No blade of grass

This is the first year in over twenty that I won’t have a yard to care for. It’s somewhat comforting to know that I at least own a yard in Columbia, even if I have no contact with it.

The garden at the Wheat Street house had become a major preoccupation of mine over the course of the seven years I lived there. I even ordered plants by mail … irises especially. All Germanic. Big, fat, fragrant blooms in a rainbow of colors.

Pictured here is an iris variety called “Throb.” Love the name. I pay a man named Frank Rose (yes, really) to maintain the garden for me now. I miss the colors and the fragrances, but not the labor. No siree.