Morning has Broken

The dogs wake us up early. Often, I enjoy getting up at 5:30 or 6:00. It's cool then and I can take my
time, have a cup of tea, and slowly start my day. First things first, of course, the dogs need to be fed. Then I put on my sandals and go out for one of my many daily strolls through our garden. 

Our garden is on the wild side. It's a pollinator garden, meant to have only native plants, though a few non natives like mullein and Queen Anne's Lace have snuck in. I'm afraid I can't bring myself to pull either of them - Queen Anne's Lace is not considered invasive, anyway, and Mullein? It reminds me of my Colorado home.

My excuse for walking through the garden is I'm looking for various invasive plants - some, like oriental bittersweet which can strangle entire trees or multiflora rose which grows at an alarming rate and smothers out everything around it. For the most part, though, I've got these under control. I'm sure there are other invasives I need to watch for, but not everyday.

This is my time to observe and wonder. 

Morning has broken like the first morning

Blackbird has spoken like the first bird

Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the world

I've loved this song since hearing it for the first time when I was in high school, but I didn't fully understand it until we moved to New England.

Sweet the rain's new fall, sunlit from Heaven

Like the first dewfall on the first grass

Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden

Sprung in completeness where His feet pass

When I walk in the morning, the ground is soft and squishy. We mow the pathways, but mowing doesn't take away our lovely, soft carpet of creeping charlie, cinquefoil, and wood sorrel. My feet are soaked by the time I go in, not because it rained, but because there is dew! The growing has continued at a more reasonable pace now that it's summer, but spring was an explosion of growth everwhere! It's hard to explain how totally amazing this is to those who have always experienced this in the spring. It's even harder to explain this to our friends in the western part of the country where plants need to be gently coaxed into thriving in such a dry climate. 

To walk out in our garden in the spring is to see creation happening. Each day, there is something new. More birds singing. More plants springing up from the ground. Having a pollinator garden means letting go of preconceived ideas of how everything is going to look and where plants will be from year to year. This year, we have several boneset plants growing with the goldenrod and Echinacea has traveled to a few new places, sharing space with goldenrod and asters, partridge peas and wood sorrel, self-heal and broad leaf plantain. 

Even the names of the plants seem somehow magical - boneset, beardstongue, St John's wort, wild bergamot, golden alexander, whorled montain mint, rose milkweed, blue flag iris. 

We've had Eastern cottontails make their nest somewhere in the garden. They hid it well. A catbird often comes down and supervises my visits. Early on, when some of the old grass turned to thatch, prompting me to panic (that's not supposed to happen, is it?), I was comforted when I saw birds come and pull up the dry grass for their nests and search underneath for bugs. I've been saddened by the smaller number of bees and other pollinators this year. I hope it's just an off year and they will return healthier next spring. 

When we visit Colorado, I will find a place to walk and see wildflowers and plants there, too. Having spent my early years in Wyoming, I know how to look for life and beauty, even when it's not obvious, a skill I value now. What I have in my garden now is a place to rest. My mind clears. My whole body relaxes. We are stewards, but not the only ones. We share this task with the catbird and the cottontails... also groundhogs and skunks, opossums, and the occasional black bear. We share it with the bees, the black wasps, cabbage white butterflies, monarchs, frogs, and grasshoppers. 

It replenishes me and I feel like the spring. My desire to create goes a little off the charts, too, and I have about 10 craft projects in the works. Things are getting done, albeit in a scattered sort of way, because what I want to do most of the day is be in the garden - and just be. 

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God’s re-creation of the new day