The Tinkerbelle Tree
Today, I spent a very pleasant morning strolling around my favourite nursery, looking for the newest addition to our garden.
Every year, I try and add one tree to our large lot... We have an older property, and were told when we first moved here that the basic plantings were original to the house. The real estate agent wasn't fibbing, either-- we had enormous, overgrown juniper bushes, wild and tangled half-dead purple-leaf sandcherry trees, out-of-control yews... Over the past few years, as my children have gotten a little bigger and able to amuse themselves while I work, I have taken on the Hurculean task of taming it all. At first, gardening seemed like just one long slog, a nasty chore. But as I ripped things out, got sight of some soil, and began churning it up... my love of gardening slowly began to grow.
It started, of course, from the fact that there's nothing like a little destruction to alleviate pent-up frustrations. And boy, was I frustrated... I had just given birth to my third child, my husband had started his own company, and it felt like we had more duties, responsibilities and expenses than we knew how to handle.
Digging helped. Every night after dinner, once the two eldest children were safely in bed, I would hand the baby over to my husband as he walked in the door, put on my grubbies and grab a gardening fork. By the time the sun set and I could no longer see what I was digging, I was filthy and sore... but strangely serene. Digging became "me time", when I could think my own thoughts, get a little exercise, and enjoy the satisfaction that I was in the process of creating something beautiful.
Once the beds were dug and an enormous bag of topsoil had been worked in, I realized that there wasn't much more that I would be able to do without the aid of... Power Tools.
My gardening obsession reached a whole new level once I embraced the world of power tools. The electric hedge trimmer, the gas powered weed whacker... But what I REALLY needed was a chain saw. Not a BIG chain saw, I told my husband, just a little one-- tiny, really. Just enough power to start hacking out the nastiest of the junipers, and the weirdest, deadest sandcherry trees...
My request (as a Mother's Day gift, actually) was firmly denied. My husband knows me too well-- he was convinced, after seeing the enormous bags of clippings I had produced with the hedge trimmer one particular week, that if I were ever to get my hands on even the smallest chain saw whilst on one of my pms benders, I could do serious damage not only to myself, but also to other people. As in, loved ones. Specifically, himself.
So, I approached my father for support. He is the ultimate gadget collector-- if there's a weird appliance on the market, he's either bought it, or is in the process of phoning around to all the merchants within a reasonable radius of his home to find out who's got it for sale for the least amount of money.
He was nearly apoplectic in his response. No chain saw for HIS daughter, No Sir. Being a physician, he tried to scare me off by telling tales of re-attaching severed body parts.
Every year, I try and add one tree to our large lot... We have an older property, and were told when we first moved here that the basic plantings were original to the house. The real estate agent wasn't fibbing, either-- we had enormous, overgrown juniper bushes, wild and tangled half-dead purple-leaf sandcherry trees, out-of-control yews... Over the past few years, as my children have gotten a little bigger and able to amuse themselves while I work, I have taken on the Hurculean task of taming it all. At first, gardening seemed like just one long slog, a nasty chore. But as I ripped things out, got sight of some soil, and began churning it up... my love of gardening slowly began to grow.
It started, of course, from the fact that there's nothing like a little destruction to alleviate pent-up frustrations. And boy, was I frustrated... I had just given birth to my third child, my husband had started his own company, and it felt like we had more duties, responsibilities and expenses than we knew how to handle.
Digging helped. Every night after dinner, once the two eldest children were safely in bed, I would hand the baby over to my husband as he walked in the door, put on my grubbies and grab a gardening fork. By the time the sun set and I could no longer see what I was digging, I was filthy and sore... but strangely serene. Digging became "me time", when I could think my own thoughts, get a little exercise, and enjoy the satisfaction that I was in the process of creating something beautiful.
Once the beds were dug and an enormous bag of topsoil had been worked in, I realized that there wasn't much more that I would be able to do without the aid of... Power Tools.
My gardening obsession reached a whole new level once I embraced the world of power tools. The electric hedge trimmer, the gas powered weed whacker... But what I REALLY needed was a chain saw. Not a BIG chain saw, I told my husband, just a little one-- tiny, really. Just enough power to start hacking out the nastiest of the junipers, and the weirdest, deadest sandcherry trees...
My request (as a Mother's Day gift, actually) was firmly denied. My husband knows me too well-- he was convinced, after seeing the enormous bags of clippings I had produced with the hedge trimmer one particular week, that if I were ever to get my hands on even the smallest chain saw whilst on one of my pms benders, I could do serious damage not only to myself, but also to other people. As in, loved ones. Specifically, himself.
So, I approached my father for support. He is the ultimate gadget collector-- if there's a weird appliance on the market, he's either bought it, or is in the process of phoning around to all the merchants within a reasonable radius of his home to find out who's got it for sale for the least amount of money.
He was nearly apoplectic in his response. No chain saw for HIS daughter, No Sir. Being a physician, he tried to scare me off by telling tales of re-attaching severed body parts.
Ew.
So, I started collecting hand saws instead. I'm a right sight for the neighbours to see, sallying forth, loaded with lethal-looking weapons of mass destruction... It sometimes takes hours and hours, but slowly I've sawed most of the Major Uglies out of the garden. Then, instead of hauling the roots out with a wynch, I drill a few holes in the stump with my new friend, the cordless power drill, and inject a stump-rotting solution. After one winter, the area is ready for new planting.
But back to the tree. Today, I felt our garden was ready for a new tree to take the place of an unfortunate sandcherry I attacked last spring. Above, you can see a picture of what I chose. It's called a "Tinkerbelle" Dwarf Lilac... As my good friend, Bill from Sheridan Nurseries, steered me around the tree lot, I caught sight of the beautiful lilacs, full of buds, just about ready to bloom. This colour was the prettiest, and when I saw "Tinkerbelle" on the tag, I knew it was the tree for us. The girlies are delighted with it. I've put it right next to the bed where all our lillies of the valley and violets come up in spring. It's going to smell heavenly out there next year. I can just see the little girls playing on a blanket spread out on the grass...
So, I started collecting hand saws instead. I'm a right sight for the neighbours to see, sallying forth, loaded with lethal-looking weapons of mass destruction... It sometimes takes hours and hours, but slowly I've sawed most of the Major Uglies out of the garden. Then, instead of hauling the roots out with a wynch, I drill a few holes in the stump with my new friend, the cordless power drill, and inject a stump-rotting solution. After one winter, the area is ready for new planting.
But back to the tree. Today, I felt our garden was ready for a new tree to take the place of an unfortunate sandcherry I attacked last spring. Above, you can see a picture of what I chose. It's called a "Tinkerbelle" Dwarf Lilac... As my good friend, Bill from Sheridan Nurseries, steered me around the tree lot, I caught sight of the beautiful lilacs, full of buds, just about ready to bloom. This colour was the prettiest, and when I saw "Tinkerbelle" on the tag, I knew it was the tree for us. The girlies are delighted with it. I've put it right next to the bed where all our lillies of the valley and violets come up in spring. It's going to smell heavenly out there next year. I can just see the little girls playing on a blanket spread out on the grass...
The kiss of the sun for pardon,
The song of the birds for mirth,--
One is nearer God's heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth.
The song of the birds for mirth,--
One is nearer God's heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth.
1 comment:
Oh, it looks beautiful! I can smell it from all the way up here!!!
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