I just filled out my seed order for spring planting, eighteen packets of seed for my one hundred square feet of garden space.
Let’s see, I ordered sweet peas, the Early Mammoth, which will have “exceptionally beautiful, large ruffled blossoms with graceful curling tendrils.” It will climb quickly and produce “sweet-scented perfect big flowers in lovely colors.” I definitely need them to climb my white lattice trellis that canopies my white-slatted garden bench, like the picture in the catalogue. There I will sit among chintz cushions and reread Jane Austen during my leisure time on warm summer days.
I also ordered lavender. “With its heady scent and gray-green foliage, lavenders make perfect landscape plants.” Barefoot, I will float through fragrant fields with the early-morning mist. Perhaps I’ll make my own lavender soaps and perfumes; at the very least, I will tie dried sprigs into tiny bundles to place among my linens. Yes, definitely some lavender.
As for my flower garden, I will begin with a section of white flowing plants, like “Crystal Star” columbines, “Pearly Gates” morning glory and “Snowdrift” sweet alyssum—in tribute to the glorious White Garden at Sisinghurst in Kent, England.
Next will be rows of the fragrant flowers in deep reds and pinks that will draw butterflies, and I will also “experience the excitement and activity of the jeweled hummingbirds flitting from flower to flower in a kaleidoscope of color”, and I will marvel as they “hover in stop-action beauty” while I sit quietly on my stone garden bench next to its matching carved stone bird bath.
There will be a section of evening-blooming flowers because “the late afternoon and evening are special times in the garden. The soft fading light and quiet atmosphere serve to heighten our awareness of flowering plants.” So I ordered evening primrose, moonflowers and night phlox for when I stroll through my petal-strewn pathways during the gentle midnight hours.
Because my friends like dried floral arrangements and potpourris, I must plant “everlastings” like statice, yarrow, celosia and love-in-a-mist and old-fashioned flowers like bachelor buttons, linaria and creeping daisies. I will also present my friends with generous bouquets of asters, snapdragons and sweet Williams.
The rose garden will form a graceful half-moon and will bloom profusely until the next snows come. My Victorian gazebo will be covered with climbing roses of every fragrance and hue, just like the picture in the catalogue.
My wildflower and cottage garden will grow near a crumbling stone wall. Peeking through the open rough-hewn wooden gate, I will enjoy the scarlet flax, blue cornflowers, lupine and rocket larkspur that line the dirt path leading to a small thatched-roof cottage. And at four o’clock every afternoon, I will rest on a white enameled wrought-iron garden bench and sip tea from a delicate china cup; there will be a crumpet on my saucer. My sunflowers will tower over me and give homage to the sun throughout the day. With their seed I will feed the wild songbirds as they reward me with their songs of thanks.
Did I mention herbs? Kitchen herbs, like basils, oregano and chives and medicinal herbs, like catnip and chamomile will grow in raised beds shaped in geometric patterns formed by rustic timbers. Their aromatic walkways will be strewn with cedar chips.
My vegetable garden will reflect my gourmet tastes and culinary skills. I will wear a calico sunbonnet and unbleached muslin gardener’s apron as I harvest my perfect beets and carrots and arrange them artfully in my flat-bottomed gardener’s basket. All summer long I will prepare salads with Batavian lettuces, French escarole and Purslane. My pumpkins will grow very big, be perfectly round and ripen to deep orange. Yes, they will.
When spring comes I will be ready to plant with all of the vigor and enthusiasm of a true believer. And when midsummer comes, I will weed, compost, and harvest with genuine satisfaction, feeling no disillusionment or betrayal by my seed catalogues. To the contrary, seed companies understand that a true gardener actually plants two gardens each year; one in the soil in the spring and the other, in the soul in midwinter.
