In summer the song sings itself.

William Carlos Williams

IT’S FINALLY SUMMER with a vengeance here in the Pacific Northwest after a dark, drippy June. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t post last month because it would have just been another rant about the weather! True to form, summer arrived here right around the Fourth; what I think of as the zero-to-sixty kind of summer, which goes from overcast days that barely make it to 65 to temps in the 80s and even 90s seemingly overnight. Not much transition there—or enough of those 75-ish days I love that used to be the main feature of Northwest summers–to get you in the mood before it jumps up to 90.

But, here we are. And here’s what’s on my mind right now.

I’ve had a couple of experiences recently where wonderful people in my life were able to diagnose and normalize for me some unexpected negative feelings I was struggling with in two different areas of my life—and both times, I felt so relieved and grateful.

As I mentioned in my last post, I’ve recently had a new idea about how to link my work-in-progress, The Summerhouse, to the Elizabeth Blackspear Gardens in The Walled Garden. I’ve been cooking along with my writing this summer—until I hit Chapter 32, where my MC Emma and her BFF Isabel visit the Blackspear Gardens. And, BAM! the sense of fun and anticipation I’d been writing with suddenly died on the page—and I had no idea why. Fortunately, I only had a couple of weeks to struggle and mope and become convinced I was losing my mind until my monthly check-in call with my writing coach, Nancy.

My desk–complete with Serafina–scene of my recent meltdown

And Nancy was able to diagnose my malaise! The world of The Summerhouse feels malleable and still evolving, she said, whereas the world of The Walled Garden feels finished and has a lot of weight behind it. She likened it to kids playing happily until a grownup comes along and reminds them to play nicely which, of course, immediately kills the fun. It’s a now-you-have-to-play-by-the-rules feeling. And I thought, YES. I hate feeling like I have to play by the rules!

I was so relieved I almost wept.

The other situation involves my garden. There are many lovely things about it but it’s gradually becoming too much for me and my husband and the reality of our aging bodies to keep up with. At times, I feel so overwhelmed by it that I announce dramatically to Kurt that the only solution is to sell the house.

The jungle–aka the garden

In short, the garden’s a jungle.

A bunch of alien wild ferns have seeded themselves here, there and everywhere. They’re enchantingly lovely when they first unfurl their gentle fronds and I should harden my heart and yank them out right then in their tender green babyhood. But at that point in the season I’m so eager to see new growth that I never do—and then I pay the price later because they’re total thugs and they look so charming until they start blocking the plants I really want to see and then they start to turn brown, droop and die, and by then it is all MUCH TOO LATE.

The ferns, the ferns . . .

But it’s not just the ferns.

The biggest mistakes I’ve made in the garden are with things I’ve planted myself (thus creating my own future nightmares); the hardy geraniums—especially the pink ones which go from pretty to weedy practically overnight. Though I do love the purpley-blue ones, they’ve hit the floppy stage now where they topple over and block all the paths. The Japanese anemones, which are so delightful in late August and September, have crowded out two beloved roses—and I have to keep ripping them out so they don’t smother another rose I’ve been waiting three years to see bloom. I had a meltdown last weekend when I discovered a five-foot alder tree that had cleverly seeded itself behind the star magnolia, making it invisible to the casual eye. And don’t even get me started on the corner where I’m losing the garden to the wild because a lilac tree with its evil accomplices, the self-seeded anemones and a ridiculously abundant hosta, have all tumbled or crept over, completely blocking the path.

I haven’t even gotten to the wild salmonberries that took over the raspberry patch and the three Japanese maples that are pretty but in desperate need of pruning. When summer comes, I live for roses and since the first crop of roses is already bloomed out, I need to feed them to help produce a good second crop. But I never seem to find time because I don’t have a tool big enough to slash through everything that needs to be cut down, and when I look out my windows at the garden, all I can see is WORK.

Is it any wonder that I’ve been fantasizing lately about a small courtyard garden with a carefully chosen selection of plants in pristine and lovely pots?

And yet. And yet. The damson tree looks set to produce an abundant crop of plums, the star ingredient in my alcoholic antidote to winter, damson gin. The elderflower tree and a favorite hydrangea I’d given up for dead and cut to the ground both surprised me by coming back this year. And this morning, while I was watering my pots on the deck, a hummingbird suddenly zipped up and hovered close enough to touch, apparently attracted by the spray of water from my hose.

Which brings me to my dear gardening friend, Melody, and her words of deep wisdom that talked me off the gardening ledge. As we sat over tea and pink cakes in the garden on a recent hot afternoon, she said,

“Robin. In July, I hate my garden. In July, everyone hates their garden.”

The relief! With two sentences, she diagnosed and normalized my feelings. Her words gave me the energy and courage I need to keep blundering along with the mess I’ve made. So maybe we won’t have to put the house up for sale after all!

This week, anyway.

So, I’m grateful. Grateful for the wonderful people in my life and their wisdom. Grateful to be blessed with such “problems.” And grateful for summer, that season where the song sings itself.

I found an echo of those words recently in Psalm 19:

One day pours out its song to another

And one night unfolds knowledge to another.

I hope you’re enjoying summer’s songs!

 

Featured image: Hanna Plants, courtesy of unsplash.com 

All other photos my own