Abrupt Change of Season

Not only did we get some rain, we got quantities.

Not much gardening could be done with such soggy ground. The river was out of its banks and the road was flooded on the far side of the bridge for a couple of days. The irony is not lost on me that a stoppage of road dust only happens when I can't garden.

After about a foot of rain, the fields quickly became St. Patrick's Day green. The cows across the road were as happy as cows can be; their facial expressions reveal nothing.

We are not talking here about the passage of a month or two between hot, dry and windy, to verdant lushness. In a matter of days, I went from short sleeve tee shirts to a mad dive into the Winter Duds boxes. Suddenly, bare feet inside the house switched over to thick wool socks and shoes.

Outside, the temperature went from 90's to 40's. Then this morning, I opened the blinds and gasped, "Oh, my goodness!"

I wasn't quite finished with gardening. No one can figure out where autumn went. The leaves now only have not turned gorgeous colors, they are still hanging on for dear life awaiting Jack Frost. (I know that's not what happens, but we still like to say it.)

After a few hours of sunshine, the snow vanished and bright green grass reappeared as if nothing untoward had happened. That's why I keep the camera at the ready, to prove that it wasn't all in my dreams.

My tulip bulbs arrived right after the rain started, as usual. There will be a slight delay in planting them.

Held Hostage by Irises

For the last many weeks, I've been saving irises. They are a dangerous, addictive flower. They looked so pathetic in their overgrown location that I was drawn into a Rescue Triangle. Rushing to help out, I was ensnared and became the victim of the very weeds that I fought to extricate them from.

Their bed was in morning shade from the big old oak tree, which is why things got so out of hand.

I thought a reasonable goal for this project would be to do one-third of the old fancy iris bed this fall. It turned out to be more like half. Tubs of weeds and roots were yanked out, until I unwittingly grabbed a long root that turned out to be from poison ivy. My face still has itchy places where it got me back.

A horrible mistake that I made was to watch a quality video of a wealthy family's years-long creation of formal terraced gardens. It was overwhelming and made my bed without edging seem even shabbier. I know that in a couple of years, it will be full of fancy iris blooms, but even so, it lacks statuary, fountains and other accouterments. Several leaning peach trees form a background here, more of a distraction than a focal point.

Plus, they don't look like hours were spent sweating over the replanting. Did I ever mention the ice water soaked bandanna for my overheated brow?  It must be wrung out every few minutes when the sweat runs down my glasses. That's the jug on the lawn chair above.

Where the hard work comes in with irises, and a reason that sensible people have nothing to do with them, is replanting the ones that were dug up.

Racing to complete the work before the Autumnal Equinox rains,  I spent hours digging out enough room along the cow fence for five rhizomes. They look miserable, but I have high hopes for them. Many still remain  to be planted. Because the Fancy Bed had many different colors, I fear the best ones are in that batch.

I looked at several videos on iris division and found that the first ones I redid will not bloom again. I tucked a few into the front border and some into the garden flower areas where there is a stone pathway and a birdbath, my attempt at a civilized look.

I lost count at seventy irises into moved to new beds.

Although I don't have formal gardens, I do have Oreo for the obligatory cat. 

We had a few cool days when I dug out my winter duds, but the day after I gave all the plants quantities of water from the cistern, it was 89 degrees again, with a blast furnace wind desiccating  everything. Sigh.

Thank goodness for the roses, which always look better now  than the snide "last rose of summer" slur. This one is Dream Come True.

These are David Austin roses, Heritage. Both bushes have done well here for years. They haven't outgrown their location and only needed minimal care. Unfortunately, our cold dry winters have killed off several other roses. Maybe it was my minimal care,too.

The Morning Glories, being a sister to bindweed, have come back this year. They didn't much like the chain link fence I thought they'd grow up, so this year I stuck some branches and the old TV antenna for them to twine up. Not formal or classy, but they are beautiful. Some are Scarlett O'Hara and La Vie en Rose.

Finally, the rains came last night. My family were only slightly alarmed, after hearing me relate  my iris endeavors for days on end, to hear I ordered three dozen tulips to plant when the soil is amenable. With my bulb auger for my drill, planting them will surely only be the work of an instant.