Springtime at the Swankienda

We are in the countdown. Springbreak has come and gone , the date of Official Endangered Species will be here in a couple of week, the entire county is suffering from an allergy commonly known as The Crud, and I am in over drive. That's right: Springtime is about to hit the Swankienda.

Every year at this time, The Fabulous Ma'am and Mr. Fred, my loyal yardman/event planner/brick mason start a month long process where I attempt to create  a landscape worthy of Southern Living in the desolate dirt of Zone 10, Southeast Texas.  Forget all the pictures of tulips and peonies. You can buy them but they won't grow. So, the minute the Big Umbrella Store opens, I fill up my cute little SUV and drag back as much as possible. Between the oil patch and The Endangered Species lady, Tom B is pretty busy.Yard work is not high on his list of priorities.

Good thing he is preoccupied because it wouldn't take much to realize I'm clearing   OCD'ing on my boxwoods. Clandestine  trips to the drugstore to refill the muscle relaxers, stick on heating pad(haven't mastered that yet. Surgical tape will keep it on, but then I have to deal with loss of skin that is not unlike the underbelly of a tree frog. I digress), and copious bottles of moscato. Moscato is my new "working beverage" since it doesn't feel like real wine and thus does not demand crystal.   Sister bought these fabulous RedNeck Wineglasses for Christmas. 8ounce Mason jars atop cut glass pedestals. They were the perfect addition to my outdoorsy decor that included a wreath made of shotgun shells. It brought tears to my eyes, it was so perfectly Tom B. So, from a hydration/pain management standpoint, I'm ready for action.

Remember those tulips that have been in the refrigerator since September and planted on New Year's Day? As usual, dead as a hammer. But, I do it every year, so why stop believing? Speaking on Don't Stop Believing, this is also the time when I break out the only music ever made, 70's music , progressive country, and disco, and dance around the Swankienda and backyard. During lunch or siesta, Mr.Fred gets to play his boombox and sleep in my yard.  It is all so transformational, I quickly get into  my tropical oasis mindset.

Tom B. has done his best to bring relics of nature back to the yard. Just to keep it real. Martha S. calls it that touch of whimsy. However, the article Martha has at Turkey Hill don't hold a candle to the stuff I got. Take , for instance,  the cow spine that he and Trixie found out in the field during one of our evacuations and brought home. Trixie drug it up to the ranch house and announced she had found a dinosaur and she was pretty sure it was a pterodactyl.   Well,after it made the rounds for "show and tell" at the elementary school,  it came to rest  under a tree, inconspicuous for a long time. Til the squirrels got into it. Walking out in the morning, Little Black Dress & black patent heels, I approach my ride just as a cervical bone falls out of a tree. On another day, I worry I have overdone it on my self medication when I see a tiny skull with a bushy tail running along an oak branch. Seems the curious squirrel found the baby deer skull, tried it on as a squirrel joke, and got stuck in it. Probably felt claustrophobic and was on his way for help when I spied it.

Back to my garden.  My whiteflag iris from my late, great aunt in North Carolina are in bloom. The Spiderwort from my grandmama's yard are in bud. The cyclamen planted at Christmas are still looking good. The pansies are tired, so Mr. Fred is bringing in tons of begonias( the dark leaf kind that can take the sun. I prefer the lighter color leaf but they go 3rd degree burn and proceed to die an agonizing death). The violas were snipped early on Saturday morning and delicately graced the handmade chocolate truffles I made for my soiree. Tom B is trying to be kinda helpful because he doesn't know I heard him planning on ditching me for a hunt with the Captain next week, so he mowed the yard. Mr.Fred drove by and saw that my landscape had been violated by another. When I called him, he kinda cold shouldered me and then asked if I had a crew in my yard already. Told him no, it was only Mr. B.   Ok, I've been faithful in our relationship, so we are back on track for my party countdown.Mr. Fred arrives and sheepishly brings the matter up. He admitted that he was "jelly" when he thought I had hired strangers.Clearly smitten. Sister asked for Mr.Fred to work for her, but I told her only one job or else I would be "jelly".

Mr. Fred works for Tiny Mama sometimes. She smells real good. Fred tells me. Why don't I smell good like her? I don't know what to tell him? Is this a deal breaker? Is he gonna start charging more? Another worry I had not contemplated. Again, I digress.  I planted bluebonnets under the crape myrtle tree, so they pay homage to our great state. In about 20 years, I can charge people to take pictures of their kids amongst my magnificent wave of blue. OR, I can direct them to the spot on FM646 where I take Trixie every year and pretend it is Hill Country.

Sister advised me on Knockout Roses, so banked the sunroom in those. Then my standards of hot pink geraniums, lavender, sweet alyssum, and blue saliva. This year in cobalt blue pots to accentuate the blue fountain I repo'd off Tiny Mama. The flats of grass where rolled in on Thursday, it FINALLY rained on Friday, and the sun came out just as my guests arrived for parTAY on Saturday. 

Every girl should have a Mr. Fred. He is just perfect. Always does what I want, when I want, doesn't make a mess,never says "does it have to happen now?"  and leaves until I need him again.  At my beck and call, waiting for my next project.

 And there will be one.  Next month, I'm doing my roots tour back to Carolina. You know what that means: My cousin Tinny and I will be out early, armed with some wine, sunscreen, and drywall buckets. Digging up flowers from all our long lost relatives' yards. We will visit all the cemeteries, the family buried on the golf course, and the last of the line who are actually alive and living at the original family place on the banks of the Cape Fear.
I'll be just in time for the famous Azalea Festival. This belle's going home. For a little bit.
Til next time.
I remain,
The Fabulous Ma'am