The story of a garden
Walkabout: PI
Happenings in the Star City
“If these walls could talk,” the saying goes. Well, if the ground could talk, it might reveal how a garden was born.
It occurred to me recently that my backyard garden tells a story of its own, about being reimagined by a small group of neighbors who came together to create a space for all to enjoy. Thanks to the contributions of many hands, the garden has grown from knotted masses of brambles and unwelcome bushes to a haven on a hill.
The story begins about four springs ago, when a next-door neighbor began clearing up a bit of backyard for a vegetable garden. The hill that goes across both our yards had long ago fallen into disarray, with tall grasses growing among offshoots of trees. Buried in there were an occasional lupine patch, some lilacs and other floral remnants. No one kept it, particularly; it was just a wild border.
As he formed his garden, my neighbor looked at the overgrowth, resting on his spade, and thought. I weeded the flower garden that curves around our patio, looked at that hill, and thought. Up on the next street, a neighbor on land overlooking the hill tended her beautiful flowers, while the man across the fence looked over his pickets, and they thought.
Sometimes many thoughts make one great idea.
My next-door neighbor began taking out a few small stumps — which made such an improvement that he kept clearing, bit by bit. The lady who lives above came down to see the progress, and began helping out, pulling roots and digging up what she could, moving across the hill. Inspired, I joined in with pruners and another set of hands, and as our days allowed we all continued, removing a little more and a little more.
The hill began to look like — well, a hill, rather than a foreboding, neglected miniature forest.
To get the rest of the large, twisted tree roots and stumps out required the help of a backhoe. That done, some more yanking and cutting, raking and spading, and finally there was dirt. We had plantable ground.
Next door, the vegetable gardener planted grass on his side of the hill. The lady on the next street said, “You know, I have all these perennials I had to take out of my garden, and I’ve been trying to give them away — would you mind if I planted some?”
Mind? “How wonderful,” my aunt and I said.
So, thanks to her generosity, there were now hostas, coreopsis, lilies, sedum, spirea, phlox, asters — all sorts of things to give a variety of color and lush green from the first sprouts through fall frost.
Meanwhile, the man who owned the old, weathered picket fence, worn gray with time, bought some white paint. A few days later, a fresh-looking but still rustic fence emerged as a backdrop with character.
The addition of some quarry rock, particularly over the part most clogged with old roots and stumps, helped it take shape even further.
With some mulch, a crowbar to unearth some decorative rocks, and an axe to get rid of a few stubborn old roots, the old hill was completely transformed.
Then the fun began — watching it all grow, moving a bush over there, adding a new plant here, and enjoying the bloom and color that goes on all season long.
Now, it’s not only a changed environment, but a gathering place. We take time from our weeding, clothes-hanging, pruning and puttering to chat — about the weather, how big the squash are growing, and what was just on the news.
Who knew? Somehow, that old hill yielded soil so rich it grew a community.
