By Judy Ray
One of the things that makes home ownership worth it, makes it worth
dragging around that ball and chain that says "Paint Me!", "Give me a New
Roof!", is having my own piece of dirt. I have quite a large piece of
dirt right now, three quarters of an acre. Two thirds of it, around the
house, has been very nicely landscaped already; it's packed with aspens,
peonies, mature rhodies, azaleas, spring bulbs, a fountain, a vine maple,
and on both sides of the curving lawns, front and back, old growth
evergreens, even some holly.
The other third is more natural; a meadow ringed with fruit trees. The
grass gets too long back there, I only mow it about twice a year, and I
have dreams of planting a weeping willow in the middle, some lilacs (one
thing this property is missing), maybe even making a vegetable garden,
but I may not be here long enough to get all that done. In the meantime,
though, in the spaces in the flower beds, I can plant what I like;
moonflowers, morning glories and cleome. Nicotiana, white, scents the
night air, and the moonflowers will too. Cleome, on the other hand, has
no scent, but the most magical flowers. They bloom at the top of a
rather tall stem, almost 3 feet tall if they flourish, spidery flowers in
shades of lavender and pink. Lavender is the color of the rays of the
flower, the tips are pink. The first time I ever saw one I didn't know
what it was, but I knew I had to have some in my yard.
I've planted lilies too. Stargazer Lilies. They scent the air too. You
see, I have a covered patio. Wood cover, with glass skylights cut into
it, an aging cement floor painted sky blue, and a redwood picnic table
that my husband made for me for a birthday present two years before he
died. I have an old Mission oak rocker out there, with an aging leather
seat, and a director's chair that I use for a footrest. In the summer
evenings, I spend hours rocking. In the summer mornings, I take my
coffee out there, sit in my chair, write, gaze at the yard, get up now
and then to pull a few weeds, or just go out and lay on the grass in the
sun. But it's the balmy evenings that I prize the most.
I plant morning glories because they vine, because they have flowers in
so many different colors, because they're easy to grow and provide some
shield from the afternoon sun. They open their flowers in the morning
and day time, close them at night. But at night, the moonflowers open.
White, creamy white with a scent that can't be described. This year, I
not only planted them around the patio, but also out front. Planted
morning glories and moonflowers together by a corner of the house where,
if all goes right, they will twine around one of the windows of my
bedroom, and in the evenings, later, when I've come in for the night, as
I go to sleep, moonflowers will sing me to sleep.
Cleome. I haven't planted them yet this year, it's still a little early.
But I'll get some seeds and get them started any day now. Lots of
seeds, lots of cleome this year.
Summer in this valley is like summer no where else on earth. I've lived
here all my life. The older I get, the harder the winters are, even
though they're mild compared to lots of places. But days of grey, rain,
chill, get old, tiresome, can bring on the blues. Even winter soups
can't chase away those blues. But the blue sky of summer is worth it.
Blue skies, balmy
evenings, and morning glories, moonflowers and cleome.
Judy Ray
Judy Ray lives in Oregon, with three cats, Prodos, Ellwood and
Cirrus, a bassett hound, Oscar, and a 17 year old son, David. She's been
writing for about two years now, mostly poetry, though she tries her hand at
some prose now and then.
