Flowers are equivalent to stars, as beautiful but earthly. The heavy rains brought bounteous blossoms, and leaves, too. Like this strawberry. The blossoms tell of the delicious fruits I’ll miss. Yesterday, while pulling weeds, Karen and I got the last of the asparagus hiding in the weeds. We ate the spears raw while we rested.
Red valerian, easy to grow, any soil, pot or in the ground.
Iris blooms the size of softballs.
At one time I had about 50 different varieties. Not all bloom at the same time.
Two days ago, this azalea had zero blooms.
Spiraea, too, has larger flower heads than usual.
The only Rhododendron I have left after moving them away from an ancient oak that didn’t like the water during warm weather. The others didn’t survive, but the majestic oak will live on to shade another generation or two. (Several oak species die a slow death if watered in the summer.)
The bleeding heart and lily of the valley, along with a few others sit potted beneath the oak. This is the first time since I’ve been ramblin’ that I’ve seen my daffodils in full bloom, my lilacs, cyclamens, honey suckle and other stars of the earth. I do miss my garden when I’m on the road. I enjoy other people’s gardens and public gardens I’d never see from home. It’s a good mix of two lifestyles.
Que Sera, Sera... Whatever Will Be, Will Be... 