I planted Chinese Snowball, Viburnum macrocephalum, for the blooms. Below, in my garden yesterday.
Instead, discovered Chinese snowball is a top member of the Ministry of Stewardship.
A small garden, Chinese Snowball was pruned into a tree. Who knew a bare multi-trunked tree with canopy on top is prime location for song birds to rest from predators, bring their lunch, and a place for my painter to sit & smoke cigarettes on hot Southern summer days, some times my choice of office for making calls?
This, above/below, is why to have a garden. Reminds me of doing math homework in high school. Every other problem had the answer in the back of the book, letting you know you've done a multi-stepped task right. One of my chief delights, and accomplishments, on this Earth, is what has been done in my garden with Chinese Snowball. And I didn't do it, Providence did.
Subsidiary focal points, above/below, graced.
Selfish, adoring my first Chinese snowball, I planted another, below. Shot this one while standing in the street.
At her feet, the potager, below. Is there one word encompassing the few moments a tree has as many blossoms on her arms as at her feet? Is this my tabernacle, given by Providence? Ruth always said something provocative in spirit when she shared at meetings for friends/families of alcoholics. And, invariable at every meeting for years, she spilled her cup of coffee. Elderly, of little breath, it was a delight every time those nearest rushed in to help. Total feminine power, but barely enough strength/air to walk.
Ruth's funeral was standing room only at her little Southern Baptist church in a field, 1950's long low rectangular, red brick construction. Seated near the front, with a meadow view, tears, and the preacher droning. Alone in grief, until he said something riveting. Ruth's body was a tabernacle. Now, that was a curious thing, and I had zero idea what he meant. I looked it up. Not my job to tell you what it meant, it's for you to look up and know it from your spirit. (Blessedly have my inherited unabridged Webster's 10" thick, don't you?)
How did Nature become so dissected from the bible? These moments of petals, throughout the year, with various shrubs/trees/groundcovers, are all tabernacle moments. A Life force beyond my skills/knowledge/efforts. Humbling. In this beauty, death, regeneration, Providence skips merrily, the next day always another tabernacle.
Leaving the street, and stepping into my garden, below.
Look closely, below, at that window. It is my office window. When the Chinese snowball is well finished 'tabernacling' the tree beside it, Crape Myrtle will begin bloom.
My lot is 8500sf, a lot less than a quarter acre. Do you sense this? Neither do I. In the public realm, below, of my garden, do you see that many houses nearby Neither do I, they are there, and this is reality, as is the tabernacle. I built it. My intention? No clue. Providence found me.
After much thought, years, I figured out why my garden lives so big, it's the sky, above, I own it.
My garden frames the sky, and in return Providence gave it entirely to me. A gift you can take for yourself. It's Tasha Tudor's favorite line of poetry, "...Take joy"
Garden & Be Well, XO Tara
Took these pics without my glasses.
Shooting my office window, I began to tear, but quickly remembered a friend's wisdom, "Make no major decisions after dusk and before dawn." Moving, leaving my garden is rending my heart. During the day I'm so excited about my new garden, at nite the chattering monkeys in my head. Tearing up shooting the pic, no energy for another crying jag, I realized it was moments after dusk, and I would ignore the urge, did, and laughed.