Daughter Rachel and I traveled west this past weekend eating chicken-fried steak in small towns for a work-related assignment and stayed at a little place on Cypress Creek in Comfort. We drank a couple of Sharkfins at the Hen House where a Toby Keith wannabe was playing and then staggered back to our place and swam in the moonlight while two different kinds of frogs were singing (and sounding a lot better than the country wannabe).
These canna are screening an a/c. They don't seem to be bothered by the vented hot air. I'm not sure what happens in winter; maybe there's a temporary planting. But it's a nice way to cover up The Box. Rachel and I were taken by the cellar door and its "Auntie Em! Auntie Em" evocation.
The gardens here had the usual hardy perennials, mixed with tomatoes. By the way, the transient tomatoes someone dumped on me are still alive but are in complete blossom-drop mode. Which leaves unbroken my lifetime record of utter-and-complete tomato crop failure.