I went kicking and screaming. Now, the yard is my canvas.

It’s been a dizzying transformation. And you can tell by our “before” picture (Pic #14a, at bottom) that I didn’t give a rats patootie for some time. Ugh. Having to design, till, plant, feed, water, wait, and maintain our front yard was such a daunting task, I just ignored it. Much like, as my husband observes, anything I find unpleasant. And by the way — I’ve been known to kill plastic plants.

Then one day, I saw a beautiful English garden in a magazine.  It looked as if it had matured over 50 years. It was stunning, rich, and lush. That was about the same time a neighbor I didn’t know knocked on our door and said, “You know, we think your property needs some attention. If you’d like us to help out, we can.  And besides, we think rats could be nesting in your yard, and we really don’t want that.”

Color me embarrassed. And suddenly motivated.

I decided to approach the task as I would a painting. I’m partial to abstracts, so I applied the same rules: happy accidents are a gift. Gradually I added small plants I thought were cool — with very little research on their viability under the sun, and in our rocky soil. I basically chose interesting textures, and bright, non-primary colors. Some stayed. Some left. But I let them all try to get along, and ultimately, they began to like each other.

For me, the pleasure of seeing the explosion of color every day, was more than enough. My touchy-feely husband as always, found deeper meaning. He said, “You used to say ‘I suck’ at gardening. If you had left it there, you would have missed out on this whole new world of artistic expression.  But you didn’t — for whatever reason you pushed passed the limitation you placed on yourself — and the result was magical.”  He’s right. As artists we are forever putting up roadblocks to our own creativity. Every time you overcome one, you plant a seed of expression — and just like with my garden — the rewards grow into unimaginable treasures.