I like what I see. At the same time, I am looking toward the time – and not a long time, either – when the snows will disappear, witch hazel and Lenten rose will bloom.
And the paths will come back.
They’ve been gone for more than a week, disappeared under a heavy blanket of snow, leaving me with images of the way they were – and the way they will be.
I can see them through my mind’s eye, recalling where the stones are in some, how deep the gravel is in others, which rugs have become part of the earth in my garden of ornaments.
|Bluestone path mirrors garage roofline, makes cat seats.|
|Path from driveway to front door: fieldstone, river pebbles.|
|Front garden, from house to bridge.|
|Autumn, garden of doodads, U-shape path, rugs natural, manmade.|
|The herb garden.|
|Through the field, to the woods.|
In some ways, paths are as important to me as plants; they help define spaces, they provide texture, they get me from one place to another. Like sitting places, they are necessary.
I built these paths over the 10 years I've been building this garden. In deciding where the paths would go, I recalled the way my college, Southern Illinois University, created paths at the Edwardsville campus: Designers did not decide on paths' locations as the campus was built; they waited a year or two, noting routes students and faculty took from one building to another. That's where the paths were laid. Who knew I'd learn so much in college.