planted them around my house in northwestern NJ. We moved out of state and left the hosta to adorn the garden we had nurtured. Some time later we heard that the people who bought our home had moved away, leaving it abandoned like Joyce Kilmer’s The House With Nobody In It.

My daughter and I were visiting in the area and drove by our former home. We were sad to see the garden in shambles, the plants we had nourished hidden in weeds. We pulled over, and under a mound of dried leaves I spotted some hosta. Uncle Sal’s hosta. I don’t remember what we used for a shovel—maybe a plastic spoon, but I dug up several of those plants and brought them back to our new home a hundred miles south. They now share the ground here in Delaware and I think of my Uncle Sal when I see them.

Plants have stories to tell.

Tulip Poplar

by Denise Marotta Lopes on Apr 26, 2024 category Gardens

A tree has an entire ecosystem in and around it. At the end of prayer today, I sat quietly waiting to see if God had anything to tell me. I watched the tulip poplar in my neighbor’s yard as I waited.

I noticed that some of the leaves were in sunlight and some in shade. Some of the branches were filled with leaves, others were barren, dead. The tree was home to birds and squirrels, and if not a home, then a resting place for weary travelers, or a place from which a vantage point could be gained.

There is potential danger with this tree because it leans directly toward another neighbor’s house, but if it were to be removed, there would be a hole left that couldn’t be filled for years. I continue to watch as every leaf moved, as squirrels climbed, as birds landed. And I noticed the sturdy, strong trunk, never moving, that supported it all.

The Robins’ Dance

by Denise Marotta Lopes on Apr 18, 2024 category Gardens

Two robins performed a mating dance this morning.

Mid-air, wings flapping, diving, dipping, landing, and starting over again.

Chasing, pursuing, agreeing.

A beautiful scene.

A dance that needed no music, merely the flapping of wings and the changing of the air simply by occupying it.

Embracing Green

by Denise Marotta Lopes on Apr 13, 2024 category Gardens

It rained this morning. There is no sweeter place to be on a rainy morning than on my screened-in porch. The birds don’t seem to mind as they go from tree to tree; from feeder to tree; from tree to ground. The robins especially like it as it brings the worms to the surface making mealtime less arduous. The plants and flowers thrive with rain.

As I look at my side garden, I notice the colors of green are so varied. The hues, the textures, the heights and widths, so uniquely different and yet working in harmony to create a breathtaking landscape. I love that each plant continues to be itself in this painting, and yet together with the others, who are also themselves, brings the manifestation of beauty to the forefront. One is as important to this scene as the next. It would not be the same if one were not allowed to shine, or was not given the sun and water it needs to grow.

So, let it rain. And, embrace it all.