In the garden of my mind

At night when I can’t sleep, I engage in a bit of garden dreaming. Instead of counting sheep, I wander through the everlasting garden in my mind. While meandering, I push away thoughts of garden work because just the images of all I need to do in spring might keep me up all night.

This is about joy, not work.

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When I close my eyes, I see my garden as it was last spring, summer, and fall. The seasons are fluid and usually feature whichever part of the garden is at its best at any given time. There are no limitations of time and space in my mental garden.

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The garden of my mind is perfection. It is a foretaste of heaven. Bees, hoverflies, and butterflies flit from flower-to-flower gathering pollen and nectar.

I envision the golden tummies of my honey bees filled with nectar, and I trust they are well. Flowers unfurl their petals to welcome their beloved with scent and color. I may stop to smell a rose or run my hands through the tall ornamental grasses as I walk. Wherever my mind leads me, that’s where I go.

Birds sing in the trees. No one is eating anyone else. Not even the praying mantises. No caterpillars are being devoured by birds or wasps. In the garden of my mind, all is well, and no one needs to eat anyone else to survive. Not logical, you say? Perhaps, but this isn’t reality. It’s better.

Benary’s Giant Wine zinnia with a honey bee.

Bordered Patch butterfly, Chlosyne lacinia

Male Monarch butterfly on ‘Bluebird’ aster.

There are times when the garden I visit is in its winter state, receptive for longer days and moisture from the heavens, but most of the time, it’s spring, summer or fall. I like those seasons best so that’s when I visit.

Grasses and other plants in my garden midsummer of 2013. It looks similar now, but the chairs are painted purple. I could no longer find French blue paint.

New border and older garage border.

Calamagrostis x acutiflora ‘Overdam,’ one of the most beautiful and mature grasses in the garden.

All is harmonious in the garden of my mind.

Paths, back garden and she shed.

If it’s spring, I see daffodils, tulips, and my favorite blue plant, Phlox divaricata ‘Blue Moon.’ In the garden of my mind, there are no voles to eat tulips, no moles to tunnel beneath and upend plants. There is no disease or drought. Instead, the garden of my mind is a cacophony of color. Flowers, grasses and leaves dance and play in the breeze, and the sun is warm on my back as I bend to examine a flower or insect more closely.

After all, I have all the time in the world, and there are no weeds in the garden of my mind.

Phlox divaricata given to me by Wanda Faller years ago.

Phlox divaricata with variegated Solomon’s seal.

Tulips in the garden not eaten by anything.

Double daffodils from John Scheepers bulbs.

Pink and white daffodils have a salmon-hued cup, but in my mind, they are the perfect pink of catalog photographs.

It is supposed to take the average person twenty minutes to fall asleep, and in that time, I can wander quite far. I usually start on the back deck, walking down the steps and opening the gate. My tennis shoes hit the gravel paths crunching beneath my feet. I then turn and look left to the three-tiered borders. Usually, the roses are blooming. Most of my David Austin roses are here, including ‘Darcey Bussell,’ ‘Graham Thomas,’ ‘The Lady Gardener’ and ‘Olivia Rose Austin.’ among others.

Containers on the deck surrounding the chairs.

The tiered borders looking from below on the path.

I have ‘Darcey Bussell’ planted next to Mary in the tiered beds.

Rosa ‘Olivia Rose Austin,’ another newer David Austin rose in my garden.

‘Graham Thomas’ is a strong yellow English rose.

Apricot mystery rose with ‘Niobe’ clematis. What a sweet dichotomy I planted here. Occasionally, a plan works as you want it.

After I stroll the back garden paths, stopping to gaze at my favorite Japanese maple, ‘Tamukeyama,’ I turn left, walk past my little she shed and then climb the hill to the potager where tomatoes are neatly staked, ripened peppers hang on stems in bunches, and beans climb a trellis with basil and lavender planted beneath.

‘Confetti’ peppers grown last year.

AAS winner ‘Mad Hatter’ pepper is one of my favorites to grow.

Red Racer tomato plants.

‘Valentine’ tomato is a heavy producer of grape tomatoes. It is Indeterminate so make sure you stake it well.

Basil, especially one with red or purple foliage is great in bouquets too. Photo courtesy of Chronicle Books.

Basil and chard I saw planted for fall in an AZ garden.

All this vegetable bounty makes me hungry so I spend a moment or two planning meals around everything ready and waiting. You see, in the garden of my mind, there are no specific seasons or limitations. I just go to that part of the garden I love most in the particular season I love best.

The potager surrounds the red fountain which is the focal point of my vegetable garden.

The potager in July a couple of years ago. This is one of the photos that looks so Mediterranean.

Plant combos around the original red fountain in 2014. Pineapple sage, ‘Dallas Red’ lantana, ‘Pink Crystals’ ruby grass and ‘Victoria Blue’ salvia (returned from the previous year.)

Start small with raised beds or containers.

‘Little Fingers’ eggplant in my garden. They were very, very small.

Even with slight flea beetle damage, this eggplant blossom still glows

I love tomatoes, eggplant, peppers, green beans and basil so I visit the potager in its summer months. However, it’s the perfect temperature. Just right for vegetables to ripen, but not sweltering so that I’m begging for water and shade. My greenhouse sits just beyond the potager, so when I choose to visit it, it’s winter.

I cleaned the inside of the greenhouse and grouped the plants by color and type for easier transplanting outside in late April.

Raised beds in my potager.

The sweet peas and coleus are growing nicely in the greenhouse.

The greenhouse and cold frames on a cool morning. Notice the condensation on the windows. Everything is nice and warm.

‘Republic of Texas’ orange tree that grows in the greenhouse over winter. The oranges are very good.

Snow is gently falling on the roof, and I look up to see the snowflakes as they fall. The kumquats are ripe, and I pluck one off and chew it tasting first the tang of the fruit and then the sweetness of the peel. I have Meyer lemons and oranges too, but they aren’t yet ripe. Both ripen later than the kumquats and while I can be in any season, my mind seems to acknowledge that everything has its season so all is harmonic and peaceful.

Muhlenbergia capillaris ‘Lenca’ Regal Mist, pink muhly grass with Salvia leucantha, Mexican bush sage.

Maddie posing in front of the street bed. The pink grass is muhly grass.

Pink muhly grass with coleus and Mexican bush sage in 2016. The clumps have just gotten bigger.

Pink muhly grass is starting to show its fall colors.

If I’m still not sleepy and want to wander, even more, I may go out to the bed that faces the street and check out the pink muhly grass. My faithful and beloved dog, Maddie, is there. I’ll then go walk over to the cutting garden beds and see if the zinnias are still going strong.

Zinnia ‘Queeny Lime’ in my garden in 2019.

Oklahoma Salmon zinnias with cosmos foliage.

I always grow several varieties of sunflowers in the cutting garden. I look forward to them each year.

‘Strawberry Blonde’ sunflower.

Here, they bloom with the sunflowers and other annuals to give the pollinators more to eat while also gracing my table with flowers. I may take scissors in hand and cut a bouquet. Suddenly, I’m back inside arranging the flowers. If I see a flower spider, I’ll gently blow it back outside on another flower. I do this in my real life too. I don’t usually kill insects unless I must. Although, in the garden of my mind, no one eats anyone else, we know that birds, snakes, lizards, and other insects must eat to survive. Over the years, I’ve learned to let everything exist pretty much in balance unless something gets way out of hand. Then, I do occasionally intercede.

Usually, by this time, I’ve drifted off to sleep where I may continue to stroll grateful to God that I have a garden in which to go. I’ve spent the last eleven years on this blog, and years before in articles and in garden talks, teaching people how to garden.

If I could give you one gift, it would be this.

One day, I may no longer have the strength to toil in the dirt, but I will still have the garden in my mind.

Please remember, gardening isn’t only about the practical things like when to sow, plant, water, and harvest. It’s also about the garden that resides in our souls, in our dreams. As you drift off to sleep, try thinking of these.