weekly bloom: Provence (in absentia)

Just a quickie, this week.




I don't know the cultivar, although I suspect that this is probably English (rather than French) lavender, likely 'Munstead' or some other, very hardy, easily over-wintered thing. I have never done anything other for it other than cutting it back in the spring (and honestly, I only did half the job this year), or pulling its many volunteer shoots. This mild winter was excellent for it; I'm not even sure if it died back.

I love the roses, but honestly this is more emblematic of my gardening philosophy in general: the lavender is messy, uncontrollable, and half-feral; if not pruned aggressively, it would take over half the front garden. All I have to do it leave it alone, more or less; it is well-nigh unkillable, and the rest takes care of itself — perfect.

the promise of grace

Do you like the new blog layout? I'm as yet undecided — I like the fact that it will let me post bigger photographs, but I'm not sure if I like it enough to balance out the fact that each post now pops up in its own window. We shall see. The old layout was getting tired (and such tiny pictures!).

It's been a bit of a difficult week for me. I've always been prone to anxiety, and while I've learned to control it, or at least alleviate it, a bit over the years, it pops up sometimes. And I am not good at doing things I fear. I suppose not a lot of people are (and the ones who are, are sky-jumpers). Nonetheless — I had a driving test this week, and I was literally vibrating with fear and anxiety, off and on, for a few days. I didn't feel prepared. I hate the idea of failing. And, omg, I am over the cusp of 30; what moronic 30something can't drive?

In the spring and summer, I usually cast a quick eye over the front garden as I leave the house in the morning. Things change so fast, in the garden, at this time of year, and this way I can keep my eye on the new transplants and see what's blooming. Yesterday I did that, force of habit, and I noticed that 'The Fairy' roses have started to bud.

And it immediately calmed me down, and made me feel better — enough, at least, to stop vibrating. There is something about the knowledge that tomorrow, there will be roses, that makes me feel immeasurably content. Part of it is, I think, the idea that, a few months ago, I knew nothing about roses; I do, now. So I am not hopeless at everything. But more than that, it's the mere presence of grace, and the promise of more, tomorrow.


(Sorry about the not-great picture. I had to take this, on the fly and with the wrong lens, before the heavens opened up during the big thunderstorm this afternoon.)

They are tiny, and pink, and perfect in their way, as all roses are. Aesthetically, I prefer my beloved 'Amber Sun' roses — but you cannot argue with a rose hat blooms so prolifically, robustly and with such abandon, season after season. It is almost enough to question if it is high maintenance enough to call a rose.

(And yes. I passed.)

weekly bloom: roses

I had this whole (long) post going, about what I've added to the front garden and my future plans for it, but Mother Nature interrupted and insisted that I write about something better. And prettier. And then I thought, why not make this a weekly thing? It will, at least, give me the chance to keep up with the garden note-taking, as things go in and out of season. I won't be able to cover everything that's in bloom from week to week (that would be too much). But I can cover large swaths, and this week I even have the best topic: roses!

These are the 'Amber Sun' roses, two landscape shrubs (meaning: low to the ground) I put in next to the main walkway to the house. Both are blooming, with at least four flowers and more buds on the way. I had given up on seeing any of the new roses bloom this year — they are all very verdant and healthy, with multitudes of glossy green leaves, but hadn't budded while all of the neighbourhood roses are in glorious flower — so I had assumed. But, here they are!




Their colour is described as "copper yellow." I was expecting slightly more copper (like the bud below), but the first few roses were very pale, very yellow with a tinge of pink. I took these photographs yesterday. This morning there were more blooms, and they were much more orange, more like the half-open bud above.




I love them. These were the roses I chose even though the nursery was already out of full-sized plants for the season; I just couldn't let them go. Obviously, that doesn't seem to have hurt their chances any. Even better: they are supposed to be "continuous blooming," so I may even be able to enjoy them a few weeks more!




I also found some mystery roses in the back garden. I swear they weren't there last year! I noticed the shrub when I was pruning the others this year, but had assumed that they were more scabrosa roses (we have at least two, big towering ones). But no! These are double, maybe even full, and a pale pink. The shrub doesn't have that many flowers on it — maybe a half dozen. I've found that the roses in the back need reasonably heavy pruning in order to bud properly, so next year I will make sure to cut it back more. (I barely touched it this year.)



And the scabrosa roses, of course. These have been in bloom for a good two weeks, along with the rugosas (which I neglected to take a picture of). They are about the same as last year, except even bigger; these ones are taking over the rhubarb patch. We used to have the Rhubarb Patch That Ate Toronto, until — sometime last summer — the scabrosa made a leap for the shed roof; now it forms an arbour and is using the neighbour's hedge to (literally) climb to new heights. Meanwhile, the small patch that used to be full sun is now deep shade, and the rhubarb are fighting a rearguard action.




I don't know who I'm rooting for in this fight. I don't necessarily want the scabrosa to take over the entire north wall of the back garden — which it threatens to do — on the other hand, I don't even like rhubarb.

in progress

I missed May. How did I do that? The confounding thing is that I didn't even know I had done that. Skipping a month or two — or, er, seven — isn't an unusual thing around here, certainly, but usually I manage to keep track of exactly how bad a blogger I actually am. But to be worse than I thought? That's just demoralizing.

Anyway, this gardening-and-working-and-baby-and-blogging thing is turning out to be a bit more difficult than I anticipated. Time, of course, is at a bit of a premium (always). At least I used to be able to garden when the baby was asleep. The problem now is juggling the other things: I've taken photographs, but then neglected to upload them to somewhere accessible, and there's no time to blog. And then I find the time, but then the photographs are out of date ... and it's June now, a warm June (following a warm May), which means that the garden is changing fast; anything older than a week or so is out of date. So then I wait until I can take photographs, and the cycle begins anew.

So I've just thrown up my hands and given up. These photographs are from May 24 and 25. The garden doesn't look like this any more — the irises have stopped blooming, for example, and the weigela is just about done — but it did look like this, not too long ago, and for now I'm going to say that that's good enough.


The weigela bloomed, as it does, and it made me happy — as it does. I didn't get a chance to prune it this year, though it desperately needs it, so it's a bit more scraggly looking. Still lovely, though.


And ...strawberries! Although these are, metaphorically speaking, the eggs, not the chicks, and we shall not count them. We've had bad luck with our strawberries; last year we managed to harvest one, and this year looks to be about the same, despite the apparently early abundance. The thing is that we check them, and they are not quite ripe so we leave them alone, and then we check them the next day and they are just ... gone. Eaten by slugs, raccoons, destroyed by rain ... kidnapped by aliens? We don't know. But they're not there. It's disappointing, to be sure, but then again, they are cultivated strawberries and rather bland — the farmer's market ones are better at this time of year — so it's not a great loss. I think next year I will work on finding alpine strawberries, and plant those, and perhaps it will be better.