It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that when faced with a vast sea of horsetails, which takes days to clear a few feet, that after 3 weeks of ripping and hauling buckets upon buckets, that in the end you are left with a space barely big enough to park a Prius.
I am a practitioner of Darwinian Gardening. Like many city slickers who become country mice, there is no joy more profound than shopping at plant nurseries. Plant amnesty probably has my picture on their most wanted list, for buying plants that were left to languish in their pots till they became the dirt from which they once hopefully sprang.
But to those who befriend other gardeners, there are riches to be had for the price of a little dirt in your cargo space of your car.
This was my sea of horsetails…
My coven of gardening women are all gone but me. We gathered in each other’s homes and gardens, trading stories, sharing plants, and drinking coffee. The sharing plants thing: at the time it was all about filling a new, open space with plants, in the forest clearing where my new house sat. Some of the plants survived, some didn’t. But the tiny trees and cuttings that survive…these bring me closer to my friends who are gone.
The tiny trees are 30 feet tall now. The last of our group of Annes (and a Fran) died last September. But the copper beech trees, not even 3 feet tall when I planted them, now tower over …my sea of horsetails.
When I’m in my garden, I can remember who gave me which plant, which cuttings that survived and thrived, which plants you can grow by sticking a bare cutting in the ground at the beginning of our rainy NW winters. I feel closest to my departed friends when I am out here, trying to shape a wild space into some semblance of order. Or, at least enough so the driveway doesn’t get covered in blackberries, or make the house disappear.
I am almost done with this year’s round of bludgeoning the horsetails into submission. They’ll be back next year when I will do it again.
Meanwhile, for a short while, I had an audience:
I hope you have the chance to stand in a meadow and spend time with your trees. I’d be happy to send you some horsetails, if you don’t have any!
I so envy you your patch of 30 ft tall trees and nature all around. Sigh. I miss my wooded acreage in CA. Here I worry about our small stands of oak and cedar....they suffer through the droughts of summer and through the ice of February. My few hardy plants die a bit more every year. The lantana which is native to TX comes back in the spring with enough rain to bloom again. The succulents require waterings much more frequently at 105+ for days in a row. I do love the birds - blue jays, cardinals, painting buntings, doves, sparrows and starlings and a few I have no idea yet! The does have had their fawns - I fed carrots to 6 fawns and 5 does last night!! I fill their water pans twice a day. They have no more green grass to eat - it is all crispy and that CA golden. We bought a watermelon today - some for us, but mostly for the deer families. I should be happy though - I only see trees out the north side of the house; no houses, they are blocked by trees. They are there if you look for them which I don't! I do miss going out on my deck to enjoy my morning cup of coffee or evening tea when it is 104 now at 9 pm still and 87 in the am, it is just not so enjoyable. Enjoy the beauty around you. And I will continue to enjoy what I have here! When I think about the folks who are inside the city with only concrete and houses and freeways all around, I am thankful for what I have. Then my little 1/2 acre seems much larger and has more beauty. And who knows someday we might just show up on Whidbey again to take in the beauty of the island and your awesome homestead. Gosh now you know why you don't see comments from me very often. I feel compelled to write a book!! LOL
I love your visitor! What a beauty ❤️