Yesterday was “The Rapture,” a day someone predicted the world would end. Or was it the day the angels were supposed to arrive to whisk the good people to Heaven? Or God was coming for a final visit? I actually don’t know because the billboards I read weren’t big on the details. I know it didn’t happen around here. Did it happen where you live?
I spent yesterday working in my yard, cleaning up garden beds and planting a few new perennials: hollyhocks and veronica. I also transplanted heirloom poppy seedlings. The small miracle in my life is that I tossed heirloom poppy seeds out onto the soil surface weeks ago, we had another snowfall, the seeds actually germinated and I have more seedlings than I know what to do with; that’s a miracle because poppies are notoriously difficult to grow from seed! If you live nearby and would like a few miracle poppies for your garden, let me know.
We’ve had so much rain in Northern New Jersey that when my tree peonies bloomed, I couldn’t get a photo of them; it was raining steadily for days and the flowers turned to mush and fell to the ground, petal by petal. The pink tree peony, so very young and only about 16″ tall, pushed out one ruffly bloom, but what a bloom: It was the size of a dinner plate! That tiny tree pushed out a bloom larger than either of my two yellow tree peonies did. That, too, is a miracle.
Hour after hour I worked on the west side gardens, weeding, pruning and sprucing the beds up. It was soothing. It was hard work. It’s what I love to do. I was not a believer in The Rapture, but just in case (you know I’m a ‘planner,’ right?) I didn’t waste a minute of what might have been my last day on earth. If I left in a hurry I wanted to leave my little section of the world in good shape.