The ice snake my hose vomited when I turned it on this morning.
I had a chat with Randy (Horselips Horsesense) yesterday and he said he was mulching like mad. He is mad. If it's going to be in the teens by Thursday I'm just calling it quits. When the sun comes out you can find me in the garden, until then, I have a stack of books, some yogi~tea and my heating pad cooing my name, and I aim to listen.
So much for my scented geranium, part of my companion planting project in the rose garden.
I stepped outside this morning to survey the damage...lots of stuff that I would have thought would make it, suffering so. Projects that held total fascination just a few months ago gone. Here it is January and I still have black spot? There's no heat and humidity? Stop it, stop it now!
The comforting thing about gardening to me is the beautiful simplicity, the ageless predictability about it all. If I have a crap day, I know that no matter what, something in my garden will look up at me through it's colorful eyes and thank me for loving it, being there, and I won't be judged for what I have to say. At least in Alaska Mother Nature had the decency to shield me from the destruction with her white cloak. Not here. Crunch, slime, squish...stepping through my yard hunting for a bloom. Pam (Digging) said in her blog yesterday that she had blooms on her abutilon, she had photos to prove it. So I went trekking back to my Patricks Abutilon and a big fat nada...even crunchy forest green tips, ready to crackle and fall if I touched them.
Black spot on an unidentified rose on the West side of my house.
Fortunately, this is the only rose suffering. The rest look okay, but not thriving like Annie's at The Transplantable Rose. Whhhhhhyyyy Meeeee (insert Nancy Kerrigan whine here.)