There is a week in the spring when all the planets align and my flower garden in the front yard achieves near perfection. Lilacs bloom with the first wave of peonies, while the iris let their gorgeous grandeur be felt, and columbines flower in lovely purple clumps here and there throughout the garden. The blueberry bushes have blossomed and their leaves are green and red tipped while all my decorative pots have been filled with colorful annuals and dark green herbs. We leave our front windows open to catch the intoxicating scent of lilacs and peonies and peppermint whenever the wind blows.
It is the one week of the year when I feel like our house is a genuine show-stopper and that I am a domestic goddess (despite the fact that my husband does most of the hard labor.) The reassurance I get when I look at the garden during this week compensates for the 36 or so weeks out of the year when school in session and I have clean laundry piled in baskets throughout the living room and dirty dishes in the sink.
I need this week long floral extravaganza for my sanity, Gentle Reader. It’s a necessity. Which is exactly what I tell my husband every spring when we’re at the nursery center spending more money than he thinks we should.
This magical, florally life affirming week happened just a few days ago. This year there were a few additions to the garden that made everything that much more amazing, at least to my incredibly biased eyes.
I received a potting bench for my birthday this year which gives the whole garden a certain professional pizzazz. Additionally, when my mother moved and down-sized her belongings, I inherited her old pickling crocks and pans that give everything an old fashioned, charming feel.
Now, if I only had room somewhere for a trellis with climbing clematis flowers, my life would be complete.
This must be how Martha Stewart feels all year long.