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Digging Plants to Bring Home
December 23. In the 50s, spring-like – warm, sunny, no wind so today I move my plants home, dug from planter boxes that Lance made. Pots of young blue mist shrub, golden-variegated forsythia (monster in the making) and Pinky Winky hydrangea dug from under the Old Man Music sign outside Lance’s studio.
Crossing the huge lawn, almost a meadow, I pass Nature’s own ornamental garden that surrounds a boulder left by the Wisconsin glacier about 15,000 years ago. Wild asters and goldenrod embellish the mass of ferns in fall and Lance’s long-ago planted daffodils decorate the young fronds and rock in spring. A bluebird house stands high above them next to the boulder, where bluebirds delighted Lance every year.
As I pass I say good-bye to Roadie, a formerly feral cat buried there. I say good-bye to all the planted areas. It seems so final, this act of taking my plants, many still in nursery pots, though more “important” things remain to be moved to my house. But maybe the sense of finality will put me into second gear.
At my house, I stash them all under the deck, close to the house where they are protected from the west and north winds.
Since that day, the ground has frozen solid but March is not so far away. It felt good to, in some way, prepare my garden for the new year and new beginning.