Friday flowers

Volume 10, Issue 68; 13 Jul 2007; last modified 08 Oct 2010

They're not cats, of course, but they are beautiful in the summer sun.

The earth laughs in flowers.

E. E. Cummings

Seven maybe eight years ago, we transplanted an hydrangea from my inlaws yard in New York to a prominent corner of the flower bed around our house. Every year, it sends up green shoots, grows to three or four feet tall, seems quite happy, and completely fails to produce any blossoms.

One uninteded consequence of the projects has been a complete abdication of responsibility for the yard. Oh, maybe not complete, I have mowed the lawn a couple of times, but there's been nary a weed pulled nor a flower planted in the beds this year. The weeds are so robust now, I can't really distinguish them from the perennials.

So I find it somewhat ironic that this year the damned hydrangea is drenched with beautiful, blue-purple blossoms. You can see them peeking out around the weeds.

Elsewhere in the yard, the lilies are blooming and the transplanted coreopsis is doing its thing.

When we added the driveway, we lopped two feet or so off the flower bed (which was absurdly deep). The coreopsis had been growing in that space, so it got moved into a bed in the back of the house. Next year, when we actually pay attention to the landscaping, we'll find a spot for it back near its original home.

We'll have to make sure the phlox and the bee balm get sorted out too.


Our hydrangea had a run-in with a snowplow-wielding human-as-chimpanzee, and now it's dead, dead, dead ... snif ...

—Posted by John Cowan on 13 Jul 2007 @ 10:25 UTC #