The poppies are popping. 

A couple of newbies (a newbie couple, in fact) moved in to the little plot next to mine this morning.  He's Israeli, she's, um, bossy. Is that a nationality, or just a gender? I think she's originally from Long Island — maybe it's a regional thing.  Whatever the case, they weren't taking any prisoners, let me tell you.  They came in this morning, hoes at the ready. 

E is mostly a floral row, but there's a new generation of good old-fashioned victory gardeners who are raring to grow everything from radishes to radicchio, never having experienced the pain of having their tomatoes poached just at the moment of ripeness.  I'm telling you, you're never the same after a season in an urban vegetable garden.  It changes you.  Forever.

Anyway, because Tony, who gave up the plot last autumn, left lots of goodies, I urged them to ask about anything they couldn't identify, and to practice good karma by transplanting any perennials they didn't want to the limbo garden, where others can grab them if they want them.  I had already grabbed what I wanted from the plot in the Spring (with Tony's blessing, of course), but I left plenty — in fact, they've got what amounts to an "instant garden" — just add water.

Which is a far cry from the garden I got as a newbie.  Aside from a couple of bleeding hearts, some wild onions, and a few stray daffodils, it was basically a mud pit.  I remember raiding the garden path — for spiderwort!  That's how desperate I was for something to flower.  But getting a loaded plot instead of an empty slate is also a big responsibility.  Because everyone's watching to see how you'll handle this bounty.  And trust me, one false move, and... well, some folks don't easily forgive.

That's what the fellow across the way a couple doors down discovered.  He took over a much-loved if ramshackle rose garden from an elderly gardener who had to give it up due to illness.  Some delicacy was in order.  But the new guy hamhandedly hacked her roses to death, replacing them with what has actually grown into a charming little butterfly garden.  But people were so appalled by the rashness of the move that no one spoke to him for a full three seasons.  True story.

It's a community garden.  That's what you have to remember.  And like with any community, it's not like you have to conform entirely, but you should make some attempt to learn a little of the history of the place, and be sensitive to the prevailing prejudices — er, I mean, standards. 

There's some social skill involved.  Our row's pretty sociable, but it seems like most everybody knows when to bugger off.  Some folks don't want anything to do with anyone.  We have one who shows up, never says a word to anyone, and chats the whole time on her bluetooth.  She's only there a couple hours on the weekend, so it's bearable for the rest of us. 

There's another one who comes charging down the row in dark sunglasses like she's evading the paparazzi.  She's this type who wears the  earbuds even when the ipod's not on.  It's a big production, considering that it's been going on for years, and no one would take much notice of her now if she was running down the garden path naked and on fire.

My point is: everyone ultimately determines their level of social interaction with those around them.  But, admittedly, it's easier when you've got a blank slate.  When you've got goodies in your garden you don't know what to do with, don't expect your neighbors to stand idly by. 

It's the poppies that got to me.  See, Tony always had marvelous poppies.  And I always had poppy envy.  There's this stand of them in the newbies' garden that's just stunning once they pop.  And they're about to.  But unfortunately they're in what the newbies envision as their garden path.  They're impatient to wipe the slate clean, and I sympathize. 

When they asked me about the poppies, I told them they should just give them a couple of weeks — they won't be sorry they did.

"Do you want them?" they asked hopefully.  "Why don't you just take them now?" 

I explained you really can't transplant poppies at this stage in the game.  But if you wait a couple of weeks, I reiterated, they'll blossom, and when their seedpods ripen I'll be happy to take them off your hands. 

They didn't seem too pleased with my answer. 

"They're spectacular," I told them.  "You won't be sorry if you wait."

I added: "But do what you have to do."

And let the woodchips fall where they may.

Poppies aren't the only thing popping in the gardens these days.  The whole place has gone completely nuts.  There's clematis...