May's Reawakening

and remembering to savor all its gifts

I planted my sweet pea seedlings this week and as I dug the holes and tucked the plants into the soil, I kept getting whiffs of something flowery and delicious. With sweet peas on my mind, at first I couldn’t place the scent (and even thought I might be imagining it), but then it hit me, lily of the valley.

Of course. They weren’t open the last time I’d looked. But then suddenly they were.

Like so many things in May.

I have a small patch of lily of the valley in my garden, created with transplants from my mom. Each year it’s gotten a little bigger. Without any attention from me. It’s one of those beautiful joys of the garden — watching what you’ve planted take root and thrive. Sometimes it happens over one growing season. Sometimes it takes years.

view from my studio this morning — it’s the first day this week I’m not drinking my coffee outside

This spring my garden seems sweeter than ever. It was a rough winter. I lost plants, some of which were a complete surprise (mint?!? daffodils?!?), and yet each bulb or perennial that shows up feels like a gift. When life in the wider world feels uncertain or stressful, nature and my garden become even more of a refuge.

One of the reasons my garden feels so sweet is that like my little patch of lily of the valley, it’s matured. Entering the 12th year of growing in this space I no longer have a long list of big projects to tackle. Except for the deck and studio doors (which were a big splurge for us), this garden has been crafted on a shoestring budget. We tackled it a little bit at a time, expanding and improving a bit more each year. Although a garden is never “finished,” after this many years it no longer feels “unfinished.”

Of course, I always have more ideas and dreams, but the canvas of my yard is no longer blank — it’s filled with distinct areas, established plants and many gifts: from the lily of the valley flowers to the robin family nesting on the garage wall

to the copious self-seeded plants popping up in every bed (this year I even have volunteer lettuce and what looks like a dahlia seedling!).

My project list is more about refinements and about making changes based on what’s working and what’s not. One of the things on the list this spring was “cut down apple trees.” They’re columnar varieties I planted in 2020. They don’t grow the way they’re supposed to, are too big for their space and I’d only gotten two apples in 5 years. Ironically this year they both have lots of flowers and it looks like they’re forming fruit.

A reprieve!

The sweetness of my garden isn’t just that it’s matured and developed, but that with each year it’s become more me. One of the things I love about gardens is how personal they are. Each gardener has her own unique combination of reasons for tending a garden. Each gardener is delighted by different things — plants, colors, combinations, wildlife visitors. The best gardens, to my eye, aren’t the ones that carefully follow design principles or are amazingly productive, but those that clearly reflect the whims and joys and quirks and creativity of their gardeners.

can you spot the robins’ nest?

My garden is my sanctuary and my refuge. It’s an extension of my studio. It feeds my body and my creativity and my soul. It’s my connection to nature and to the deepest parts of who I am.

Pulmonaria is one of my favorite plants in the garden, even more delightful because I keep discovering self-seeded babies

May in the garden is a gift of reawakening. The natural world is coming back to life and it changes how I live my days. I dig in the dirt. I eat my meals outside. I take my computer outside to work. I sketch on the ground tucked up beside my plants.

I paint from what’s in bloom.

And I savor. Especially the ephemeral joys of the season.

Lilac flowers. Nesting birds. Fresh-picked asparagus. Open windows. Petrichor. Frog song. Volunteer seedlings. Lily of the valley.

There’s more to savor each day.

My hope for you is that you savor these May days, too. Enjoy the once-a-year delights. Cultivate a garden (even if it’s just a pot on your windowsill) that’s completely you.

I’d love to hear about it.

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And I’d love to make some art with you. Before I go I want to share a couple of exciting invitations so we can do just that:

First, Sketchbook Revival is coming and I’m a part of it again this year.

For two weeks starting May 27, Karen Abend is opening up the vault of 5 years’ worth of workshops (130+ in total). It’s completely free with the option of upgrading for unlimited access (and extra free gifts).

I hope you’ll join us!

Second, I’ve been invited to teach at an in-person art retreat in Portugal next May. I’d love to have you join me!

Right now we’re gathering names of anyone interested (by adding your name to the list, you’re not committed to signing up). Once we have enough people we’ll move forward with creating the program (I’m excited to include you in the planning, too!).

Learn more here.

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That’s all for now. I’ll be back in June with more exciting news (!!!) and a story about this little baby plant growing behind the birch tree.

Here’s to a beautiful rest of May!