A DAY IN THE GARDEN

The flower bed in late August

The flower bed in late September

I've been away for a while and suddenly realized that September is almost gone. There are so many tasks in my own garden left to do. The October rush will soon begin for me to finish up my landscaper duties. But for today, I'm having fun in my own back 40.

Jojo, my rat-sniffing Schnauzer, and I spent a rare cool and pleasant Fall day in the garden. I thinned out a lot of my overgrown blackeyed susans and phlox. In their empty spots I planted a new pink Aster, shown above and some more hardy garden mums.

We are extending our sun porch outward so I spent half a day moving a 4 year old Wisteria Standard with a 3 1/2 inch caliper trunk. Digging it out and replanting it was not an easy task, but at least the weather was cool.

I also relocated a 3 year old Rose of Sharon which I must say was much smaller and easier. I divided and replanted a lot of my Autumn Joy Sedum as well. After everything was planted I applied a top dressing of cotton burr compost and alfalfa humate and composted manure.

The bed looks a little sparse now but once Spring and Summer returns, it will be full once again. My next project, before Winter returns, is to plant more bulbs for Spring.

WHO SAID YOU CAN'T GO HOME AGAIN ?

Whoever said "You can't go home again " wasn't from Alabama. I was welcomed as if I were the long lost prodigal daughter .





I knew each one by name, of course, since we'd attended the same school from elementary on up. But I was looking for the faces I knew 45 years ago and while some distinctive features never change, others do , and I was not very successful , to my dismay, in identifying some of them. Most were still living in the area and so they knew each other and I was the only one they hadn't seen in so long so it was easy to pick me out. I'm so sure that if I'd of passed them on the street they wouldn't know me either.

Ginger, the gorgeous , long-legged beauty and head majorette at Winfield High who could've easily been Miss Alabama in her day , hosted a gathering at her lovely home. She was the same sweet girl she used to be as we say down South. As was everyone for that matter. We all came from different circumstances, some fortunate and others no so much like moi, but no one made you feel any different.

I traveled the greatest distance and everyone was interested in hearing what I had been doing with my life since high school. They seemed to be intrigued that I was an artist and garden designer in the big city of Chicago.

The reunion was hosted by one of our classmates in a beautiful home set on about 20 acres on the outskirts of town. It was tastefully decorated by the owner's wife who sewed all of the exquisite drapes herself. Each one was a work of art. Had the house been sitting on a lot in Chicago it would have easily been appraised at 4 million dollars, but because things are so much more reasonable down South, I heard one of my real estate broker classmates say around a half million was the value.

The interesting thing is that my classmate who owned the house was the son of a farmer and , as I recall, he was never that great a student. He was however, hard working and learned a skill - brick laying. With his own hands he built a business and a fortune. Money didn't change him, however. He was still the same unassuming person he was back in high school.

One of my classmates and good friends, Niki, moved back home after many years in Illinois. Her dear mother, who recently passed away, had been like a mother to me and my sisters. We visited with her and she took me around to see all the old homes we once lived in.

At the closing of the reunion the president of our high school class announced that four of our classmates had passed away this year. As the names were called I remembered their faces and distinct personalities and said a silent prayer for their departed souls.

Not only did I go home again but I think that if I stayed any longer I would pick up that contagious Southern drawl rather quickly. I believe it was Mark Twain who said that " Southerners speak poetry. " It sure was music to these ears.

ONE OF 25,000 BOUND FOR 'BAMA

I arrived in Winfield just in time for the annual MULE DAY festivities that draws a crowd of 25,000 people from all over the South. I've never witnessed a traffic jam in my hometown before. This is a big event for families to come to town and enjoy a day together, something akin to The Taste of Chicago but without the booze. Yep, not only is Winfield dry but the entire Marion county area .

I had forgotten how friendly people are. When you pass them on the street the men nod and the women smile and say hello. In restaurants complete strangers at the next table will start a conversation with you.

And the young'uns are so well behaved. " Mind your manners " is a constant remark if they get out of hand .

Stopping by a local cafe to grab some home made Southern cooking I asked for iced tea. Do y'all want Sweet tea or unsweetened ? It was then that I realized that I was truly home.

And yes, there's a church on almost every corner of town, thus the well-deserved nickname, "the bible belt. " And I heard the lord brought up frequently in conversations at the festival. Sitting under a tent having lunch the senior citizens were saying how they'd asked the lord for something and he had never let them down and how blessed they were .

I heard a band strike up the song, Sweet Home Alabama, and I drew closer to see who was singing the lyrics so well. A beautiful young girl singing her heart out, an American Idol wannabe. It brought back memories of how we were all encouraged to sing at an early age, beginning, just like Elvis, singing hymns in church. On the way from Birmingham to Winfield I saw an exit sign that read : Tupelo, birthplace of Elvis. Music is such an integral part of Southern culture.

In a few hours I'll be on my way to the reunion of the Winfield High School Class of 1962. I am excited to see my classmates after forty-five years.