Perhaps it is the influence of my three sisters, but I have come to enjoy gardening. If you had told me when I was ten years old that I would do so, I would have denied it. My little garden overlooks the lake road and the lake itself, so I can sort of watch the world go by while I’m pulling weeds, dead-heading roses. It’s just big enough to require fairly regular attention while rewarding with different things emerging from April to October, and not too overwhelming to keep it looking respectable.
I’m particularly happy with my boxwoods, of which I planted three each in three corners of the garden, hoping they would, with my encouragement, take happily to be groomed into three little hedges. Much to my amazement, after three years this does seem to be working. I’m sure it has less to do with my pruning skills than the benign effects of my late sister Pat (who was something of an authority on boxwoods) smiling down on them from on high.
A garden has always interested me from the photographic perspective, as it is always different, always colorful, and offers many opportunities to move in close. The garden in this little show is Not My Garden, but rather tended by yet another sister, and I would never be so ambitious to attempt things at this scale. And so I photograph and dream.