It's the time of year that women, particularly southerners, live for all winter long. Clutching pages torn from magazines, carrying color swatches, photographs, and sample books, we prepare for our mission. This all has to go down before Mother's Day, because everyone knows that all the good stuff is picked over before Mother's Day weekend. Of course.
I'm always armed with my husband's truck, as well as an old pair of clothes and flip-flops, because I need space to haul my purchases, and ease of movement. I take this job very seriously, as all well-bred women should.
Of course there will be the requisite ladies-who-lunch, resplendent in their Burberry trenches & Tod moccasins, lugging their Balenciaga totes, sunglasses perched artfully upon perfectly coiffed manes. I, however, shall grab my lunch at Pal's (Sauceburger with cheese, please!) and won't mind a bit when it spills on my bleach-stained yoga capris, and/or my favorite pink Piggly Wiggly t-shirt, the back of which reads, "I'm Big On The Pig." Word. Just keepin' it classy.
So I'm primed, I'm fueled, I'm properly outfitted, and I'm ready...
As soon as I enter the doors, the sights, sounds, and smells overwhelm me and it's all I can do to contain myself from breaking into song.
I come to the garden alone...
while the dew is still on the roses...
Yes, friends...for the next few weeks I will spend my afternoons digging in the dirt. Verbena and Angeliona and Hydrangea, oh my! I will purchase ferns from Kitten's Green Thumb in Jonesville, Virginia, because everyone who's anyone knows that Kitten (yes, that's her real name!) has the most beautiful ferns in the Tri-state area.
I'll also buy out Kitten's stock of hot pink Geraniums, too. As well as raspberry-hued Verbena, dark purple Angeliona, and hot pink Vinca.
I'm pretty much unstoppable at Kitten's Green Thumb. Nanny-nanny-boo-boo, you ladies-who-lunch. Shoulda got up from the table a little earlier.
Next I'll head to Evergreen Nursery in Kingsport, Tennessee, for purple Vinca. It's particularly lovely when paired near yellow Lantana. See?
Y'all know how I feel about The Mother Ship (more commonly known to some as
Sephora), so it should come as no surprise that I approach the beautification of my yard in much the same manner. Certain colors will always find purchase in this soil of mine (all shades of pinks, blues, and purples, with yellow for contrast and white as a "filler,") whereas no hint of orange will ever see light of day up in this piece.
Please. I was raised with a modicum of dignity and taste. I know better.
Years ago my grandmother--who never wore a pair of "britches" in her life, and would never dream of leaving her house without first circling her neck with either pearls, diamonds, gold, or a combination thereof--told me that gardening was something all southern women "just did." My favorite Aunt Doris would spend hours snipping, clipping, and pruning away at her azaleas and wisteria. And even my own mother taught me the difference between annuals and perennials, proper spacing, shade lovers, and which flowers could "take the heat." I never dreamed I'd be one of those women who'd find immense joy in spending week after week covered in dirt, caked in manure, (not my own!) and drenched in sweat.
I love every minute of it.
I feel as if I've earned my birthright...honored my heritage...accepted the legacy that was genetically disposed to me, courtesy of my Mississippi born and bred parents. While the rest of the world is digging the new spring fashions, I'm happy to be digging in the dirt. And rolling around in it, too. What else would one do while wearing a Piggly Wiggly t-shirt?
