So I had planned for a nice, quiet holiday season after the frantic activity leading up to the craft show at the beginning of November. I was going to work on a quilt for my daughter, decorate the house for Christmas, make lots of cookies, and generally enjoy the season. All that flew out the window the Sunday after the craft show. My husband and I don't typically make snap decisions, but we made an offer on a house two weeks ago. Our offer was accepted and we go to close on the house in the middle of December. We weren't really looking for a new house, but I saw an ad in the newspaper that caught my eye on Sunday, November 8. We looked at the property Monday afternoon, did a walk-through with the selling agent on Tuesday, and were in her office on Wednesday morning. The seller accepted our offer that afternoon.
It's a beautiful house with large rooms, an open floor plan, and approximately 3 acres of land. Steve can have his own office in the room above the garage and there's plenty of space for Ally to play in the finished basement. I'm looking forward to having an upstairs bedroom to myself as a combined office and craft room. And there's lots of land for a sizable vegetable garden.
However, I must admit that I've been on the verge of a panic attack more than once since we heard our offer was accepted. You see, we'll start moving in January and then put our current house on the market in late winter. That's a lousy time to dig up my garden and transplant it to our new home, and this has me in a turmoil. I know I'm nuts, but I have a lot invested in my garden. Not just time and money, but an emotional attachment as well. There are the rose bushes I received at my bridal shower and those Steve has given me for Valentine's Day and our wedding anniversary. There are the peonies from my paternal grandmother and the ones my mother-in-law gave me when my maternal grandmother passed away. There are the oriental lilies that have finally begun to produce ginormous flower stalks, the perennial sunflower that has taken years of coaxing to bloom, and the hardy lavender I planted the very first year I started my garden. I've already written about how my garden saved my sanity back while I was a grad student working on my doctorate. No, I really can't leave my beloved rhubarb or the Chinese foxglove I started from seed last year and haven't seen it bloom yet.
On a more practical side, I realize that I could easily get more black-eyed susans, shasta daisies, and daylilies from any garden center, but why should I buy more of them when I can save hundreds of dollars by dividing the plants I already own? Had I known earlier in the year that we'd be moving relatively soon, I would have potted up many perennials, started slips of the butterfly bushes, and collected seeds instead of just scattering them in the flower beds. Of course I can insist that we include a "digging clause" in the contract of our current house which would indicate what plants I plan to remove before the buyer takes possession of the house, but I'd prefer to move my plants long before we put the house on the market. Technically plants and shrubs in the landscaping are considered real property that conveys with the house to the new owner unless their removal by the seller is specifically written into the contract, and writing out which plants I plan to take and where they are currently located would be long and tedious. If only we could keep our current house until spring, when things are coming back up and moving plants would be so much easier, but keeping an unoccupied house for months just so I can save all my plants is an obvious folly. So here I am, at the tail end of November, potting up what plants I can find, cursing the lack of light at 5:30 pm, and hoping that the colder weather please holds off for just a little while longer.