Brilliant sunshine Sunday, and just plain cold. Perfect day to see what my garden crew is made of. We are short Emily these weekends; she got herself a job on a real farm.
Hamilton and Laura selected more flat rocks from pile we unearthed last May, and Hamilton laid another stone path into the garden. My hope for a cairn continues to diminish.
I’ve told Hamilton my dad would be proud of him. No matter what else he sets his hand to in life, he can go out back and plant a garden. He handles the shovel well and understands important stuff like setting a river stone firmly into the ground. How to loosen roots. How deep to plant.
Laura and I made a plant run, to the nursery across the road. I knew there was a sale and we loaded up on succulents. All the tags are in the recycle bin, so I have a good excuse for not remembering, except all require full sun and I’m stretching that a bit under the oak tree.
Grandma put the pots here and there and the crew planted. The royal “we” then spread the last dozen bags of mulch. We discussed whether we should have mulched first, planted later, as I occupied my garden stool and they pushed mulch around the crocus and the succulents, and the last aster from our not too successful wildflower garden. “We” decided plant first probably was the best idea.
It looks lovely, all those little lavender flowers poking up. More come up every day. A few were unearthed in laying the stone path, and had thick root beards hanging from their bottoms. With apologies we reset them.
Today I saw the first honey bees of the season, working away at this perennial we added earlier in the year. It spent all summer with dark green leaves and recently burst into bloom. Of course I don’t recall its name. I know most everyone will say “It’s …..”, and that’s as much fun as knowing to begin with. Some ring a bell, like the Solomon’s Seal, and I can point and say its name. But the rest are still in that vast reservoir of lost nouns, and come and go like pleasant memories.
Our neighbor across the road has hives and I’m sure the bees are from her hives. I’m sorry they ignored our flowers all summer. Next year I’ll try to select for them, as well as for the bumblebees. Or, perhaps they spent their summer in the clover we planted by the barn.