I'm a reluctant gardener at best, driven more by the desire to have a lovely yard than love of the plants. When I complain that I killed yet another lovely, sometimes even "hardy" specimen, my sister asks, "Did you talk to it?" I must reply, "Yes, I tried. I yelled at it." Then she says, "Well, there you go. That's why it died. You've got to talk nicely to your plants."
Whether or not my plants die because they can feel my negative vibes approaching or for some other reason, this year promises to be a better year. If these photos are any indication of the prolific beauty that's to come, then we're in for a treat:
The small herb patch:
Oregano and Chives
with volunteer coneflower
and yarrow, not yet in bloom.
My grandma's irises.
Well, they're my irises,
descended from bulbs taken from
Grandma Cille's garden years and years ago.
We've had spotty blooms in years past,
but this year, every plant seems to have
I've been trying to get columbines to grow for years,
and just when I had given up, neglecting the thing
all through one hot drought-ridden summer, finally,
one the puny thing is loaded with pink and white
And this one I just threw in for fun.
My big fat tabby, Raphael, is quite the stalker.
It looks like he's peeking over the rim of the
picture, being all sneaky.