Wandering the Gardens in my Mind

My needle moved back and forth through the fabric a few days ago as I watched this quilt come to life beneath my fingers while the rain beat against the windows in my sewing room.  The rain this spring has kept me inside day after cloudy day which has been beneficial to my quilting projects but has been a huge hindrance to getting outside to work in my yard.  There is still more mulch to be put down and flowerpots sit empty around the yard, and still it rains.  This spring we were unable to take our usual trip down south in April and I found myself yearning for the colors and scents of the southern spring gardens.

I thought of the clear mountain streams in the Smoky Mountains and imagined that DH and I were once again standing on the rocks mid stream, listening to the river gurgle and splash past our feet.  I wanted to look up into the canopy of trees and know that I was just a little speck in their greatness.

Last spring we spent a week in Key West and I fell in love with the exotic flowers, the beautiful twisted trees and the lovely beaches.  As I threaded another needle I again felt the tropical sun warming my shoulders as we walked toward the Hemingway house.

Beginning to feel a little sorry for myself, I could easily imagine walking down the sweltering sweets of Charleston, SC taking pictures of gardens and homes along the way, each one more lavish than the one before.  I breathed deeply and remembered the scent of confederate jasmine that climbed on trellis and fencepost.  I heard bicycle bells ring as tourists wove their rented bikes past us along the sidewalk.  And then I realized it was quiet outside.  The rain had stopped and there was before me through the window, not a magazine worthy Charleston garden, but my own little garden.

 My climbing roses are starting to bloom.

 The hostas are thriving in spite of a hard and impossibly long winter.

 And when I came home from work tonight these roses in the front yard greeted me.

My garden might not be the exotic, brightly colored gardens of Key West, or a planned and perfect Charleston landscape.  There is definitely nothing majestic about it like the rivers and trees of the Smokies, but it is mine and when I am gone I will have left something of myself here, as well as this quilt that lays on my lap.  And I realize how truly blessed that I am.