My yard — hell, my entire neighborhood — smells like honeysuckle right now. The entirety of the western fence in my back yard is draped with the stuff. I snuck two licks of nectar the other day and thought about all those times as a kid I’d been out in a pasture somewhere and felt like I’d found some exotic delicacy when I came upon a clump of sweet honeysuckle blooms.
Just a running list of what I can remember is in the ground out there, for posterity: Found in the yard: • Monkey grass (which is volunteering everywhere) • Spring star flowers (also super eager to volunteer) • Columbine • Bamboo (largely uprooted and saved for potting) • Rhododendron/azaleas • Hydrangeas • English ivy • Thrift • Rose of Sharon • Vincas (purple) • Daffodils • Dianthus • Nandina • Volunteer dogwood trees • Crepe myrtles •…
This here is a purple columbine, which only bloomed because I never got around to gutting the pot it’s in, as I originally thought those clover-lookin’ leaves were weeds of some sort. Turns out they were going to produce a flower whose unopened blossom looks not unlike an honest-to-god dragon head.
… has a lot to do with the fact that most houses come with attached plots of land on which you can pretend to be a conductor coaxing the most entrancing floral notes out of the earth: My mom grows flowers so gorgeous that I don’t even need Photoshop. Truly. If I got even a fraction of her and my grandmother’s green thumbs, I will cultivate a jungle before all is said and done.
My boss had her baby! So we sent her some flowers. The kid emerged a giant: Nine pounds, fifteen ounces. THAT’S LIKE THIS BIG. Can’t wait to meet him. In the meantime, I am tasked with keeping my department running. Until October! Last week was a clusterfuck because of scheduling mistakes (mine, naturally) and vacationing co-workers and the feeling that I had tossed myself into some kind of boiling vat of stresswater. But that was…
Donna at work grew these and then started bringing them in by the truckload. They are gorgeous. [Project 365]
Notice that this little dude doesn’t have a white dot on his forehead, meaning he could have hauled off and stung the everloving bejesus outta me at any time. He got pretty close, too, once he got fed up with my being up in his grill, snapping away. He started freaking out and flying in this ever-embiggening circles, and I backed away and headed for the house in the hopes that he wouldn’t follow me.…
They don’t fix things, but they smell good. [Project 365]
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