moving the garden, or, look down and laugh

It's been a terrifically gloomy week, perfect for being outside and moving plants.



I love it.

My friend Dwight lives over in Dunsinane; I've been transplanting my garden to his property from the Birnam Wood house as I prepare to move.





I asked if I could put them on his property and he built this fantastic ark for my plants. I'm amazed and quite moved that he would go to so much trouble.






Taking down the clematis vine has always been a rite of autumn. This is the last time I'll take it down at the Birnam Wood house!

I have a good friend who writes a gardening blog in the DC area, and I can tell you a funny secret about her. When she was little she pronounced clematis "clitoris."





That's lamb's ear, lavender, sage, and something I can't identify, ready for the ride to Dwight's.





I planted most of the garden, my mother planted some, my father planted others. Some are gifts from friends. The one on top in the picture below was planted by my mother and I don't know what it is.





Is it baby's breath? One plant that I've been most concerned about is this miniature rosebush, given by a close friend of the family:





The woman who gave us this helped tend my mom in her illnesses, often staying at the house late into the night.





Insert your favorite quote from The Little Prince here:


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I have a neighbor I love, a fierce old liberal with a Willie Nelson style hippie look. He calls me babe. My own grandfathers were austere and stern so it feels like some glorious luxury to have this sweet old radical nearby.

I planted the periwinkle vine above because I'm obsessed with the color blue, but I told my neighbor I regretted it. One day when we're dead the people who live here will curse us for letting this vine run rampant over the hillside, I told him.

Then I'll look down and laugh, he said.