In the Midnight Garden

I'm standing on the back deck of the house, looking up between the treetops. There's a few big clouds drifting across the moonless night sky and in the dark void between them is the glitter of a thousand diamonds.

The stars have returned and just in time for August, when magical things happen up there. I think I see a glimmer of something shifting around and wonder if there's even a slight chance its some kind of aurora.

It almost never is, but once or twice it has been, so I am filled with hope.

After accidentally blinding myself a time or two with the motion sensitive spotlight there, I walk through the house and barefoot, out onto the front lawn, newly mown. I feel the loose bits of grass on my feet as I walk out through the cool damp, refreshing on my toes. A hundred Chester Crickets are in concert in yards all up and down Not Wisteria Lane, their music punctuated by the occasional whirring chirp of a katydid.

Jupiter hangs in the southern sky, the brightest thing there. When I first saw it earlier this evening, it had a bright orange glow about it, giving the impression of a single burning ember from some faded skyrocket, suspended in time and space, forever descending from the heavens. By now, just midnight, that color has burned off, faded, so that only a glimmer of gold remains to the otherwise white star-planet.

On one hand, August's arrival is always a bit of a trial. It's the month to be a tourist on the Cape and so they are absolutely everywhere around us. And they have no qualms whatsoever about us knowing they are here. Including in the rental house across the street, where they have left the lamp post light burning tonight. My candle lanterns, often the brightest thing on the street, are overpowered by its white gleaming.

I wish I had that gadget Professor Dumbledore used in the first Harry Potter book, that took the light from all the street lamps on Privet Lane. It would be rather handy just now.

On the other hand, in just a week it will be time to choose a beach blanket and a dark spot on a sandy beach with a broad sky above, where I can lay back and watch the annual Perseid meteor show, always a taste of the spectacular on a stunning summer night.

Shading my eyes against the bright lamp light, I try to make sense of the stars. It's one of those nights where there are so many, it's almost hard to pick out the key constellations...not that I know them all, anyway. And that lamp's not helping.

A red light appears in the distance to the west, high above, and I watch as it cuts a straight line overhead, becoming three lights, moving fast, some international flight from Providence or maybe New York, and heading who only knows where across the sea.

I wonder if they know I can see them from down here, if they think about it. As the plane slides by overhead, I can hear its engines suddenly, the force behind the effortless speed. And then it's gone inside a cloud and to the east.

I wish I had a rock for that lamp. And I wish I didn't throw like a girl.

And I wonder if you're looking at the same stars where you are.

Sunday Garden Report

Yesterday's rain brought plenty of rewards in the garden this morning. First off, are those fabulous red lilies from Kelly and Carol. I've learned, actually, that Kelly only gave these to me so she could watch me grow them and enjoy them as if they were hers, without actually having to, like, plant them and stuff.

And I'm only too happy to have them here. While there were many things that put me on the path to being a gardener, I think I have lilies to thank for actually bringing me to the party for my own pleasure. I already knew how fantastic they were, but when I learned how easy they were to have around, there was nothing for it but to be a gardener. Thank goodness for all those other flowers to happily occupy my attention until the days the lilies bloom.

And t'was quite the day for lilies, too, as it turns out. In addition to those wonderful reds, at the far end of the fence this morning I found this little pink asiatic, nestled in a bed of allyssum.

I'd hoped the lily would be taller, and the allyssum from seed is taller than I'd expected. They turn out to be a winning combination.

Barely a hand's width through the allyssum from the pink lily is this trumpet lily, a single blossom. It is pale pink streaked on the outside, but buttercream yellow within. I'm surprised this one is so very diminutive(not that there's anything wrong with that), as they are generally much taller.

But both this and the pink one are from that bag of assorted lily bulbs I picked up at the Christmas Tree Shop this spring. They weren't expensive, so it makes perfect sense that the bulbs are smaller. I'm sure in time, this will tower with a dozen blooms in some season yet to come. But for now, this one perfect blossom will do very nicely.

I found this blue morning glory unfurled under a canopy of its own large green leaves on the fencepost closest to the driveway.

Its fun to have grown them from seed this year and to have blossoms on the vines so early in the season (or at least it seems so to me, based on past experience in shadier gardens). The vines are certainly keeping me busy lately, as they are growing pretty rapidly. Fortunately, I love taking the time to train them along the twine trellacing I strung on the fence posts where they are growing.

I found one this evening which had opted away from the fencepost and has decided to clamber and meander amongst assorted other flowers in the understory of the garden nearby. My first reaction was to want to tease it free and direct it up the fence, but then, I decided I rather liked the idea of one of them rambling through the rest of the chaos and creating a little more.



A third sunflower blooming today, as well. This is the second flower on that first plant. Its predecessor has now shed all its petals and should be attracting the attention of my bird friends shortly.

Meanwhile, more of the snapdragons have begun to bloom now, with buds forming on almost all the remainder of the plants. I'm happy to see that these are more muted tones, as they will help to soften the riot of color presented elsewhere.

I think it's kind of funny how I planted them all on the same day and they were all about the same age when I purchased them. And yet, due to the different conditions which have presented themselves to each plant, depending on the microclimate created by their plant neighbors in the border (some tower over their companions, while others have been shaded by taller perennials and sunflowers), they will each bloom on their own day, instead of all at once.


Hopefully, for photography purposes, there'll be some common bloom times, but I'm happy to have their presentations staggered across the season, too. Really, it'd just be sensually overpowering if they all bloomed at once, eh?




In another part of the garden, the Fabulous Mister Lincoln, everyone!! (The first smart-ass to call out "sic sempre tyrannes" gets their garden privileges revoked.)




I'm glad I decided on tons of allyssum on the border. It's a nice unifying element along the whole border.

I just love the big billowy clouds of the stuff and its honeyed fragrance. It also looks great with pale purple chive blossoms.

Generally, I'm pleased that we have missed out on all the cicada excitement this spring. I heard there were some in Brewster, but have been hearing reports from further up-Cape, areas like Sandwich and Falmouth, where they are forming their predicted walls/clouds of insects in flight, trees and shrubs chewed to bits and noise enough to keep you from thinking. But as a fan of all things natural, I'm just a little disappointed not to have had the experience...or at least some reasonably good reason to make the drive to check them out.

Since Kelly is the founder, of sorts, of at least part of our visual feast in the garden this week, I happily pander to her with this sexy shot of those red lilies, taken during one of today's few truly sunny moments.



For anyone else who thinks they might like to contribute a plant they'd like to see me grow in the Midnight Garden (heh heh, what a plant whore, huh?), I remind you that this is a good time of year to order bulbs and roots for fall planting.

; )