Who’s walking down the streets of the city, smiling at everybody she sees?

Yeah, that would be Windy. And frankly, I always thought that Windy, as commemorated in song by The Association, had a dark side to her apparent nonstop ecstasy. There were definite implications of a Crazy Lady thing going on. A little too frenetic and happy, know what I mean? This infernal wind has the same general tone of borderline personality disorder. Oh, it seems benign, but it gets a little whipped up and just never stops. And it just seems ODD.

Safely protected from this wind, the Rainbow Knockouts are thriving. They were massively verklempt after the summer heat, but now they've regained their composure and their true sunlit pink.

I planted a holiday poinsettia in the ground after Christmas last year and now it appears to be fixing to bloom. It's a white flowered variety.

The Icebergs are also blooming prolifically; but since they are exposed to the street frontage, suffer from the wind. Tonight on my walk in the 'hood, the wind was out of the south at a steady 15 knots by the look of the windsock at Dept. of Health. Weather.com says gusting to 28mph. Maybe we should install windmills on our houses instead of solar panels. If you're thinking, why doesn't she shut up about the wind, go read someone else's blog. I'm telling you right now: this wind ain't natural.
Charles survived the so-called freeze. He was bundled in his makeshift tent but I don't think it froze here as some of my unprotected plants in front also seem unfazed. He is busy producing another flush of buds, so in about 3 weeks, if I can keep them safe, there will be another performance of the yellow bells. Helping this brug winter over has now become my raison d'etre. Yes, I know, get a life. But really, it helps to focus on trivial matters when the world is spinning around, doesn't it?


Somewhere between the trivial and very important is the save-the-date postcard I'm working on for Grace's wedding. It's a take-off on old timey postcards; I plan to have the printer leave the job untrimmed and then cut them myself with deckle-edge scissors. Among the Narrangansett motifs, I included the heavenly Rosa Rugosa on the lower left-hand side of the image. This seashore-loving rose grows in dense thickets along the coastline and its scent is an intense mix of rose, lemon and seaspray. And, with red roses being the symbol of love, this bit of Rhode Island botany seemed just right.

Garden Day Bloom Bellyaching

Another bloom day arrives at Aurora with nothing much to add to the sum of gardening splendor. The Iceberg roses in front are blooming but the petals are wrenched from their stems about an hour after opening by this crazy wind and then strewn about the yard like styrofoam peanuts.


The white plumbago is pretty; but the four plants all take turns flowering, so there is never a mass display which is what I was striving for. Striving plays a big part in my garden vocab. Despite my careful study I am unable to discern the bud/flower/seed pattern in the plumbago so I am never certain when to shear off. I cannot tell what is past flower and what is new flower bud.



The Pink Knockouts are doing better now that the heat is over. Although their color still seems washed out. I would like to say that this photo doesn’t do them justice, but in fact, the color is accurate. I’ve been feeding the living daylights out of them, so I don’t know what more I can do.




Ah, the Port St. John Creeper, the English sheepdog of vines. A shaggy slobbering happy pink blob that is always happy to see you. And it has a two-fer aroma package: the desert willow scent of its flowers and the pinto bean pungency of its crushed stems and leaves.



Here’s poor ’ol Charles Grimaldi, who’ll probably be goners by the morning if the predicted freeze happens. He’s loaded down with buds and not one has yet struggled into bloom. Charles has been thoroughly watered and tonight he'll don his newly-purchased little jacket (a length of foam pipe wrap) so maybe he’ll live to see some bloom. But I think there’s another Arctic front coming mid-week so his future is doubtful.



In preparation for colder temps, I ventured in to the small shed built into the garage, where I keep large pots and cuttings over the winter. I haven’t been in there since last spring. To my horror I saw that I had overlooked a baby yucca. It has been in there unwatered all through this past dire summer. I felt like Hitler.



It looks pretty damn good, all things considered. No amount of striving needed for this hardy survivor.

Estamos en una sequía

Sounds prettier in Spanish does’t it?
Well, this about says it all, in whatever language. It was a year ago at the end of October when I planted the front bed. And now looking back, I can see we were already in the beginning of this drought.
Whatevs. Like a bad economy, the weather is something out of our control and history tells us, it’ll swing around at some point.
On the plus side, there are TWENTY SEVEN buds on Charles Grimaldi and the milder temps mean that the roses are back in business.
If you haven’t voted or are still, inexplicably, undecided, please e-mail me and I’ll personally drive you to the polls and buy you a black & tan at Flying Saucer. Seriously.

Do I dare to eat a peach?

This is what passes for bravery at Aurora: I've planted Charles Grimaldi in the ground. Check back in seven months to see whether he lives through our "winter."