This past weekend, we finally took a mini-vacation. A long weekend at the beach – a much craved change of scene. After staying home for so long, it felt strange to be packing and yet, so familiar. Our eagerness to be in the sun, sand and water brought back memories of other beaches around the world when it all felt so accessible. Yet, here we were going to a beach house within the state and it felt surreal to be going anywhere at all. Clearly, returning to ‘normal’ is a process.
The one response that came back without hesitation was my worry about the garden. For as long as I can remember I’m loathe to leave my garden for any length of time. What if it got too hot/ too windy/too cold/too wet? What if pests take over? Will the weeds take over? Without deadheading, plants that should bloom longer will set seed! How to make sure the mowing ( of a very tiny ‘lawn’) gets done? An endless list of potential problems plague me.
Despite all the trips made over the decades and the garden surviving each time, I fret about the garden and miss it even before I’ve left. Crazy. I know.
It felt even harder to get away this time. After all, the garden has been the mainstay through all the months we’ve had to be sheltering at home. Without it I’d have found life during the pandemic so much more difficult. Caring for the garden was my salvation. And now I was being called to let it go. Albeit very temporarily. I still found it challenging.
This got me thinking about all the things we do for our gardens that might well be viewed as unnecessary. Even a bit too much. I cannot help myself. It’s who I am. Please tell me I’m not alone as I recount some of the stuff I’ve done to safeguard my piece of paradise.
Years ago, the morning of the day of my departure to a destination overseas, two little baby robins fell from a nest high up in a tree. Obviously, I could not get them back to the nest. I could not stand sentry over them myself as I was going away. The thought of predators coming for these birds made me very anxious. I put the little ones in a shoe box lined with leaves and grass and set it where I hoped the robin parents would find and feed them. And instead of packing and doing the numerous things that needed doing for the trip, I spent the better part of the day calling all sorts of agencies to see if they could advice or help in any way. No luck. They mostly thought I was unduly concerned. But I did find out that should a domestic cat kill a bird on my property, I could sue the owner of the murderous cat. Really? Punishment for a cat doing what is in its very nature? Even I, in my heightened state of worry could see the absurdity of this law.
I finally conceded that I’d done my best and frantically moved to finish packing and dash to the airport.
The following year, because the eggs in the nest that sat nestled amidst the branches of the climbing rose that scrambled over the arbor leading to the front door had hatched and we were once again headed out on vacation, I slung a child size hammock beneath so if the babies fell, they would land safely in it and the parents could still tend to them. This arrangement effectively precluded access to the front door but who cared!
On my return, the hammock looked unused and the nest was empty and intact. Presumably all had gone well. Whew. Having to explain to neighbors this strange arrangement without coming across as batty was however a different matter.
Last week, we netted the espaliered fruit trees to protect the pears from marauding squirrels. The evening before going away for aforesaid weekend to the beach, it occurred to me that one of the hummingbird feeders sat too close to the netting and I was concerned the diminutive drinkers could get entangled n the net if they didn’t pay attention. I had to most certainly move the feeder to a safer spot nearby. My husband kidded me about imagining ‘drunken’ hummingbirds leaving the bar and getting entangled but I was not to be dissuaded. Feeder was not only moved but I waited till I saw that the initially confused hummingbirds discovered the new location and resumed their drinking activity.
Just having/hiring someone come by to check on the garden to water and weed is not enough. I need someone who is very familiar with my garden and also loves it. Okay, at least really likes it. Person must be kind and caring in general. I’m happy to report that I’ve found just such a person. A nephew who lives 20 minutes away and is willing to indulge his eccentric aunt. Dedicated garden–sitters are true godsends and I have no doubt there’s a special place in heaven for such people.
But please, please tell me I’m not the only gardener obsessing about how to keep the garden cared for whilst one is away. After all the ribbing about babying the garden that comes my way, I need some serious validation. Help.
P.S. In case you’re wondering, the weekend away was lovely. Weather cooperated and the beach was just wonderful. I watched a gull pick clams from the water, fly up high and drop the clams so they opened on impact and the bird could easily access the contents.
I got yelled at for coming too close to the roost by a nesting osprey. It was at least 20 feet above ground and had nothing to worry about. But then, who am I to talk about worrying.
I was entranced by a flotilla of ducks guiding their babies ashore to settle down for the night and great egrets parading around nonchalantly like they were too cool for school.
Dog roses were in full bloom along the beaches. And in the gardens I passed by were other roses, hydrangea, yellow baptisia, magnolia and Montauk daisies looking quite spectacular. I also noted deer and rabbits in good numbers. I wonder what sort of compromise they’ve reached with the gardeners.
Note: Enjoy the images of nature that made my weekend so rewarding:
Going ashore for the night
(c) 2021 Shobha Vanchiswar
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