May Perfection
We've had so much rain. Who could imagine this would turn into such a perfect day? Overnight rain, morning rain, so no incentive to rise early. A nice leisurely breakfast, reading the newspapers, taking our time. After clean-up, a walk in the ravine. The rain has stopped, the sky still rent with dark layers of clouds. Anybody's guess whether it will rain again, and soon. So we wear our yellow raingear, and off we go.
The creek is running full tilt, thanks to all the rain we've received in the past week. The trails are as wet as they ever get, with puddles of muck here and there. We've half-filled the laundry sink with warm water in anticipation of our return with two clay-footed little dogs. Meanwhile, all of us plod through the puddles. Taking note as we proceed, of the state of the trilliums, the trout lilies, the wild strawberries, and looking carefully for the shy heads of Jack-in-the-Pulpits, happy to be rewarded by sighting their purple-striped nodding heads near the creek tributary which they've colonized. In fact, the trilliums, foamflower, trout lilies and finally, Jack-in-the-Pulpits that we transplanted into our garden from the ravine years ago are in colourful evidence in our own gardens. The richness of our garden soil has encouraged the proliferation of foamflower and giant-sized Pulpits.
Not only does the rain hold off, but the sky begins to clear, the sun peeks out now and again, and we're beginning to feel decidedly warm. Off comes the raincoat, and it is tied by the arms around my waist. Oh, goody! say the mosquitoes, and they begin to feast to their nasty little hearts' content. They flock around our little black female Poodle and try their best to visit misery upon her, but her owner busies himself brushing them off her. None of the tiny nasties bother our Apricot male Poodle; it's his odiferous male hormones and his colour. Speaking of colour, how unfortunate I chose to wear a long-sleeved black t-shirt; for that colour attracts the avaricious little beggars like no other, and my partner is having a good time slapping them off me, secure in the knowledge I won't protest at his constant "brushes". For my own good, of course.
It's Tuesday and that's the 20%-off day for seniors at the Sally Ann thrift shop. Not our own, which we so bitterly miss since arson obliterated it from our near landscape, but another one, not nearly as good, but passable, some miles away, is the one we drive to. A careful search brings us a bonanza of gently-worn, good quality summer clothing, some of which will be gifted to a special little girl. We are able to select some good books, among them an Alice Munro short story collection for my special delectation.
On we go then, to the Cleroux greenhouses, our favourite spot off the highway for our annual selections of begonias, both wax and tuberous. As usual, we're undecided when we see the bold, delicious colours and finally select a flat of red, one of white, another of pink, and a yellow. We get a flat of ornamental fountain grass, one of lobelia, two of wax begonias, then turn our attention elsewhere. One single tomato plant is all I need for us to enjoy a lovely fall harvest. Along with curly parsley, chives, lavender and oregano.
At home I set about separating and digging up hostas, echinacea, heuchera, columbine, bleeding hearts, pot them up and set them aside to take along to our daughter's house to be planted into her garden. Mohinder comes by for a chat just as Irving has finished mixing black earth, peat moss and sheep manure into the wheelbarrow for the purpose of filling up some of our clay and stone garden pots. We won't fill all of them this day, but we'll get a good start.
Both dogs decide to snuffle about the garden beds, seeking bits and pieces of compost that they so relish, to our great disgust. These are dark, dry, desiccated pieces of fruits and vegetables long past any recognition of their edible incarnation, but they are beloved of these two little dogs, to our immense frustration. I lecture them, order them to remove themselves from the garden beds, and when needed, remove the dried bits from their sad little mouths.
I see that annual California poppies have seeded themselves, along with a multitude of other annuals, in various parts of the garden. Morning glories make their first appearance, so I know I'll have an abundance of glowing blue flowers vining up the fence, again. Columbine are beginning to throw up their flower heads, and the Forget-me-nots are everywhere in bloom. Tulip heads still offer their bright candy colours, and the grape hyacinth have proliferated in the borders presenting a unified splendour of blue. The Sargenti crabs are full of bright pink blossoms; the Jade crab of lighter pink; the apple trees barely pink. Creeping phlox enriches the rock garden with its bright pink florets; the fritalleries nod their dappled heads.
The temperature has risen to a truly balmy 20 degrees centigrade, with a slight breeze, and now and again the sun blazes through the clouds which at one point almost dissipate. Only to return later in the early evening when we've prepared to put on the barbecue for dinner. We're still talking perfection here.
posted by Pieface @ Tuesday, May 16, 2006
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