I complained enough about the weather and now it’s nice outside. Obviously, whining works. A cynic might remark that eventually the weather would turn pleasant even without all the whining, but I prefer to see it the other way.
There are snowdrops showing white in the garden now, but not so much as to be worth photographing. I did take one picture that can serve as a sort of “state of the garden” image for now. I brought this on myself by feeding the birds, so there is no cause for complaint. That’s me creating the shadow on this very sunny, warm day.
I did a walk around the garden today, which I keep telling myself not to do, and I count four plants definitely dead. Completely and totally dead. So dead they’ll never come back. This is four, out of a number planted last year. A large number, planted without hope of survival. I also peeked under the burlap-wrapped cages, too.
Some plants are probably dead, some look alive but might be dead, and at least two ought to be dead.
More of Cindy’s digital photographs. As I enter my declining years, my erstwhile flawless memory is failing. Some of the photographs were marked “plant”, which I found quite helpful.
Centaurea …oh, it’s the one with silver leaves that spreads all over the place.
Trough with Gentiana verna before the gardener, previously (and accurately) described as a “clumsy half wit”, pulled out most of it.
One of the creatures that occasionally visits the garden. I could tell a really funny story about the time the garden was on tour and a pair of underwear was triumphantly flung onto the rock garden after being shown to everyone, but I don’t think I will.
Eremurus the way she saw it.