This looks like a glorious spring garden, but the lush green is mostly clumps of invasive scillia, my nemesis. It spreads prolifically and crowds the spring bulbs and everything else just coming up, from lilies to hostas.
Scillia grows from tiny deep bulbs that are impossible to dig out without disturbing everything around them. So each spring, I hack the tops off to give the other plants some breathing room, which only makes the problem worse. Then the scillia leaves die back, and you forget about it for another year.
There's endless gushing about the joys and satisfaction of gardening, not so much the frustration and hard physical labor. At some point, it just gets to be too much.
Drifting into a smaller world as we age is common and that's OK. There's a certain freedom to not burning energy on unimportant things. Like digging bluebells, a real labor of Hercules.
And who says bigger is better? Like this dish garden I made a few weeks ago with an old bonsai pot and some china knick-knacks.
And another one that survived winter on the front porch. Miniature garden worlds are enchanting, and you can weed with two fingers!
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