After six weeks of zero garden time, but thankfully also six weeks of oddly regular rainfall, it was time to take stock of the gardens in early April.
The previously un-sprouted kale had sprouted…to feed the snails.
The beans (green and soup, alike) had mostly kicked the bucket – seemingly before ever growing the feet necessary with which to do so…looks like I’ll be buying more green bean seeds as self-saving doesn’t work when you lose every plant.
So while our table was set for more grocery trips than last year, we weren’t without pleasant surprises. This spring has been a lesson in success in spite of (or perhaps due to) neglect.
The nasturtiums never minded the lack of attention. Their sowing directly along the walkway to the front door helped them survive an infestation of leaf-footed bugs through diligent squishing by DH (thank you!) They’re just about done these days, but in their prime reached two feet across and more than a foot tall.
The butterfly bush came back just fine, or should I say never really left? It’s been battling aphids, mostly on its own, and is also almost done for the season now, but here it was early April.
I forget this lovely lady’s name. I wasn’t expecting her back after the winter, but am glad she returned.
The grocery store had snapdragons on clearance for $0.98. I’d always loved snapdragons. Making their mouths open and shut as a child. Watching bumble bees pry open their mouths to get at the pollen and get pinched in their jaws only to extract themselves with a little extra yellow on their coats. I wasn’t sure it would make it. I wasn’t sure it would survive the winter. I wasn’t sure of much, but for $0.98 I was sure I was going to see what would happen.
And then it was time for the surprises. I’d sown untold numbers of seeds into the Hot Bed. Seeing what would take, seeing what wouldn’t. Seeing what would start and stop, or grow but not blossom. Delayed gratification. Pleasant surprises. Anticipation and future glee were the name of the game.
These guys I had no clue on when they started. They grew taller, spindlier. They put on buds, and then paused. Finally, one morning, they appeared as red lipstick tips and by the time the sun broke the clouds, they were ready to reveal themselves.
This one I hoped was what I thought it was. I was fairly certain after years spent on grassy knolls in Oregon that I knew this one. As soon as the bud formed, I was 99% sure, and when it opened, I’m pretty sure I either jumped for joy or clapped my hands…or both.
But enough about the front yard. The backyard was up to its own mischief…