This morning I found myself, on hands and knees, installing stepping stones for a crushed shell walkway through my newly planted Bromeliad garden. It occurred to me – I had never done anything like this before, much less while wearing black socks and obnoxious red sneakers. Black socks are better if you tend to run around with the greyhounds without shoes, fashion notwithstanding. I have, really and truly, gone native. My polite mother, in the great beyond, is laughing. She knew it would come to this. My walk, under construction.
The orange flags mark the stepping stones and the black fabric, hopefully cuts the prolific weeds down – there is black plastic edging on both sides to hold the crushed shells in place. The Bromeliad garden is a green, pink, silver and purple garden with Shell Ginger and Pink Dombeya as a background.
A close up of my entirely native vase:
The blue stems are Blue Porterweed, ( Stachytarpheta-jamaicensis), orangey flowers, Firebush (Hamelia Patens and friends); yellow daisies are Beach Sunflowers (helianthus debilis) . The vase, a thrift store find, undoubtedly made by a foreign potter and left behind in Florida.
All plants in the vase are native.
Me, not so much. Our county enthusiastically endorsed our current president. My husband and I attended our local “March for our Lives” organized by the kids from our local school system in support of the kids from Parkland (about 80 miles south-where 17 were murdered at school in February) to protest gun violence in the US.
Standing, watching the crowd gather – I noted the crowd was oddly reminiscent of gardeners – an amazing cross section of humanity, old, young, all sizes and colors with a common interest. Not saving flowers of the garden, but flowers of another kind, human.
Our local flowers are nothing short of amazing. One teenaged girl, tasked to sing the Star Spangled Banner, cried through most of her performance and we did as well. The balance of the speakers, mostly high school students, put the politicians on the podium to shame.