Saturday in Sue's garden

Saturday in Sue’s garden, taking turns reading aloud Robin Kimmerer’s book about mosses (bought when I was in Powell’s with Livresse). We watch light cast reflections of the grandmother rhododendron against the windows of Sue's house. She tends her plants, watering and fertilizing, weeding, moving a little one into the sun and another into the shade, welcoming finches, chickadees, robins, bush tits, jays, crows, and the occasional swallow. Chasing cats away. The rhododendron is over 100 years old, 20 feet high, bursting with blossoms, host to several bird nests. Sue is a horticultural omniphile, not a specialist. I asked her to list all the plants she tenderly cares for:

gazania, elderberry, begonia, lily-of-the-valley, fuchsia, tulip, clematis, mint, California poppy, foxglove, iris, thalictrum, Korean lilac, hosta, bleeding heart, forget-me-not, jasmine, trillium, rose, columbine, thyme, parsley, poppy, dahlia, rhododendron, huckleberry, honeysuckle, hydrangea, borage, fern, dahlia, rhubarb, goat’s beard, salvia, flowering currant, peony, tree peony, shasta daisy, daphne, rue, pyracantha, trumpet vine, hardy geranium, day lily, oregon grape, lavender, comfrey, azalea, miscanthus-morning-light, rudbeckia, hellebore, ceanothus, witch hazel, philadelphus, euphorbia, viburnum, yew, and then the wild ones: buttercups, dandelion, marguerites, bluebells, and no doubt some we couldn’t remember or spell. 

Kimmerer writes, “Even the changes make familiar patterns, like the marks of waves on the sand, the way the lake can go from flat calm to three-foot rollers, the way the aspen leaves sound hours before a rain, the way the texture of the evening clouds foretells the next day’s winds. I find strength and comfort in this physical intimacy with the land, a sense of knowing the names of rocks and knowing my place in the world” in Gathering Moss: A Natural and Cultural History of Mosses (2003), p. 3.