The end of a dryspell

The beginning of May was a bustling time at Montrose. Plants tucked carefully into the greenhouses and cold frames for winter had to be put out in the fresh air. Ripening seeds from winter flowering plants (hellebores, cyclamen, primroses, snowdrops, Enemion biternatum, Anemone blanda, Hyacinthus orientalis, and others) had to be collected. But most of all, the garden had to be prepared for our first Spring Garden Open Day in three years.

We watched as buds swelled on the roses and poppies, trying to divine which weekend would offer the most splendor for our open day. When we finally set the date for May 21, we accelerated our efforts.  We organized and reorganized the nursery to offer as many choice plants for sale as possible.  We pruned, weeded, and spread mulch in each section of the garden.

While hurrying diligently through our spring tasks, we watched the skies for rain that never came. We began to worry that our show of May flowers would reflect the inadequate showers of this year’s April. Sure-bet storm predictions never materialized. The radar showed us rains that fell to our west, and then to our east, but never on the flowerbeds of Hillsborough. 

Nevertheless, the plants of Montrose extended their roots into our loamy soil, reaching what moisture there was. Digitalis, penstemon, nigella, verbascum, larkspur, poppies, and roses burst into bloom and held their flowers through a rainless heatwave. Garden Open Day itself was above ninety degrees, and though some of the gardeners wilted by the afternoon, the plants did not. 

The Monday following Garden Open Day, we came to Montrose with rested limbs and refreshed vision.  No longer occupied with worries over our human-scheduled event. We felt again the life of the garden unspooling its own, more trusty, calendar before us. We had plenty of work to do, but we let the garden, rather than our anxieties, prioritize our list of tasks.

As if to prove the universal rule of watched pots, the skies opened on Monday afternoon and all the water we had wanted came at once. Our copper rain pots filled and spilled over, a gulley opened in the gravel driveway, our clothes were soaked through. By morning, four inches of rain had fallen, and a section of the deer fence had been washed out. The garden dripped gold and green and we continued our work.