Kudos on the front garden

It's hard to see — must have been taken around dusk — but
here we are digging out the grass from the SE corner of the
front yard, as Sandy first expanded her territory.

I spent time weeding out front this afternoon. Mainly, I was hoping to remove the intruders that are competing with the Japanese Maple for nutrients, with the hope that it will finish leafing out. From underneath the tree's canopy, I could look out on passersby and chat with them, sometimes accidentally startling them. Through the years, various cats have found the tree to be an optimal hiding place for viewing the world while remaining unseen, but with the sparse foliage on the tree this year, I was pretty visible.

As always, when I'm in the front garden, people stopped to compliment it. Not just casual appreciation, either. It's common for folks to gush about this being their favorite garden in the neighborhood, the place they bring out-of-town guests to show it off, the home of flowers they look forward to every year.

Peek-a-boo. One of the cats peered out from behind the limbs
as the tree was leafing out in 2007. Surely no dog could
see him there! But his brothers found him easily.

I thank the ones who make the compliment in passing, but with those who want to engage, I'm happy to chat, too. I tell them that I, also, love the garden, and that I can't take the credit for it. I tell them that Sandy created it, that it's always been her gift to the neighborhood, and that now that Sandy's died, I'm hoping to keep it up. It occurred to me as I came inside tonight that I should start asking people who love our garden to contribute to the National Breast Cancer Coalition or to sign the petition to the President or to write to their Congressional representatives in support of the Accelerating the End of Breast Cancer Act: "If you love gardens like this, help keep their gardeners alive." Maybe I will.

One woman stopped to talk for a few minutes, emphasizing just how much she appreciates our yard in every season, every time she walks by. She pointed to the campanula, which self-seeds with abandon and is beautifully scattered throughout the yard. She'd tried to find some at the local garden store but they didn't have any, so I invited her to pull some of ours and try to transplant them. We talked more, and I learned her name, and that she lives only a block away. I gave her several plants, and reminded her that she can come back for more if they don't transplant well with their puny little roots.

I've been spending a lot of time in the back yard lately, working in cover crops and preparing vegetable beds for planting, giving the bamboo some long-overdue love, chopping up compost. It's a peaceful place, very grounding, and I enjoy working back there. I forget just how different it is to work in the front yard. We live in an area with a high walkscore, and frequent foot traffic. I don't know that I've ever been in the front yard for more than ten minutes without someone walking by, and the usual spacing is two to three minutes. On a sunny afternoon like this one, folks are chatty and in a good mood. Whereas gardening in the back yard is peaceful, meditative, and solitary, gardening in the front yard is a social affair.

Sandy worked in the back yard with me, too, but the front garden was hers. And it fits. Not only were there constant distractions, with people and dogs (!) walking by, but there were a constant stream of compliments and questions. She could accept praise and teach people about various flowers and weeds. As a Leo, of course she felt energized by the space.

I'll do my best to keep the front yard beautiful. But it won't just be the flowers that stand in Sandy's honor. As I work in the garden, I like the idea that I'll be her emissary, accepting compliments on her behalf and doing my own part to educate those who linger and ask questions.