The Eternal Seductiveness of Life

It's been nearly half a decade that we've owned this house.  One of the greatest pleasures and, in my opinion, arguments for home-ownership (now that we've collectively scuttled the "good investment" aspect) is the ability to garden.  Before we purchased this house, I spent many years with little pots and flowerboxes in windows of rented space.  Now I have an entire yard.

We have a mandarin tree, lavender, geraniums, hydrangeas, a whiskey barrel of mint, one of cilantro, a tulip tree, an olive tree, an evergreen, and several oaks which were planted haphazardly by squirrels.  We are very fond of flora and I find gardening to be one of life's great pleasures in which the divine is reflected in our toils.

But for years I've wanted fuchsia.  My grandmother has a profuse fuschia bush next to her home in Orange County.  It's been there for as long as I can remember (I would wager it's been there longer than I would be able to remember) and I've sort of imagined always having that particular flower in my life as a floral motif.  They are so vivid and such a lovely color combination.  But we've tried several times to transplant a cutting from my grandmother, only to arrive home (after a 9 hour drive) with a dead branch.

Tomorrow (perhaps apropos in also being Bloomsday) is Laurie and my 4 year anniversary and I finally decided to bring home a healthy pot of fuchsia in hopes of cultivating it into a mainstay in our yard.  Being a tropical plant, I worry a bit about the cold winters although I am given to understand that fuchsia has been known to flourish (as it were) as far north as England and regenerate after the harsh winters.

We shall see.  It is currently planted in a hanging pot on our front porch.  Wish me luck.