Green Acre: The Last Garden
The Cavanaugh backyard, a shady paradise. / Photo by Stephanie Cavanaugh.
By Stephanie Cavanaugh
WELL, I THOUGHT, I could write about gardening.
That was in June of 2016, when I was searching for a perch at Bird, and fashion, and food, health, and design had already been claimed. That was 504 columns ago. At an average of 700 words per story, that would be 352,800 words. That’s longer than any Stephen King novel except for The Stand.
I don’t know about you, but I’m impressed.
Returning to the subject at hand: Sure, I thought, I have a garden and I’ve been planting and tending it for more than 30 years, though not always successfully.
There was the blight of the apricot tree (not my fault, it came with the house) that was replaced by the kwanzan cherry, whose massive canopy accounts for our lack of zinnias and sad roses.
I do adore invasives and have warned you and warned you—even while planting them myself. Wisteria is really irresistible. Oh, the scent. And honeysuckle, trumpet vine, and autumn clematis—which I did not plant, by the way; some seeds blew by from somewhere and said to theirselves: What a nice place to live. Loving that garage roof.
I’ve done battle with postal-persons tramping across the front garden, careless dog owners, raccoons sleeping on the back-porch sofa, a family of opossums, mice, bugs, and feral cats.
There was the, alas, temporary joy of my little greenhouse, where I could overwinter the jasmine, orange, lemon, and flowering tropicals like hibiscus that I can’t live without. Built on a porch next to my office, home to my parakeets who flitted about cage free, it was my little slice of paradise. The scent on a sunny winter day was enough to put me in a coma.
Permanent is the pleasure I take in our five window boxes, which change with the seasons, fancy with bows and lights at the holidays, spring and fall bulbs and pansies, and flowery summers. The occasional fabulous fake.
I’ve learned a great deal over the years, such as that potatoes can actually grow on those frilly potato vines we plant as ornamentals. I had one once. You can also cut up a sprouted potato, plant the bits and create a leafy border, for nearly nothing. And avocados? Did you know they grow on those plants you grow from pits? This has never happened for me, but it’s apparently so.
The column has forced me to stay on top of the weeding and mulching, feeding and pruning. Ordering bulbs and falling for new plants. When I say me, I do mean me and My Prince, who digs the (deep) holes, schleps mulch and dirt, and often takes over the unpleasant work, particularly the clean-up, when I’m having the vapors and must lie on the porch sofa like a sleepy raccoon—but with wine and a book.
Now we’re done, this is my final column. Editors Nancy McKeon and Janet Kelly will be working on Grownup Girl Fashion on the Substack platform, following style and beauty trends. I might contribute something, though I’ve been cautioned about mentioning peacock feathers.
What is life without peacock feathers? Shall we find out?
Total word count, 505 columns: 353,321.
While mylittlebird.com is finished, it still exists on line. For more of my stuff - I faint at the thought of transferring it all to here, just search the site under my name....
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