Every day brings something new.

I’ve never been much of a morning person, unless you can define a “morning person” as someone who is exceedingly comfortable remaining in a morning state (i.e. snug in bed, nestled under soft blankets, positioned in an inexplicably-bizarre-yet-strangely-gratifying splayed-limb position) for as long as possible.

Or, you could deem me a lovestruck “mourning person”…one whose devoted heart gets oh-so-down at the thought of departing from my beloved pillow (with which I’ve tenderly bonded over 7+ hours through gentle pummeling and occasional one-way spit-swapping sessions).

Indeed, the morning and I have rarely met favorably in the traditional manner. The History of Me proves time and time again that my preferred sunrise encounters are all prefaced with a full agenda of nocturnal adventure.

But nowadays, the worm has begun to turn…yes, that worm is turning alright…turning into an early bird that catches…gasp…itself! It’s true! I have been catching myself actively trying to get up earlier. I have even been, dare I say it, going to bed earlier. Heresy! What would my moon-loving brethren, the owls, say? Have the morning larks roofied my bedside water to hasten my sleep-driven dawn? OH MY GARD(EN), WHAT IS GOING ON?!?!?!

The answer, my friends, is the allure of the garden.

One of the single-most compelling things about all this plant business is that something changes every day. A new bud might appear, a new bloom might emerge, a new plant might finally settle in, and it’s fascinating. Most mornings, especially when I’ve been up to backyard mischief the previous day, I wake up immediately wondering what might have happened overnight. It provides new incentive for me to drag myself out of bed, and rather than drag my crumpled, foggy, bleary-eyed self straight to the shower, I drag my crumpled, foggy, bleary-eyed self to the kitchen windows to check the morning status. I take attendance. I nod my head approvingly. I file away any concerns. I spend a moment in quiet reverie, reflecting that life itself is really quite like this garden, and that it’s not just in the backyard flower beds where something new and wondrous happens every day. Then I realize maybe I like gardens so much because they are beds (sweet, wonderful, dearest beds!) and no wonder I can finally be a morning person…and then I slap myself across the face a little and realize that I better hustle up and start chasing the day’s worms.

And so there you have it, the story of how this caretaker is slowly but surely becoming a true morning person. Every day brings something new, indeed.

Epilogue

If you’ve made it this far, you deserve some photos. I’m woefully behind on my non-existent (but very ambitious) posting schedule, so here’s a few from last week and I’ll try to catch up over the next few days! Enjoy and, until next time, take care!

Jethro Tull coreopsis, a MUST-HAVE for any self-respecting flute-playing gardeners. Little-known fact: it balances on one root.
Jethro Tull coreopsis, a MUST-HAVE for any self-respecting flute-playing gardeners. Little-known fact: it balances on one root.

 

The coreopsis in bloom! Note the "fluted" petals. (heeeeey...see what they did there?)
The coreopsis in bloom! Note the “fluted” petals. (heeeeey…see what they did there?)

 

Allium, or Flowering Onion, in its initial mystery state. I could only assume it would look like an Outback Bloomin' Onion.
Allium, or Flowering Onion, in a mystery state. I could only assume it would look like an Outback Bloomin’ Onion.

 

Mercifully, not present in my garden.

 

The true bloomin' onion: much less greasy, much more attractive.
The true bloomin’ onion: much less greasy, much more attractive.

 

The trumpet honeysuckle warms up for a not-too-distant performance. (Two little bugs are reserving seats early!)
The trumpet honeysuckle warms up for a not-too-distant performance. (Two little bugs are reserving seats early!)

 

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