Buy Sev's Latest Book

Be sure to buy my latest e-book at Amazon! Dark Matters

Monday, May 05, 2014


I know that most women love to get flowers from a man.  I'm not one of them.  It's not that I hate flowers.  No, I love them. I have extensive gardens around my house and yes, my favorites are roses and daisies.  Once my husband got me mums (I hate mums) for my birthday in October (my birthday is in June, but I am not opposed to two birthdays in one year).  We'd only been dating for about 11 months so I let it pass.  I don't like flowers in pots or arrangements.  I love the flowers, but their beauty is so fleeting, so it makes me sad and detracts from the moment they were meant to enhance.

When we first bought our current house eight years ago we were celebrating our anniversary shortly after we moved in.  I happened to see an orchid at our local grocery store and it spoke to me, so I bought it.  I joked as I gave it to him that it was a symbol of the beauty and rarity of our love.  We put it in the bay window in our sunroom that gets morning sun. We left it there, watered it once a week and really forgot about it until it would bloom and then I would take copious amounts of pictures because it was very prolific.  I consulted no guides when I re-potted it.  So it was a blow when it finally died last year, after seven years of beautiful blooms.

Yesterday my husband brought home another orchid from a local hardware store.  I don't know what society thinks is the normal term of mourning for an orchid, but I'm pretty sure we're over it.  And in typical Sev and Quinten fashion, we're doing the same exact thing with this orchid.  If it ain't broke, don't fix it is a wise saying to live by.  It frustrates my engineer husband who breaks things just to watch them die, however, I am firm in this. I can only prove my method of orchid neglect promotes growth (I had mine blooming several times a year) if I can replicate my results.  Engineers don't understand this as well as true scientists who stare at things under microscopes.  I point this out each time he breaks some perfectly working thing.

A few weeks ago I had purchased a bush of roses with deep red blooms.  I forget what type of roses it was, but the man finally planted them after the bush had been forgotten in the garage.  He was surprised when it wasn't watered that it died.  Not listening to the reason I had never planted roses in that location.  I had originally had red Camelias planted there, of course, during the wettest springs and summers on record.  Camelias don't like lots of water, which is why you don't plant them anywhere near Hydrangeas, who cannot get enough water, as their natural habitat is swamps, not your front yard.  I've been ill with bronchitis this past week, so he bought another rose bush on it and planted it in the place of the dead bush and thought I wouldn't notice it had rose pink blooms, not deep red ones.  I laugh, because I know flowers and this bush reminds me of the small tea rose bush I had of hot pink roses that bloomed almost continually at our old house.

My husband indulges me outrageously in my garden dreams.  In Central Texas I desire an English cottage style garden out back with herbaceous borders.  I have had a beautiful butterfly garden.  After the final, last frost in April we began cleaning the gardens and found almost all of the butterfly garden had been killed.  All the Butterfly Weed and Oleanders are gone.  We just found out that we need to remove all landscape timbers from that garden area due to a threat of carpenter ants near the house, so maybe things actually do happen for a reason. 

We are fixing up the back yard now, as our German Shredder appears to have stopped digging up everything and anything.  I have plans for a nice cottage garden with herbaceous borders and plan on putting out a small bistro table where my husband and I can sit and have a cup of coffee in the mornings in a very relaxing area.  He plan on a Beergarden type of deck area on the other side of the yard where we are also tearing out landscape timbers.  Our backyard is huge and I have already drawn up plans for a rose arbor.  We have big plans.  The Man just fixed the back patio just outside the bay window where my new orchid sits so that I can sit outside in the evenings again, and swing on the porch swing and watch the dogs play and look at my flowers.

Everyone needs a place to go, a physical or mental place, where we can relax and let the cares of the world drop away.  My gardens are my place.  It's the place I like to go when I'm having trouble with a story or with the world in general.  I forget about my problems and just look on the beauty of a flower.  I live for February and March (all but this year) when my Daffodils and Dutch Iris bloom and let me know the rest are right behind them.  I love when my rose trees begin to flower all over the house and fences.  When my Gerberas bloom I am in raptures at the riot of color in my beds.

What I love best is watching the fauna in search of my flora.  When I sit outside and quietly watch in awe as Humming Birds, Dragon Flies, Bees and all sorts of critters crawl and fly through my gardens and get their dinner, it shows me that all is right with my small part of the universe.  Much like Robert Browning's poem Pippa's Song,
THE year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearl'd;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in His heaven—
All's right with the world!

No comments: