After chasing away a pair of mourning doves who considered the eaves a perfect nesting place, I spent a little time on the first warm day of spring cleaning up our tiny deck. Perhaps 6 x 8 feet, it has served many functions over the years.
When we first moved in, there was a table and chairs under a forged-iron candelabra that held tealights. It was a little cramped, but we passed many a delightful evening out there dining alfresco, talking, and laughing long past dessert.
A few years later, when we lost the tall Virginia Pines that sheltered us from the parking lot below, it seemed the right time to transition to low-slung Adirondack chairs that maintained our privacy. Then, we spent many relaxing afternoons hanging out, reading, and writing.
And when a couple of years ago those wooden chairs could no longer be patched and repainted into usefulness, the space was left to hanging herb baskets, flowers, patio vegetables, and houseplants seeking to reconnect with their inner-wild.
It was in the aftermath of that incarnation that I found the deck today. Songbirds filled the budding River Birch that was planted to replace those long-ago pines. Empty hanging baskets and plastic pots were stacked in the corner; planter boxes and clay pots edged the railing; wooden shelves and outdoor storage bins neatly lined the inside perimeter. Dry leaves gathered in the corners, and lavender, rosemary, and catnip that survived the winter were peeking green between last year's dry stalks.
Sweeping the last of the winter debris into my dustpan, I was filled with possibility. What will the new season bring?
When we first moved in, there was a table and chairs under a forged-iron candelabra that held tealights. It was a little cramped, but we passed many a delightful evening out there dining alfresco, talking, and laughing long past dessert.
A few years later, when we lost the tall Virginia Pines that sheltered us from the parking lot below, it seemed the right time to transition to low-slung Adirondack chairs that maintained our privacy. Then, we spent many relaxing afternoons hanging out, reading, and writing.
And when a couple of years ago those wooden chairs could no longer be patched and repainted into usefulness, the space was left to hanging herb baskets, flowers, patio vegetables, and houseplants seeking to reconnect with their inner-wild.
It was in the aftermath of that incarnation that I found the deck today. Songbirds filled the budding River Birch that was planted to replace those long-ago pines. Empty hanging baskets and plastic pots were stacked in the corner; planter boxes and clay pots edged the railing; wooden shelves and outdoor storage bins neatly lined the inside perimeter. Dry leaves gathered in the corners, and lavender, rosemary, and catnip that survived the winter were peeking green between last year's dry stalks.
Sweeping the last of the winter debris into my dustpan, I was filled with possibility. What will the new season bring?
It's interesting to consider all the different incarnations a space has held. My patio has had a similar experience and it's always at this time of year that I take stock and start changing things again.
ReplyDeleteI love the line - "It was in the aftermath of that incarnation..." what fun to consider the variety of ways a space has nurtured and supported you over the yeras. Lovely.
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