I’ll be in the garden. It’s beginning to look beautiful, at least in spots.
I took pictures of the glorious wisteria draped over my arbor like a fringed purple shawl, the abundance of sweet little yellow blooms on my Lady Banks rose, the wonderful color combination of orange marigolds, yellow daffodils, and cobalt blue birdbath, even my freshly-replanted wheelbarrow herb garden with its fun new metal signs . . . but apparently something happened to the pictures. Not sure what, but they’re MIA. Sorry.
Meanwhile, I’m in total gardener mode. I went to a garden show this weekend, where I discussed rain barrels, roses, and butterflies at long and happy length. I’ve been scoping out garden designs, plotting fun lawn décor, and revamping my entire front yard—in my mind. I can’t concentrate on much besides playing in the dirt right now.
I have to make the most of it, you see, because in a few months—when the temp are in triple digits—I’ll be more inclined to wave at my plants through the window of my air-conditioned house. “Hang in there! You look great! Good luck! See you in the fall!”
I’m such a fair-weather gardener.