No gardening this weekend. We were away on Saturday, and Sunday was just indescribably wretched: sporadic rain and hail. Luckily, the garden is relatively maintenance-free right now; I should probably weed a little bit but the situation isn't dire.
The whole thing is in full spring growth mode now, which is a little worrying because there's a frost warning tonight, but what am I supposed to do about it now? Not only have the roses been pruned, but they're also sending out crazy growth; I can't stop it now. In fact, it looks like the garden got through the normal Canadian winter just fine; as far as I can tell, the sum total of the winter casualty list is a small hosta. (I think. I am certain that I had three hostas, and now I have two, but I need to wait until they leaf out before I can determine which two. Also, one of them is awfully skinny, and so its survival may be more tenuous than not.)
I forgot to take an overall picture of the garden this time, but here's a ground-level one of the stone path:
The tulips are "Carnival de Rio," late-spring bloomers, once they're gone tulip season in my garden will be over. On the right are the coneflowers I mentioned above; I think they were white and label-less when I planted them; I'll need to check my notes to make sure.* And behind those, with the fern-like leaves, are Oriental poppies, two of them, also hopefully white — I bought them in the midst of high summer last year, well after their blooming season (and thus got a great deal for them, too). I wasn't sure they would come back, actually, so this is particularly gratifying.
I had declared that, if we did not get any peonies this year, I would tear out one or both plants and replace them with roses — I had even gone so far as to decide which ones — likely Morden Blush or Morden Sunrise. So, of course, one of the peony plants — the older one — is finally budding. About darn time, I say. The thing has been sulking in the ground for three years, sending up a single shoot that leafs out far too short and too early, and breaking my peony-less heart in June.
*Haha. I like to pretend that my notes are precise and thorough, as opposed to being either a) the dates of old digital photos, or — better yet — blog entries, or b) the giant pile of discarded plant tags on the window sill by the kitchen sink.
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