Friday, August 3, 2007
Two pink poppies are in bloom. Delicately they hold to stem.
Early last spring a rose bloomed in my pale pink bed. She was too bold for me, so I dug her up, and stuck her in a pot. All summer long I dragged her about the yard, trying to figure out where she would fit. But I never planted her, and soon forgot about her. Soon she was just brown twigs, burnt by sun. In late fall, I decided I should bring her inside. I watered her whenever it occurred to me, otherwise known as, not often. By mid-winter she had leaves. I was shocked, and felt compelled to keep her alive (remember to water her more than once a month). In spring I took her outside to plant in the yard. But I still had no idea where to put her. I set her in the backyard on a little step to a door we never use, I got distracted by my other projects, and a month or so later, she was dried out twigs. I took her around front, set her infront of the other garage door (the one no car goes through), I knew I would have to throw her out; but not yet. As I bought new plants to plant, I set them in front of this garage door, and I watered them every day until I planted them. I felt sort of bad watering them, right next to her, as she was all dead and dried out, so I watered her too. And then when I had planted all the plants and stopped buying new ones, I watered her when I watered the beds. In July I noticed greenery in her pot again. At first I thought maybe it was just a weed, but no, definitely rose leaves. So I decided to dig her a spot in the new bed (I was forced to make against Bob's wishes, because of a late season two roses for the price of one sale), the least I could do, as she has fought so to stay alive, has persevered despite my ongoing neglect. She has no buds yet, but gets bigger and fuller everyday. I look at her and smile. It doesn't matter what color her petals are, those deep vibrant pinks, I will tend to her, she has a place in my garden, she has earned it.
I was watering my plants the morning we were leaving for vacation, and I couldn't find the two lavender plants, I had transplanted from our backyard. They were just gone. I asked Bob, he pleaded no clue. I kept searching, and finally found them, one had been ripped out, and tossed several feet away, the other was still there, it was just that a huge rock had been placed on top of it. Bob apparently did both while burying the white electrical wire. I was so upset. I replanted the one, and took the rock off the other, and watered them both a lot. I thought they would just be brown death when we got back, but they look just fine, like the whole incident never happened.
I wish the beetles weren't so persistent. But I am happier now, anyway, because the roses are still coming, and I get to see and enjoy some of them before they are devoured.
Yesterday (and again today) on the butterfly bush, there was a black butterfly with white and blue markings, faded colors. I stood several inches away and watched. His wings were torn in places, and missing in places, like something took a bite out of him. He flew about from stem to stem, drinking in the nectar. I wondered if something had tried to eat him, or if he had battled for territory. He is not the prettiest butterfly to land on this bush, like the bigger yellow swallowtail, and the deep black butterfly with blue markings. But how can I not find him the most beautiful, hold him the most dear? The others touch my eyes, but he touches my heart.