Come First of May

A lovely way to start the first morning of May is with a reminder of Lord Whimsy’s post about David Brenner’s moss garden. Moss lends such a lovely patina to the landscape or garden unlike the osessively trimmed blandscapes where moss is banned. There is a small cottage up the road with a moss path to the door with a big stone at the end in front of the door. It’s like an anti-welcome mat. I love that. C.P. McDill and I turned up every stone with moss attached and tucked them under shaded places.

Lack of mossiness aside, the rest of our garden is thriving and the micro-climate we created has held up well to the elements. We are still working on the dry laid stone wall that will go all the way around the garden and up the hill. Last night we had an unexpected frost. It’s an ironic May Eve gift for gardeners, a sort of literal “May Day” for the seedlings and bulbs just beginning to bloom. I put tomatoes, peppers, and basil in the potting shed and lit all of the votive candles I could find.

The mossy path and spring tulips in the front garden.

The dry laid wall in progress.

The beginnings of a strawberry patch and phlox with rocks.

Pesto and salsa hiding in the potting shed.

We live on sand. The bare space is 24 x 24 feet with nothing planted on it. Purslane grows there every spring and every summer we eat it and then the patch is bare again. My plan is to lay out a spiral path with flagstones that I’ve been collecting and then to see what will grow there other than purslane.

Signs of Life

I’m still floating in the mist. I think it’s called a brain fog. The signs of life I refer to are (unfortunately) not mine. Not yet. They are outside, here on the coastal homestead among the flora and fauna and wildlife. Spring flowers, mint, oregano, garlic, purslane, parsley, dandelions, sage, spring onions, rhubarb, and asparagus are all peeking up now. My fig tree and wisteria survived the winter and have new buds. There are signs and indications that I will join them soon. Last week began the long slow tease of a spring which never quite arrives. Then it will be summer. We’ll sneak in gardening days whenever the sun miraculously appears or the whip winds of a sudden storm off the Atlantic. I love it though, living and gardening on a cliff by the sea. It’s like resistance training for the spirit.

The compost came out better than I had hoped and there is plenty of it. Rich and black. Nitty gritty down and dirty with the earth is what really wakes me up and gets me going. Solar power also helps. My cozy by the fire evenings and lazy daze of winter woolgathering are over though…until December.

Wild turkey trot through the garden.

Nemo is fascinated.

“Those are the biggest chickens I ever saw!”

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