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The line of beach roses (rosa rugosa) brought back from the remnants of Willa's garden are budding up nicely, too.
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Even the birds weren't making much noise this morning, just the occasional chk chk from flocking blackbirds. It's a bit like the hush that falls over an audience just before the curtain goes up.
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This orange calendula prepares for its moment in the sun at the feet of the Coronation Gold yarrow.
Here's the Jupiter's Beard (centranthus ruber for the Latinistas...), also preparing to come into bloom. Yep, things are looking pretty sweet out there.
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This fancy marigold, and five of his seedpack mates joined the cast of the garden yesterday, as I prepare beds for the impending planting out of our great looking tomato plants.
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Heading back to tour by the gardens around the house, I found the blue columbine opening nicely...
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There's an old azalea at one end of the front garden. Last year I had to trim off lots of deadwood, and it's left looking almost standard-like, with some newer growth at the bottom. This year, at the very base of the bush, we are enjoying a single blossom. At least it's a great one!
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Yes, and there's still more spiderwort in bloom. Someone wrote to me to tell me that they are known in Provincetown as Widows Tears (a sweeter name than what I knew it by)...and I've since found that it's called that in some plant catalogs, as well. I love the common names plants are known by...and that there are so many of them...and they are so much nicer than the cold science of their Latin names.
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"Flowers we like to grow should have names that please us and its a joy to find them honoring men and women who've excelled in the world of gardens. Weeds, on the other hand, should have names we loathe, so we can go about their destruction with more zest and vim. The process of weeding is more sanative if you name the pests after your own special enemies and pet abominations. Don't bother to learn whether your new intruder is pigweed or horse nettle. Just christen it in honor of some neighbor who you find difficult to 'love as thyself' and, while abolishing it, you also may vent your spleen." -- Julian Meade, Bouquets and Bitters, 1940.
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Here's one of those lesser gardening moments: last evening, as I was tucking a few seedlings of white lobelia into this window box, it tried to re-enact the tale of the SS Poseidon, as it tumbled from its bracket and nearly capsized. What fun it was scraping up all that potting soil from the seashell path, and getting all the plant passengers firmly back in their berths.
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Once I left the yard and headed out for work this morning, I discovered the sunshine seemed to be a condition nearly exclusive to our bit of earth, as a fogbank hung over much of the rest of our part of the sandbar.
Boat Creek Marsh, Eastham, MA. 9:58 a.m. Posted by Picasa
The sun wasn't absent from the day, though: it came burning through the fog as the afternoon arrived. Here's our richly-green meadow later in the day.
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At the edge of the steps down into the meadow, I found this great trio of blue siberian iris, happily doing their thing. Hidden in some grasses (and more of the spiderwort/widows tears), they had escaped my attention before now.
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But you can see the sunset tonight was a bit of a bust, as the heavy fog and clouds of storms to come began moving in over us. Once again a good bit of rain is headed our way, with a weekend approaching. I guess that'll wash the pollen away...for now, at least.
First Encounter Beach, Eastham, MA. 8:00 p.m. Posted by Picasa
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