Sand

Leaves in various states of decay had accumulated on the surface. I brushed them away and thrust the shovel into the brown earth between the daylilies. They had bloomed once, in their youth, but they had long since exhausted the nutrients in the soil. Shallowly rooted, they relinquished their lives with little resistance.

Beneath the lilies was sand, gray and dry with a gloss of quartz. The spade sliced easily through the soil. Loose sand slid from the spade back into the hole, where it was shoveled out once again.

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Deep in the sand were objects lost long ago -- four orange bricks, two large chunks of soft stone, and thin pieces of fencing, perfectly preserved. Digging deeper, the shovel struck clay, compressed and compacted, a primordial slab.

The tool slammed into the clay, like steel to bone, but the core did not yield.

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Love

She watches every move. Even now, curled in a ball, snoring lightly, she senses me. I turn my head toward her and she opens her eyes slowly. I stand and walk softly to the door. She rises sluggioshly to follow at my heel. She sighs deeply.

I often invite her to help me in the garden, but she prefers the controlled temperatures and cushioned surfaces of the house. If I slip outside, she moans and whines. As I work throughout the garden, she follows my movements from inside the house, running from window to window, hoping to catch a glimpse.

She only has eyes for her love, but if she could see beyond, here's what she would find:

These intricate flowers look exotic, but the passion vine (Passiflora incarnata) is native to Piedmont NC.

I removed the butterfly bush this spring and exposed these purple coneflowers (Echinacea purpurea) to more sun. In celebration, they put on a big show.

Hummingbirds love the red blooms of Monarda didyma. I do too, except for its tendency to flop. This year, the blue Brazilian sage (Salvia guaranitica) offers its support.

Hemerocallis 'Baltimore Oriole' is near the end of its season.

I planted this button bush (Cephalanthus occidentalis) in 2003 and it bloomed for the first time this year. Button bush likes a damp spot and this spring, there was ample rain.

The prettiest flower of all.

Reading garden

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Across the hall from our new library at Duke is a new, but rarely-used, terrace. On the North side of the building, the terrace is on the second floor and overlooks a remnant of woods. Four enormous glasscrete containers dominate the space, each with a single coralbark maple in the center. Tables and chairs are scattered about the terrace.

For several months, few people went outdoors to enjoy the fresh air, the new furniture or the coralbark maples, except a few smokers who used the containers as ashtrays. Last month, I asked the administration if I could buy some additional plants and warm up the space. They agreed and I started experimenting with building a reading garden, where students can read or study or meet in small groups.

The terrace is surrounded by glass walls. I used hostas, heucheras and ferns in this shady area. These plants can be seen from inside the building and the low profile does not obstruct the view to the rest of the garden. Hostas with thin blue leaves burned in the morning sunlight, so next year, they will be replaced by thick waxy leaved hostas and heucheras.

Along the far edge of the reading garden, I experimented with plants to attract hummingbirds, including lantana, pentas, salvia and petunia. I created four containers and these are growing so vigorously, I wish I had bought more.

The glasscrete containers in the center of the garden were planted with scented geraniums, trailing vinca and sweetpotato vine that will eventually trail over the side to cut down on the glare from the planters.

Almost immediately, people started using the new reading garden. No one smokes there now. A co-worker told me that the smaller containers were out of scale for the large space. That is true, but they are removed at the end of each season, so they must be portable. I need to create more mass without creating more weight.

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Pssst

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Did you hear something?

It's Lisa's birthday!!

Hope it is a happy one, sweet girl.

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Kiawah

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For your birthday, I wish we could spend the day at Kiawah.

In the morning, we would wake early to walk to the beach while the air is cool. Along the surf, sandpipers dart in and out of the water as we search for sanddollars and seashells. The gray-blue ocean stretches on forever.

In the afternoon, we stay indoors to escape the heat. We talk or read or nap in air-conditioned comfort. Hours later, the sky darkens and we hear thunder. The rain cools the sultry air and in the evening, we venture out again to window shop at the Straw Market.

Time goes on forever in an ocean paradise. I wish we had that time again at Kiawah.

June bug

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Once we lived in the same house, you and I, with more than a dozen others. Now we live in separate homes 600 miles apart.

Despite the crowds and miles and years, I often think of you in June, your warm and welcoming style, your quick smile and ready laugh.

I think of you in my garden.

The hostas in your garden on Tristam were magnificent. 'T-Rex' is a new hosta in my garden this year. The blooms are tall and strong but the folliage is no comparison to your 'Gold Standard.'

Orange dayliles and blue stokes aster seem to smile in a rare sunny spot in my garden. Opposite colors often make lovely combinations.

Common milkweed loves to travel and welcomes visitors of all kinds. In June, milkweed buzzes with bees on every sunny day. In autumn, monarch butterfly caterpillars use the foliage for food.

Chipmunks love to dine on lily bulbs. These have escaped notice, so far. These lilies bloom every year on your birthday.

I wish you a very happy birthday and a year of abundant beauty.

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Intolerable cruelty

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While deadheading the columbine, I noticed a brown caterpillar clinging to a stem, it's body covered by the pupae of parasitic wasps. The caterpillar was motionless, past its misery, mercifully.

At dusk, I noticed a young bird sitting quietly in the neighbor's grass. He was a big fellow with black feathers and hooked beak. I watched and listened for his mother but he was alone. The next morning, the bird lay on his side, motionless. An ant crawled up his leg.

Nature can be so cruel.


When I looked today, the bird was a handful of black feathers tossed among clumps of green turf. That silent trace will be completely erased on the next mowing with the John Deere.