Every time I cut the lawn, I would look up at our tallest palm trees and think, “I really need to find someone to clean up those branches.” Lately, ten-foot long dried up fronds have been blowing down whenever a storm blew through. Even the trees were telling me they needed a trim.
Someone gave me our tall front yard palm trees when they were only a foot high. Now, they’ve grown to twenty-five feet tall, far beyond what I can trim myself.
When I heard a knock at the door, I saw his truck out on the street. John had trimmed my palm trees before. I was really glad to see him. It had probably been three years since his last visit. He walked about the base of the four tall trees, sizing up the job and quote me a price. We shook hands and he and his partner got to work.
He’s been doing this kind of work for about forty years, as long as the community has been here. He pulled a twenty-four foot extension ladder out of his truck, and as his assistant set it in place and raised the top portion, he sat down, attached tree climbing spikes to his boots, and sharpened his chain saw.
I didn’t remember him using the climbing spikes before. I soon found out why he strapped them on. He climbed up to the top rung of the extended ladder, strapped himself to the tree, and then used the spikes to climb another six feet up the tree. From there, he started up the chain saw and cleaned up the overgrown branches. His assistant held the ladder and carried each trimmed branch to the trailer.
I could hardly look. But I couldn’t look away, either. He was careful, but fearless. He was efficient and finished the whole job in less than ninety minutes. Two-thirds of the job was putting up the ladder, climbing up and down, and loading up the trimmed fronds.
As we said the last two times, “It’s worth every penny.” There’s no way I’d be up there with or without a chain saw. And I suspect he charged less than the tree services who are often in our neighborhood looking for business. He just cruises the county roads, looking for overgrown trees.
Night was just about ready to give way to the dawn. It was just light enough for a yard full of purple flowers to catch my eye. I and the dogs walk by here several times a week. It’s like they appeared overnight. Some kind of daffodil? A wildflower?
Google identified them as Zephyranthes, sometimes called a Zephyrlily or Rain Lily. It’s a bulb that thrives in subtropical climates like ours. They tend to appear after a rain shower.
The thing I found interesting is that this wasn’t a garden. It’s a front yard. These bulbs were planted, propagated, and sprung up through the lawn. Okay, so that lawn wasn’t that great. But the flowers were!
My dad had lots of flowering bulbs in his gardens. The crocuses would show up first, sometimes while there was still a little snow on the ground in the early spring. Tulips and hyacinths would follow, filling the front yard gardens with bright colors. But only for a week or two. Then they disappeared till the following spring.
That was up north. Garden life is different in Florida. The only flowers from bulbs I’ve seen here are amaryllis. But now I’ve seen the rain lilies. I would love to have a whole bunch of them sprout up overnight!
After a few morning activities, we got home about noon. A few clouds drifted by, the temperature reached eighty, and there was just enough breeze to jostle the palm branches. It was a perfect afternoon to do some yard work.
I really enjoy getting out to work in the yard. Yes, you read that correctly. I’m a big fan of gardening, yard-ening, and firing up small engines to cut and trim and prune and tame the relentless growth of a northeast Florida yard.
After a smear of sunblock, picking out a hat (Phillies cap), and cleaning my sunglasses, I yanked on the lawnmower starter cord. One pull and it started right up after six weeks of rest and relaxation. As the first day of the vernal equinox approaches, more and more sun reaches our front yard, so it’s growing well. The back yard will catch up soon. It only takes about half an hour to cut the deep green front yard. It looks so much better when it’s all the same length. A few more passes up the west side of the house and I was done.
I topped off the string trimmer with some two-cycle gas and made a mental note to mix up more this week. Ten pumps on the bulb and three pulls on the starter and it roared to life. The edges of the property and gardens hadn’t grown much, so it only took fifteen minutes to trim. Three pulls on the blower started that engine, too, and I blew away all the grass clippings and pine needles from all the walks, driveway, and patio.
While cutting the law, I spent a lot of time dodging low hanging palm branches, so I decided to trim them, too. I grabbed my leather work gloves and pole saw, cut the lowest dozen branches off the canary palm tree, and set them off to the side. I’ll cut them in thirds and put them out on Wednesday, waste collection day.
Next, I raked a whole bunch of pine needles out of the gardens, pulling a few weeds along the way. I’ll need to add some cypress mulch this year. I pumped up my weed sprayer and hit the smaller weeds that are harder to pull.
Since I had protective gear on, I grabbed a hand-trimmer and cut back all the thorn-covered bougainvillea branches along the back yard fence. Everything looked so much better and I felt a few raindrops on my arm. Perfect timing. Enough for today. Plenty to work on another day.
I find yard work relaxing. Songs go through my head. The sun can’t decide whether to warm my skin or duck behind a cloud to let me cool off. Both feel nice. I love the smell of freshly cut grass. Unruly grass yields to a string trimmer. Soon I’ll wander through a nursery, looking for flowers to paint the empty spaces.
I am so glad I had a chance to work outside today.
So just imagine you’re walking through the garden section of your favorite big box store. You’ve already got a few seasonal plants in your cart. All you need are a few planters.
There are so many to choose from! Plain terracotta, glazed pottery, plastic that looks like terracotta or glazed pottery, barrels cut in half, and…wait a minute. “What do you think of these?”
Some are shaped like half-people rising from the ground in peaceful meditation, their heads sliced open for blooming annuals. When I see them, I think of the skulls opened up to serve chilled monkey brains in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. The other planters look like the Moai, the big stone guys on Easter Island. Or the emoji used to indicate strength or determination. “Perfect. Grab a couple of each.”
The house where I saw these is brand new. The planters are unique and attention-grabbing. I know they wouldn’t last a day in my front yard. But as they say, there’s no accounting for taste. Who knows? Maybe the residents are from Polynesia. Maybe these are reminders of a home they may never visit again.
I always smile (and sometimes chuckle) when the dogs and I walk by this house. Don’t we need more of that in life?
After trying several varieties, I’ve had the most success growing cherry tomatoes in my raised gardens. Five vines filled the chicken wire cages I built to keep the squirrels out and produced dozens of cherry tomatoes.
Since those gardens were on the side of the house, they received enough shade to survive a Florida summer. I was still harvesting tomatoes well into October from a March planting. I was going to buy and plant new ones in the fall for the second growing season. Instead, I cut off some of the fullest branches, stripped leaves from the bottom half, and replanted them in the soil. They took root and grew beyond the confines of the cage itself. In mid-December, the vines were covered with small green tomatoes. On January 1, I harvested a nice crop for our first salads of the new year.
Unless we happen to get a freeze, I’m looking forward to many more.
I’m thrilled with my winter tomatoes for several reasons. First, it’s hard to find good tomatoes any time of the year in Florida. The ones in the store are some kind of coral color without much taste. These were red, ripe, and delicious,
Second, I didn’t have to buy these plants. I was able to start new vines from cuttings. So they were free. Kind of.
Third, picking tomatoes in January is like thumbing your nose at winter. I know, we don’t really get winter in Florida. But when the temps drop into the thirties, unpleasant memories of bitterly cold winters resurface. All I have to do is pop a tomato in my mouth, and all that goes away.
They weren’t dead after all. I got down on my knees, dug through the mulch and saw a little bit of green. There is still some life here!
The winter in northeast Florida had just enough freezing days to knock the life out of a lot of my yard plants. I thought I lost my hibiscus and crotons. They were nothing but brown sticks standing around the house. I needed to replace them.
I was not prepared for the high prices at the big box garden center. Inflation is alive and well. Nine dollars for a bag of dirt? Five dollars for a blooming quart sized annual? Six dollars for a pepper plant? Nine bucks for a croton? That was the small size. A big one will set you back $16.
I went back home to rethink my garden strategy. I went back out to the front yard and looked at the sticks in the ground. Being a glass half full kind of guy, I got up close and personal with them to see if there was any sign of life at all. And there was. Little tender green shoots were just beginning to reach up from the base of the sticks. I pulled back the mulch to give them better access to sunlight. I poured on some water and a little liquid fertilizer. I think they’re going to make it!
I’m going to start a lot of my own plants from seeds now too. I did a little research and it’s not hard to propagate crotons or just about any other plant. Remember putting a seed in a cup of dirt in kindergarten to grow a flower for mom? There’s another early education lesson that pays off later in life.
A lot of my neighbors don’t even try. I don’t see many colors in their yards when I go for a walk. Just green and brown. I’m not going to be that guy. I’ve got my sights set on the whole rainbow.
It’s Holy Week. I’m not preaching this year, but my garden is. The Creator cleverly embedded the message of resurrection in his creation. Nice job, God!
As wandered through the garden shop’s aisles of colorful and more expensive than ever pots of annuals, I decided, “I’m going to plant some seeds this year.” I had just finished cleaning up my backyard gardens which were now, other than the amaryllis, devoid of color. Having seen the beautifully landscaped entrances to gated-communities near me, I visualized now nice my garden would look in just a few weeks.
The seed display is off in the corner, behind the patio furniture. This store stocks two brands, and each brand offers regular and organic packets of vegetable and flower seeds. Other than price, I doubt there is much difference between organic and non-organic seeds. I’ll look that up later.
I’ve researched what flowers will grow best in my area, so I am armed with a list. The pictures on each packet explode with color. I underestimated just how amazing my garden will look!
I find zinnias, marigolds, and cosmos, but none of the others on my list. I know, I should have just shopped online. But then I’d miss the sights and smells that get my gardening juices flowing. I do find a couple of colorful flower mixes. I’ll give those a try.
Back home, I’m ready to plant. I carefully open the first packed of zinnia seeds. Wow, you don’t get very many seeds in a packet. They’re tiny, too. I carefully pour some into the palm of my hand. Don’t sneeze, or they’ll be gone. Picking up a few between thumb and forefinger, I drop them along a line I’ve drawn in the soil with a trowel. I can’t even see where they’ve landed. Before I know it, they’re gone. Trusting that they have found a home, I gently cover them with a 1/4-inch layer of dirt. That’s not very much, but that’s what the instructions call for. I do this with all my purchased seeds. They didn’t go very far. I will have to buy more for other areas in the garden.
I grab my watering can and moisten all the areas I’ve planted. And that’s it. Done. And what do I have to show for all my efforts? Nothing. My garden looks exactly the same as when I started. Dirt. I know, it takes a few days for the seeds to germinate and weeks before I’ll see any flowers.
The whole process is a simple yet powerful act of faith. Faith that the seed will actually grow. Faith that the plants will actually produce flowers. Faith that color will explode from that little black speck that disappeared into the ground.
It’s a miracle. A lifeless seed comes to life with some soil, sun, and water. And I get to watch that miracle happen.
It was a gorgeous March day in Florida and I had nothing else on my schedule. Clear skies and temps in the seventies. Time to tackle some yard work.
I cut and trimmed the lawn. I pruned back all the dead branches from some of the backyard plants that had gotten bitten by a few sub-freezing days last winter. I finished moving landscaping rocks from a pile on the side of the house to the edges of the backyard gardens. Then I raked out tons of pine needles and weeded. Finally, I raked everything up and filled some yard waste bags to put out next week on collection day.
During one of my water breaks, I sat under the shade umbrella, felt the breeze, and thought about the whole yard/garden work experience. It’s not something you can rush. Slow and steady wins this race. Most tasks involved persistent, repetitive action. I loaded up and carried about 40 buckets of rock. Back and forth, back and forth. I cut twenty-two-inch wide rows across the lawn. Back and forth, back and forth. I sat and weeded section after section of the garden, leaving behind pile after pile to rake up. I pruned branch after branch, clipping them into smaller pieces and slowly filling bag after bag. I sprayed grass and weed killer along the fence line, killing off the grass that insists on growing where it’s not welcome.
I spent most of the day outside, slowly but surely getting the work done. The sun felt so good. Shade from some of the trees felt so good. The breeze that came in through spaces in the fence felt so good. The Amaryllis looked as if they were ready to bloom any minute. I’ve always enjoyed the smell of newly mown grass, until my allergies realize what is happening and start to clog up my sinuses.
I wouldn’t want to spend all day every day doing yard work. But some days I wouldn’t want to be any place else. I need a healthy dose of vitamin D from the sun. I need many breaths of fresh air. I need to hear the birds singing in the woods around me. I need to feel the dirt between my fingers. I need to feel the power of the string trimmer and the leaf blower in my hands. I need to see how many more lilies are poking up through the soil this year. I need to think about the new flowers and plants I will add this year.
For the moment, I can savor a completed task. It is a fleeting pleasure, for there are more tasks to be done. The grass’ growth accelerates as the days grow longer. Thankfully, I will have many other days in the yard and garden.
That’s all it takes. That’s all my five-year old grandson needs to hear, and he’s all in.
Our first project involved a couple of Blue Daze plants which always do great in our garden soil. He wanted to plant blue flowers, which aren’t that common. Even these are a bit on the purple side, which he pointed out to me. He carried the two quart containers out back, while I brought the shovel, some branch trimmers (I knew we’d encounter lots of roots at the base of the pine trees), and a watering can.
He dug the holes as I lopped off some uncooperative roots. I showed him how to take the plant from the pot and shake out the roots a little bit and place the plant in its new home. He filled in the dirt and started to work on the second hole. After we were done, he gave both plants a nice long drink in their new home. Each time he comes over the house, I always remind him to water his flowers.
Our second project involved part of an old whiskey barrel my wife wanted in the corner of the patio, a few bags of potting soil and a twelve-pack of impatiens with orange flowers. The impatiens were a variety I hadn’t seen before, suitable for both shade or sun (according to the label.). I found a few old landscape bricks to take up space in the barrel, and then added the soil. Now the fun part. I pulled back a small hole with my trowel as he stuck each plant in it’s place and covered up the roots with dirt. Once again, we treated our new guests to a tall cool drink.
One of my go to places to relax or destress is the garden. Soil, plants and water are cheap therapy when you’ve got a lot of stuff on your mind. The sun, the breeze and a little dirt under the fingernails always take my mind off my worries.
I think my dad taught me most of what I know about gardening. My dad always had amazing gardens. Front yard beds full of crocuses, tulips and hyacinth in the spring were followed by azaleas and roses as summer approached. Dad’s beds were immaculate, too. No weeds, cultivated soil and gorgeous blooms were the rule in front of our house. The vegetable gardens were out back. Lettuce and spinach first, followed by peas and beans, and then carrots, kohlrabi, peppers and bushels of tomatoes by the end of the summer. His carefully composted rows of vegetables produced much of what we saw on the table throughout the year. I didn’t realize it at the time, but this help keep our family fed during my growing up years.
The gardening gene must be dominant. When we arrived at our first call in Coventry, CT, we planted a garden. And what a garden! Our parsonage was on the four acres next to the church’s four acres. I borrowed a rototiller and broke up a 20′ x 40′ area of the backyard for our garden. If someone tells you that New England soil is rocky, they are understating the conditions. I think we found more rocks that soil! Forget the spade. You need a spading fork. We got it done and planted corn, sunflowers, several varieties of beans (including some that were purple!), peas, carrots, lettuce, spinach, tomatoes and melons. There were also some asparagus beds in place.
My harvests had mixed results. We got some sweet corn, but many ears didn’t properly develop. Some kind of bug ate a lot of the sunflower seeds. The cantaloupe never got bigger than a softball. We had lots and lots of peas and beans, though. Do you know that purple beans will turn green when you boil them? I’d say our attempts were average. We ate a lot of peas right off the vine and had plenty of beans.
We had a garden at our second call in Iowa. Our backyard in West Des Moines had rhubarb. It didn’t matter how cold the winter or how hot and dry the summer, we had huge rhubarb plants. No gardening talent needed there. My wife made some amazing rhubarb and rhubarb-strawberry pies. The soil produced some amazing zucchini, too. We made lots and lots and lots of zucchini bread. Our best gardening project, though, were strawberries. I bought a whole bunch of plants for our backyard, carefully mulching each one. In year two, we began to see some nice strawberries begin to form. That’s exactly when I got the call to Florida. We never got to see how that harvest looked.
Florida gardening? Totally different than up north. After much trial and error, my philosophy is this: plant native and plant what grows in your yard. My soil is crazy sandy, the growing seasons are weird, and plants take over your yard when you aren’t watching. Winter freezes are few and far between. Hurricanes blow in weeds you never expected to find. Plants you gave up on sometimes grow back. Plants that look great in the yard across the street die in mine. Go figure.
When I put my hands in the dirt, I leave something behind and I take something with me. Along with seeds, fertilizer and water, the garden always seems to have room for worries and frustrations. It return it gives peace and serenity along with blossoms and fruit.
Thus, the allure of a shovel, soil and a watering can endures. I can still care for our little piece of dirt, planting and watering and watching things grow. I can still eat the fruits of our labor, share them with others and enjoy the colors of creation.Maybe that’s why gardening is so appealing and amazing. It brings me close to the Creator, reminds me of His creation, and gives me a chance to share that with a new generation. When I’m close to Him, I discover a peace that surpasses my understanding.
Waite for it... 