The first foxgloves are in bloom. Each year it amazes me that one week they are just a mass of green leaves and the next their bloom stalk springs up and this a mass of pink, white and purple fireworks. It seems like it happens overnight, although I know it doesn’t. The geum blooms still hang around weeks after they started and now the Oriental poppies join them in the rose garden. In my back yard, the blue ajuga spires a a beautiful foil for the cabbage-like leaves and bright pink flowers of the Japanese primrose. The primroses are almost done flowering, but there is just enough of an overlap to create a gorgeous scene.
As I walked through the garden today, I realized how much I adore the riotous, wild, overspilling landscape that arose from my plantings. In early spring when there are gaps, old foliage to cut back, and overgrown plants, I wonder why I made certain choices and crammed so many plants in such a small space. However, when the flowers pop open I remember. The exuberant cottage garden look suits me, just like the short, short hairstyle I resisted most of my adult life. At the core I am not a formal, tailored woman. I appreciate different styles in the landscape and in other people but most of them are not for me. I am a messy woman who loves convertibles, getting dirty, and doing things differently. I am a klutz, I spill things, and I fall down a lot. I injure myself when I’m in a hurry. I’ve never met a blank piece of paper, open landscape or clean counter that I didn’t want to immediately fill up. Over the years I’ve learned to embrace these things as I don’t think I’ll ever be able to change them. (Some may say I don’t want to change.) I only hope, and work, to not become a hoarder or let my garden get out of control. There is a thin line between exuberance and chaos, creativity and insanity, messiness and sloth. I’m walking that line slowly and with trepidation. I hope I don’t trip.
What would Jane Austen Grow? 
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