My Crestview home, 15 years ago, when we moved in.
Where I live, in the middle of Austin, Texas...directly North of the University by 5 miles, used to be the edge of the Black land Prairie. My neighborhood is called Crestview, because of its a gentle rise and the old timers say that they used to be able to see the West Hills before all the trees were planted and it was a beautiful view of what O'Henry named the "Violet Crown" referring to sunset. That is the original name of the neighborhood, still printed alongside the old survey of my property.
Times change.
The house is now yellow, I've removed the sidewalk and the driveway, designed and added a pergola, among other costly hard scape features and probably over 100 plants...some are still with us and some didn't make it through the crazy Texas heat and some were lost in the freaky long freezes of 3 days or more.
Here is a little yard art I created a last fall, after the summer of hell. I did not plant for pleasure last year, only food...this represents all the tagged plants that are no longer in my garden. I'm still losing mature trees, most notably the American Elm, 3 Red buds a plum and I will be losing my Sycamore out front...soon.
I have loved this tiny lot of land and consider it the only real home I've ever had...home being a place that is, rather than a state of mind as in...with the people you love. My nuclear family moved all over the place so I have no attachment before here...and now, to the land. And, we are moving and I will miss this place something awful, but change is coming and its reward is growth.
I will miss this view out my back door...the paths I meander through the various rooms of my garden.
I wonder what will survive the coming droughts and tenants.
I wonder if we will make it back.
In the route of my life, I've returned to places I've lived for only a short period of time and end up having a strong urge to keep forging forward. I stayed in this one house for the sole purpose of giving my two daughters a sense of home. It's been hard to stay, every few years I've had to fight the urge to get the heck out...usually in July and August. It's the garden, the feeling that I need to be here for the plants and animals that has kept me tethered...for I believe that they love me as much as I do they...and my daughters don't have the same attachment as do I, though I'm told that they will remember it fondly and realize that they grew up surrounded by beauty and blossoms, when they mature.
I hope so.
I know that they are going out into the world finding their own way and I don't worry so much about them. They are smart and strong. I worry about my flowers and trees and if the hummingbirds will still come to see what's blooming and I hope to find my way back to this precious place.
Memorial day is about remembering people lost, and I do. But I also remember and cherish the times spent growing and cultivating and loving and laughing in my garden.
I cry for the flowers lost.
I cry for the flowers lost.
Happy Memorial Day and Happy Gardening
