My garden bolsters my need for constancy with its changing seasons, and reinforces my need for discipline in having to deal with nature’s superior and un obliging elements. It also satisfies a maddening obsession for adding complexity in having a fish pond which needs maintenance and protection form raccoons, using only rain water from a rain barrel which then requires a lot of lugging heavy water cans, and moving heavy potted house plants to catch the late season receding sun.
When there is no more frost, I leave the house more and more and enter the garden which itself is like a roofless house with small rooms connected by red bricks. Each room has a primary feature like the fish pond in mottled sun, the raised herb bed in the sunniest spot, the shaded sitting area where I can read, the table and chairs for eating, and a dark hosta field for my cats to hide in waiting for the birds to come to the bird bath. They never really catch any, nor am I ever really finished tending,