These events actually occurred over the July 4th weekend, but since I am such a techno-failure I had to wait for one of my kids to help with the picture insertion, so have not been able to post about it until now.
Since it was a major holiday, I gave myself a holiday from the Dell, where I have been faithfully trudging along every day getting little bits (all of which will add up eventually) done. However, I wanted some instant gratification for a change, so I grabbed my youngest son and we built an arbor. I had gotten a big, beautiful pot on sale at Cornell Farm a few months earlier (I get one new pot a year, and still never seem to have enough), and wanted to accentuate its size with some height. I had cut some alder saplings several weeks earlier, and they had been getting in my way in different parts of the garden ever since. Wherever I stashed them, they were in the way; using them seemed like a really excellent idea. I was planning to use only three saplings, but when I stuck them in the pot that seemed too skimpy. I never, ever, ever want my garden to be too skimpy, so I rearranged them and stuck in two more and that seemed much better. The saplings all had a slight bow to them, which I positioned to the outside so that the finished shape was ever-so-slightly belled. My son then secured the top of the saplings with an ENORMOUS knot of sisal twine which should withstand the gales we routinely get up here. And we were ready to plant.
The plants are porcelain berry vine which had been left over from our plant sale, and needed a home. I had two, a regular sized one, and a little tiny one, so I put them both in the pot, my son loosely twined the big one around the arbor, we watered them well, and stood back admiringly, well pleased with our labors. Then we went on about our business for the rest of the day.
However, in the evening, I found that the real event had occurred while we were elsewhere. I went out to the pot, either to show it to a returning family member or to check and make sure it was damp enough. As I examined the plant I discovered that it had already grown enough that a tiny, fragile tendril had cunningly encircled a branch stub which we had left for that express purpose. It reminded me of that exciting moment when a newborn baby first curls its pink, translucent fingers around one of my big, solid workaday ones. The time elapsed was maybe six or eight hours, and the thrill I felt was complete. I made everyone in the family come out and admire and worship it.
The rest of the evening I kept running out to check it, and see if it had grown any more, but the day was cooling and the sunlight fading by that point, so the plant tucked its head under its wing and went to sleep for the night, securely hitched to its new home.