I always wanted a small spot on our farm where I could be alone to read, to write, to read about writing, to write about reading, to plant, to weed, to count our wads of chicken egg money. A place full of color and the perfect amount of shade vs. sun. And thus The Secret Garden was born, or at least carved out of a small patch of weeds.
We enclosed the long rectangle with old hog panels and leftover gates covered in chicken wire (I swear when I get Alzheimers Keith will control me with the same technique) Friend Jay laid a brick path, all recycled from a chimney we tore out of our farm house, seeds were sown, chairs were placed.
In the spring of this year, the weeds were massive back there and I debated..."WHY?!" Speaking in regards to, why did I want to put any effort into this space if indeed we are selling the farm? The answer was clear.
BECAUSE YOU WILL NEVER SELL THIS FARM, YOU ARE GOING TO DIE HERE!!
So then, with that clarification made, I figured I might as well make my future burial spot attractive. It took several sessions to clear the weeds but slowly the joy of working in that area resumed and I was back in love with this narrowly minded zone.
|Dingy chair cushions will go this year and the wood fence|
behind them will be painted. Blue? Purple? An ombre mix of this two?
Of course the brick path has weed issues but as of today, I have many blooms shining through. Also a few rugs placed on the bricks to help kill the buggery creeping Charlie. Flowers that are blooming today are daisies, peteunias, hollyhocks, morning glories, dahlias, coreopsis, dianthus, hosta's, lavender and vincas. Soon to bloom are tall zinnias, marigolds, sunflowers and a butterfly bush.
|I hate plastic chairs. This one will be replaced soon.|
|For years I tried to grow Shasta Daisies on our farm. Only when planted in |
The Secret Garden did they ever thrive
|The wall to the right covered with morning glory vines,|
decorative gourd vines
The mailbox holds gardening tools , books, magazines and maybe
a bag of nuts. I'm not sure.
|Definitely not a formal garden. The patch of grass in front of the daisies|
holds one pillow and one supine gardener.
|Black hollyhocks which are more blood red.|
As long as I don't slurp my beer too loudly.