It All Looked Good. . .

On Saturday we paid a flying visit to my sister in Georgia, part celebrating my birthday which is tomorrow, and part visiting a grower's outlet near her as part of our rejuvenation of our tired yard.

In the midst of little seas of gallon and three gallon pots, and racks of smaller plants five shelves high, I felt that urgency. That springtime restlessness to put something in the ground, to firm the earth and water and nurture and watch and wait.

So we filled the back of the station wagon. Gardenias and Japanese hollies, mock orange and hostas, tea olive to scent the patio.

And today, I am feeling it. In a different way. In hips and back, shoulders and arms that lifted little more than a book, a coffee cup or camera over the winter. I spent most of my time outside yesterday raking dead pecan leaves out from the borders and bagging them, then trimming and cutting away at the old diseased shrubbery that we are slowly but surely replacing. John hacked away at stumps and dug holes and planted about half of our cargo from Georgia. Suffice it to say that this season will not offer the picturesque side of landscaping to us.

But it should cost something, the dream of scent and color and our own stamp on this little piece of earth, some planning and purchasing and sweat and work and love. It will take a year or more to get to what excites me, the flowers for vases and my lens. But this foundation we make will really show their beauty when their time comes.

So it is a good tired. For now I'll be thankful for the daffodils Mom brought me from her forty year old garden, and bide my time. Sweet dreams.