Can’t stop thinking of you. As the days tick closer to our reunion, I imagine running into your arms on that first warmish morning (me splashing coffee on my flannels–you with your winter bed head) both of us anxious to see what damage the deer, snow, ice, voles and various other assailants have done.

What yeoman’s work will we have ahead of us to get ready for the two garden tours I’ve committed us to in June? Sheesh, what the heck was I even thinking with all those gaping holes (that only grow larger in my mind) left over from our late-summer edit of the rampant Joe Pye Weed?

That said, I have a confession: I haven’t been completely loyal.

While we’ve been apart I’ve been seeing other gardens. Stop. I know it hurts, but it’s for your own good. Besides, I thought we had an open relationship? You know, where you and I agreed that you could seed wildly, while I visit other gardens and bring back new ideas so we can keep things fresh?

 

Don’t look so glum; our “arrangement” has always worked for us in the past. Think how I’ve allowed you to express yourself all these years with your crazy insistence for Verbena bonariensis. Do you think that’s easy on me? Pick-pick-picking new seedlings all summer long just to let you sow off your wild side?

What am I to do while you just lay around all winter? I admit, it started first with those naughty magazines–you know the glossy garden ones that make everyone of you and your friends look so dang good– but then, I got really desperate and turned to the Internet—yes, I said it, garden porn! I know that was not healthy—but it was mostly public displays of affection– big city botanic gardens and other showy high-maintenance types. I knew it was way wrong for us so I cut myself off and decided to sneak somewhere warm for a bit and clear my head.

It’s not like I was looking for it—it sort of just happened…

First I got hooked up with one lovely private garden, the next day another, then before I knew it there were several. But I’m telling you they didn’t mean anything. Besides, they’re not exactly my type—different zones altogether, strange habits—you know, how all those exotic tropicals are with a taste for the wild side of things? I’m not kidding, you should’ve seen how…forget it, I don’t want to make you jealous.

Here’s my point: I’m back home again and I’ve missed you madly. I keep looking out the kitchen window and pouring over  pictures of us as we were last summer. I have big plans for us—move this here, divide that there– you’ll see, it’ll be fun. We just need to get back to the way we were; back to when things were warm and sunny between us– then I’m sure everything will be fine again. Shhhh, nobody begins to compare to you. Stop crying. Go back to sleep. I love you.