Wednesday, June 24, 2015

June Garden

I feel like I haven't been out in the garden for weeks--thus nothing interesting to blog about. Between the rainy weather, hot hot hot temps, working on our kitchen, and wedding planning,  the garden has taken a back seat this summer. It's looking pretty good even without my help,  though, everything is so lush and green after all the rain.  The vines on my fence are just going wild. I often think about the jungle we would live in if we didn't spend any time trimming and cutting back. We have neighbors who do nothing in their yard, and so their weeds on their side of the fence have turned into trees, and I spend a lot of time just cutting that back.  It's amazing how fast things grow.  I did spend a little time over the weekend on deadheading and weeding, always that. Daisies and phlox and coneflowers are just beginning to bloom. My roses aren't looking too good--too much rain and fungal diseases go wild. We had huge storms last night but the sun is out this morning and it is actually pleasant outside.

One thing I have noticed is a few of my autumn anemones are turning white, or turning variegated. I have looked this up thinking it might be a virus, but see nothing that would explain this.  Any ideas from my master gardeners??

Pots are all doing great, especially the lantanas,  which the butterflies love. Some of my succulents are turning to mush though, with all the rain.

See the monarch butterfly?

My amaryllis summering on the deck

Monday, June 1, 2015

Morning Garden~~Larkspur and Roses

'The garden I love more than any place on earth; it is a better study than the room inside the house which is dignified by that name. I like to pace its gravelled walks, to sit in the moss-house, which is warm and cosey as a bird’s nest, and wherein twilight dwells at noonday; to enjoy the feast of colour spread for me in the curiously shaped floral spaces. My garden, with its silence and the pulses of fragrance that come and go on the airy undulations, affects me like sweet music. Care stops at the gates, and gazes at me wistfully through the bars. Among my flowers and trees Nature takes me into her own hands, and I breathe freely as the first man.'

The Gardener's Monthly, 1864