Clear and Cold

It's frosty out again tonight. There was ice on the windshield this morning, and the leaves of the last tomato holdout are a little crispy, but nothing was done in. Tomorrow, though, might be another story. I have a collection of geraniums in need of new housing, and an Abutilon hybrid that's going to spend the winter in 7th grade. There's a Highbush Cranberry that's spent way too long in a pot on the front step; I wish I knew where I wanted to plant it.

I enjoy having a garden, I like buying plants, I like spending time in the garden, but it's not so easy. With fabric I can buy the pretties now, and use them someday. A plant, like anything else alive, needs care. NOW. And NOW is not always when I have time to give that care. So my garden has become, sort of, my plant stash. I buy what catches my eye when I see it, if I can afford it, and I plop it. Usually in the garden, sometimes in the pot on the step. And like the bags of fabric I sometimes forget to unpack, sometimes I forget my plants.

Pulling out the tomato plants a few weekends ago, I found the grower's pack of marigolds that were supposed to keep the nematodes away. Oops. Moving things up under the roofline to keep Jack's frosty fingers off them, I realized that Cranberry isn't going to forgive me forever. If I can't find the right spot, then I'll have to plant it in the wrong spot for the time being. Maybe the wrong spot IS the right spot,and I won't know until I realize just how perfect that plant looks there. Or maybe it really is wrong. And like the striped red "perfect" fabric that ended up being absolutely wrong, I'll undo it, and I'll try again. I'll get it right at some point.