Sundays Are For Spanish: What’s Up, Buttercup?

Just kidding. This is spiderwort. We know it as a prairie flower and, according to Wikipedia, is native from Southern Canada to Argentina. She only blooms in the morning when its cooler.

¿Que bonita, no?

How beautiful, no?

Remember Me

Hopefully, you do. If not, that’s okay, too. I have been suffering lately from a rare form of Post Partum Depression – something that I thought I had under control. But, looking back on things and the manic writing I was doing (the climate crisis has traumatized me because I am concerned for the futures of our children), I was sick. I am healing by following the advice of medical professionals and will not be sharing every step of the journey.

I did not want anyone to think that I had forgotten them, so this is just a note of “Hey, I’m still here,” for some of you. I hope you have all been taking care of your flowers, yourselves, and your babies. One day soon we will be sharing lots more stories – and all of them will be beautiful, full of hope, laughter, nature, and that bittersweet twang of truth.

Trying to Hear the Tulips

This is an example post for the first challenge to flower talk. See rules here. Genre style is this: narrative (include your genre if you wish). I also hope to offer an introduction of some kind as well.

This was our first duplex. The rain always puddled here, in this space between my porch and my neighbor’s. We made a garden of it.
A pink Gerbera adds a pop of color to this shot. My favorite, lamb’s ear, puts forth its flowers in the background (the purple and pale green thing that looks kinda like a weed from a distance)
Tulips were later planted in this make-shift garden (no, the landlord did not help, nor seem to care. But that’s not why we did it). You cannot see them (they hadn’t bloomed). I doubt that they are still there.

Quiero platicar con los tulipanes (dígame si tulipanes no es la palabra correcta). Pero están durmiendo en sus camas de tierra.

I want to chat with the tulips. But they are sleeping in their beds of dirt.

Discussing My Schedule With Thyme

No voy a discutir más, amigo. No puedo pasar todo mi tiempo contigo.

I’m not going to argue, friend. I can’t spend all of my time with you.

Oh, thyme is a must-have herb for the budding gardener or thoughtful cook. You can use it fresh or cut it and dry it. I like to leave it alone, and run my fingers through it occasionally. This is year #2 for this thyme; it wintered outside beneath a heap of leaves that served well to protect her.

A Conversation With Impatiens

I love impatiens. They are annuals, though I’ve had them pop back up the following year. For a super easy flower that gives a lot of color, buy a flat of mixed impatiens – red, pink, white, coral (rojo, rosado, blanco, coral), and plant them however you like (it is too late to plant annuals in my area at time of publishing, but there is always a next year). This spring I planted them in my front yard, in front of a white fence that guards the front door.

It started to rain very hard while I, Sergio, and Fortuna planted these dozen or so impatiens in a line (as straight as I could get it). It had been a hot day, and a large tree protected us from above, though not enough to keep us from getting soaked in the short-lived downpour. I love impatiens because they tend to spread into a little bush. They love the shade (sombra) and are easy to grow if given lots of water (though not so much that it is bothersome).

These white impatiens are a different kind, a New Guinea impatien I think. They grow with some English Ivy that wintered over by himself in one of my favorite blue pots, which has its own story (we did have snow and ice this past winter and I forgot about the ivy, but he made it). The leaves (hojas) of this impatien are quite something.

These flowers will all leave me into the fall, but behind them will stay the dirt and another opportunity for conversations with impatiens.

Gracias por sus colores.

Thank you for your colors.

Interview With A Potato

Yo potato, what are you doing?

¿Qué pasa papa, qué estás haciendo?

Apparently, this potato (sweet potato I think) found suitable conditions under this board, both of them left and forgotten in a raised garden box near my back door, and began to sprout some leaves. I’m not a fan of his flavor, so will leave him how he is.

Sweet-Talkin’ Sergio’s Rose

When my son was born, in August of 2016, my mother bought me one of those miniature roses that they sell in the grocery store. It was orange (naranja).

She has suffered from black spot disease this year (you can see some spots on the leaf in the bottom left). My flower garden does not receive enough sunlight for the roses to flourish. They don’t like the hard clay. All four (the red climber, a pink bush, my favorite yellow, and Sergio’s) have had a hard go of it.

We pulled this one from the ground because I refuse to lose her after three years and two homes. She is happily recovering in a pot that sits in a particularly sunny spot. This morning she smiled brightly at me.

No te preocupes cariño, te voy a cuidar.

Don’t worry dear, I’m going to care for you.

Welcome to Watermelon Forest

Last year, we planted watermelon (a personal variety) in the raised beds. We bent a hoop over their area and tried to grow them up the hoop. It didn’t really work, but it wasn’t a total failure. The watermelon (la sandía, if you’re interested to know) never reached ripeness: each one revealed a pale green or pale pink inside when chopped in two. This year, I let the strawberries (las fresas) grow there instead.

The strawberries had a great time in the beginning of the summer and I picked a few several times. Now, there are no strawberries. The watermelon has returned. Watermelon cannot be perrennials, and must have re-seeded themselves. I should look it up on Google, but there is life without Google and that life is growing right in front of me.

I hope that these watermelon ripen (you cannot see them for the leaves), but only time will tell.