...at the garden nursery
Me: Look at this gorgeous magenta Osteospermum. Won't this look great with the coleus transplants?
Mr.B: This purple daisy?
Me: It's called cape daisy in some places, but its less confusing to call it Osteospermum
Mr. B: Less confusing to who?
Me: It helps to better care for a plant to know something about its plant history and native habitat. Osteospermum tells me that it requires cool afternoons, well drained soil, and a strong dose of phosphorus for bloom production.
Mr B: It looks like a daisy.
*sigh* And so it does.....
After what seemed like 40 days and 40 nights of rain, a trip to the nursery, a bad case of bronchitis and moving our youngest son to NYC, I finally had the opportunity to get outside to take a few pictures. I first surveyed my long neglected garden, expecting to see perennials on the verge of bursting open in color but what I discovered instead took my breath away. I was truly surprised, and not in a"crap, the rabbits ate off the top of my zinnias" kind of way, but in a "WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?" kind of way. The garden was filled with one delightful surprise after another, and from a person who works in a field of theatrical illusions, let's just say I don't shock or surprise very easily.
Who would have guessed that I could be twice surprised in one week, first by the exciting entrance of one Clay Aiken onto the AI finale stage, and then by the unexpected pleasures in my garden? I learned a long time ago to expect the unexpected when it comes to a Clay Aiken appearance or the powers of mother nature. They both never cease to amaze me. This week, I was once again thrilled by the voice that continues to move me after all this time, and humbled by the artistry of nature's designs.
So instead of my carefully chosen plants, my first pics are in tribute to the mysteries and surprising delights in the garden ( to YSRN and Conclayve-Nan who inspired me to take them) and to the man who can still make my jaw drop to the floor when I least expect it.
Gazing down over the ledge I took in the wildflowers of wild geranium and dame's rocket that were in full bloom on the hillside. The wind had carried the wildflower seeds across my yet undeveloped patch of land as if to mock my hard work in cultivating the rocky clay soil. The drift of purple/pink blooms ebbed and flowed over the land in a way gardeners only hope to achieve. These phlox-like wildflowers may seem delicate to the observer, but they are tough as nails. No diseases or weak stalks on these beauties.
Last fall, the birds were rather busy carrying the seeds from violet and pansy pots in last year's garden and randomly distributing them throughout the garden bed. This spring, again to my surprise, a blanket of blue and yellow covers the soil beneath the developing perennials. I had to laugh at myself because the pansies I had carefully nurtured from seed had yet to bloom. These feathered "designers" had no problem developing a complimentary color palette. It's no wonder I've yet to meet a gardener who takes themself too seriously.
Although I was rather pleased with my garage sale acquisition of a ceramic pot that I was certain would make a dramatic juxtaposition to the wooded surroundings, once again the show was stolen by a drift of forget-me-nots carried on the wind. My pot is but an accent, a prop for the true star of the show. Those vibrant colors in nature have once again taken over the garden spotlight.
Sometimes looking at anything from a different perspective can grab you unexpectedly.
Two years ago I planted a clematis. For two years I watched and waited. There is nothing more spectacular than a clematis in full bloom and mine wasn't doing a darn thing. I know it sometimes takes some time for a clematis to develop strong roots and what is going on beneath the soil isn't always apparent to the ever patient gardener. This spring, to my surprise and delight, that "waiting in the wings" clematis finally burst open.
I guess some things are just worth waiting for.
Here's to "The Natural"
Please share you garden surprises!