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 A new blog to contain answers to prompts |
Since my old blog "Everyday Canvas "  became overfilled, here's a new one. This new blog item will continue answering prompts, the same as the old one. Cool water cascading to low ground
To spread good will and hope all around.  |
| Prompt: Write about your dream garden for your Blog entry today. -------- I am not sure, today, if I can dream of a fancy garden with winding paths and what not, but once, I had a garden I still dream about. I had it until I came down with severe and incurable plant and weed allergies, the worst being of ragweed that was totally incurable as the allergists claimed. The allergists also banned me from any garden work; therefore, soon after all that, we moved to Florida where, at the time, ragweed didn't exist. Once upon a time, however, when we lived in LI, NY, in the back of the house was its two-acre yard. I still dream of that backyard, inside which were seven apple trees, plus a couple of pear trees. Then, I fenced an open space for a rose garden in which I put in 55 bushes. Why 55? It just happened that way. I wasn't planning it. Some days, in spring and summer, after all the yard work was done, I'd go sit in the middle of the rose garden and read. Behind the rose garden on the same opening, I had fenced in another vegetable garden. My sons who were quite young, then, called it, "Mom's Victory Garden," after its bountiful produce, possibly because of a popular garden show on TV, at the time. Around the house were many tall oak and maple trees and it was really shady there. So, I put a hammock in between two adjacent trees and that became my fall place for resting while I watched the colors of autumn everywhere. Truth is, I don't know if this can be called a dream garden, but it was where I felt the happiest. The place was serene and the three sides of the backyard were separated from the neighbors' yards by thick bushes and trees. I think a dream garden is not only about plants. It is about memory and hope and sanctuary. That type of a garden lives and breathes as if it is human. The most famous gardens have grandeur, artistry, and vision. I am not sure if the ancient Hanging Gardens of Babylon truly existed or not, or if I would find the same serenity in a famous Japanese garden or even in Monet's garden, which I had found in my then backyard-garden. To me, that not so fancy and not professionally cultivated garden of mine's memory still feels as if a dream I once had. It was where I lived the beauty without any concern for displaying it. . |
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