Sunrise, Sunset

I have mixed feelings about my gardening philosophy.

I appreciate the endless variations that I see in other people's gardens. I'm constantly amazed by people's ingenuity.

It's kinda like great clothes. I wonder, how can designers create a new form of, say, the "little black dress" without just repeating old designs? And yet every year they come up with something new, gorgeous and unique to them. Or think of the great composers and songwriters. There are only so many notes, yet there are endless varieties of new songs. Its the same across the board, from authors to painters and jewelers, etc. From one generation to the next, the best lives on through repeated themes, styles and flourishes. Yet each artist feels compelled to make their own mark.

I often joke about our "jungle" outside, but the truth is I inherited what was once a beautiful garden. The previous owners were master gardeners. Unfortunately we purchased the house in mid winter and the many flower beds were hidden under a foot of snow. They proudly gave us photos of their prized flowers in full bloom and carefully plotted a "roadmap" of every bed, including instructions about when to cut back certain flowers and when the wood ducks returned each spring. I was excited, my mother was excited, and we waited to see what would "pop up" in the spring.

At closing I had promised to take care of the beds. And at that time I truly meant it.

So here we are. I've cut down two of their largest trees. They were dead or dying and posed a danger to the house. But the previous owners would have been mortified. The trees were old, they provided shade. I've also obliterated three massive flower beds. To my eyes, they were overgown, out of control and they became a nuisance. But to the previous owners they represented years of hard work, pride and memories.

But they had the time to care for it according to their standards. I'm a new mom, I'm in a different phase of life. When I looked into the gardens, I saw them, not me.

With every bed removal I feel a pang of guilt. I didn't follow through on my end of the bargain. But I did my best. I gave my mother and several others the best of the bunch. I wasted and killed as little as possible.

I simply feel that primal desire to make my own mark. To start from scratch. To make the lines of my front yard conform to the visions in my mind. I can't be limited by the previous owners' vision. They've moved on to transform their new landscape. I feel compelled to transform mine.

I'm sure that the people who buy the house after us will make significant changes to what I've done. The sun rises, the sun sets. People feel compelled to personalize what is theirs. It's the natural rhythm of life.

But why would they want to destroy my work? Because when I'm done it will be perfect. *wink*