June has arrived in Maine, and my garden is bursting into bloom—even if it’s a bit wilder than I meant it to be.
Between a rainy spring and a busy few weeks, I’ve fallen behind on the weeding and trimming, but nature hasn’t minded one bit.
I’ve planted pots of herbs, lilac petunias, red begonias, and dusty miller around the edges and on the deck.
The Siberian irises are standing tall in the breeze, the phlox is starting to spread, the wild rambling roses are blooming, and the peonies are opening. My old rhododendrons are having a good year too.
The overgrown look seems to suit the wildlife just fine. A female cardinal has made her nest atop the arbor, hidden among the grapevines and climbing roses. She doesn't mind when I walk by. However, the house wrens have strong opinions about me being anywhere near
their corner of the garden. They scold and chirp loudly whenever I step too close—but they keep coming back year after year, so they must not mind me too much.
Just this morning, I saw a tiny garter snake near the lilac bushes. I also heard the soft chatter of wren babies, tucked safely away in their birdhouse while their parents dart in and out feeding them.
It’s noisy, chaotic, and full of life out there, and even though the weeds are creeping in and the garden paths are a bit less defined than I’d like, I feel grateful.
There’s something special about a garden that’s alive with blooms, bugs, birds, harmless snakes, and, of course, the ever-present squirrels and chipmunks.
Now I’ll be rolling up my sleeves and getting back to it—cutting back a few things, staking what’s falling over, and giving the garden my attention.
But I’ll be careful not to disturb the little families who’ve made their homes here. After all, they were here first this season, and I’m just the lucky one who gets to share the space.
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