Gifts of an introverted Pied Piper.

I’m the crotchety old lady who lives at the end of my street, peeking though her curtains and complaining when people disturb her.

Hmmm. Not quite right.

I’m the reclusive older neighbor who stays in for days at a time and only sneaks away for brief errands when no one is watching.

Nope. Not that either.

I’m the introverted 58 year old gardener in the brick house who relishes her solitude. 

OK. That’s better.

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I’m open to the possibility. Are you?

When I looked out of the living room window the other day, I saw that my climbing hydrangea had buds. “Michael!” I yelled to my husband who was in the yard. I ran outside and dragged him over to look. Upon closer inspection, we saw five clusters of buds about to explode into starbursts of tiny white flowers. I had waited five years for this.

The next day, I was strolling around the back yard and again yelled to Michael to “come look!”  This time it was my yucca, a name that belies its stately spires of white flowers. In seven years, my yucca has graced me with this vision just once. As I pointed out to Michael the tall stalk rising up out of the scratchy foliage, I noticed two more blooms-to-be.

There’s more. If you’re not a gardener, stay with me here. There’s a deeper meaning to my garden eureka moments. At least that’s what I choose to believe.

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Favorite season and personality.

As a gardener here in the northeast, winter isn’t exactly my favorite season.  Other than drooling over the seed catalogs that get sown in my January mailbox, there’s not much to do, garden-wise.  Instead of transplanting perennials, I’m moving snow again from the sidewalk to the … well, wherever I can find a place that doesn’t already have a three foot pile.  For me, digging in the snow is not at all as satisfying as digging in the earth.  And it’s surreal to imagine that all that dirty wet stuff will actually give way to a lawn and beautiful blooms in too many long months. 

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