Garden dreams

The wind blows cold, even though it’s May. The sun shines and warms, but only when the wind momentarily calms down. The trees are cautiously budding, but quite shyly. The sky is summer blue, and when you gaze at it along with the swaying clouds, you might imagine it’s already full summer.

We have an old garden in the yard that someone once cared for with love. Since then, it has been forgotten for years, left to nature to flourish on its own. I want to restore it to the glory it deserves.

I know it won’t happen all at once, not even next year, but slowly. I can already see that as the plants grow (albeit slowly), the yard is starting to look green, and there’s room for improvement in every corner.

In the strawberry patch, there’s an elbow battle among the strawberry seedlings and the clumps of grass. The berry bushes—which number over thirty, wow—are competing for sunlight and space against the brazen raspberry bushes. They’re hidden in every corner, out of sight. It’s wonderful to have wild raspberries for the freezer in winter, so for now, they can continue their bold existence wherever they please.

Fortunately, I know how to be patient in this process. I understand that nature often handles things better than I do. If raspberries are growing in a spot instead of the lilacs that were once planted there, then that’s how it’s meant to be. I humbly yield to the wisdom of nature and go along with whatever wants to grow. At these latitudes, the fact that something is growing is already a victory in itself.

But summer is coming excruciatingly slowly. After a brief warm spell, the temperature dropped again close to zero, and I had to carry the geraniums and herb pots inside next to the radiator to help them recover from the shock. We’ll see if they bounce back at all or if they decide that in this climate, it’s impossible for even the craziest person to grow nutrient-rich food. Well, time will tell. For now, they can enjoy a little vacation in the sun and next to the radiator, which I’ve deliberately set to thirty degrees.

Braving the cold evenings, we’ve stubbornly spent time outside. Sitting on the creaky, paint-deprived outdoor chairs, we quietly gaze over the lake at the fell landscape. Often, we’re bundled up in hats and gloves, but still happy that we have our own garden now. And at some point in the near or distant future, I’ll learn its needs and requests, and I’ll be in sync with nature about the fact that food will still be grown here.

Until then, we wait.

 ♥ Sanna