My mother’s garden in Portland
I am always amazed when arriving at the house, as long as it is summer, the garden is spectacular. Roses, fireweed, mums, lilies, rhododendron, and so many flowers I do not know, a riot of color greets the eye. Among the flowers less colorful, but no less beautiful plants, in particular an array of hostas fill every available corner. Then there are those plants chosen not for looks but for the produce, tomatoes, green beans, blueberries, potatoes, and several varieties of herbs. Every meal seems to feature a little something from the yard.
She is not alone… In the old Larelhurst neighborhood of Portland, the bar is set high. Every block hosts one or two gardens that you just have to stop and enjoy. These are streets that just invite slow walks on a warm summer’s eve.
The garden is a delight and at the same time makes me feel inadequate. My own yard comes nowhere close, the few flowers and fruit trees just do not measure up to this impressive product of the gardener’s art. I will just have to go a little further when I get home, perhaps another planting, another stone wall. I have a long ways to go.