September charms and trinkets

The sapphires came from a Mining Matters silent auction, Rohan gave them to me for my 39th birthday. Always loved the dainty little blue bracelet, and thought of it as a lucky charm for no reason at all. Sapphires are September's birthstone, and I've always loved September.

The baby I miscarried in 2012 was due in September; Finn was born in September ...and lost in September. 

It was just a silly joke throughout my pregnancy..., to make it to September so our baby would have a sapphire birthstone. I don't like the August peridot ..and being married to a geologist, these things matter. Or, at least they used to. 

As a gardener, September is the month of harvest, of lushness in late summer plants; beginning deep in greens and ending washed in colour. With most leaves still hanging on to their branches, September trees are the best trees - even better than spring blossoms, I think anyway. It's an absolutely beautiful month. A combination of flip flop and warm sweater temperatures perfect for days in the sun and nights by the fire...

 ...That's what Finn experienced in his short life, sunny days and cozy nights. I'd say that makes me happy if it break my heart so painfully.

When Finn was born there was apparently a great scramble to get some baby boy charms for the Pandora bracelet Rohan had already - waiting for the right time to give it to me; which he did on the Friday after Finn was born (with day two postpartum hormones kicking in). He and Hannah enjoyed poking fun at my tears of boy joy, it being at the time a moment we would laugh about for years to come... ..how could I ever have imagined what those charms would come to mean. When Finn died, when he was taken out of my arms, I remember asking Hannah to take the bracelet off. I couldn't look at it...

I put if back on for his service and will never take it off again. The charms I wear are all for Finn.

Yesterday the little dragonfly bracelet I ordered inscribed with my little boy's name arrived and has been added to my wrist, falling near one of the little dragonflies that surrounds his hand-print tattooed on my arm.

I've ordered a number of lockets and charms with inscriptions, dragonflies, asters, sapphires, anything blue, his beautiful name... they dangle off his photos that hang around the house. I'm not sure I understand why these trinkets matter so much, but they're here and I want to see them and hold them. 

I want to see him, and hold him. 

Alejandra Ribera - I Want

dragonflies

We picked up this little pencil drawing of dragonflies on September 30th 2012 when we drove down to Lutsen and back exploring the artist studios open for the Crossing Borders Studio Tour. The drawing is by Betsy Bowen and is an original illustration from the book Hawk Ridge by Laura Erickson. I didn't know at the time where we would hang it, and for many months it lived propped up on the bookshelf in the living room. 

When I started decorating Finn's nursery it was a natural fit in the room, and thinking back it would have been the first thing I chose to hang on the wall (that and the giraffes playing in the pond painting)... 

September 30th 2013 was the first day I had to learn to live without my little boy. I didn't open my eyes.

~ 

It was some time in late summer, I was home alone, hot, hiding in the living room which seemed to be the coolest room in the house with very little, if any, direct sunlight with the fan blowing on me. I would bounce on the exercise ball while listening to satellite music streaming through the television... when Cradle Song (Holy Nazan) by Norma Winstone began to play I was mesmerized. I quickly downloaded the song and added it to my lullabies playlist. It was such soothing and beautiful music I listened to it repeatedly for the rest of my pregnancy to relax, fall asleep, and dream of holding my baby. When in labour it was the song I listened to most. I imagined these little pencil dragonflies fluttering around to the music...

I haven't been able to listen to the song since.

That is why there are dragonflies surrounding my two tattoos - ten in total for the day's Finn lived.

The Chinese characters came from Sarah (my acupuncturist - and very special friend). In the first few weeks home after losing Finn I was such a mess (obviously)... Sarah would come to the house to treat me, absolutely life saving sessions, not just for the needles but for her calming and healing energy. I'd fall into the deepest sleeps after being with her for an hour. When I told her I was getting Finn's footprint tattooed on my foot she told me about this acupuncture point - located on the dorsal aspect of the foot, between the fourth and fifth metatarsal bones - known as Zu (foot) Lin (to face forward, to arrive at, to overlook) Qi (tears, to weep, [silent tears]) 'Foot Overlooking Tears'

For how important Sarah has been on this journey to have a baby, and for how much she has helped me heal, it was really important to me to include her. The characters are in her handwriting (as best copied by Remy the tattoo artist) and will always bring me back to those early days when the grief was so deep. It's all part of me now.

I'm not ready to share my other tattoo yet. Someday...

the sunrise this morning

9:29 am

9:49:05 am

9:49:57 am

 9 January 2014

every day is a new challenge

I woke up with a bad feeling today. I've been feeling so numb and disconnected lately that it's been awhile since I woke up with that sinking feeling, that deep internal emptiness that comes with grief. Its one of those days I can't glance at Finn's photos on the wall without losing my breath and balance.

It's going to be one of those heavily medicated days.

Thank goodness for Marie and Fred - and Jenn for texting me this morning reminding me to have fun on our "double date" tonight. They're coming for dinner - our friends who share the same horrible living nightmare we do.The air is a little easier to breathe when they're around.
I remember very little of the first few days after Finn died - most of which just comes to me in flashes of images, faces, murmurs of voices, darkness. I remember noticing I was moved to another room when the light came from another direction, but I don't remember what I was seeing - if that makes any sense. The first voice that comes through is Marie's, holding me and saying, I'm so sorry this happened to you. I was so far away but I knew she knew where I was - even in that moment. I thought of her baby, Lily, who earned her baby angel wings when she was just eight days old. That was the first time I realized I was not alone.

Marie and I share the experience of holding our babies in our arms as they died. What a thing to share.

So many people have been thoughtful, generous, compassionate. Finn's death has brought a number of old friends closer, my circles have expanded and tighten around me - everybody wants to help take my pain away ...which of course no one can, but all the effort is so appreciated.
Which is why I find it hard to understand how in in the last week I have received two messages from people on Facebook with congratulations on our new baby - one was a comment on a photo where every other comment included some sort of 'so sorry for your loss' or 'thinking of you' ...I guess she didn't read ANYTHING on the page. Another came in the form of a private message today. A long congratulations message, with an "oh, did you move" along with liking a number of recent photos. Again, obviously this person did not bother to read anything on the page, or any comments of photos. Or pay attention to anything I've posted since JULY.
Now, I don't go around studying every bit of information on everyone's page - but I do pay attention. It's not that hard.

sigh

I've been shaking since I woke up. Had another meltdown over my camera. Let's hope today turns around.

the moon

8 January 2014

6:08 pm

How

Regina Spektor ..with butterflies for Ava

window bird

The house is too quiet today, well... was..    I'm now playing Regina Spektor's Don't Leave Me (Ne me quitte pas) on repeat hoping to kill the nasty earworms that echo so loudly though my head. From the time Finn died I've hear the worst songs in my head - like Bryan Adams' When a Man Loves a Woman over and over and over ..and I don't even like the song, would never listen to it. I've never understood - why that song? It plays like I'm sitting long in a gymnasium and it's playing on a record player in a far away corner. Creepy. I've tried everything to get rid of it - playing songs on repeat until I think I've absorbed enough of something else..., but the next day while I shower (always in the shower... why?!) there he is again, Bryan fucking Adams and that cheeseball song. I hate it. And I.Don't.Understand.It. 

Story of my life now..I don't understand much of anything anymore. I don't feel like the same person I was before Finn while at the same time feel like myself amplified - if that makes any sense. I feel bizarrely creative, full of ideas (mostly of things to "make for Finn" ...which I haven't yet decided is something unhealthy or just a natural need to keep "doing things for him"... ) so I've ordered a odd assortment of paper dragonflies, felting wool, and fabric (among other bits) ("Etsy" is our new word for "mail") and we'll just see what comes of it.

So far I've been completely useless at the things I used to do naturally - camera controls are still foreign to me; completely lost it the other morning when I couldn't get the shot of the tug leading in one of the last salties of the season. When 'the shot' appeared of the front page of the paper the next morning I lost it again. Something tells me I should just put down my camera for a while.

Watching the harbour activity has been a saving grace - I think both R and I agree. I can't deny the beauty I see all around me. As much as I miss Pearl I am grateful for this view, the light in this house, and the distraction of a constantly changing window view.

In the few days I had with Finn, in the few times we sat in our chair in his room I would talk to him while he nursed, tell him all about what I could see - all the boats in the harbour, tugs leading them around, the trains we see shuffling back and forth, planes coming in, all the activity in the park... I couldn't wait to play I Spy with him. Even the snow ploughs are interesting to watch as they clear High Street in a choreographed street dance early in the morning. A little boy would love watching this I think to myself as I stand alone in the window.

Finn's photo book

Click here to view this photo book larger

created using Shutterfly's photo books.

Finn's Giraffes

Finn's giraffe wall sconces, newly installed in an empty nursery.

We hadn't got to unpacking yet. His nursery was just in the process of being painted when he died. It was going to be identical to the nursery we put together for him on Pearl Street, the trim was done, and the walls were prepped. The ceiling was already blue waiting for the clouds. 

After we lost Finn I begged that all the baby stuff was taken out of the house and the nursery painted plain. Slowly recently I've been requesting some of his things back... the chair, the giraffe in the elephant chair, the pictures for the walls, and the sconces.

Rohan installed the giraffes on the boring-beige walls yesterday. 

We picked up the sconces from the border in early September, when I was 39 weeks pregnant with my precious Finn. I was so excited to see them for real after falling for them online (much bigger than I expected but that's okay). The ride to the border was uncomfortable, my belly was heavy, my legs were swollen, but I was blissfully happy and filled with anticipation of new life. I imagined all the nights I would be in the light of the giraffes looking into my baby's crib. 

I think I'm going to have the blue sky and clouds painted again. 

Finn 8

Sometimes I wonder if he was even real, was he really mine? He was in my arms for such a short time - born at 5:39 on Wednesday, September 18th and gone by 3:17 on September 29th (though he was recessutated and fought for for nearly another day, in my heart I knew he was gone when I found him). After he was born I said over and over that I couldn't believe he was mine. He was so beautiful, every little bit of him was perfect. 

It's impossible to try to accept that his perfect little body is gone now. He grew inside me for so long, he was part of me. I can't physically adjust to it, I can't emotionally understand. All those beautiful, perfect parts as ashes, some of which hang around my neck in a locket I'll never, ever let go of.

My precious baby boy. 

The photo of the photo above, on our dining room table after his service. It was taken in our room together for the first night sine he was born. It was Saturday evening, September 21st.

He was wrapped in his blue blanket (I'll keep it with me always) and wearing one of my favourite soft cotton hats - which I had thought was so small before he was born but it was actually way too big for his little newborn head.

At the moment of the photo I think we were both grateful to finally be together. He had been in the NICU since his birth on Wednesday in the late afternoon. I was so happy to have him there snuggled against my chest.

He spent most of the night either crying or nursing, and I think I got about two hours sleep; it was a real welcome to life with a newborn kind of nights. Not easy by any measure, but I was actually excited about it. 

I never really got to the point of the ugly sleep deprivation. He left too soon.

Finn 7

I remember this day, sitting in the same chair I'm in now by the fire. Finn slept against my heart between nursing sessions and nothing else mattered. I'd give anything to be back in this moment.

He was so content. I was so happy. I've remembered and cherished these moments from when Hannah was a baby and had been looking forward to the feeling of a baby sleeping on my chest again for so long.

How can he be gone? I don't understand. I don't understand. I don't understand. I miss him so much.

Finn 6

Yesterday I had so many words swirling through my mind, today - nothing. Blank. I can't even remember simple keyboard commands, or how to download the photos off my camera. It has taken me hours this morning to accomplish anything.

I stood on the doorstep trying to take a photo a photo of the sun rising. (Apparently I've also lost my ability to operate my camera. I stood there in the doorway as the sunrise began with my camera staring at the controls - I knew what I wanted to change but not how to do it.) 

Today's was the second sunrise I've seen since that last Saturday. 

I've been sleeping through them all, until yesterday.  

I know that had Finn not died 

I would be on that doorstep every morning 

with an infant in the Moby 

and a camera in my hands. 

I've imagined that image for a long time. 

Watching sunrises (and moon-rises) with Finn was something I was so looking forward to. There is so much to watch from his window - every window. I imagined playing I Spy with him, and told him so. In the few days we had together in our chair by the window I talked to him about all the things I could see - that he soon would, and how much fun the two of us were going to have watching the world go 'round before our eyes.

his hair
his precious precious hair
look at how perfect his little head is

"Finn watches freighters from the front door." was how I captioned this photo. Edie commented that I should take the same shot every year of his life - I thought that was such a great idea. I imagined so many years of sitting on the steps with him, watching cars go by eating popsicles.

My head is full of all these imagined moments; I think of all the things I was going to do with him and sink when reality reminds me he's gone... and I'll be doing these things without him. For so long the only thing I've imagined myself doing was being a new mom again - the walks we would be going on, the swim classes I had eagerly looked into in August, Kindermusic, and all the mommy and me activities ...not only all of those things, but the images of how I would be going about daily tasks with a young person again, and looking forward to simple things like having him in the swing in the middle of the kitchen while I cooked, or trying to take a shower when there's nobody else around. Doing these things now feels awkward ... it takes me a few seconds to realize why it feels awkward - again the sinking feeling sets in. It's that emptiness again. I miss him so incredibly much.

I was awake around three this morning. Couldn't sleep, head swirling with too many horrible images. Images I'm to be facing and dealing with, but hurt too much right now so I keep trying to cover them up with memories of Finn when he was alive, when he was home, when everything was so good. The painful memories haunt me in my sleep, wake me rattled, weak, disoriented. 

I've been having regular acupuncture sessions with Sarah since Finn's death which, as always, have been extremely helpful and healing. It's not just the needles but her compassion, friendship, gentleness, and calming presence. She's been working a lot on breathing, and how to use concentrated breaths to help pull me together when images and reality make me fall apart. I've been holding my breath - I catch myself doing it often, only realizing what I'm doing when my body suddenly gasps for air. I immediately think of Finn, his death, and I panic. Sarah's breathing techniques don't stop the breath holding from happening, but if I can get it together in time hopefully I can eventually learn to take a concentrated breath before the panic sets in.

I tried to breathe last night - just breathe.. I told myself to think of nothing but breathing. It's so much harder to do than it should be. 

I tried to think about nothing but my breaths and the steps I took on a walk yesterday, trying to tune my body, get some rhythm back. It was impossible. I probably looked drunk stumbling along the sidewalk. My postpartum body doesn't know how to sort itself out. My hips are still sore, shifting. My incision is still open and being packed every day by VON nurses and distracted me the whole time I walked. It hurt through it's numbness - kind of like all of me. I'm in a fog, I'm numb, I hurt.  

Finn 5

Of all the special knit hats I collected for Finn,

this was the only one he ever wore.

Nobody would have ever have seen this photo if he hadn't died.

I was just playing around with the hat and the backdrop,

seeing if I liked the two together. 

I was just preparing for a photo session, 

this was taken with my iPhone. 

I never even got to take a single photo of Finn with my camera.

I love looking at his little body,

the little wrinkles on his back,

his eyes open, him all curled up

still used to being inside me.

Finn 4

He was so alert and had such curious eyes. I loved watching his work to focus on things and look at me. I could feel him studying me. I wondered who he was going to become, what kinds of things he would like, what he would study, ...I could tell he would be an interesting person, intelligent, a thinker, involved.

Finn 3

I'm feeling such disbelief over what has happened that everything now seems like a dream, or a movie that I'm watching. I don't even think things sound right to me, like everything around me is being filtered through something. I'm a part of it but not at the same time. Every now and then reality hits and the pain washes over and through me just like it did when I was told he was going to die, that he was already gone. It's like somebody dumps a bucket of ice water over me but it washes over me internally, a hot/cold sensation. It hurts.

He was only six pounds two ounces at his first, and last, doctor visit when he was a week old. He was so little but I was still trying to memorize the so many little bits of him - I worry now that I won't remember, that I didn't have enough time, there aren't enough photos.

I remember commenting to Rohan about Finn's knees 

and how big they were 

and how I thought he was going to be tall. 

I can't believe he's gone. Sometimes I can't believe he was ever even real. Was the time with him all just a dream?
I'm so outside of myself right now. This can't be my life, this couldn't have happened.

We met with Hugh Walker yesterday - grief counselling. (I can't believe I'm going to grief counselling for my baby.) He talked about the absurd, and the impossibility of accepting the absurd as truth (I should go over the notes he sent us home with) and that things like this aren't meant to make sense so trying to understand it is pointless. I think I knew as soon as it happened that I would never reconcile this.
It was helpful yesterday, the session with Hugh. I have pretty much no recollection of what was said right now (helping me understand why he gave us the notes) but do know that what was said made sense - at a time when nothing is making sense to me.

The days and weeks following Finn's death are all a blur to me. I remember every second of his final hours, but after that it's all just jumbled. Now fuzzy.

It was the morning of his last day with us that I took the photos of his feet. It was more challenging than I expected to take photos of baby feet with an awake baby - he was kicking and stretching and I marveled at how familiar his movements were. I could remember him moving like that inside me. After having imagined those feet for so long, there they were kicking before my eyes. They were perfect.

Finn 2

I knew I would miss being pregnant before he was even born. I loved being pregnant - ailments and all discomfort aside, I loved it. I knew I would. I loved the feeling of a baby - a new little person with so many possibilities growing inside me, watching my belly grow, and documenting it all with almost daily belly shots.

Sometimes, now, I wish he was still inside me. I miss the anticipation and excitement. I miss feeling him move (Really move - I'm still having phantom feelings of him inside me. Perhaps they're real, just twinges as my postpartum body sorts itself out, trying to return to "normal"...).

I've been feeling really homesick for Pearl Street. I haven't been there since the early morning of September 18th, leaving in labour and thinking nothing of it - just of a new baby and a new house - a new life. Now I really miss the old everything. We have had some good times there - lots of them. Lots of difficult times too, but when I think of the house I think of over crowded tables with too much food (and wine?), lots of noise, lots of silence, beautiful evenings on the balcony, beautiful mornings on the balcony. I miss watching and waving to my neighbours - having Heather at arms reach, T and T's boys paying on the street, the playful sounds of the back lane ...my garden.
This house sort of lacks the neighbourhood feeling that Pearl Street had. My view now is great - can't beat it,  right(?), ..but I find myself longing for the familiar view of the street, the trees, the people nearby. I feel like everyone is so far away now with no sidewalk directly outside my door even though we purposely moved away from that, thinking the distance was better. It's really hard to say what's "better" sometimes.

I think I'm equating a lot of my homesickness with missing being pregnant. The memories that flash most through my head right now all have to do with being pregnant - everything from morning sickness and days on the couch with headaches to trying to induce labour by bouncing on the ball in the living room, decorating that incredible nursery, waddling out to the balcony (I can still smell the air from that balcony, feel it... that balcony was some kind of magical), bellyshots around the house and garden...  .

I have more memories of being pregnant with Finn than being with Finn. 

I think about it constantly now. 

So much happened in the time I was carrying him, life changed so drastically. I credited my pregnancy with saving me through the loss of my mother. As hard as it was to face having a baby without her, my baby gave me reason to take care of myself and not fall apart.
Sometimes, now, I wonder if she had to die so that she could be there (wherever there is) for Finn. I like to imagine them together - with my father too. Sometimes I picture Finn as a little boy between them holding their hands. I like to imagine him safe with her, learning from her. Were their lives and deaths somehow connected?

How completely unfair. My heart is so broken.

I think about all the places 

Finn and I 

went together while he was inside me. 

When I go out now I find myself remembering

"I was here with Finn"

"I walked this path with Finn"

and when I'm in my own world thinking 

I remember trips we went on - to Ottawa (and one of the first bellyshots on Parliament Hill)

and to Duluth, twice, to get the car we needed for our expanding family.
I think about all the places Finn and I went on my scooter (breaking my promise to my mother that I wouldn't ride while pregnant).

I so badly want to turn back time, have my belly back, have my baby back. 

The emptiness is painful and is going to slowly swallow me for the rest of my life.

The last bellyshot, 

taken the day before he was born 

during the final walk-through of the new house before closing:

Finn 1

I was instantly crazy in love with him. He was cuter than I could have ever imagined. 

He was perfect. 

I love this photo of him.

Our first skin to skin time.

Forty weeks plus five days of being together with him growing inside me, 

and this was the first time (finally) I got to see his face. 

It had felt like it was the longest wait. We've been waiting to see this face for four years.
After having miscarried twice, I worried the whole pregnancy that I would lose the baby; but he was here now - he was laying on my chest and he was healthy and beautiful.
(Obviously a whole new kind of worry sets in after a baby is born, but you don't usually let your wildest nightmare think those thoughts.) 

I remember squealing and crying, saying over and over again that I couldn't believe he was mine, ...he was so, so cute. His resemblance to his father is so present in this moment - he looks like a Millar boy - I had a little mini Rohan resting on me in this moment.

It was a long labour he and I had just gone through together. He didn't like it much (neither did I); so after just a few attempts at pushing and watching his heart rate drop on the monitor it was decided a cesarean would be best. I just wanted my baby in my arms alive.
He had swallowed meconium and was wrapped in his cord and was not permitted to cry when he was born - and act that undoubtedly saved his life. The only part I saw of him was his feet while Rohan was given the chance to announce our baby's gender, which he did by saying, "We have a Finn!"
I couldn't hear him or see him after that, it was just a blur of doctors after that hovering around Finn to the right of me, with Rohan still behind me by my head holding my hand, and a lot of disorientation (and the shakes) from the surgery I was still undergoing. I kept asking if he was okay, but even then I didn't think anything would go wrong. He was born.

The time spent in recovery is now a blur, and now seems like it was just a short time (I don't think it was). I remember Rohan and Hannah coming in, showing me photos of Finn, telling me how cute he was. Even Dr. G. took photos with her phone and showed me.

(Finn was in the NICU after his ordeal, and would spend the next three days in there recovering and balancing his sugars.) 

When they wheeled me in to see Finn for the first time I was ready with my iPhone (bride cam turned baby cam). This photo is one of the first photos I took of him. 

Morden Sunrise

27 June 2013

Watching Things Grow

The garden this morning: it looked good, everybody's growing, not over planted like in other years. I left the urge to go overboard for the baby's nursery.

John Davis (far left back against the back porch) is tall and lush. It's going to look incredible all covered in pink.

Peas, leeks, beets, carrots, kale & chard), beans, zucchini, cucumbers, Brussels sprout, tomatoes, hot peppers, garlic, herbs. I think that's it.

The west side garden is billowing over the walkway - exactly as I imagined. I still have some planter boxes & pots to fill, but it's all coming along nice. The Lophospermum that followed me home the other day is actually hanging on a hook the holds a ladder - not an actual plant hanger. I'm not sure where it will call home, but the best light for it (partial shade and either early or late sun, avoiding blazing heat) is along the west side, so somewhere along there it will live.

I filled the three tiered bucket containers with torenia and leaned it against the house, and it is quite happy there, so there it stays.

The baby's nursery, a room put together with well washed garden hands, is complete. I think I can finally say that. I've been dreaming of this room for three years. 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  I feel so at peace when I sit in the nursery chair (which swivels and glides, and is a little slice of down filled heaven). With eleven weeks to go I just want to sit here and enjoy being pregnant.

Dear Garden Diary,

Odd couples...

This mystery rose (adopted mislabelled last year) was thought to be dead earlier this season, but here it grows. Never one to give up on a plant too soon, I left its dead looking remains in place and planted the Thunbergia snug beside it. Now the two are happily (and quite vigorously) growing together. 

I'm extremely curious to see what colour the rose chooses to bloom. It was thought to be yellow, but bloomed a deep pinkish red instead. I can't even remember the breed-cultivar it was thought to be - but it certainly wasn't what I thought. I'm happy it survived.

In other yellow news, R chose a 'Lemon Boy' tomato on a recent rampage through the Vanderwees vegetables. We thought we were done adopting tomatoes, but apparently not. I planted it today in the large vegetable bed next to a zinnia. 

My baby belly is getting big (and dirty) now. Toes are disappearing. I have finally concluded that I'm not going to be able to keep up with our garden on my own this year. R loves the work, but is out of town too often - and has a very long honey-do list of other baby preparation things to accomplish on the few days he has off. So, I have decided to hire a gardener. 

Crazy! ...but necessary. There's so much weeding to do in every bed - especially around the junipers in the 'dog forest' ...I get exhausted just looking at it. I figure if someone can come in, weed it all and put down new mulch, I think I can handle the rest. 

I've also hired someone to build us a dog poop compost (oooo fun!), and someone to replace the sod in the middle of the yard...which will soon become a small play area for our baby. 

I have accomplished a lot myself this year, especially considering the belly. The front shade garden is looking good - I weeded that yesterday, and filled in some holes with a new Heuchera, another cranesbill geranium, and some blue lobelia to fill in the gaps. 

Everybody else is coming up nicely in shades of blues and purples, pale yellows, and lime green foliage.  

The west side garden is also looking lush and tended. Both vegetable beds are planted and relatively weed free... I've managed okay. 

I'm just daunted by the big perennial beds. The help will be so appreciated, and make all the difference.

Dear Garden Diary,

Rows are being planted... The photo above was taken a few days ago. The first row is peas - since then I've added bird netting to the poles for the pea tendrils to climb. The next row will be leeks, which I will bring home from the greenhouse soon. Next to that I've planted beets, then a double row of carrots. Beans run along the curve of the fence.

Peas and beans are in easy reach for dog treats. :)

The west side garden is coming up nicely. Geraniums are full, hostas are peeking through, irises are sturdy. This year I'm dotting pots of butter yellow petunias around to compliment the blues and pinks that are planted in abundance.

I've also added a "swan yellow & pink" Aquilegia to the west side beside the house. I'll never get enough of these dainty flowers.

In other garden news, Claire has found her way under the back steps (by stomping across newly planted lavender and osteospermum. It's hard to get mad at someone so cute.

R might be closing the steps sooner than expected. ;)

Morning Glory

I suspect I'll be taking a lot of photos of these morning glories this season. :)

sunshine, blue sky, and tree leaves

It's a beautiful day today, and with plenty of reasons to put my feet up I'll take this opportunity to enjoy the view from our backyard deck. 

ready, set...

Clifford wonders
why are there so many fences around me?

our vegetable garden
24 May 2013

Rows are ready, peas are in, next to be planted in the large bed: carrots, beets, leeks, kale, cucumbers, zucchini, beans; already up: asparagus. In the small bed: tomatoes & hot peppers. Herbs throughout. Perennials rising, containers sorting themselves out...

Middle "yard" still a mess, waiting for paving stones.