For those who plant them in rows, expect rows. Those who plant them in drifts, expect drifts. And those who plant them where they would plant themselves, will expect to see that. And all will be lifted by the dependably sunny blooms on cold spring days.
In the past, I tried different systems—various word files, spreadsheets, folders filled with dirty plant tags, and more. But none of these worked. They depended on following up after a day in the garden, or keeping tags or notes in some kind of order. File under "Never Had a Chance."
I love what this garden represents, what it's doing, and all it will do. Good people working the soil, growing healthy food, feeding the pollinators, meeting each other, and playing. Yes, playing.
The Apiaceae and Questionable Mental (and Physical) Health (in September): A Letter from the Midwest
While these hostas are blooming in the darker spaces, the phlox are rocking the sun. And have been for seemingly months.
Periodically, I go visit my sister in San Jose. Every time I do, I'm fascinated to see so many of the same plants I grow in Cincinnati's wet and [...]
Some of these combinations are quite good. Some came by intent, some by serendipity. However they happened, that’s what years of growth and crowding, forgotten sowings, and much, much more allows. It’s what happens when wait-and-see wisdom gradually undermines sheer energy and willpower.
And right then, before I can forget, I find my calendar app, scroll to some random date in August, and type, "Order more daffs."
Therefore, I call all of them by the one common name I know--Pasque flower.