Trumpet vine (native)
with ruby-throated
hummingbird.
limbs. I delight in
showing guests the
weathered bonsais,
so stately in their
small pots, then
pointing to the two
that got away and
grew up to be shade
trees. Japanese
maples were my
father’s favorite tree,
and I grow them
for him.
That Indian crape
myrtle—its survival
through the rough
Ohio winters is a personal triumph. I planted it to remember my
childhood in Virginia,
where crape myrtle’s
brilliant magenta,
pink, and white blossoms waved above
my head, then littered
the ground. A Face-book friend expressed
his horror that I’d
plant a “crap myrtle,”
scoffing that they’re
noxious and useless
to wildlife. Well. I’ve
never thought quite
the same of him since.
There’s always the
“unfriend” option to
consider.
That little row of
English boxwoods
was also planted to
carry me back to
