Another downpour last night. The blossoms of the peonies and roses have taken a beating and I need to deadhead like mad. Weeds everywhere have grown to a formidable height and seem to multiply like Mogwai. Rain garden looks terrific. Not sure if the rosemary is going to make it in its temporary bed; may need to take cuttings and start some new plants. Rose campion blossoming everywhere, both red and white. Finally got oregano transplanted and ‘Emma Hamilton’ rose potted up with better drainage; Emma isn’t looking too spry but perhaps she will pull through with some healthy doses of worm compost tea. Not that she needs a drink. Backyard smells like heaven from lush honeysuckle on neighbor’s fence. Tiger lily bloomed this morning.
My daphne is beginning to bloom.
Why did I wait so long to plant one of these? Actually, I know why: I was afraid of failure. I have read of people planting these enchanting shrubs, falling utterly in love with them, and then after several years the daphne dies, without warning, throwing the gardener into heartbroken despair. There’s enough grim business in the world without adding to the mix with fussy plants.
But my neighbor has one that scents up my entire yard with its heavenly, lemon-scented blooms. Stepping out the front door, I receive an olfactory gift of hope. To smell one is to want one; it is that straightforward.
Last year I took the plunge and bought a quart-sized ‘Carol Mackie.’ I was lucky in that we had decent rain here, while the rest of the country suffered terrible drought. I am cautiously hopeful that I have sited it well and nurtured it adequately with generous helpings of worm compost tea. In about a week, I intend to spend a little time in meditation, right next to Carol, and relish her when she is in full bloom.