Candy Tuft.
The recent heat wave may have been a bit extreme, but at this moment I’m sitting inside with a blanket pulled up to my chin. It’s not that I’m feeling under the weather. Instead, I’m feeling the weather. I think when the heat wave broke, it also broke summer. Clouds, rain, and cool temperatures have been the order of the day. The last few days, actually.
What’s a cold gardener to do?
The Great Heat of 2013 has come and gone, and there is joy and gladness throughout the land — and when I say land, I mean my garden. In fact, I think I can actually hear a collective sigh of relief coming from the plants (and maybe some of you) as more reasonable, seasonable summer temps return.
And when I look around the garden, it’s clear that some plants are still sporting nasty sunburns. Some of the hydrangea heads, for example, are tipped with brown.
But it’s the zinnias that garner all of my praise. I planted various kinds of zinnias this year — more than usual — because I knew that I would be unable to start my usual annuals from seed in the potting shed. I needed an easy seed — one that could be directly sown — and zinnias were the obvious choice.
And I’m so glad I did. As the temperatures rose, they stood tall and proud, empty of fear and full of color. I like to think they were the cheerleaders of the garden, encouraging the other plants to hold on. I’ll let their photos do the talking.
A cloud fell from the sky last night. I’m not sure when it actually happened, since it was crystal clear when I went to sleep. This morning, when I looked out of the window, I had to wonder, “Am I dreaming?”
Fog has a way of playing games with you. That might be why I love it so much. Ordinary objects become fuzzy. Landscapes become otherworldly. With imagination, I can be anywhere: my backyard or a Transylvanian woods. Like snow, fog seems to muffle sound and makes you feel as if you’re the only person alive. As I went exploring, I could hear the random drip of melting ice crystals, their misty evaporation rising into the air. And as the sun warmed the atmosphere, the fog left and everything — including me — returned to it’s usual state of being.
I hope these photos offer a glimpse of the gauzy wonder that was a Sunday morning fog in late November.
I always thought I knew my garden, knew all of its ins and outs. I have learned otherwise since starting this blog. Now, I find myself looking at the garden more deeply, always thinking of the next post. In fact, post obsession occupies most of my daily thoughts since I promised myself that I would post twice a week. Could I possibly write that much, especially at this time of year when so much of the garden is leaving or already gone?
That was the thought I had the other day when I pulled into the driveway, the posting question planted firmly in the forefront of my brain. It had been a rainy, gray day — and as I sat in my car, I looked about and I was stunned. My garden had been transformed into a shimmering display of rubies and amber, garnet and topaz. The next day, the sun came out, and when I looked about again, I discovered that my rainy day vision had not been a dream.
Red and Gold, part 1.
Weeping Dogwood.
Beneath the outer leaves of the Weeping Dogwood, other leaves were making the change.
It's a wonder what a little frost will do to Hosta.
Azalea.
The Climbing Hydrangea has never bloomed. Just leaves.
Japanese Maple
Euonymus "Burning Bush" is on fire.
Red and Gold, Part 2
Nitty Gritty Dirt Man 