… but in reality it’s always a welcome addition to the scorched, dead-earth-looking yard in late summer/early fall.
While hiking up Lookout Mountain last year, Nick Fowler and I for some reason started talking about black-eyed Susans and how they got their name. We pretty much settled on the only possibility that made sense to us at the time: That the black-eyed Susan was a flower insensitively and macabrely named for a domestic violence altercation of yore. That is not true, the internet tells me, and I am quite relieved.
Anyway, I have some sweet black-eyed Susans in the yard this year — another bright spot transplanted from Middle Tennessee to Memphis by @saraclark.
My grandmother potted this for me last year and called it a bleeding heart. But it looks just like a columbine bloom, only it’s clumpy and grows much taller than my purple columbines. And the internet returns something much different when I search for “bleeding heart.” So I’m going to call it a columbine, at the risk of inciting grandmotherly rage.
What else is out there?
When the wind kicks up, the big oak in the front yard looooves to let you know about it.
I now have two bird feeders. Mine is the most popular yard on the block, as voted by tiny winged creatures.
Seriously, it sounds like bird armageddon out there most days.
This is a transplant from saraclark’s Nashville garden that appears to have done quite well over the winter. Score!