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Category: Garden

New Shoots…

Having written one blog post my brain has been filling up with ideas and things I want to write about. And yet I don't get there, don't get the words down.

I have just collapsed into bed, propped up on pillows hoping I have enough energy to write something, anything. There is a warm mug of leek and celery soup on the nightstand by my side. I feel like I have been whomped, like I could settle into a puddle in the ground, but it isn't a bad thing. I've done a lot today. I have done a lot the last four days, so perhaps my body needs a rest.

But I also want to find my words. Let's just consider this part of the process of new growth, or spring in East Tennessee. The sun shines, the air grows warm and gentle breezes caress the skin, then the temperature drops and we have icy frost, or torrential rains, or tree-felling winds. I go to sleep only to waken to another gentle clear day. All part of the process. Energy, tiredness, creativity, action, rest. Spring rebirth in the making.

The brain seems to require a lot of energy and I've had more ideas than I've managed actual posts. But I am hoping to manage a few words.

I am surrounded by daffodils and forsythia and spring trees bursting into bloom. These are mostly my neighbors blooms. My daffodils are later varieties, and I live on the shadier side of the street, so most of my plants bloom about a week after my sunnier neighbors, but my yard is not bare. The roses have leafed out, the hellebores have been lush with blossoms for weeks now, as have the camellias. The geraniums are blooming, and I even have my first daffodil. No complaints. No dearth of promises.

I've had my hands in the dirt, digging and clearing the planting beds in the vegetable garden. The sorrel is up, replacing the bed ripped out by an over-eager landscape worker last year. Chervil and arugula are up as well. I got the pea trellis up before the torrential rains and wind, which ripped the trellis up and tossed it across the yard. I'm glad the peas weren't yet on that trellis. I hope to plant them this afternoon. I said that yesterday as well.

I've cleared out the bramble patch (roses and blackberries), after which I needed a nap. I'm still not rushing myself. What gets done will get done in its own time. Nature has her own schedule, and apparently so does my body, independent of what my mind might will. And yet, my energy today is exponentially greater than it was at this same time last year.

I picked up a whole brisket today when I was out shopping. I am planning on curing some corned beef. It has been a couple of years. I might braise one chunk of it to eat while I wait out the brining process. I've not yet decided. The fact that I am feeling more adventurous in the kitchen is a good sign, that not only do I dream but I have the wherewithal to act. Hands in the dirt, playing with thread, playing with words, working until I am actually tired and then allowing myself to rest. These are all signs of growth, of life, of what is important. It is these little things, an hour cleaning out a flower bed, planting seeds, knitting yarn into fabric, making soup — .these are the things that are fulfilling to me, that make life feel worthwhile.

But my weariness has not abated. Time to surrender to slumber.

March 7, 2023
The May Garden in Detail

I've had several blog posts rooting around somewhere in the back of my brain, but they haven't yet coalesced into anything coherent so I have nothing to fall back on but another garden post, heavy on photos and light on words. Hopefully that, the energy deficit, is turning around following a flutter ablation last Friday, but, let's not count our chickens and all that stuff.

The garden, despite the empty spaces, has been a gift. The Siberian iris, Caesar's Brother, is finally coming into its own. This is its third summer. Last year I had blossoms but they were small and spindly. This year the combination of the iris and the geraniums is everything I hoped it would be.

One of the irises, in detail.

The peonies have started blooming. This was the first to open.

Here it is again, becoming a bit blowsy but more blossoms are opening all around it. This time with the new bearded iris behind it. I found this bulb in a discount basket somewhat late for planting irises las summer, and stuck the three bulbs in the ground. Only one came up, not bad for $1 though. This is its first season of bloom.

The little apricot ground cover roses are also starting to bloom. They survived a year in their nursery pots; it didn't seem to dampen their enthusiasm, so I dutifully snapped pictures the first blossoms.

And the blackberry vines are slowly filling with blossoms and promises of fruit to come.

The shady azalea garden in the back is also coming into bloom. The pink shrubs in the back were in full bloom about two weeks ago and are now fading. The white are in their glory now, and the pretty large pale pink blossoms only slightly behind (below).

The fringe tree is also filled with blossoms. In fact everywhere I look something is blooming. Oh, I know this exuberance will not last, but at the moment it is all glorious.

May 2, 2022
In Your Easter Bonnet

There has been some small progress on the garden front. Very little of the effort was mine and yet I am as proud and happy as can be. The garden is spruced up for spring at least as spruced as it is likely to get this spring.

I feel like the yard has donned its Easter dress.

Saturday morning I gathered up all the little plants that have been languishing in the shady corners, since the spring of 2021 when I had ordered several dozen small plants intending to make headway on the front gardens. There were a few bigger plants as well. Some of them had rooted through their pots into the soil and so a little bit of digging was involved. My labor conisisted of uprooting them all and placing them wherever I had originally planned to plant them.

A crew came and planted them Saturday afternoon. Monday morning they came back and mulched. Above is a mix of old and new and yet undone. Gardens are mostly like that.

The remnants of winter pansies and drift roses.

Some tiny green flecks of alchemilla mollis between the peonies and the grass (above right). Another peony, which had been sheltering behind the garage, in a shady but protected spot, was also transplanted, far right in front of the hydrangeas. It has leafed out further than the ones I planted in this same bed last spring, where it is sunnier but more exposed. Some of my neighbors' peonies have buds. I do not, yet.

This is the older bed, between my driveway and the neighbor on the East. A few more nepeta plants were added.

I keep singing "Easter Parade" when I am in the yard.

There is still a lot to design and plant, and I have come to terms with the idea that I am not going to do it. I am already working with a designer but it will likely be at least fall before further progress is made. I don't intend to do much but clean out the overgrown vegetable garden in the back. It is included in this photo because I have some perverse inclination to acknowledge and celebrate the failures and imperfections as well as the successes.

I am all for celebrating beauty and joy. But beauty and joy are not everything. Life is tough. Things break. And yet we still bloom and grow.

That previous sentence sounds like some sappy theme from The Sound of Music, or a book blurb.

There remain more empty spaces than plants, but I am ok with that. I have already given myself permission not to fret, and not to plant this year. In fact that is more like an order — "do not plant". Wait and see. Oh, I know there will be exceptions. I will pick up something here or there and be unable to risk the possibility of putting it in the ground.

There is no rush and there is also no such thing as an instant garden.

April 20, 2022
A Short Walk Around My Neighborhood

I am painfully aware that it has been a couple of weeks since I last wrote, and there is basically no excuse for that except that my head has been wandering elsewhere. And yet, as much as I want to say something, anything almost, my head is not really focused. It is turning out to be not such a good day here. I had my last chemotherapy session on Wednesday and today I have been hit with nausea and neuropathy and my head is completely discombobulated. The good news is that as bad as it gets, it is all going to get better from here on out and I just have to cope with my body, with my head, with the water leak in the kitchen, with whatever else life throws my way.

The photos in this post are all from my neighbor's gardens, here meaning neighbor in the broadest sense, taken on my walk Wednesday morning, just before that last chemo. Just a walk through a suburban neighborhood, with suburban landscaping and flowers, but also in many ways a true neighborhood, where neighbors walk and stop and talk to each other, a neighborhood where one day, when I was just up to walking again after my last bout with neuropathy, I was stopping for a rest while holding on to someone's mailbox. A neighbor stopped and asked how I was, and he later drove around the block to make sure I was still up and moving and would get home ok. I was almost home at that point and did not need a ride, but gratitude and warm feelings filled the rest of my day, and truth be told the rest of my week.

I continue to think about this, about community and neighborliness, and where we choose to live. It is a subject that has been on my mind a lot of late. Partially because I used to be a bounder, a person who when I would get unhappy would just up and ditch it all, but I learned that doesn't solve anything, because unhappiness is often the one thing that you take with you everywhere, or at least the seeds of that unhappiness. First of all one needs to figure out oneself. Yes, outside forces can push those boundaries, and this year of COVID lockdowns and health issues and cancer and feeling miserable have not helped with those inner demons, with that battle between inner and outer, and the matter of self-determination. Adversity pushes us to question what we really want, but at the same time, we have to dig deeper, to look below the surface. Because there is always that layer of outer frustration that we may want to slough off, only to find we have stripped away too much skin, made the wrong choice, and left ourselves either numb or raw and wounded.

I am not raw and wounded right now. My mail person just came up and dropped off a pile of catalogs, catalogs I might normally toss right into the recycling bin. But today I will lie settle on the sofa with a cup of tea and let my mind wander as I turn the pages. I will watch US Open Tennis. I will eat something healthy even though I don't feel like eating. I will do this because I refuse to give in, even though I am so behind on everything I sometimes question whether that is really true. But I can also admit that there are days when mindlessly browsing through catalogs is perhaps more important than chasing a few dust bunnies around the house, not more important than mopping up a wet floor, but hey, catalogs then become a reward. Eventually I will pick up the newest Louse Penny, which I have been saving for this weekend, but my mind is not yet settled enough to read it.

This last photo, this is from my house. I posted it, or a similar photo, on Instagram earlier in the week. You can see these apricot drift roses against the fence from the street. They are still in their nursery planters. I still haven't gotten them planted, but they appear to be happy here nestled between the small azaleas I did plant in the spring. The roses will not be against this fence when they make it to their final location, but for now they offer a bit of promise, both because they look good even when I do not feel good, and hence they make me happy, but also because they are thriving despite setbacks, a reminder that the ability to thrive is not dependent on avoiding the bad things, just learning to navigate them. I hope that is a lesson I can continue to grow into.

September 10, 2021
Saturday Six

It appears that this life continues to be a small quiet kind of life, but that is not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, there are times when it feels like all my previous busy-ness was a bit overdone. I am sure that perspective will evolve in time, as life tends to evolve at its own pace. In the meantime I thought I would share a few small things that made me happy this past week.

1. It has been a tough summer in many ways, too hot and too dry, and part of the yard are not doing particularly well. Some plants are thriving, others are showing obvious signs of neglect, if not outright abandonment. And yet there is not much I can do at this point but just wait and see. What will die will die. Nature may or may not fill in the void, and next spring I will see what ventures forth and then reassess. Many of the older hydrangeas are showing obvious signs of stress, especially the lace cap hydrangeas, or hydrangea serrata, as they are not well adapted to Southern heat and drought (much like their adopted mother). It appears they will pull through, and I will round them out with the more resilient mop heads over the next few years.. The newer hydrangeas, the varieties of hydrangea paniculate, are thriving, as they are prone to do given their love of clay soils, and sun. Their constant bloom brings me great joy. The glowing border of coreopsis and hydrangeas makes even the hardest of summers somehow tolerable.

2. Which reminds me of the surprising resilience of these little apricot drift roses which keep blooming and blooming despite the fact that they are still in their nursery pots and have never been planted. So much for plans and good intentions. But they also serve as a reminder of tenacity and perseverance. I have given up fretting over whether or not they survive, but at the moment, nestled between some azaleas, they continue to appear surprisingly content with what meager resources life has give them.

3. Oreos! I have known that Nabisco came out with a gluten-free version of Oreos only for a month or two, but this was the first time I actually wandered into the cookie aisle of my local grocery store and tried a package. I don't buy many packaged foods, but Oreos have always had a special place in my heart. I think I have tried every brand of imitation gluten-free Oreo-like cookie on the market and had primarily given up. Even the best of them, Kinni-Toos by Kinnikinick, proved to be too sweet, leaving a metallic coating in my throat and not satisfying that particular craving. I would eat more than I wanted, seeking out some elusive sense of comforting satisfaction, and still feel unfulfilled. Sad that. I am happy to say that these Oreos taste much like the Oreos or memory. I could only eat two of them, and felt then that I had maxed out my sugar and carb intake for the day. This is partly due to the fact that I discovered early on in my chemotherapy treatment that the best way to minimize nausea was to avoid sugars, starches, most carbs, and alcohol. After a few months my tastes have probably changed, although I suspect my life-long love of sweets will always be with me. Anyway, two cookies one day, a third a couple of days later, and my craving has been satisfied. The package is gone; it was well worth the investment.

4. I sliced vegetable to make one of my favorite salads. One of the downsides of paclitaxel treatment (or Taxol) is the neuropathy that is frequently experienced by patients. I have had a great deal of neuropathy in my hands, and this has made it difficult to do many things, including anything much beyond minimum basics in the kitchen. However, my oncologist reduced my dose this past week, and although I still have neuropathy, I am actually able to type more easily and to hold a pen and a knife. Much to my joy, my garden and CSA this week supplied me with the components of one of my favorite salads and I was able to slice away without risk.

5. Magnolias. Not in my yard. Photo taken on my walk this morning, and yes my neuropathy had calmed down enough that I was actually able to take a walk. I adore magnolias in all their iterations.

6. I also went to the farmer's market, and gathered a small harvest from my deeply overgrown vegetable garden. The tomatoes and parsley are mine, The cantaloupe and eggplant are from the market. My own fairy tale eggplants got overwhelmed by the weeds, which is sad, because as much as they bordered on overproductive last year, I ended up loving having a constant supply of these tiny eggplant, more so than I would ever have anticipated.

So when I found a small box of tiny little fairy tale eggplant I had to make one of my favorite treats. I ate this every week last summer, sometimes making multiple batches in a week. This is the marinated aubergine recipe from the original Ottolenghi cookbook (page 27 in my edition). I don't think I used fairy tale eggplant the first time I ever made it; I didn't even know about the variety at that time, and Ottolenghi simply specifies small eggplant. I also originally used the tahini-herb dipping sauce he recommends as well, but now I don't bother. These tiny eggplants, simply quartered or halved, brushed with olive oil and salt and roasted are too divine. The trick is to make up the herb vinaigrette while the eggplant cooks, then drizzle it over the hot eggplant and allow them to sit for at least 2 hours at room temperature. When I have them, I keep a platter out on the counter to nibble on whenever I pass through the kitchen. Lemon Juice is important. The recipe specifies oregano and cilantro, but I find that whatever herbs I bring in from the garden work. More than once I have even subbed Nuoc Cham and Thai basil for the more traditional vinaigrette and been equally delighted.

There you have it, a wealth of bright spots to lighten my life. And it is still Saturday, although barely. I am tired, but it is a good kind of tired, the kind of tired that comes from getting outside and talking with friends and playing in the kitchen. All in all, a good week.

August 28, 2021
Late June, Garden, A Sweater

I don't know how June has passed so quickly by. It feels almost as if I missed it, or perhaps I just slept through large swaths of it. I am over 1/3 done with chemo, next week I will be half done. What a relief. This particular course seemed easier than the first two, perhaps because I slept more and tried to do less, perhaps just dumb luck. I suspect that my summer and my quest, such as it is, is to realize and find my way through the tunnel of darkness that is the dominant cultural myth of my time and come out on the other side. Or in other words to undo the shackles of the idea that doing more, constant stress, and lack of sleep are the hallmarks of a life well lived.

In fact, I seem to let go of something each week. But I gain things as well. Time spent with friends. The joy of simple meaningful work, work simply to participate and share the benefits of this life, with myself, with the world around me, with friends. Granted my particular bubble is mostly internally focused at the moment, but there are always cycles where we need to look inward, to brush off the accumulated dust of worldly cares and other's expectations.

The garden is progressing along at its own pace. I have scattered a few pictures here and there, much the way they pop up in my life. "Oh, look at this!" I might think. The daylillies are blooming now, the later, larger, hybrids. Still scattered about in temporary holding stations all, except for the one immediately above, which I had planned to move, but which I now think is in its perfect location already. I love the contrast of the flower with the Japanese maple behind. Perhaps the scale of the daylily is off, compared to the maple and the other plants. Perhaps it is exactly that juxtaposition that I find appealing. A reminder that what I imagine the world to be and what it actually wants to become rarely align.

I also managed to finish one sweater, and photograph it. I can probably finish another today, but it will not be photographed today so wait for that in another post.

This is the mixed yarn, multi-striped sweater I am calling Blueberry Season. It is basically an unstructured cardigan as it was knit in the round and split at the armholes. I actually tend to prefer cardigans with seams as the seams add structure, but in this case, given the widely varying weight of the yarns and the mix of colors, it was easier to knit in one piece. The sweater itself is rather slouchy but the sleeves are more closely fitted, which is my own preference. For one thing, I do not like floppy sleeves that get in my way, secondly, having a garment fit across the shoulders to the bust, as well as in the sleeves, adds more than a tiny bit of silhouette to the shape, providing contrast to the loose body. To my eye, it looks less 1980s and more 21st Century. It may be all in my head and not born out in photographs, but if the sleeves and shoulders fit, I feel sleek and modern. Most of style and beauty is in the mind anyway, or it is so superficial as to be ephemeral and ultimately meaningless.

Or so I tell myself.

So this is it right now. I am keeping up. I love to drink my morning coffee with the sunrise. This morning I was watering a few areas that needed extra help following recent heat. I am not allowed to dig at this particular stage of my treatment so any garden progress is pretty much on hold and I am learning to leave the door locked on those inner demons that might try to chime in and make me feel guilty over things not done.

And I will leave you this photo, taken early this morning, in the horizontal light which brightens and blurs everything. Li'l bang coreopsis and Li'l Lyme Hydrangeas. A combination that will bring me joy throughout much of the summer. The hydrangeas are just opening, the coreopsis will move through flushes of rest and bloom, as do we all, reminding us that summer is a time not just of frantic pursuit, of outdoor adventure and accomplishment but also of languor, repose, and retreat.

Happy summer.

June 29, 2021
Five Things Friday

Just a quick update. A little shaky this time around, chemo #2, but not as bad as the first round. A dose reduction has helped and some acceptance that I am, and always have been, sensitive to medications, especially those that affect heart rhythms. A bit of a boost now though hopefully means that the end of the summer will also be a bit more manageable.

Garden time always brings joy, and this glowing pink hydrangea peeking out from behind the Japanese maple brings me joy each and every day. I could just sit on the lawn lost in its loveliness. The daylilly in front of the maple is also going to bloom. I have forgotten everything about it, its name, its color. Too much digging, too much trauma. It hasn't bloomed in two years, but apparently has survived and is now coming back with strength. There is hope in that don't you think?

Agretti. A new to me green vegetable, which I adore. Simply served here with a drizzle of olive oil and a dusting of lemon zest and Aleppo pepper. This came from GirlnDug Farm, my winter vegetable indulgence. I am going to try to grow some next spring although apparently it is tricky and a bit difficult. But that is what makes gardening fun. I don't want to stop supporting local farmers, and yet there is joy and satisfaction in harvesting a. bit of one's own food, of fresh peas from the garden, a fully ripe tomato, perhaps a vegetable one loves but does not find easily. Earlier this spring I attempted to grow spigiarello, another new to me Italian green related to sprouting broccoli. A late start and neglect resulted in a tiny yield, but perhaps next year will be better. I had visions of sharing spigariello with all my greens-loving friends. Plagued by hopes and dreams and visions of excess, I can't help but seem to be carried away. And yet the trick seems to be not in disappointment over dreams not fulfilled, but in the joys of discovering precious new things, new growth, tiny bowls of Italian greens.

Ah yes! Hidden in the middle, but perhaps most important of all! Hair. The requisite car selfie after leaving the wig shop. I love my new hair. I love the silver highlights. Admittedly I had silver highlights but not this many, and long covid hair appeared more dark, too dark for my aging paleface. It was time for short. And my hair, or at least my old hair, was too fine to hold this kind of off the face look no matter what I put in it. I like the shape of my head. I like a hat or a turban. I fully believe that there is no shame in cancer and no reason not to embrace the fact of it. But, I also love my wig, and yes, it has brought a spark of joy.

The Shade Garden. It does seem that so much of my joys revolve around moments in the garden this year and I remain grateful for that, that enough is planted that I have these peaceful vignettes, these places of escape and repose, where all is good with the world and my soul is washed clear of its troubles. I sat in one of these chairs one morning, facing away from the hydrangeas, facing toward the vegetable garden, watching the cardinals eat my peas, battle over who got the best peas. I have had my own good fair share, so I don't mind. It seems there is always something new to learn, some new drama, some newly discovered peaceful release.

And then there are all the little things. Having the energy to fill the two small planters in the front yard with flowers. A kind neighbor who brings my garbage can down to the garage from the street after trash collection. Surprise gifts of cuddly blankets. Family who stop by with shishito peppers just because they know I love them, love both family and the peppers in fact. A snuggle from my grand-puppy. All these things are a world in and of themselves. Sometimes I think we, or at times I at least, get wrapped up in thinking about all the grand things to see, to do, but in reality, perfection is in these little things.

June 11, 2021
Three Things That Make Me Smile

Yesterday was an unmitigated disaster.

But rather than dwell on that, I shall share a few happy bits.

New red birkies. These make me inordinately happy. They make me so happy that i wonder why i thought I couldn't pull off white patent birkenstocks a few summers ago. Are they still cool? Or was white a passing fad? Ooh the possibilities.

Last Friday I went to hear Tessa Lark play Michael Torke's Sky with the Knoxville Symphony Orchestra. I was so hungry for live music that I went even though I did not feel well, and as much as loved hearing live music, my evening was a struggle. I had not heard this piece before and I wished I had. Usually I find new music exciting — both emotionally and intellectually stimulating, but on this evening I could not connect the notes I was hearing to a pattern. It was as if some some essential part of my wiring had temporarily shorted. By Saturday I had figured out that this was a not-unheard-of effect of the particular mix of drugs I am on at the moment. For a person who considers reading and writing an essential part of her nature, as well as listening to music, this was difficult the most difficult aspect of chemo. And yet, this week, restored, I have been listening to Tessa Lark playing Sky on YouTube again and again. It is a happy piece and I am happy to have been introduced to it.

The Shady Patio. It is a bit hot at mid-day for me to spend time here now, but at the waxing and waning of the day this is where you are most likely to find me. Listening to the birds. Perhaps doing nothing at all.

May 27, 2021
The Late May Garden

I started this post 10 days ago, and here it is, still languishing. Shall we see if I can resurrect it? Perhaps a wander through the garden is exactly what we need.

On the Saturday before Mother's Day I finished planting the vegetable garden. Here is a picture taken from an upstairs window that very evening. The next day I flew to Texas to see my mom.

It doesn't look that much different now, two weeks later. The tomatoes and peppers are doing well, as are the eggplant. Not everything else is up yet. I have perhaps been remiss in watering daily during the current heat spell, but I have also given myself permission to fall down on the job as needed. The experimental things are up, yacon for example. The flush of green at the back, chervil, is now bronze and dying back in the heat. It probably needs to be pulled but it has also probably self-seeded and will return, another flush of chervil gracing kitchen and garden. The fava beans (front) pods are plumping nicely. I have been eating peas for a week or so.

I had a large handful, about a cup and half, of peas this morning with my local eggs and local bacon. The peas were steamed very briefly, just as long as it took to quickly scramble two eggs, American-style, but still just barely firm to the touch, while still tender and delicate, the way I like them. This was actually the first relatively full breakfast I had enjoyed since my first chemotherapy on Wednesday. Who can say no to breakfast in the soft morning light, especially in a garden?

I have not actually done much in the garden but enjoy it. Put a plant in here and and there, Add a few herbs to my salad. I am waiting for the blueberries.

While I was away the Louisiana Iris unfurled their blossoms and greeted me with their saturated colors upon my return. They are still blooming, soft and velvety, as are the flag iris, which just don't seem to stop.

The blackberry blossoms are fading but the vines are covered in green fruit. Mixed in with the blackberries are the polka roses:

I struggle to find a photo with both rose and blackberry blossom. The scale of the roses dwarfs the delicate blackberry flowers. Perhaps there will be roses when the fruit ripens. Below is a photo of a rose for scale, one I posted on Instagram last week.

Yes, that is a hospital bracelet still on my wrist. Doesn't it coordinate so nicely? I believe I took that after coming home from my first chemotherapy session.

There were a couple of other photos taken before I actually started treatment, an attempt at registering a moment too quickly lost. This peony, for example, the one nestled at the base of the little lime hydrangeas.

This peony lives is this bed on the east side of the front yard. You see the bed below in the morning light. Alas the peonies are gone, but the bed is filling in nicely, and it brings me great joy. This bed was my least favorite part of the yard when I moved in –ugly red knockout roses, red azaleas — not me. Now it looks like my garden. The peony is behind the dogwood, hiding behind the nepeta now that the blossoms have fallen, the nepeta which looks almost. silvery in the horizontal light.

The Siberian iris which are nestled behind the cranesbill geraniums also bloomed this spring, their first bloom:

This bed has also filled in nicely and makes me smile every day. Smiles are always good. No I haven't filled the planters yet.

I have started planting more cranesbill geraniums in front of the encore azaleas that were put in earlier in the spring, but you don't see much yet. In fact, the leaves of this geranium are deep purple and are not really visible above the clay at the moment. You see their tiny little tags. Named "ghost" they will have white blossoms. Perhaps a moment of craziness, perhaps not, but is not that the joy of gardens, the indulgence of wild ideas, the hope that things will play well together?

As you can see, there is still much to be done. Much promise ahead. Much waiting as well and I am content with that. There is time.

May 24, 2021
The Irises

Several of the irises are in bloom. The Louisiana iris have bloomed but I neglected to snap pictures, and there are several winter-blooming irises, which are, of course, out of season.

There are these small irises, iris Japonica, named Porcelain Maiden. The foliage suffered a bit as it was covered by a downed laurel for too long and so it is difficult to capture the masses of tiny blossoms. I had worried that they were too heavily shaded, as very little light got to them before the laurel was removed. Either they were happy enough, or this was a difficult last gasp. I need to watch them closely over the coming year, as now that the laurel is gone, they may now get too much sun. Below is a detail shot.

The older patch of roof iris, Iris Tectorum, is also in bloom.

These are named "Slippery Slope" and they are blooming well. Below is a detail shot with a bit of an early morning glow.

I planted more roof iris last year, but they are not yet in bloom. Since they were gifted, and I do not remember the specifics from my friend's garden, the specifics shall be a surprise..

Finally, iris versicolor, is in full bloom. This is actually a hybridized version of the native blue flag iris, named John Wood. Above is a single flower that I also posted on instagram, but there are about 8 open now. I transplanted this in a bit of a rush last year, as it was not happy in its temporary holding spot, which was too shaded. It had been rescued from trampling by the men with boots and heavy equipment attacked my yard, and seems quite happy in its new home. Certainly I am happy seeing its blossoms out my kitchen window.

I still plan on putting tall bearded iris and dutch irises as well. As you might surmise I am not convinced that there is such a thing as too many irises, too many hellebores, too many hydrangeas. We will see what else fills out my garden as it continues to evolve.

May 3, 2021