I went foraging in my own backyard this week for plants to move into more featured spaces to be better enjoyed.
It’s fun—this slow discovering of what’s already here. It’s a bit botanical archaeology. I’m finding hints and traces of what Mrs. Sandra built over 30 years here.
I’ll find a fledgling hosta here, a fern there. A few stray hellebores. Some lillies that must’ve been planted before the trees grew so large and are holding onto their dignity long past after ideal conditions abandoned them.
A note on the hellebores: The solo ones are easy to move; the naturalized ones I found in the woods were NOT.
They must have vast, old interconnected root systems because those babies fought me until I gave up. I won’t try that again. Even with my hori hori knife (get yourself one of those), they bested me.
I did manage to rescue the largest hellebore I’ve ever seen from the azalea that was somehow growing through it. I just chopped up the azalea. Problem solved.
I finally remembered to order bulbs. Siena helped me pick out some narcissus and crocus that we plan to plant on Sunday in places they can naturalize closer to the woods and draw us outside before winter takes its leave.
This is the time of year when the work you do looks like nothing, and the garden grows in your imagination only.