But does it come in pink?

Yes, my girly-girl side must be asserting itself. Maybe it comes from being the only female in the house?(My husband's idea of a bright colour is navy blue and my son loves orange! What's a girl to do??) Whatever the cause, I'm going soft on pink.

I bought a pink rose once on impulse and every year I said I was going to dig it up because it simply did NOT go with my white floral palette, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. It just looked so darned happy. Then I got this Quick Fire hydrangea (Hydrangea paniculata 'Bulk') standard. Whoa. When that white lace begins its blush to pink, I am a goner. Unfortunately, it also blooms a month earlier than many of my other woody hydrangeas so there is no escaping its candy sweetness. Really, does it have to be quite so pretty? Hussy.

This is the second year I have put these adorable little annual petunias in a feature spot by the seating area. They are so cute!!! I fully expect they sing and dance the can-can at night.

Two summers ago I put this nodding beauty in the west-facing bed. She is Clematis texensis 'Etoile Rose' and this year she has gone all out in a dazzling display of bells, bells, bells! My poor trellis collasped under the weight of all the flowers and now I have it propped up until I can provide more permanent supports in autumn. Am I complaining? Absolutley not. Like so many other shots of pink I've recently added to my garden, she goes beautifully with all the white.

I've added a few Hydrangea 'Invincibelle Spirit' to fill in around their sisters, the glorious white Hydrangea 'Incrediball.' Hello-does anybody else see cotton candy here? OK, so it's just me then is it.

And finally, there is this bold patch of Veronica spicata ‘Foxy Lady’ at the front of the south bed. (I really must name my beds...they deserve better than being called by their orientation!!) I don't know if ever there has been a plant more aptly named. She sasses up that bed big time. I swear I want to break into song when I walk by her. I bet if you click on the link, you will wanna join me. I dare you.

Who knew my inner glamour girl was going to rear her head and bat her eyelashes? Next thing you know, I will be wearing fuchsia suits and sporting matching heels. Except I'm no good in heels. A new handbag will have to do. And not in navy blue.

When the rain is warm and soft

We finally had relief from the heat wave today. The morning started with a crack of thunder amid some odd curling clouds, and then settled into a slow, light, warm rain--much needed, I must add. 

A little rain has never stopped a girl from enjoying her garden. So, of course, after my son went to sleep this evening I wandered out amid the rain drops to enjoy the roses.

There is something about the first flush of roses that melts me. It's not the same as the first flash of bulbs in the spring. No, this is deeper, and a bit soul-stirring. Their beauty moves me. They are so beautiful that surely they are a gift. I have four bushes along the front walk so that passersby can enjoy them as well.

However, the ones in the back garden are all mine. Each flower is fleeting and I deadhead eagerly because I never want them to end. But then each year June comes and again they return, flushed and as beautiful as ever.They must sleep some kind of immortal sleep. If only winter were so kind to me.

This year I bought a long-coveted Claire Austin rose. I know it won't last here. I know it is only visiting. But we only live once and I had to have her, even for a while. Tonight, in the rain, was her first flower. I am smitten. Agog. Do, I have it bad? Yes, I don't even pretend to be sensible in the garden this time of year. I am rose drunk. Roses have the power to tap directly into whatever spirit it is that compels us to become gardeners in the first place.

Just to prove that roses aren't the only thing I noticed out there, I also made a point of admiring my potted Nikko hydrangeas, another fleeting visitor. They are the party girls, and I have them stationed at all the social points in my gardens....the front entrance, the deck, and the patio. They are the extroverts and put my guests at ease. But when the guests are gone and I sit in the twilight, it is the roses that sing to me.

You are responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose.

~Antoine de Saint-Exupery (The Little Prince)

The Gypsy Garden

September has been a beauty this year. With a flush in her cheeks and with a twinkle in her eye, she has begun casting her golden light over the land. I've remembered all that I love about this brilliant month. It is such a fleeting and magical time (and not just because my birthday is in this month!). Really, that deal summer made with winter, the one where winter agreed to her turning to gold and crimson and dancing out with an entourage of swirling leaves and flocking birds, was a clever deal.

 

It starts off with the subtlest blush in the mornings. Even green is a little weary of itself and longs for a bit of flash

 

The garden begins to look a little ragged around the edges, like someone who has spent too many nights out dancing under the moon and now they are a little muddied and their hair a bit wild

 

I've felt like dancing myself these last few weeks. Somehow, this season, with its insouciance stirs a little gypsy in my soul. (My English grandmother always claimed to my dad that there was some gypsy blood on her side. We never knew if this was true, but it seemed terribly romantic to me as a child.)

 

In recent years I've become interested in gypsy music. For an excellent radio documentary on the original gypsy music click here.

I know what is coming. I know the lassitude that deep winter brings. I know all about the days ahead of curling up on the couch with a good book and a glass of wine, candles lit in the late afternoon.

Until those days come, I am dancing in the golden light. To say goodbye to summer, my husband and I waltzed in the back garden in the late evening light. I said my own goodbyes in a field under the stars looking out over the ravine. But today it's time for one last joyous spin, and to thumb our noses at waiting winter. Join me, won't you?

My Nose is Sleepy and other stories of the late summer garden

“Your eyes are sleepy, beautiful boy. It’s time to close them and go to sleep.”

“No, Mommy, my nose is sleepy. It goes up and my eyes go down.”

~ conversation at bedtime with my little son earlier this week.

Late summer and my nodding Annabelle hydrangea (Hydrangea arborescens 'Annabelle') adds a dreamy element to the garden. We tucked it in close to the Holmstrup cedar (Thuja occidentalis 'Holmstrup) by the back door and just in front of a new Dart’s Gold ninebark (Physocarpus opulifolius 'Dart's Gold').


It seems to have made this spot its own, hanging over some silvery Lamium maculatum 'White Nancy'. My hubby brought this hydrangea home after admiring it in many of our neighbour’s gardens. Normally he leaves the garden purchases to me, but since he offered that we might find some place for it, and he knew I liked hydrangeas, we made it a home. This is only our first season with it so I don’t know how it will overwinter. However, given that so many are thriving in our area, I am hopeful.

As for the nodding off that it tends to do, I have heard that they straighten up a little after a few years of good pruning. But I do understand if it gets a sleepy nose this time of year. I know we all do.

It's not you, it's me

You were a soft, gentle blue with a hint a lavender.



I was instantly smitten and decided to build you a home



that showcased your beauty



and complemented your complexion



And then I had to go away for week. While I was gone, you...changed



I hardly recognized you upon my return. You didn't seem like the same flower, you were...Pink!



Now, my dear, one of us is blue, and it's not you.