It’s been a couple of months if you know what I mean. And I don’t mean time has eclipsed; IT’s BEEN A COUPLE OF MONTHS. So, I’m late in resurrecting the blog. 

I was going to resurrect the blog in late summer. I had a post ready about my “picket fence garden” (yes, it’s cheesy, but the picket fence was here before me, and I love it), but then I got my heart broken, a storm pummeled Western North Carolina on September 27th leaving us without power, internet, cable, water, access to roads, and in too many cases, homes. COVID, pneumonia, and strep throat derailed me, my washing machine busted, then my vacuum cleaner died. And work stress went from moderate to insane. I am a landscape designer, and fall is all about installing pretty landscapes. Now I’m sorting out demolished ones. 

And so, I am only now resurrecting the blog because life can derail your plans.

I am still pondering the name of the blog, though. I know, I have it backward, resurrecting before I figure that out, but whatever—lots of people like Transplanted and Still Blooming the current name. I do, too, but I also like 245 Franklin Street as a name, which is my address. I like it mainly because a lot happens at a corner house (that’s me) in a small town with a sidewalk, and that feels more specific to my life (obviously), but I also really like my address. It’s simple, not bougie like the new addresses popping up everywhere due to the absurd building happening in my neck of the woods. Names like Cozy Corner Road (gag) and Blue Quill Court (for all you fly fishermen because we all have time for that). I like a solid address that sounds like a corner house in a small-town America. That’s me.

My adult children call my house the napping house because some serious sleeping can happen here. The people in my small town call it the sweet house, but that predates me, so I feel like it’s not a reference to its current inhabitant but the house’s charm. I love 245 Franklin Street for its screened-in back porch, the windows (so much light), and the fact that it sits perfectly in the cardinal directions. (Don’t check me on this. I know, due to topography, nothing sits exactly in cardinal directions, but I like thinking my house is about as close as it gets, plus it faces south and well, that’s the way all houses should face.)

So, yeah, the name of this blog is still debatable. I mean, transplanted? It works with the gardening/life theme I hope to write about, and really, aren’t we all? Transplanted, I mean? But still, blooming? Hmm, it’s up for grabs. I’m trying, so there’s that. Chime in on the name if you’re so inclined.  I also need to add a new picture to the “about me” page, but I’m gonna need a minute for all the details. I tend to do things out of order. 

My clients are trying to make the best of the storm devastation by saying how happy they are that they can now plant full-sun flowers. Their trees are gone, and their landscapes are destroyed. They say this with wide eyes full of shock. We’ve spent years designing mostly shade gardens, and this spring, we gardeners will face barren landscapes with full-sun blank canvases where rhododendrons and mountain laurels once dominated. The full sun is something to look forward to, I suppose.  

Hurricane Helene traveled from the Gulf all the way to my Blue Ridge Mountains without losing any of its fury. Winds destroyed woodlands, and flash flooding destroyed homes and took lives. Flash flooding is the mountain equivalent of a tsunami roaring down ravines, ridges, and valleys, turning charming, trickling creeks into a force of nature capable of destroying everything in its path. It did. Destroy everything. None of us were prepared. I didn’t fill the car up with gas, get cash, or fill up water bottles. Something not lost on me a week later borrowing $20 from my neighbors while waiting two hours in a gas line to spend that $20 cash on gas. You see, we live in the mountains. We don’t have storms like that. Or we didn’t. I woke up from a nap yesterday, and it was windy and raining, and I had a moment of panic. How long will that last? 

We’re still not prepared as we drive over downed power lines with scenes of upended homes in our windshields.

What does this have to do with pruning? I’m getting there.

Fall is not the time to prune. It’s too late in the season. Pruning encourages new growth when plants are going dormant, and new growth does not have time to harden before the first frost or freezing temperatures hit. And yet, in my mountains, trees are down, shrubs are pulled up, and broken branches and uprooted trees lay next to destroyed homes and upside-down barns. This may not be the time to prune horticulturally, but it is necessary after the storm. Yes, dead and damaged limbs can always be removed, but with Hurricane Helene pushing through my mountains, the cuts are going to be more severe than shallow. Culling will happen, and it will be heartbreaking as loved trees, flowering bushes, and even homes are let go. Culling can seem impossible. I’ll rephrase. Culling is sometimes impossible. But it is necessary if one is going to begin again in the garden or life.

I am only now doing my storm cleanup–sickness, broken appliances, shock, and heartbreak interfering with the “getting back to normal” routine. Storm debris is all over my garden, and limbs are scattered around the yard. Pole pruners and Felcos #2 are tackling the broken tree limbs and half-destroyed rose bushes. Thankfully, none are a total loss, but the cuts are deep. I worry because the high is still 70+ degrees even though the mornings are dropping into the 30s. It’s too early to prune.  It would be better if things were dormant, but the storm left no choice. As a friend says, everything affects everything else. With high temperatures, pruning can damage plants, but not pruning allows disease to enter wounds. Wounds can cause serious disease or death if not tended to properly. My mountains are wounded. My heart is wounded. Thankfully, my home is not, and I am so grateful because one needs a home to tend to wounds, and many in my community are without them now. 

The other derailments?

• I figured out how to fix the appliances. 
• The Covid and strep are gone. The pneumonia is on the mend, albeit slowly. Sleep is a blissful escape. 
• Work stress? I compartmentalize it to avoid the overwhelmingness of hard work destroyed. 
• My broken heart? I put it off to the side for a minute. We’ll deal with that later.

My ex was asked once what he liked about me (our divorce counselor asked him this question). His response? Her resilience. Her ability to bounce back. I don’t know if he said that to make himself feel better since he was leaving, and he figured I’d need some resilience or if that is a true statement about me. I guess we’ll find out. I’ll keep you posted and update you on the garden as we go. The blog is now resurrected—name to come later. 

XO Cinthia