Mrs. Teabody Is Awash in Wisteria

For seven mornings in a row, Mrs. Teabody has awakened to a nice cool breeze wafting through her sleeping chamber and the varying voices of the morning chorus.  She hopes you have, too. This is, as anyone who has lived more than half a century will tell you, a blessed time weather-wise. Even though afternoon temps have been more June-like than May, most folks agree it is a most halcyon spell with trees full of leaves and plants springing from the ground. Pictured above is the wisteria blooming its fool head off at Chez Teabody.

According to Wikipedia, wisteria vines climb by twining their stems either clockwise or counterclockwise round any available support. They can climb as high as 20 m above the ground and spread out 10 m laterally. The world's largest known Wisteria vine is in Sierra Madre, California, measuring more than 1 acre (0.40 ha) in size and weighing 250 tons.

The Teabody Wisteria, as it is known here by exactly two people, has not had an easy spring this far. The arbor upon which it climbs and clings so precariously is of pretty insubstantial stuff and held together with pipe cleaners and chewing gum. The arbor has succumbed several times to an errant breeze. Given all that, it has held together somewhat tenaciously through this lovely blooming time so Mrs. Teabody shan't natter on about its deficiencies.

If you were here this morning, Gentle Reader,  you could greet this day with Mrs. Teabody in a fine fashion seated under the Teabody Wisteria in a comfortable outdoors chair and enjoying a nice cuppa from a purloined "His Lordship" mug. At your feet you'd spy green and gold Creeping Jenny and a nice pot of blooming chives. Just in front of you and spiraling out of control you'd see and sniff the dozens of cascading shades of violet blooms already dropping their petals on the stone path as if today is the only day they must perform their magic. Fragile. Ephemeral. Beautiful.

As you sit inside the Secret Garden, you should know that at any second something marvelous may happen. Had you been here this morning, you would have been marginally startled by the awkward flapping but graceful landing of the tiny and much beloved Carolina wren as it perched its tiny self in the adjacent oak on a low branch to trill and chatter in its surprisingly robust and cheerful voice. Every garden needs a Carolina wren.

Perhaps your eye would be enchanted by a tower of white mandevilla bought recently to stand sentry at the north end; perhaps you'd note the slightest contrast between the giant purple allium against the lacy leaf works of Cindy's Japanese maple making of itself the finest of umbrellas; perhaps you'd be captivated by the white bleeding hearts or the many hued hostas as they open and spread. Perhaps you'd look at the freshly painted red gate and wonder if Mrs. Teabody had lost her mind. Mrs. Teabody would gently instruct you that her mind has been on holiday for some time, that you are in a garden where all things are possible and where whimsey is given free range.

Nature is a balm. Sitting inside this little place of flowers and scents and sounds, one can find a respite from a world that so often seems to spin so perilously, so recklessly. Meditation and reflection bring comfort. Make yourself a little garden. Everyone needs one. In the meantime feel free to drop by and enjoy this one.