Zachary's Garden

Zachary and I spent our day in the garden, soaking up the warm spring air and taking account of what work needed to be done. The passion vines struggled to sprout new arms and tendrils against the dead wood from last season. Our rosemary bush, once round and full, has grown so tall that her legs were showing, spindley and brown, beneath her fluffy skirt. Winter leaves have gathered in the crevices and crannies of the blue elf aloe. Clearly, the time has come for cleaning out the old and bringing a fresh look to the garden.

While creating last year's garden, we discovered Zachary's imminent arrival. I had planted and pulled, weeded and seeded the dream of a beautiful garden in our future. All the while, our boy was never far from my thoughts. Being my first foray into gardening, my instincts were raw and uncultivated. Much of what I planted required contant tending; watering and weeding were regularly demanded of me. By the end of the summer, the garden had been whittled down to a manageable lot. The unsuitable plants had been tossed over the edge of the deck (including an untimely death for the cantankerous wisteria) and those that had adapted were awarded a permanent place in the garden to take root and prosper without my constant oversight.

So, we start this planting season with the lot that survived last year. Underwatered and overwatered, sunburned and sun deprived, these plants were hardy enough to withstand my flounderings. Zachary lay in his stroller, parked beside me, as I embarked upon the accounting. He gurgled and warbled away, completely absorbed in the blissful discovery of his voice. No more does he require constant nursing and changing; he spends a good part of his day just sounding out the possibilities and feeling his options. Gone are the days when surviving another 24 hours is the only item on his agenda. Our path has come to a fork, and my wee babe has gone his own way. And now, there are two.

I cannot wait to see the beauty that this spring will bring to our garden.