An enchanted garden is what I really want. I want the vest pocket garden one glimpses from the sidewalk, tucked in a side or back yard.
In spring, daffodils, narcissus, cobalt blue grape hyacinth and then forget-me-nots crowd the fence. But it’s the last day of July, so daylilies — apricot ones — peek between the tidy white pickets. Russian sage, that tall feathery sweep of soft lavender blue flowers and grey green foliage, will be the backdrop.
Droning bees investigate the sage; their whispery humming is summer music. White coneflowers are tucked around the corner of the house, mostly unseen from the street. They, and the bright yellow raggedy-petaled coreopsis, lure butterflies: Monarchs, now that we’re tipping into August. Crocosmia, with narrow, strappy, bright green leaves, sport long-stemmed sprays of delicate, brilliant red flowers which sway lightly in the breeze. These flowers beckon hummingbirds. Two males, flashing their ruby gorgets squeak noisily in a furious, tiny battle over the flowers in their territory.
The crocosmia will be my secret, visible from my kitchen window, but not the street. The scarlet flowers dance over deep green parsley and chartreuse basil, those luscious, delicious greens. These greens do look a bit bedraggled. Planting them at the front of the bed means they’re reachable. Parsley makes tabouli sing — and what dish doesn’t benefit from basil? These plants are snipped, pinched and enjoyed, but they look as if they’ve had a haircut by a gleeful four year old.
As the afternoon wears on, the cicadas start their chorus — sparse sounds at first, reaching a crescendo at dusk in the warm moist evening. “Katy-dids,” my grandmother called them. “Six more weeks ‘til school,” she'd say.
