Without the burden of reality, I would have a glorious garden (several, actually). I would look out upon my acre (and-a-half) and see nothing but beautifully manicured human-manipulated nature, much like Mia's. Never mind that Mia lives in Norway and appears to be a superhuman gardener married to a superhuman gardener with some superhuman garden gnomes, fairies, and what the heck while we're at it, Leprechauns on her side.
The reality is, however, that I'm sick of weeding (I'm lookin' at you, bindweed and Canadian Thistle), sick of the aggressive hornets that have taken up residence in the vegetable garden and by the barn, tired of deadheading and beating back the forever-multiplying mint plants, fed up with bolted lettuces (so I hardly ever harvested.... I wasn't in the mood for lettuce, OK? Sheesh), and still sorry I didn't plant my lovely window boxes this year.
Maybe it was the combination of super wet early and super hot and dry late but it's been a bit of a disappointing flower year, too. Maybe it's time I cut some things back, take some things out, revamp the irrigation system (yeah, we just got it installed this year - and the lawn looks better than ever - but we just didn't get the drip/perennial beds right... and that's bugging me), and topdress the heck out of everything.
While I'm not fulfilling my dreams of recreating the English countryside (as manipulated by Gertrude Jekyll) here in hot, dry Colorado, I am working to make my home reflect me.
I just never thought that reflection would be 'great bones, lots of potential, could use some maintenance' - and I thought having kids was humbling!
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