The West Chicago Garden Club

This summer, the West Chicago Garden Club will fill the Kruse Garden with Bees created by our amazing artists. We want to provide a small taste without spoiling the surprise of the completed Bees, so here is a “quilt” of small details. The full set of Bees will be unveiled in May and the garden will be buzzing throughout the summer.

This has not been an easy summer for any of us.  I was thinking about this a couple of weeks ago when I was sitting on the deck of our summer cabin looking down on the lake surrounded by the oranges, yellows and red of a Wisconsin autumn.  Now Wisconsin is dealing with a major Covid outbreak.  How lucky we are that so many of our families and friends have avoided this and my heart goes out to those who haven’t, and how lucky we are to have our yards and gardens to give us peaceful thoughts during this increased period of solitude.

Those of us working at Kruse have had a chance to meet each week to talk about plants, the weather and all those things that we gardeners enjoy.  The new plantings have taken well and the front bed replacing the big oak has filled in beautifully and entices anyone passing by to realize that there is a garden inside the fence worth visiting .

We’ve started wrapping things up for fall – deadheading, cutting back daylilies and iris, and just basking in the last blooms of summer.  Sometimes it is difficult for us to cut back the plants that we have nursed along so carefully all summer, but then there is that lovely spring morning when we see them shyly peeking their heads up once again.  I would like to share with you a poem I came across that echoes this thought.

September Tomatoes by Karina Borowicz

The whiskey stink of rot has settled
in the garden, and a burst of fruitflies rises
when I touch the dying tomato plants

Still the claws of tiny yellow blossoms
flail in the air as I pull the Vines up by the roots
and toss them in the compost.

It feels cruel.  Something in me isn’t ready
to let go of summer so easily.  To destroy
what I’ve carefully cultivated all these months.
Those pale flowers might still have time to fruit

My great grandmother sang with the girls of her village
as they pulled the flax.  Songs so old
and so tied to the season that the very sound
seemed to turn the weather.

I sincerely hope we will be able to start holding meetings again and to see all of you again in the spring along with the returning plants.