There’s nothing like a garden to help us build the “change” muscle. I pulled out the garden map the sellers gave me when I bought the house four years ago, and so much was different.
Several “beauties” of their era, including an autumn clematis and a climbing hydrangea, had died. I had taken down a service berry tree that had outgrown its spot and given giant hostas a green light to get even larger. The false indigo, once at the edge of a bed, was now hiding under the growing branches of an Alaskan cedar.
Gone was the prairie grass that had taken over the back bed and in its place was a flowering cherry and a stand of shasta daisies. Gone was the perennial ground cover that was a pain to cut back and in its place were some coleus. Next week, say goodbye to the invasive English ivy, which has had the audacity to creep through the walls of porch, garage and basement.
Through it all, only the little statue of Buddha remains placid and unflinching – a reminder that change is inevitable and sometimes even an improvement.
