The mosquitoes are still very, very bad. As soon as I step outside, a horde of mosquitoes engulf me. It makes it difficult to enjoy going out for more than a quick dash. I feel like a hostage. We have had storms every day this week, and I’m sure that the soggy conditions are responsible for this plague. EJ and I are researching different natural repellents to see if any of them work. If nothing else, it will be an interesting experiment–real life testing and everything to see what repels and what doesn’t.
One thing I’d like to do is put up some bat houses. I used to hate bats, thinking they were ugly and scary–the stuff of nightmares. However, bats are one of the critters that I have grown quite fond of as I have learned more about them. I especially like that bats eat tons of mosquitoes. For that alone, they will have my undying gratitude. I am concerned that bat colonies are sickening and dying throughout the world. EJ, JJ, and I always pause in delight when we see a bat swooping and darting over our heads. Last year a bat got in our house, and we carefully caught it and released it outside.
I walked my dog Danny yesterday, but I tried to stay away from the long grass so he wouldn’t stir up the mosquitoes. The clouds were gorgeous. I took pictures. Later, as storms popped up, the clouds grew darker so I dashed outside and took some more pictures. I think clouds are beautiful works of abstract art.
I love storms. I love observing radar on weather sites on the Internet, which lets me track storms coming our way. I think I could have easily been a meteorologist (or archaeologist or psychologist) if I didn’t already have the life that I love. The only thing that I would like better than the life that I have would be a Hobbit house with a Secret Garden. The house would have a beautiful library inside, with floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases with dark, rich wood and comfy couches and chairs, with a reading nook under a window. And one of the bookcases would hide a secret room with a wardrobe in it that led to magical worlds….but short of that, I like the life I have.
We are expecting storms all week. Last night we got some dramatic storms, and when they began, my son begged, “Let’s go storm chasing!” EJ, our son, and I all love storms and pause to watch them when we can. So JJ and I drove around a bit, and admired the clouds and occasional flashes of lightning. JJ drove and told me that my job was to take pictures of the weather, but I had fun taking pictures of him, and hearing him exclaim, “NOT ME! You are SUPPOSED to take pictures of the storm!” The really dramatic storms didn’t begin until a few hours later, but we had fun.
I saw on radar this morning that more storms are coming our way across Lake Michigan, so I took my dog, Danny, out for his walk this morning before they arrive. Danny and I love our daily walks together. I love walking in the morning best, but often don’t find the time to walk until afternoon. This morning was perfect. It was just the right coolness, and the day was so new and fresh and beautiful.
The only thing that marred our wonderful morning walk is the mosquitoes. The rain has brought them out and they are awful! Whenever poor Danny stopped for any reason, clouds of mosquitoes landed on him, making him look like Charlie Brown’s friend, Pigpen:
They surrounded me too, and I was constantly shaking my head or slapping myself as they buzzed around and landed on me. I have itchy mosquito welts all over me–on my face, neck, arms. It was a macabre dance to a buzzing beat: Buzz, shake, slap, hop….
Why is it that when it’s beautiful, and warm, and perfect for a walk or working in the garden, the mosquitoes must come in? It’s impossible to enjoy a walk or a garden when you have to constantly slap mosquitoes. I hate mosquitoes. They have absolutely no benefit that I can see except to suck blood. The only thing worse than mosquitoes are ticks, which bury their heads in your flesh as they drink your blood, and can’t be easily brushed off or killed with a swat.
This morning, not long after I took today’s Daily Robin photograph, I looked out the window and saw a baby Robin on the edge of the nest. I grabbed my camera and went out on the front porch to watch. I received the thrilling experience of watching a baby Robin take his first peek at the world…his first steps…and his first flight. I was able to take pictures and capture it on video.
First, here is a slideshow of pictures of what I saw:
Here is a video I took of the baby Robin’s first look at the world.
This is the baby’s first flight. I was so thrilled that I actually captured it on video! I thought at first he was caught in the fence, but he eventually managed to fly off.
Now the nest is empty. I am going to go out later and empty the basket and then wait to see if any other birds build a nest in it.
What an awesome, thrilling experience. My son asked me if I was sad that the babies have flown off. I answered no–because it is what they are supposed to do. It is all part of the seasons of life. It is why I rescued the babies in the first place–to give them the opportunity to grow up and fly off. There would be something wrong if they did not mature, gain independence, leave their nest, and start their own families.
This experience brings up thoughts of my son, who has just graduated from high school. He is my fledgling, and is on the edge of his nest, looking out at the world, getting ready to fly off and live his own life. I am convinced of the rightness of the seasons and changes of life.
I am also pondering how often things that start out as tragedies end up being enriching, thrilling experiences.
I think gardens are excellent places to think tidbits of thought. I thought that today I’d share the tidbits of thought that I thought while I went about my day and my garden. I am cleverly calling them “thought-bits.”
Early this morning, EJ looked out our big living room window, the place where the baby robins fell when I unintentionally pulled down their nest, and he exclaimed, “There’s a baby Robin on the ground below the window!” I had read (after I pulled down the nest) that Robins typically lay 3 to 7 eggs, and I had wondered if there had been more than the two I had found and rescued, but I hadn’t been able to find any more babies. But then, it’s not easy to search when angry Robin parents are screeching and swooping, and I have discovered that baby Robins press their bodies low and stay very still when strangers approach. I put on EJ’s straw hat, a sweatshirt, and gloves for protection against angry, screeching Robin parents, and went out to search for baby number 3. I couldn’t find it, and think it must be hiding in the tangle of ground cover. The dead leaves and old bird nests are the very color of baby Robins, so I could have uncovered the bird and never seen it. It will probably be ok in the tangled ground cover, and apparently Papa and Mama Robin have been caring for the two in the hanging basket and this one on the ground. My respect for Robins has risen high as has their position on my list of birds I love, like geese. EJ, our son, and I love geese and always pause to watch them when they fly overhead. We always pause for wondrous sights, like geese flying or delicate spiderwebs.
We’ve always had a lot of cats. In the early years we let them go outside and since I didn’t want to lure birds to their deaths, this is the first time we’ve ever put up bird houses. It’s all a new experience for me. Everyone quotes cute little sayings about gardens and birdhouses, but they don’t warn strongly enough about the life and death drama that also exists in the garden. It sort of reminds me of the scene in the movie, Knight and Day, in which June is upset because Roy didn’t warn her that she was heading into danger when she inexplicably lost–and then regained–her seat on the plane. Roy said he DID warn her: “I said, “Sometimes things happen for a reason,” She replied emotionally,”That’s not a warning, Roy! That’s like a… a… a needlepoint expression or a bumper sticker! Next time try, ‘June, if you get on this plane, you will &%^@# DIE!’”
“If you put birdhouses and feeders up, YOU WILL BE A WITNESS TO EMOTIONAL LIFE AND DEATH DRAMA!”
I am not sure I am ready for the drama of the garden. I was sad when the sparrows kicked the house wrens out of the birdhouse and killed their eggs. And I feel responsible for the survival of the little baby Robins, since I had put them in danger in the first place.
But I have been thinking about what EJ said after I pulled down the nest and thought the baby Robins were dead. He said that life and death are part of the rhythm of life. And he is right. In life, there are sometimes sunny days, but there are also storms. It isn’t always day, there is also night. There is summer, but also winter. Sometimes people recover from sickness, but sometimes they don’t. Sometimes pain and tragedy comes, but it all has its season, its purpose, and through pain and tragedy can come growth and beauty. Like feeling horrified about accidentally pulling down a Robin nest, but then getting to enjoy a thrilling experience of observing the babies grow up.
As a wise man once wrote:There is a time for everything,
After I unsuccessfully tried to find the third baby Robin, EJ saw the Papa and Mama Robin eating the ripening cherries from our cherry trees. Apparently we have a Bird Bed & Breakfast–we nest them and feed them. So EJ went out to pick cherries before they all disappeared. I went out with him, but went out to the sidewalk instead of to the trees. “Aren’t you going to help?” EJ asked. “Not yet, I want to take pictures,” I replied. But I confess that I was really hoping to get dramatic video of the Papa and Mama Robin swooping and screeching at my husband so I could share it here and on Facebook. I was disappointed, though, because they didn’t do much more than chatter. Either they don’t see him as the Destroyer of Nests that I am, or the two of us together seemed too many to attack. So EJ and I picked cherries.
Later, I set up the hose in the gardens. We have garden all around our house and it’s quite a task moving a hose from place to place. So I have come up with an ingenious system. A few years ago, I stretched hoses into various parts of the yard and then I detached the hose I didn’t need and attached the hose I needed. But last year while I was aimlessly wandering around the hardware store while my husband searched for some doodad he needed, I discovered and bought a valve thingy that allows me to hook up four hoses leading to different parts of the yard. On some hoses, I also have a two-hose valve thingy so I can branch off the hoses again. With this system, I can easily turn on some hoses and turn off others, as needed. It actually works. I am quite proud of myself.
Today as I set out the sprinkler in my herb garden, I accidentally got sprayed in the face, but since it is so hot outside, it wasn’t a bad thing. Mostly it was just a surprise.
It is really hot and humid today. The weather app on my computer said earlier that it was 84 degrees but had a “realfeel of 96.” Everyone seems to think hot weather is a paradise, but I am a northern girl, and I love my northern state, and I melt when the temps rise too high. So I didn’t work outside much, but instead pitted cherries at the sink. Pitting cherries always makes me think of when I was a child. We had about four or five cherry trees and one year we must have had a bumper crop. We picked and picked cherries, and then a neighbor let us pick the cherries from his tree. (We had enough for my Mom to freeze 80 quarts.) Of course, after picking comes pitting–and we pitted and pitted. I was wearing a brand new matching shorts outfit for the first time and the cherry juice stained it horribly. So ever since then, whenever I am picking and/or pitting cherries, I always make sure I am wearing old clothes I don’t care about. I don’t especially like to pit cherries. There are some tasks I don’t particularly like to do, but I always try to find a way to make those tasks enjoyable. Today, I looked out my kitchen window and watched the sparrows at the birdhouse. I also watched fluffy clouds that will turn into storm clouds at some point. I love clouds.
I saw the Papa and Mama House Wren standing on the birdhouse as if they were considering buying it. They checked it all over, discussed it, peeked inside, and then realized it was occupied and flew off.
Over the last couple of years, EJ has planted several fruit trees throughout our yard. He has two dwarf Alberta Peach trees in his garden in the back yard, and five dwarf cherry trees of a couple different varieties throughout my part of the garden. This year they are loaded with fruit. The cherries are ripening now. One cherry tree is very close to the lilac bush where I have hung the basket of baby Robins. I am sort of wondering how we are going to pick the cherries without getting attacked by protective Papa and Mama Robin.
I have been taking pictures of the basket through the downstairs window. The pictures are not always very clear because of the glare and dirt on the window. (I haven’t yet washed the windows this year…I’ll get to it.) It’s fun watching the parents bring their babies food.
Yesterday evening, I went to an upstairs window overlooking the Robins to see if I could get an….um…bird’s eye view of them (pun intended). To my excitement, I could look right down into the nest. I opened the window and took pictures of them. I zoomed in on the basket, although it’s not always easy to distinguish between the lilac branches and the little birds.
Here are pictures of the birds from both downstairs and upstairs:
I was concerned about the nest yesterday because radar showed a large storm coming across Lake Michigan. I don’t know how the basket would fare in a stormy wind. However, the storm dissipated before it reached us, as it often does.
Switching my thoughts to the birdhouse outside my kitchen window: I occasionally see the father sparrow chirping on the birdhouse, but he flies away as soon as we get near. The other day he kept going to the entrance of the birdhouse, so I think there must be babies, but for the most part we see very little. I really miss the wrens, who would sit on or near the birdhouse and sing all day long.
I would prefer that the basket was in a better place–higher and not swinging so much–because I worry what will happen if a storm comes and the wind blows. I also wish I had been able to put mown grass in the basket for a more natural “nest.” However, I did the best I could yesterday to get them off the ground and away from the neighborhood cats and other predators as quickly as I could. I put the basket in a place with overhanging branches so it wouldn’t be too exposed, and away from the trunk of the lilacs so predators couldn’t easily access the nest.
I looked in the basket this morning to made sure the babies were ok, and I took a quick picture. I read this morning that baby birds leave the nest about 2 weeks after hatching, so if they can survive a few days more, they should make it.
I read that Robins usually lay 3-7 eggs. I only saw these two babies yesterday, but I went back to where they had fallen to see if I could find more. However, the Mama and Papa Robins get upset and swoop low over my head when I go outside, so I wasn’t able to look very long. My quick look didn’t reveal any more birds, either living or dead.
I must say that I am impressed with the Robins’ care and protection of their little ones. They guarded and tended their babies all day yesterday while they were on the ground before I realized they were still alive. The Papa flies to a branch between me and his young whenever I go outside and warns me away. And both parents swoop low over my head to drive me away when I come near.
Here is a closeup of the beautiful Papa Robin faithfully protecting his young:
Earlier I thought I had killed a nest of baby robins. Read about it here: Super Villain in the Garden.
But the story isn’t over.
This evening I looked out the window where I had seen the “dead” babies, and I saw that one was alive on the ground. So I went outside and I found TWO alive! I didn’t see any dead birds, so I think there were only two.
Our yard is not safe for baby birds on the ground because there are lots of cats in the neighborhood, including two of ours. So I picked up the babies (who opened their little mouths to be fed) and put them in a hanging basket with a towel in the bottom, and hung the basket from a lilac branch. I’m hoping the basket is high enough and doesn’t sway too much and the babies are warm enough, but the babies are safer there than on the ground. I thought about hanging them from a hanging basket hook high on the front porch, but I thought the basket would be too exposed and the lilac branch, though not perfect, has overhanging branches to offer them some protection. Maybe tomorrow I can find a better place–higher up and more secluded–but tonight I just wanted to get them in off the ground and where the parents could find them.
The parents were very upset with me when I got close to their babies, but I see them tending their babies in the basket. I’m so glad.
I sure hope the babies will be ok. I have a deep interest in them now, and I really want them to be ok. I won’t rest easy until I see them grow up and leave the nest.
My garden has way too much drama lately.
This morning I woke up eager to get outside. It is a beautiful morning: sunny, blue sky, and refreshingly cool. I made coffee, made breakfast, made potato salad so it would be cool for lunch, and got outside as quickly as I could.
I decided to pull down the trumpet vines that are swallowing the house. I know they attract hummingbirds, which I really enjoy, but they are like something in a scary science fiction movie–vines growing quickly and consuming everything in their path. They are everywhere in my yard. Everywhere. I constantly find long tangles of trumpet vines where there were none the day before. I constantly do epic battle with them. They are super villains and I am the superhero.
The only thing I like about trumpet vines is that in the fall, thousands of sparrows gather on them before they go…wherever they go. When we walk near the vines, thousands erupt from their hiding places–wave after wave–and they fly around for awhile before settling in the vines again. At night we can look out an upstairs window and see them sleeping. Pretty cool. So I have hesitated to pull down the vines in the fall (or anytime) because I love the sparrows and I don’t disturb them. In the winter I forget to pull them down because it’s snowy and cold–and who thinks of yard work in the winter? Not me. I think of cuddling in a blanket in front of the woodstove with a cat on my lap.
The trumpet vines are crawling over the house, and I am increasingly concerned they will damage it, so this morning I took loppers and I cut the bases of the vines, and then I pulled them, and large sections came raining to the ground. It was quite satisfying
But, suddenly, I heard frantic cries. I immediately released the vine I was pulling on, but it was too late. I had dislodged a nest of Robin babies, and they came falling to the ground…and died.
Please don’t send me comments about how stupid I was. I was and am utterly horrified. I didn’t know the Robin nest was there. I felt like a terrible godzilla in the garden. I went inside and cried. And cried some more, and soaked four or five paper towels with my tears. My husband was sort of amazed I was crying so much. There is a rhythm to life, he said, and life and death is part of the rhythm. Do you know how many birds die every day–sparrows stealing wrens’ nests and pushing out their eggs? And besides, there is nothing you can do to fix this, so you have to deal with it.
I know he is right, but I still feel like a monster, and I have no pleasure in my garden today. And, I told him, I’m not just crying about the baby Robins. The Robins just seem a part of a world that suffers: mothers who die of cancer leaving small children behind. Fathers who lose their job and can’t provide for their families. I read yesterday that a mother had encouraged her boyfriend to rape her little four-month-old baby. The baby died. In some countries, girls are executed because they were raped…while the rapist goes free.
I hate the death of the innocent. And I am sad that today I caused death.
And now, since I have already become a super villain in my garden, I will go and destroy the home world of the Red Ants.
Ok. Maybe not today.
(There is an update to this story at Baby Bird Rescue.)
Our driveway is wide, not long. We park our vehicles side-by-side, not one behind the other. About 2004, I decided to make another garden area by taking away some of the driveway. Since our yard has different levels separated by rock walls, I decided to use rocks to outline the garden. Our friend in the country let us have as many rocks as we wanted, so we got several pickup loads, and I positioned them in place. In the photo, a flower garden is in the foreground, and my husband and son are shoveling out the dirt into the new garden.
The flower garden is still there. The new garden has been a tomato garden and a strawberry garden, but for the last few years, it has been my herb garden. I use fresh herbs from the garden in the summer and dry herbs for winter use. I am growing chives, oregano, sage, basil, thyme, parsley, lovage, borage, fennel, garlic, catnip (for the cats), spearmint…and probably a few others I am not remembering right now. Oh, and I just saw lemon balm today, but lemon balm quickly spreads so I want to dig it out before it takes over the garden. I also am growing rhubarb, raspberries, and sunflowers at the back of the herb gardens. The picture I use for this blog (at the top of the page) shows my herb garden.
I love my herb garden. The only problem is the angry ants. They built their nest under the rocks where I enter the herb garden. Whenever I weed in that area, angry ants come swarming out. Even though I try to be very careful and I do not stand where they are swarming, within seconds I can feel their bites and look down and discover a dozen or so ants on my jeans and shirt. I do not know how they get on me so quickly. I then do the “Angry Ants Are Biting Me” Dance, which involves quick brushing-off movements and a few hops. These are not fire ants or the crazy ants that are invading the south and that eat electronics. However, their bites still pinch and itch. I think I am going to have to get rid of them because they prevent me from being able to work in my garden and I just read that they can be harmful to plants and pets. I am going to try the solutions I found at e-how.
Call me incredibly naive, but whenever I thought of having bird feeders in my garden, I imagined a very gentle, peaceful, idyllic scene. Something like this:
I didn’t know that the reality would be a heartbreaking turf war, filled with drama and death. I mean, I’ve read that birds fight for territory and sometimes steal nests and crush other birds’ eggs. However, when I’ve read about putting up birdhouses, it all seemed beautiful.
I couldn’t tell at first who had won the battle because I saw both the wrens and the sparrow on the bird house this morning. Later, though, my husband EJ saw the wrens eggs broken on the ground. Now I see only the sparrows at the bird house. So the sparrows won and the wrens lost not only their house, but also their unborn young.
When our son heard that the sparrows were now living in the house, he was upset and wanted to avenge their deaths. He is tender-hearted and wouldn’t intentionally hurt any animal, which is why he was upset that the sparrows had taken over the house and pushed out the wrens’ eggs. Even though I was sad, I told him to let the birds work it out. It’s part of the drama of life.
Even though I am not sure I am ready for this tragic life and death soap opera outside my window–for goodness sakes, life is stressful enough and all I wanted was to enjoy the miracle of birds nesting–I am searching for more birdhouses to put up. It is true that life is often a heartbreaking struggle, but the struggles still can’t silence the wonder and joy of life.
Still…I will try to find wren houses that larger birds can’t get into to.
This afternoon I looked out my kitchen window and thought that the bird in the birdhouse looked rather different. As I watched, the bird came out and I saw that it was a sparrow. It was trying to steal the wrens’ house! The wrens were very upset. I do not yet know the final outcome of this conflict.
I took a couple of short videos of the epic drama. The first video shows the birds more clearly. In my excitement, I accidentally identified the wren sitting on the fence as a sparrow.
This second video shows more of the drama, but it is not as clear as the first. I had zoomed in and the window screen prevented a sharp focus. You can hear how upset the poor wrens are.
I always thought having birdhouses and feeders would be a gentle, peacful thing. I never realized there was so much drama involved!
Last year my husband made a new pen for our dog, Danny. The new pen is bigger and shadier and it is made up of cattle panels so the breeze can get through on hot summer days. Not that Danny spends much time in it–he’s usually with us–but it’s there if he needs it.
EJ attached the cattle panels to long posts, which he intended to cut off even with the fencing, but we decided not to cut the posts off. Instead, we thought we’d put birdhouses on top.
Several weeks ago, EJ put up our first birdhouse. It is the only one we own so far. I am patiently and impatiently hoping to find more birdhouses at yard sales or thrift shops instead of buying them retail. Buying birdhouses is lower on our list of Things We Need to Buy, and we are frugal.
I asked EJ to put the birdhouse on the post just outside the kitchen window, positioned so we could watch the birds if any moved in.
A little more than a week ago, I was doing dishes and looking at the empty birdhouse. I know that it takes time for birds to discover new houses or feeders, but I was wondering if any bird would ever move in, or if the birdhouse would be merely an empty decoration.
Even as I was wondering, I suddenly saw a marvelous sight:
Here is a video I made of the little birds building their nest and singing their beautiful melodies, which we get to enjoy all day long. My cat, Yafah, is in the video watching the birds. She was very excited. The cats (especially the younger ones) were very interested in the birds at first, but they have gotten used to them and mostly ignore them now.
Now I REALLY can’t wait to find more birdhouses!
My husband likes to do companion gardening.
For anyone who might not know, companion gardening involves planting two or more plant species together in order to create a beneficial situation for both.
A number of different goals can be accomplished with companion planting. Some plants, like Marigolds, are offensive to insects, so they can be planted to repel insects that might damage a crop. Other plants, like Nasturtiums, attract insects, slugs, and other pests, luring them away from a more desirable crop.
You can also plant crops that grow and thrive together, such as corn, beans and squash. Corn provides a natural pole for bean vines to climb. Beans fix nitrogen on their roots, improving the overall fertility of the plot by providing nitrogen to the following year’s corn. Bean vines also help stabilize the corn plants, making them less vulnerable to blowing over in the wind. Shallow-rooted squash vines become a living mulch, shading emerging weeds and preventing soil moisture from evaporating, thereby improving the overall crops chances of survival in dry years. Spiny squash plants also help discourage predators from approaching the corn and beans. The large amount of crop residue from this planting combination can be incorporated back into the soil at the end of the season, to build up the organic matter and improve its structure.
I also do companion gardening in my garden areas, but my method is nontraditional. Rather than plant with compatible plants, my “companions” are four-legged animals who keep me company while I garden.
My most faithful garden companion over the years has been my cat, Rikki-Tikki-Tabby (Rikki, for short). He follows me around and often sits on or near me as I work. Many times I have to work one-handed because he will lightly “bite” me or grab my arm if I stop petting him so I pet him with one hand and garden with the other. This can make gardening a challenge, but is it beneficial to us both in that we enjoy each other’s company. What better way to enjoy a garden than to sit among pretty plants with a purring cat on my lap?
Tesla occasionally joins me, but not as often as Rikki does. Mostly she likes to hang out with us when we are sitting at our patio table on the front porch.
My third garden companion is my dog, Danny. Years ago, my son and I used to enjoy looking at the small animals in Soldan’s, a pet supply store in a nearby town. One day we went to Soldan’s while my husband shopped at a nearby hardware store. (Animals are more interesting than hardware.) We didn’t know that once a month or so, the local Animal Shelter brought in cats and dogs needing homes. Volunteers would let customers pick up and hold cats, or they’d walk dogs through the store–all in the hope of getting the pets adopted by soft-hearted people like us. Unaware that THIS was the day the Animal Shelter brought in pets, I was stooping down to look at the ferrets in a cage when a black head suddenly thrust into my lap. I gave the little dog lots of lovings before the volunteer pulled him away. As long as I was in the store, Danny kept finding me and pulling the volunteer over to me. So my husband secretly adopted him for me, figuring it was a match made in heaven. Danny is extremely devoted to me, and is never far from me. He cries if he can’t be near me.
I also do indirect companion gardening. Rikki and Tesla are indoor/outdoor cats, but most of our cats are not allowed outside. They are indoors cats only. However, they also loved to be near us, so they will sit in whatever windows are nearest and watch while we work. The cat in the window in the picture below is Timmy.
While I think the traditional method of Companion Gardening is a very good thing, I must say that I prefer my nontraditional method best. But that’s just me.
When my son was little, we had more grassy lawn, but there were some parts of the yard that he never played in, so we turned them into garden. Gradually, we turned more and more of our yard into garden and now we have lots to weed and very little to mow.
My husband (EJ) and I have our own gardens that we each claim as “mine.” Of course, there is some overlap–I help him care for his garden, especially when his back is hurting, and I let him plant things in my parts of the gardens if he wants. Basically, what makes them “his” or “mine” is who has creative control over that part of the garden.
I love that my husband and I are compatible and work well together, while also giving each other creative independence. This is true both inside and outside the house. If one of us has a strong “vision” for a room or part of the yard, the other gives that one creative control. We give each other advice or suggestions or help, but the one who has creative control has the final say. We always end up liking what the other one is doing, even though we might have some misgivings at first.
We have different goals, philosophy, and methods of gardening. Although I like a wilder garden, I also like beauty so I garden with a desire to make my garden look nice. My garden areas are those seen by people driving or walking by. Most of my garden areas are shady so I have planted hostas, ferns, astilbe, lilies of the valley, various ground covers, and other shade-loving plants there. I am able to get a few plants to grow that prefer more sun–like roses and day lilies. I have a sunny place, in which I have planted sunflowers and herbs.
My husband has creative control over the back yard, which is sunnier. He prefers to grow veggies, fruits, and berries, most of which need more sun. He cares more about function than form and loves to “re-purpose.” He will plant stuff wherever they get the necessary conditions, even if it looks like an odd place to put them. He will put up old pieces of wire or fencing to protect or help the tender plants climb, even if they aren’t “pretty.” He makes container gardens using tubs or rotting logs and likes to do “companion gardening,” pairing compatible plants together.
Although we have “His” and “Mine” gardens and our gardening approach is different in some ways, we each appreciate and enjoy the other’s differences and garden areas. And, really, we see the whole yard as “Ours.”
When I was younger, I was sort of a perfectionist, very concerned about doing things “right.” I would feel bad if someone who “knew better” told me I was doing something the wrong way. I have become less of a perfectionist over the years. Experience has taught me that it’s an joyless burden trying to please everyone all the time.