home gardens bring joy – The Sonoma County Gazette

March 20 is the first day of spring and as I look out at my garden, I wonder at this growth of fresh life and I know I am not alone.

Sonoma County has around 500,000 people and about 200,000 dwellings. Of these, 140,000 are single family homes. Like many residents, we live in a house, and over the course of time, we’ve made it into a home. A big part of our home are the gardens, all of which are a bit beastly and beautiful in their own way.

When we first moved here, we inherited a yard which had seen better days. The once groomed gardens were overgrown with weeds, thorny brambles and wild brush. Its many footpaths were hard to navigate unless you were part goat. The property was wild and in desperate need of TLC. Over many years, through trial and error, we now have the grounds in a semi-manageable state thanks to the kind help of our diligent gardener.

Now that our gardens are mostly tame, there is a kind of exotic beauty in the space. Our plants are mostly not native. The previous owner filled it with plants not from these lands, and we have followed suit. The primary criterion for a new plant is that it survives with little or sporadic watering and thrive on inconsistent care. The grounds are filled with a wide variety of plants and flowers, including resilient Mexican sage, aromatic red roses which refuse to give up, and otherworldly proteas. As a nod to our local “Plant Magician” Luther Burbank, we have dozens and dozens of Shasta daisies. Their long, white petaled blooms stand in riots to brighten even the foggiest days.

Parallel to our home, there is a long horizontal footpath and bush — some 30 feet long. Hedge row is full of lively insects, butterflies and birds. Below the row is a small pond which is a welcome refuge for tree frogs, who serenade us through spring and into summer. Several years ago, we put in water lilies, which never bloomed until relatively recently. It was only when the pond was ignored that a burst of growth happened. The lilies sparked to life and graced us with their unreal, plastique shape and delicate hues.

One February, we planted azaleas and hellebores around the exquisite rhododendron tree and dubbed it our Valentine Garden. It is a bright and cheery burst of reds, cream and pinks. On one side yard are raised vegetable beds, and on the other side an experimental garden complete with a Hugel.

Overseeing all that grows here is a magnificent mother tree — a giant cypress in my neighbor’s yard. I have seen six grown men in the tree at the same time. She is the land’s primary guardian, and she protects the flora in our neighborhood. Surviving a multitude of storms, droughts and pest attacks for hundreds of years, this cypress has witnessed it all and stayed strong. When the winds rise and the rain whips, the pale green lace lichen hold onto her branches. Like me, they are just trying to weather the storm.

While I can’t protect all the flora, or eat sunlight and make oxygen, I can arc toward the light and absorb all the beauty that is becoming during this time of growth. Just think about the other 139,999 gardens and what they might have to offer. Quite possibly, each one is a nod to the marvels of nature. What a fine thought. Happy Spring.