As if being unemployed wasn't depressing enough, it would at least be nice to go to the Flower and Garden Show...
All the best lectures are happening today in the Tamalpais Room: Garden Bones (C. Colston Burrell), Alnwick Garden (Duchess of Northumberland), Small Gardens (David Stevens), Elements of Mediterranean Gardens (Kathy Brenzel), Versatile Vines for Small Gardens (Linda Beutler), Secret Gardens of Ireland (Dermot O'Neill)...
I would very much like to attend all of these discussions.
But no. I'm coughing like a dying smoker. My nose runs like the river wild. My head spins like...usual.
I don't think the other attendees would appreciate my presence seated in the chair next to them very much.
At this point, I'm riding out the tail end of illness. I can actually mobilize around the house a little bit. Maybe do some housecleaning for a change.
Perchance a short visit to the garden..?
It rained last night. The rain gauge says 0.11 inch.
That makes 11.11 inches in my backyard since January 1, 2008 when I started to keep track.
The rain's pushed everything down.
These daffodils were supposed to be white and pink. Instead they're white and...butterscotch?
And the freesia was supposed to be plain old white. Instead they're this color.
Whatever. No big deal.
I scored a $1.99 bag of 'Queen of Sheba'...
Thinking they'd make a nice pair with Hyacinth 'Gypsy Queen'.
But that's the only still-blooming bloom left of the hyacinths. Most of them look like this now.
Who was I to think I could coordinate bulb blooms like that? From now on I'll leave that to the masters at Filoli.
Also reaching seasonal exhaustion, the Hardenbergia.
One last glance until December?
While we're on the deck, a better picture of Cotyledon orbiculatum v. longfolium. Now imagine it with flowers. I need to clean that pot.
Down in the garden, Heracleum lanatum is reaching shrub-like stature. It's about six feet tall, and growing. It's invading the Ceanothus and pushing its way into the Fuchsia. I'm fascinated by the bulgy globes that precede the leaves and flowers. This one's like a heart of romaine or something.
With a young leaf bursting out of it, like the monsters in the Alien movies.
And flower buds on the Fuchsia boliviana v. 'Alba' are really proliferating. I'm so proud. But if these take as long to open as the orchid, I'm going to be verrry dis-a-point-ed...
The wildflowers I grew are starting to bloom in dribs and drabs. That's about right. If you follow the wildflower updates at Yerba Buena Nursery, a little bit south of me, they don't even start to pay attention until April.
This is a bud on Phacelia campanularia.
And this is what the flower looks like open, cupping a drop of last night's rainwater.
These snowdrops or snowflakes or whatever were kind of funny for me--stumpy little things for several weeks, then shooting up right away and going to seed. This turned out to be the plant garden bloggers everywhere had in their gardens this year, didn't it? Even me.
Peaking in to the growing tip of Echium wildpretii (which I chronically misspell with two t's), this is what you call an indeterminate inflorescence!
The cymbidim inflorescence on the other hand--quite determinate. Frances, if you're reading this, you were right--the flowers opened fully just a couple days after they began to open at all.
I've never grown blueberries before. Is it usual for the flowers to bloom before the plant has any leaves? I wasn't expecting that. This is a little 2' dwarf named 'Tophat'.
Here's a bit of wisdom you can bet on. You know those bags of mixed bulbs they sell at the nurseries with a picture of three or four different colored flowers? They are invariably bulbs of ONE COLOR ONLY. Or very nearly one. It's deceptive advertising. It's a class-action lawsuit waiting to happen. I don't know why I still fall for it.
Despite the presence of those fluffy blue Ceanothus flowers in my garden right now, this little bee can't tear himself away from Cerinthe major.
Meanwhile, something else can't tear itself away from my Fremontodendron. Any ideas?
Blooming in the deepest shade of my garden, Omphalodes carpodocica--and Asarum caudatum...the little ruddy-colored flower on the ground in the lower left. I'll have to get a picture of it for Bloom Day.
Finally, while sitting on a bottom step, letting the sunshine nurture my sick body, and enjoying the fragrance of the rose geranium, I noticed the little five-part stigma. Cute!