Violets for the Soul

I tend to look at my garden through rose-colored glasses. More often than not, my optimistic eyes don’t acknowledge the weeds in the flower beds, the black spot on the roses or the unruly vines I promise to cut back someday.

In my mind’s eye, the lawn is a lush expanse of green, uninterrupted by the oxalis, dollar weed and wild strawberry vines popping up amid the St. Augustine grass. Instead of the tender new growth of perennials still popping up from the soil, I see salvias, angel trumpets and buddleias in their maturity, covered in blooms and surrounded by hummingbirds, butterflies and bees hovering like children in a candy store.

Freshly planted annuals instantly appear just as the nursery tag promises, already filled out with lush foliage and blazing with color. On our tomato vines, as yellow flowers turn into tiny, bright green spheres, I envision ripe red fruits ready to eat with fresh basil from the summer garden. And the empty trellises along the back fence don’t seem bare at all – I imagine them resplendent in purple and pink as fledgling passionflower and mandevilla transplants begin their upward journey toward the sun.

It’s the thought of what my garden will be, not the flaws and imperfections that add to a never-ending to do-list, that lures me outdoors early each morning and encourages me to linger.

On one such recent stroll around the back yard, still in my robe and coffee mug in hand, Carly Simon’s 1971 song “Anticipation” popped into my head:

“We can never know about the days to come, but we think about them anyway …

Anticipation,

Antici-pay-yay-shun

Is makin’ me late

Is keepin’ me way-yay-yay-ay-ay-ee-tin’ “

And it hit me that gardening is all about anticipation. As one season’s unique beauty begins to fade, we bid our farewells to the old and look forward to the joys of the next season. And within each season there’s an ever-changing cast of characters to anticipate. This week in our garden, for example, some of the early spring displays of color are winding down. The purple ground orchids are almost bloomed out, giving way to silvery gray artemisia and white Diamond Frost euphorbia. The coral pink blooms of our azaleas are almost gone, to be replaced by the magenta and mauve of crape myrtles that come back year after year.

Tall stalks of Apple Blossom amaryllis are catching our attention with thick buds almost ready to pop open into pink and white trumpets. White buds are creeping into view among the tall strappy foliage of cemetery irises, just as the walking irises nearby are revealing the beginnings of blue-and-white blossoms that look like little orchids and last for only a day or two.

A purple shoot from the society garlic hints at a border of lavender flowers to enjoy throughout the summer months. Long, thin pink buds on the honeysuckle vine will open to provide nectar as temperatures warm up, and fresh green buds on our Thomas Affleck rose bush are saying “Wait for me!” to its earlier-blooming neighbors Maggie, Julia Child, Carefree Beauty, Old Blush, Stephen F. Austin, Ducher and Mademoiselle Franziska Krüger.

We count on the rhythms of nature to inspire a new song for each changing season. I know that by August, when gardens are struggling to survive, much less bloom, in the southeast Texas heat, we’ll welcome the almond scent and delicate white flowers of sweet autumn clematis, followed in September by the dramatic red blooms of oxblood and spider lilies. And next winter, when we look out our windows after a hard freeze and long for the sight of something green, we need only put on our rose-colored glasses and anticipate the arrival of spring.