So we moved into this new house a year-and-a-half ago. Just six blocks away. Same neighborhood, same friends, same schools for the kids. Bigger house.
We lived in the old house - a small 3-bedroom ranch - for 12 years. When we first moved in, there wasn't much of a garden to speak of, save for a strip of tall marigolds alongside the deck and some yews out front.
As a working mom, I didn't have a whole lot of time to beautify the grounds. But little-by-little, I added a perennial border here, and a shrub bed there. Eventually, it took shape. And more than a few times, passersby would ask what type of lily was in the corner bed, or where I'd found a particular unusual cultivar.
Sure, I took a few cuttings before I moved. I'm not stupid. I even dug up a rhizome or two. The new house had a garden, alright, and the previous owner was quite proud of it. But, honestly, it consisted mostly of half-dead rose bushes and a mish-mash of ill-placed holly, euonymus, yucca and lots and lots of overgrown ivy. On everything.
Oh, and the trees. Three of them, in particular. More than thirty feet tall apiece. Sappy, messy, wild-looking white pines. Smack in front of the entry door. Initially, I thought them charming. They offered lots of privacy. You could barely see the house from the street. And the shade! They sure kept the house cool that first summer, compensating somewhat for the central air conditioning we gave up when we moved.
Looking out my bedroom window made me feel as though I were in the Adirondacks. I really liked it.
Until the needles started falling. Not only was the walkway "carpeted," but so was the living room. Hard as we tried not to, we couldn't help but drag them in. Their presence more than rivaled the dog hair. But at least I could send Shelby, our half boxer, half something else (Ridgeback? Pitt Bull? Depends on whom you ask) off for a haircut. Those needles kept falling with a vengeance. And our garden benches were covered in sap. You couldn't sit on them. The trees had to go. And they did, leaving behind a barren wasteland of a front yard.
Well, the first summer came and went, as did the fall planting season and the following spring and summer. I was busy unpacking and working and going to my 9-year-old daughter Julia's soccer games, and bringing her to piano lessons. My other daughter, Justine, 14, is an aspiring actor. I couldn't very well miss her school plays, could I? And somebody had to shuffle her to acting lessons and the mall.
Last spring we replaced the dilapidated post-and-rail fence with a PVC picket with an arbor and gate. But the garden remained untended. O.K., it remained non-existent.
At least things are starting to shape up.
