Mulberry and Oak
I planted two trees today
I thought there wasn’t room. In fact, I was bereft and mad at myself for buying the second one, the mulberry, and for the first one too, the oak, which has been languishing in a tiny plastic pot since the autumn.
When I looked at the yard, which was often, when I walked around, which was nightly, I felt frustrated and constrained. Most of the yard is covered by cement, and my son wants to build an ADU on part of it so that’s off limits for gardening.
Being the gardener that I am, I can’t seem to help myself. On Sunday, I knew I should go dancing. My favorite teachers were at a very friendly dance event in Rohnert Park. My map app said it was only an hour and ten minutes away. I had the time — I had a whole afternoon and evening available.
What did I do instead? I dashed to the nursery and dropped too much money on California native flowers, sages, on rue, on rosemary, on basil, on a straggly Matilija poppy, a lemon verbena, three mallows, and some flowers. Zinnias, maybe? Green.
I brought them home and gazed helplessly at the expanse of concrete. I’ve punched a few holes in it to plant a few trees: a persimmon, a fig, a lemon. I despaired about the oak and the mulberry.
