Higgledy-Piggledy

This is my higgledy-piggledy garden-a what, you say? According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary higgledy-piggledy means in a confused, disordered or random manner. That's my garden, for sure, but I've done it this way on purpose.

For years I've wanted to be the type of gardener that finds pleasure and healing in working in the dirt, the person that gets lost in the plants and looks up to find darkness descending. That has been quite a struggle-too often gardening was merely a chore and more the idea of working in the yard, as we said in Texas. Weeding for fun? Not for me.

Until...I began to notice the flower gardens of a couple of my friends (Doug and Debbie, that's you). Each had a contained space which was a repository for cuttings and transplants from others, end-of-season annuals and perennials, and plants that would self-seed year after year. No formal borders, no graduated heights. In short, a beautiful higgledy-piggledy display.

I loved these gardens and when we moved to Maryland I asked Bill to dig up a space for one as a birthday gift. As you might imagine that is a lot to ask for, but two years ago my dear husband did just that. The first year was spent getting the soil ready, weeding, removing rocks and planting a big red rose bush that blooms all summer. At this point it was starting to feel like a chore, sadly.

And then the pandemic happened and I had time, lots of it. A neighbor gave me iris, I planted leftover Easter lilies from church, I went to garden centers and bought just what I liked with no thought of color scheme or blooming schedule. I began to be that person that goes out to weed for pleasure!

As you can see from the photo above it really does look a mess, but that's exactly how I want it. Most days in the late afternoon I spend some blissful time checking on it-trimming, weeding, watering, clipping blooms for a bouquet. I sit down in one of the blue chairs and just look.

Lately I've been thinking of my life in terms of higgledy-piggledy.  Director of Music at an Episcopal church, accompanist for a community chorale, spiritual director, retreat leader, devoted wife of 38 years, mother of dear Emily, Nana to 3 beloved grandchildren, daughter whose role is quickly changing, fortunate friend of many.  Sometimes I struggle to keep my life's garden watered, weeded and trimmed. And I wonder is it too full?

As far as the flower garden goes, though, Moxie is always there to help and here he is in the nasturtiums.