gardening Archives - Seams Like a Story

The Desert Enters Monsoon Season

I’ve spent most of my life in the Midwest where rain is plentiful. In the summertime, it’s hard to keep the lush grass mown in between downpours. I now make my home in the desert Southwest where rain is scarce. If we’re lucky, we get enough rain during our two monsoon seasons (July-Sept and Jan.-Feb) to support the desert and our draught-resistant landscapes. I recently spent a month in Indiana where I camped in dense forests, woke to the sound of lawn mowers, and envied my daughter’s bountiful herb garden. When I returned to my desert home I found…

Angry Plants

My garden needs attention. I drag the green rubber hose over to a sad shrub. Burrowing the nozzle through brittle. branches until I reach its base, the water trickles down to thirsty roots while I turn my attention to a pot of dried flowers. Lantana was so happy before we left a month ago: her dainty yellow and purple blossoms were a welcome burst of color in a beige landscape. Why were you gone so long? they seem to say as I snip off their dead heads. There’s green growth underneath. With some love, attention, and water they may spring back

Pitiful Herbs

I move on to my potted herbs in the corner. It’s too late for Chives and Thyme. I dump them out and stash their pots in the plant graveyard at the side of our house. Survival of the fittest, my biology-teacher husband says. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the desert. Still, I grieve. I remember how Jasmine’s spray of fragrant flowers delighted me throughout the spring. She looks like an old sea hag now; her once luxurious foliage has turned to straw. I snip her back to the ground and pour on water, hoping there is still some life left in her. Mint gets the same treatment.

Sturdy Survivors

I applaud the survivors. The two Oreganos look fine, though the more delicately flavored one that my husband doesn’t care for is overachieving just to spite him. Basil is wobbly, but he’s hanging in there. Sage and Rosemary are still vibrant. They taunt their wimpy pot mates.

Please Accept My Apologies

I’m sorry I left you during this critical time in the desert, my Garden. I’ve triaged you back together the best I could. I promise to water you and love you while we wait for the monsoons.