We bought our house in the dead of winter, and moved here in the summertime, so experiencing our first spring was a complete surprise. I didn't know what to expect. What would pop up out of the ground? What would bloom? I was sure it would be a feast for the eyes. So I was very disappointed to discover the only flowering things on the property were a few measly daffodils, a neglected stand of peonies, and azaleas. Tons of azaleas. One of my least favorite shrubs. OK, the masses of flowers are stunning for a few days, but then what? You end up with a scruffy bush with small, flat and thoroughly ordinary green leaves. Yawn. And our yard was full of them. As one landscaper remarked categorically, "Your property is over-azaleaed." They were everywhere, where flower beds should be. And not in any particular color scheme, either. In front of our house, for example, there's a whole sea of azaleas in every shade of pink, red, white, coral, lavender and flaming orange. I'm not kidding. What were the previous owners thinking when they planted such a jarringly hideous color combination?
Over the years my irritation grew, until I had an epiphany a couple of years ago when I stared out the kitchen window one spring morning. Aha! I get it! We are living in the Yellow Submarine!! Back in the 60s, when this place was built, I am certain the owner said to her yard guy one day, "What we really need out front is a big mass of azaleas!" And he said, "Groovy, Mrs. P.! Like wow, man, I can do that for you." And without a moment's hesitation, he planted a tribute to The Beattles right in my front yard. 'Hallucenogenic' is the only word to describe the riot of color out there. It must have been the most hip-looking place in the neighborhood. Now, fifty years later, we're stuck with what I call a Mature Baby Boom Landscape out front: scruffy around the edges, thinning in spots, and yielding once a year to one loud, nostalgic, psychedelic scream.
(I'll post the drawing tomorrow...still working on it.)
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