This is what my garden looked like this weekend. Wasn’t it beautiful and full of promise? Notice the past tense. That’s because Monday was a day that brought winds — serious winds — to our little corner of the world. I sat inside working with my stomach clenched, keeping myself from peeking outside until the windstorm was over. I feared that if I looked outside too early, some signs of life would give me hope — which would, of course, only be dashed by the continued barrage.
There’s nothing unusual about losing plants, of course — it’s part of the game. In fact, I planted a couple extra of a few things, thinking that at least one would make it. Failures = lessons. Now I know to restrain myself until later — at least mid-March — before I put plants out. Still, it hurts, especially for me as a non-veteran tender-hearted gardener. I feel I’ve let them down.
It’s early in the season, though. After a few days of evaluating the chances for recovery, we can make a list and plant again. It risks another round of heartbreak, of course, but that’s life.
P.S. Yes, that’s our little boy playing in the dirt in the second picture. Isn’t that awesome?