My husband said, "Okay," and went to the local home improvement store. He not only came home with cement blocks for my plants, but wooden beams, and a plan. You have to love a husband with a plan. Curious, I listened as my simple wish for elevation blossomed into much more. He built a raised flower bed with three tiers. He ordered topsoil. We could expand the region and not just have a few planters, but a larger place of respite and beauty which needed a short fence to define the space. And we'd need bark mulch to cover the ground. Of course, my husband ordered mulch.
He constructed a bench and off to the store we went---together this time---to purchase cushions for it. He converted a cooler into a wooden drink stand. He christened the location with a sign: Alice's Little Oasis. When we found pillows with Oasis stitched on them, we knew they were meant for us.
In the tiered bed, I planted coneflowers, daisies, and dianthus and watched them grow and bloom. The following spring I planted arugula, red lettuce, and Swiss chard. I bought more to plant---coreopis and candy tuft. The garden grew in content as well as space.
But one afternoon the arugula and red lettuce were chewed. The coneflowers had been gnarled to their roots. Rabbits! I'd seen one scamper. I yelled at the hoppy creature the next day as he darted away from the raised bed into the neighbor's yard. I understood Mr. McGregor in the Peter Rabbit tales in a new way.
On an August morning, I noted that the leaves from taller plants were gone. The bee balm, which had been flourishing, had one leaf. Who was able to get to the tops of these stalks? It must be deer. I could no longer blame only the rabbits. "Get mint and rosemary," were some suggestions from social media friends. "Deer and rabbits hate those." We had rosemary. We had mint. The hosta leaves were devoured and they sat right beside a large planter of mint. Even the leaves of peacock orchids had been tampered with.
I felt defeated. I didn't want to spend any more money on flowers. Although the Swiss chard was next to the lettuce, it had not been eaten. Perhaps the wildlife doesn’t like Swiss chard. I transplanted it to a higher bed. Weeks later I saw it was thriving.
The peacock orchids had bloomed; but not all 50 from the bulbs I'd planted in the early spring. There were plenty of stalks, green and long. But only one of them had produced flowers. I kept hoping more delicated white flowers would arrive because I'd imagined the Oasis flourishing with them.
As I've entered this world of determined gardening, I think of the obvious notion to give up. Forget this illusion that I'll get flowers and plants to provide the sanctuary I desire. What else does this all tell me? Read more books on how to be successful? Don't let the critters get me down? Keep going? Better luck next year? Or perhaps, get a large hoe like Farmer McGregor and chase those four-legged nibblers?
When I think about how we expect things to go as we think they should or as we think they do for others, the Oasis comes to mind. We want to have our gardens, as well as our lives, turn out the way we want or the way we imagined they should go. I've had to take the time to ponder the other lessons, perhaps the more important lessons, along the way. Can I look at life in a new way? Can I discover beauty in the midst of uncertainty? I tell myself to focus on that which has grown (and has not been destroyed) and that which makes the Oasis pretty, even if it is not as robust as I had hoped. See the glass half full. I plant and try to protect, but so much of what happens in a garden is not up to me. Just like in day-to-day living. I'm not as much in control as I'd like to believe I am.
And that is my two-cents as an Oasis Novice.
