After all, there's nothing like getting a whole lot of transplanting done just before the arrival of a real soaker. I know, it's lazy, but why not take advantage of what Nature provides, and get those major transplanting operations done on a handy schedule.
And so I rescued the last of our left behind garden friends from a garden that was not meant to be, but held them safe for the winter. The hosta "Big Daddy" was chief amongst them, only now visibly sticking out of the ground, along with an echinacea and some creeping yellow lamium that's a family heirloom of sorts. There were also two clumps of boltonia, an ornamental grass of some variety, a few of the foxgloves I'd raised from seed, a slip of coreopsis, a daylily, a handful of [I'll have to edit in it's name later, as I'm having a blank spot on it's name...nice ground cover...ajuga, that's the stuff!], a small fern and a whole bunch of lilies. Apparently those bulblets I carefully planted last fall had decided to succeed handsomely.
Anyway, I got them all transplanted in here, some in open parts of the old beds around the house, but many others into the new beds I'm just getting lined and dug out. God, it's fun to watch it all take shape. Actually, it's always reminded me of directing a play. Doctor Ruth was right: sometimes it is all about imagining a pretty picture and making it so.
By the way, that plan about Mother Nature watering in the new arrivals is working out quite nicely, as it's raining now. No one hopes for a spring storm with the ferocity this one might pack, though. We'll see what kind of winds we get, and be glad that those lilies are still fairly low to the ground.
No comments:
Post a Comment