It was glowing in the setting sun in Tuscany. Yellow flowers reaching for the rays:
This was the last image, burned forever in my mind, of the glorious garden. Before we backed out of the gate and swung the doors shut and latched the lock. Thud. Our week there was over.
Will we ever return? I don’t know. But while we pined over wanting breakfast with that view every day, my husband shared wise words from elders. Because no matter how wise and worldly we think we are, we can always learn from others, right? Here’s what they say:
You do have it, because it’s yours for now.
How logical. I decided to make it mine. I’d bring a garden back to Chicago. Thus, the visions of gardens outside our sunroom were sown there at that wooden table. It all started with that glowing Tuscan plant. The vision embraced plants slightly odd for gardens in our suburban Chicago neighborhood: euphorbia, sedum, ornamental oregano, mosses, sedges, oats. Quinoa, even. Colors of caramel, golden yellow and burning orange, set off with purples and burgundies. Nearly black leaves next to tea color leaves. I like the garden when it’s dead too … the brown spikes and fluffs and tufts in the fall and winter. And pods. Yes I’m one oddball gardener.
This weekend I found a plant very similar to the glowing Tuscan memory. It’s different, but it’s close enough:
This is an Angelina Stonecrop.
Does anyone happen to know what that plant is in the first photo above? It looks like a sedum, but I don’t know the variety. Let me know in comments, please! After four years I can close my eyes and see this plant as if it’s right here:
Don’t we all like to hold on to favorite images from our travels …