Practicing patience

This painful second quarter of the allegedly part-time Master's program I'm in takes up every minute of my time. I have scarcely seen the garden since Bloom Day, and I only saw it then because it was Bloom Day. What's more depressing is that next year will be like this too, because it's a 2-year program. I hope when it's all done I'll find a career for myself that will help pay for years and years of future gardening.

Here are some Hipstamatic shots whose moody aesthetics aptly reflect the dream-like state of memory in which the garden exists for me now.

This is on the deck outside our bedroom window, which is the one place I'm guaranteed to have some interaction with my otherwise avidly pursued avocation. The Anemone coronaria are like $.20 each, and they grow very reliably. I would get some if I were you.



The other deck has the Hardenbergia violacea on it, and it's also a nice, cheering site. If there are any bees around, I'm sure they're visiting it.



If I go down into the garden, it actually hasn't changed much in the last few months. There is no cover of snow of course, so the plants are there as they always are. There just isn't much happening. Nothing leafing out. Nothing about to flower for a few months. Nothing dieing back. While I do have a lot of garden elements that don't change much throughout the year--the fuchsias and abutilons bloom constantly--there is always something coming or going. Not so much right now. What's come is still here and what's gone is gone. It like that for a few months every year before the changes start to happen.