A little miracle
In an earlier post, I mentioned that one of my birthday presents this year would be a new Hostas plant for the backyard. The plant, I mentioned, would be a replacement for one that was dug up when the fellows who installed our natural gas last autumn dug up a section of the back yard (without telling us they were coming, or consulting us first) to install our gas meter. The plant which had been killed, I noted, had been at the house longer than we had - it was a large, mature plant which for all I know, could be near 100 years old - and I was heartbroken that we'd lost it.
Well, do you know what you are looking at here, friends? You're looking at a little miracle.Husband kept saying it would come back. I didn't believe it. I'm a gardener. He isn't. I knew that there was no way that plant could survive the damage they'd done to that section of the garden.
As you see from this picture, what was previously a planted garden (there were two Columbines, daffodils and the large Hostas here) with well-established sod was completely churned up. It was much more torn up last November. There was just no way I could imagine that the Hostas corms hadn't been if not disturbed, completely removed in the operation.And yet there it is, stubbornly coming back. (it's the upper end of the dirt section in this photo, opposite the gas meter).
A little miracle.
ronnie
posted by ronnie at
8:32 p.m.
10 Comments:
We have just had a similar "miracle" here at my retirement place: the landscapers had come in and churned everything up outrageously and we were regretting how they had destroyed all the lovely hostas around the 30-40 foot evergreen out in front of my cottage. And this week - they are all poking up and looking healthy. Everyone is so relieved!!!
Ronnie (Sherwood insists)
Isn't "little miracle" an oxymoron? I'll take any that come my way (like the microwave in the kitchen next to me -- what more conclusive evidence of a truly loving God does one need than the miracle of something that will offer up hot lasagne in just a few minutes?) without modifiers.
But I digress. And write badly.
I'm actually responding to Ronnie (the capital-R Ronnie)here: Ronnie, I'm sorry, really, you can call yourself whatever you want, and it was wrong of me to question that in another blog at another time (or anyplace at any time, come to think of it.)
So, I'm not insisting anymore on anything in particular -- so go ahead and call yourself whatever you want! "The other ronnie" is fine, and "Ronnie" is my own personal favorite, but, remember, you've still got O'Ronnie as an option!
Just rattling your cage, Sherwood. Now I just have to remember to hit "anonymous" so as to avoid the "ronnie said..." heading.
Original Ronnie, you are more than welcome to post under "ronnie" or any other name you like. The more ronnies the merrier! Just remember - if you don't see the cute Mojo face, it isn't me :)
ronnie with mojo face
re the ronnies: you cat people are crazy....
however, hooray for the hostas!!! i completely cut down a nonblooming rosebush in our old house in iowa. sawed it right off, and woddya know? the next year, it not only came back, but it was COVERED with a very old, sweet-smelling variety of white roses.
watch out for mother nature!!
I don't want to go on about this, and absolutely hate disagreeing with ronnie, but I am not one of the "cat people." Include me out.
Ronnie
The previous owner of our house loved planting bulbs, and although we've lived in the house for seven years we're still occasionally surprised by what pops up the yard. "Where the hell did that come from?" Life finds its way.
RoNniE Fies
Original Ronnie, my cats request that I pass along the information that they "insist they love you anyway so you gots to put up with cat love, and neener neener neener".
Don't shoot me, I'm only the messenger.
ronnie
Love is always welcome. In this case, however,distance enhances my gratitude. Cats are beautiful, and interesting. Over there.
Ronnie
As the bridge between the two ronnies, I'm glad I came late, because when someone suggested that the one I grew up with was also a cat person, I nearly fell off my chair. However, during a period when I had small children and somehow a cat had become part of our family, Grandma was always very kind to it when she came to visit.
Though it was sometimes hard to tell whether she knew it was purring or perhaps thought that it was ticking.
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