A couple weeks ago, Rob and I started working on a brand-new project—outlining all our garden beds with bricks! We had ordered the bricks at Acme Brick, Tile and Stone in Tallahassee on April 21, the day after I got my second dose of the …
On Tuesday, I took the day off from work. I really needed it. Tuesday was my day off, but I’m not going to tell you about Tuesday. I’m going to tell you about Monday night because it was even better than Tuesday. On Monday night, …
For the last half of January, all of February, and most of March, I was working obsessively (in the evenings and on weekends) on a small painting of our backyard. The painting was very hard for me to finish because the scene I was trying to capture included about a billion leaves. I’m a beginner in acrylics and don’t know how to suggest leaves the way a more skilled painter would do. No, instead I have to sit there and paint every leaf individually, one by one, because I haven’t mastered any advanced techniques yet. Oh my gosh, painting all those leaves was so laborious. I kept complaining (jokingly) to Rob that I was “in a hell of leaves.”
But to be honest, I loved being in that hell of leaves. I loved working on my dumb painting every evening as Buntin sat in my lap doing “crabby cuddles” (purring and snuggling and then growling softly whenever I had the gall to move). I fell into the habit of listening to old episodes of Unsolved Mysteries on my phone as I worked. Unsolved Mysteries was such a great show, especially the “Lost Loves” segments, in which family members or old friends would be reunited after long years of searching for one another. Almost every night as I listened I’d get Buntin’s fur wet with tears.
When I finally finished my painting on March 21, I felt relieved but also a tiny bit lost. What fun little project would I work on next? Luckily, spring had sprung while I was painting, so there were lots of fresh possibilities. I could take pictures of our beautiful white plum tree that I like to call the Snow Queen . . . or plant more purple coneflowers for the butterflies to enjoy . . . or I could make a cake for Rob and garnish it with wild violets. Winter was over, and maybe the pandemic would be over soon too. It was a whole new world with so much to look forward to.
Tabitha and Julie Belle among the ferns:
Golden ragwort galore:
The wild azaleas in bloom:
American plum blossoms:
It’s only January and I’ve already started sewing Easter ornaments and making them pose for photos. Obviously I’m a big Easter fan. I always have been. When I was a kid, the Easter Bunny came every year, bringing me and my sisters and brother baskets …
In 2010, Rob and I dug a little goldfish pond in our backyard and surrounded it with a picket fence that we stained dark green. Since the first day of its existence, the pond has been a big success. Very soon it was brimming with tadpoles, frogs, snails, and dragonfly nymphs—so much life! But the garden around it was just kind of jungly and crazy and not all that pretty.
So, finally, in 2018 I decided to revamp the whole thing. In October of that year, I had just finished building a new stone path all the way around the pond when Hurricane Michael struck. A gigantic pine tree, as wide as an elephant, fell across the garden. It smashed the picket fence and crushed dozens of plants.
It took four months to remove the fallen giant, and another six months after that to rebuild and repaint the fence. But even a year after the hurricane, the garden still looked kind of damaged and broken.
When Covid hit in March 2020, my office shut down and I started working from home. Without my daily commute (which was 45 minutes each way), I had extra time for yard work—and I made improving the pond garden my top project. I mulched the whole area with wood chips and planted coonties, beautyberry, lady ferns, autumn ferns, and Shi-Shi Gashira sasanquas. I added birdbaths and statues, along with blue-glazed pots of annuals (caladiums in summer and cyclamen in winter). I expanded the stone path around the pond and kept it carefully swept.
In the evenings, as soon as my workday had ended, I’d head right out and open the dark-green gate. I’d kneel among the ferns and patiently weed. Or maybe I’d rearrange the seashells and stones around the water’s edge. I’d sweep the path and talk to the trees (lol), an old habit from childhood.
During this difficult year, the pond garden has given me so much to look forward to and be interested in—new fish hatching, tadpoles getting their legs. . . . It keeps me busy because I always have plants to water and weeds to pull. And I’m never lonely there, with the fish and dragonflies and mockingbirds and box turtles and (of course) my tree friends to keep me company. Gardening really is the best kind of therapy.
The pond is between the two chairs and the bench, but you can’t really see it because of all the ferns around it:
Over the rainy Thanksgiving weekend, Rob and I put up our Christmas tree and I started sewing some new felt ornaments for it. The cats got busy too—messing things up (lol). On Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, as Carl splashed in the water in the tree …
This weekend I got to decorate the house for Halloween. It was a nice distraction from the news. I had quite a large stockpile of homemade ornaments, and I found a place for every one! Making ornaments helped me get through the worst of the …
Two Saturdays ago, I finished this ridiculous portrait of my teddy bear Cecilia. I spent a pleasant three weeks working on it, sitting at the dining room table in the evenings and on weekend mornings, the cats gathered around me to nap or take very long, elaborate baths.
It can be a bit challenging painting in the company of cats. After about five minutes, June, who is a busybody, usually has to be escorted out onto the breezeway because she gets too excited and starts butting her head against my easel, etc. If I’m not careful, she’ll scamper across my palette and get paint all over her feet . . . and then all over the house. This has happened several times.
The other cats are surprisingly well behaved when I’m painting. They deserve kudos for their maturity. Frankie likes to curl up in my lap on top of a damp, paint-spattered rag that I use to wipe water off my brushes. Softee, meanwhile, will be snoozing on a shelf in a nearby cabinet, where she’s often joined by Becky or the cantankerous Buntin. With the cabinet door open, the shelves look like floors in a small apartment building or residential hotel exclusively for felines–a sort of Barbizon, but for cats instead of young ladies.
Carl likes to sleep on the table inside the lid of my paint box. I turn it upside down so it makes a little cradle for him. He sleeps very soundly in its narrow cardboard confines, lulled by the sounds of Frontline, which I’m always listening to on my phone. I hate having to disturb him when it’s time to put my paints away.
Softee’s spot:
The adorable Carl:
