I pause for a moment to listen to the sound of the rain spilling off the roof onto a cement walkway as counterpoint to the swoosh of tires on wet asphalt. I'd rather be in my garden listening as the rain drops from one leaf to another .
Yesterday I spent a pittance of the meager funds, I hope not unwisely, on a new daylily for my spot of refuge. It's taken a couple of weeks, but I finally talked a friend into making the reasonably short drive to a nearby village which may be called Williamsville, or South Newfane (which may be one and the same, neither of which really exist as both are just a part of Newfane). They are the sort of New England villages that aren't supposed to exist, relics of a bygone era found in Victorian novels; a few buildings along one road, being a general store/post office, a meetinghouse/place of worship, a covered bridge, and a run down farmhouse with a broken plastic sign growing out of a patch of weeds which declares in giant (but tasteful) red letters, "powertools". A stream, which may be related to the Rock River, meanders quietly along the roadside.
Just before the paving runs out in favor of a dirt road, there is a lovely little shabby farm stand, open 10am to 5pm. Their product is daylilies, which are in season. Just beyond the stand is a plot of daylilies. There is a little path of lawn to the right of it. Go up a gentle slope, and the farm is revealed.
I had it in mind that I need - I mean the garden needs - a red daylily. Daylilies these days have moved far beyond the tiger-lilly which seems to be a native plant in this area. It's not really; two varieties were brought here by early colonists, the orange having gone forth into the wilderness and multiplied.
Now, as it happens, I more or less abandoned my garden for several seasons. The perennials have fought the good fight against the goutweed; I have made occasional forays to assist in their defense. This year the skin condition, which made even walking painful, has come under control (so far - it regroups for new attacks). I have returned to the garden, and the garden knows it. The old roses have perked up and bloomed for the first time in years. A rain like this will result in almost instantaneous over growth of the gout weed, but I am determined to fight it.
|For the first time in about 5 years, Madame Hardy spouted new canes,|
followed by the promise of buds...
|Mme. Hardy only looks like this for a day or two. The flowers flatten out and exhibit a green eye. |
Here's what she looked like a few years back in 2005:
|Königin von Dänemark also came back after years of dormancy. I'm delighted.|
Yes, it's messy and untidy. Think Degas. Squint a little. See it in the mind's eye as it could be a couple of years from now after it fills back in and looks like a proper garden again. Here's what it looked like several years ago. Eventually, the black eyed susans were moved out and the red and purple bee balm expanded. The purple is completely gone now, darn it.
In the meantime, Blogger is being difficult once more and my patience with it is at an end. I'll have to get back to the tale of the garden later.