perfection is in the eye of the beholder

Walking the dog this morning (a cool Sunday, nice change from the heat/humidity last week) and I, of course, am snooping other people's gardens--at least those gardens that are visible from the sidewalk. Several gardens on my usual route are wonderful: peonies and irises in full bloom with candy-pink and royal purple flowers, along with other pretty plants (although somewhat less spectacularly sized). These gardens are immaculate, with neatly mowed lawns, swept and clean patios, flower beds with tidy borders.

The first emotion, after the bliss of such beauty, is anxiety. I consider my own chaotic gardens and worry that the lack of order somehow reflects badly on me as a gardener. However it doesn't take long to realize that my gardens are fine the way they are; the untidiness is really just an expression of joy at the ability of flowers to bloom, birds to come and fish to dash around in the pond that manages to remain the best part of the garden despite the maple keys that shower into it and a fountain that sometimes sputters to a stop, clogged with debris. The lawn is lumpy, the grass is a bit long, the borders of my flower beds uneven and there are weeds.

But when I'm in my backyard,  I'm happy. No comparisons with those gorgeous gardens on my walk. It's the perfect place to be.