This gallery contains 3 photos.
What dreadful hot weather we have! It keeps me in a continual state of inelegance. Jane Austen, 1775 – 1817
This gallery contains 3 photos.
What dreadful hot weather we have! It keeps me in a continual state of inelegance. Jane Austen, 1775 – 1817
Summer starts when I clean off the front porch, bring out the tables stored in the garage, and plant pots to hang from the eaves and crouch in the corners. It is a huge production mostly because I get easily distracted. Every year, I swear to simplify.
I bought a couple of different begonias and diamond frost for my Big Focus.
This year, I do not replant the geraniums, I simply fasten a hanger onto the pots and up they go. I decide not to mix things, mixing causes me grief since they all have special needs and I always forget what they are.
So it’s one pot — one kind of plant cept for the feature focus. I pull all of my house plants out, yank them out of their stupor, trim them, and stick them in new pots. I hack a couple to the soil line and wish them well. I throw a stub of a dracena into a vase to see if it will root. I am on fire.
I sweep the porch and bring up the hose basket so I don’t have to drag the hose from the side of the house every time I need to water.
Then, I water everything and every surface. Sig comes home and looks around; he loves the porch. He says, “Looks great, want me to go get some wine? ” Yeah baby — here comes summer.