Kiss My Aster, a book review

 When I heard about Amanda Thomsen's new book coming out, I was very excited. After all, Amanda is a horticultural whizkid, who makes gardening look easy while also having fun and helping gardeners have even more fun. Whether you follow her on Facebook, Twitter, or her website, you know what I mean. She describes herself as being 'bad to the phloem', which is a delightful play on words and gives you some sense of what's coming.

As per her websites and various personae, Amanda's new book is called Kiss My Aster. Originally, the promo materials called it an Interactive Guide, but my own copy says 'A graphic Guide'. Anyway, this is a book for all levels of gardeners, from the very beginning purple-thumbed to the hardcore type like me, who has lots of experience but also knows there is always something more to learn. In this, Amanda delivers in spadefuls.

How we got the Itty Bitty Kitteh Committee!

So, back in mid-July, we discussed getting a couple of kittens, as a friend of mine was breaking up housekeeping due to personal reasons, and had a number of young cats and kittens that she wanted good homes for. My son and I went to see them, with intent to bring home two of them, both males.

However, when we got there, we found a third kitten that I felt very sorry for. He was older than the 8 week old kittens, about 6 months, and he was sad because his brother had been adopted without him. So, we came home with three little cats, all males. Or so we thought. You know where this is going, don't you?

No time for my blog, I am too busy planting!

Hello, friends, fellow gardeners, and other visitors. Did you think I had run off to far away lands? Not exactly...it's been a busy busy month, this July, which of course kicked off with the Open Garden weekend. My voice finally came back completely after about two weeks, which was surely a record for laryngitis. Highly entertaining when one makes a living asking questions of others.

I don't know how YOUR garden is going, but ours has exploded into a rhapsody of lushness. Shrubs are covered in blooms, daylilies are filled with scapes and packed with high bud counts, grasses are growing taller and taller..in fact, pretty much everything is growing taller and taller.

Naturally, I can't resist bringing home new or new-to-me plants, and there have been more of those than ever, this year. They range from tiny saxifrage alpines to fascinating perennials like this yellow stokesia...

To the not-hardy but definitely delectable chocolate cosmos, which really does smell of chocolate. I have to remember to dig and store the tuber of this plant this year!

Long ago, when I was a student at NSAC, the greenhouse lab technician wrote a poem for me. Ken and I were always bantering back and forth, playing little tricks on each other, and as I was going into exam time I spent even more time in the greenhouses, either playing with plants or actually studying. The last couple of lines of the poem, which I still have somewhere, went thusly:

"As she runs to the greenhouse we still hear her chanting,

No time for degree, I am too busy planting!"

Some might think "I'm not finished planting yet!" will be my epitaph. They're probably correct. But you know what? This is the perfect time of year to do planting, at least in our climate. Warm days, cool (ish) nights, adequate rainfall...all these things are highly welcoming to new plants whether they be annual transplants that you just had to save, or container grown trees and shrubs!

There is LOTS of colour in our gardens these days, but as far as I am concerned, there always is. There are the big showy annual poppies with their brilliant colours, countless lilies and roses, astilbes and hostas, cranesbills and filipendula...

But there's also a feast of foliage here. When I look out one office window (the other is obscured by the ever-joyous 'Limelight' hydrangea), I see a feast for the senses--lots of flowers, yes, but also rich foliage from golden tansy to copper beech to purple barberry to blue oat grass. It all makes me happy.

I spend a LOT of time when not actually gardening, staring through my camera's various lens at plants and their visitors. What I love about macro photography is that the camera's lens 'sees' things I can't with my naked, aging eyes, like the hairs on this bumblebee's legs.

If you aren't growing astrantia (masterwort), I'd like to know why! It's a fantastic plant, very floriferous, attractive to a huge number of pollinators, makes a nice clump, and some varieties self-seed, though I haven't had that pleasure yet. There are about half a dozen varieties in our gardens, from white 'Star of Heaven' seen here to deep red flowered varieties, to pink varieties, to 'Sunningdale Variegated', which has gold and green leaves.

Summer is also a time for family, and I've been very happy to have my son home visiting. He is a film and camera buff, creative like his mother but more into making films to tell stories than into writing. He has been teaching me more about my camera, too.

And the happiest of things I can share? I am back riding my horse after more than two years of not riding! This is pretty important to me, especially as I'm going to be getting new knees within the next year, which will make all things easier to do. After losing a number of cherished friends in recent months, I decided that what I'm dealing with is only pain, and no matter what I do I hurt. So I might as well do what I love, and to heck with the pain. Leggo, my faithful Morgan horse, seems to approve too.

I'll try to post more regularly in coming weeks, but if not, you'll know why...I'm still too busy planting!

Chocolate and Wine and Romance for Valentine's Day

Well, it's Valentine's Day once again, and I'm here to offer a gardener's point of view on what makes for a happy sweetheart. In a word (or three): chocolate, wine, and plants= romance for a gardener! 

I'm a big fan of good quality dark chocolate (Hershey's waxy crap need not apply) but I'm also very fond of chocolate flowers and foliage in the garden, so for your viewing pleasure I offer some delightful, and very low-calorie, chocolate plants. 

Among my favourite perennials are foxgloves, and Digitalis parviflora 'Milk Chocolate' is a definite star. The flower spikes and individual florets are nowhere near the size of the standard species, but they're such a lovely unique colour. Last year, my plants began seeding themselves a little bit, and I've promised one plant to my friend Alice, so as to share the love around.

Wordless Wednesday: A little light reading...some great books (I hope!)

Punting garden gnomes & other true-ish tales: How to Survive a Garden Gnome Attack

The following is a true story.
I dislike garden gnomes immensely. I don't know if I suffered trauma as a child by having one fall on my foot, or if I was stalked by one as a college student studying horticulture, or what the rationale might be. All I know is that I've never seen the appeal of them, and that one on television flogging some travel site makes me want to punch the television. There were never any gnomes in my family's gardens, and suffice it to say there have never been, nor will there ever be, any in mine.

A few years ago, I was on a plant hunting expedition in Labrador, which is the northern part of Newfoundland, the part stuck to the rest of North America. Through some sort of series of errors, the place where we were all staying was overbooked, and I was the (not) lucky one who got to stay somewhere else...which was at the worst B & B I have ever encountered. Between the musty bed and bedclothes, the religious homilies festooning every wall, counter, and other surface, and the shower/bath with no mat and the world's slipperiest tub (I still bear the scar on my shin), it was, quite frankly, the night from hell. About 4 am, I gave up trying to sleep in the musty, too-hot room, packed up my suitcase, and left, planning to sleep in my car the rest of the night. I'd already paid for the night, lest anyone think I skipped out. I wouldn't do that, no matter how peeved I was.

But out by the parking area, there were two stupid, tacky, cement gnomes, sitting there in their very gnomeness. In the dark, I encountered one by banging into it with my sandal-clad foot. This just increased my irritation. Both gnomes were then gnocked over. It might have been the wind.

At least I didn't do what one of my friends said I should have done, the next morning after having breakfast with the rest of them. His idea was that I should have kidgnapped one of the gnomes and taken it to Gros Morne, placed it on the summit of the mountain. Gno, thank you. I would never pollute Gros Morne in such a way. There's rules against degradation of nature, you know.

All this is by way of prefacing my review of Chuck Sambuchino's new book, "How to Survive a Garden Gnome Attack." It was sent to me several weeks ago by Ten Speed Press, and I just got around to reading it this week.



I had long suspected that gnomes were an evil lot, bent on world domination. It's as plain as the gnose on your face that they're also in cahoots with the evil goutweed, which grows just the right height for gninja gnomes to hide in. Can you see the evil little devil hiding in this patch of goutweed? GNo? Works well, doesn't it?

Okay, the book. It's hilarious and creepy, all at the same time. It depends on your sense of humour, (or in some cases, lack thereof). Sambuchino writes well, and while the tone is deeply serious to reflect the danger lurking in lawn warriors, the reader can't help but hope that the author didn't bite his tongue too often whilst writing, as it was firmly planted in his cheek.

Do YOU know how to gnomeproof your yard and garden? Do you know how to secure your home so that these little monsters can't get inside for an attack? Sambuchino leads us through everything you need to know about coping with these insidious, nefarious creatures. You can survive when they attack, and Sambuchino proves how they inevitably will get cocky enough to make an attempt on your life. Fortunately, he's the man with the answers, though I was expecting some reference to duct tape and plastic sheeting in there, too.

A mention of the Battle of Thermopylae should give the history buff amongst readers some understanding of how to oppose gnomes in battle. There's even some recommendation about how to dispose of the dangers of "roaming gnomes." My personal favourite is to dispose of said creatures in the Laurentian Abyss, one of the deepest parts of the Atlantic Ocean, but in case of emergency, probably leaving a gnome at the door of any mall on Black Friday will do the trick.

Now, let me stress, this isn't high-faluting "Litter-a-chur", nor is it an essential for the gardener's library in order to increase one's gardening abilities. What it is, is very good fun, a nice addition as part of a gift basket or as stocking stuffer for a gardener or for anyone who has ever muttered about the clutter of gnickgnacks on lawns and in homes. We all need a little more humour in our lives.

And far, far, fewer gnomes.

Wordless Wednesday: A Little Farm Humour around the Annapolis Valley

Hey, Neighbour/Neighbor! Celebrating Canada and the United States

Thursday was July 1st, better known on this side of the border as Canada Day. Our country is 'officially' 143 years old, although it has existed for many years before that. Despite my disdain for our current leadership, I do love my country and wish her a belated happy birthday.

And tomorrow is our neighbour's Fourth of July celebration. We're awfully glad to have neighbours like the USA, even if you do spell neighbors kinda funny. :-)

I hope all of my American friends, across their great nation, have a fabulous, safe holiday tomorrow! May the powers that be keep both our countries glorious and free.


Happy Canada Day/Happy 4th of July, everyone! I will be back to blogging regularly in a few more days...

Wordless Wednesday: Teenage Mutant Ninja...Strawberries?

Eating my Words

I love learning something new, especially when it comes to plants. There's always, always something new to learn, too. Including about myself.

So I'm at Glad Gardens out in Waterville, which is a very cool family owned operation that I discovered a few years ago. Daina and her mother Laura and their team of employees strive to have great plants, including a lot of unusual annuals, many of which Daina grows from seed. She creates astonishingly beautiful container plantings too, but more about those another day.

One of the reasons I enjoy going to Glad Gardens so much is that, like the other nurseries I frequent, the owners LOVE plants, and love to talk about them. We exchange information, puzzle over things together sometimes. Like when Laura told me about the Filipendula purpurea 'Elegans that she'd had growing in front of the nursery, and then moved it, and the flower colour changed. She'd grown it on in several spots and it still didn't resort to the rich pink flowers they had been--more of a pale peach. Did I know why? No, I didn't, although I'd read something about this in Allan Armitage's Native Plants for North America Gardens just recently and so when I got home I'd go find out what ever else I could and let her know.

Daina and I are walking through the nursery looking for plants for me to take with me to Saltscapes Expo this Friday, and she points out the tuberous begonias she grew. "I'm not a fan of begonias," I tell her, even though my father grew them splendidly when I was a kid back in St. John's. Somehow, they're just too...I don't know what, but I've only ever had the occasional Rex begonia around for years.

The words are hardly out of my mouth--I MEAN that--when I glance up and come to a halt. "Which one is THAT?" I demand, pointing at a glowing, perfect flower, gold edged in pink-scarlet. It looked a little bit like a tree peony, so stuffed with gorgeous petals.

"Non Stop Fire, "Daina says, grinning at me. She knows me well, and when plants stop me in my tracks, there's usually something about to happen.

Yes, she added one to the box of treasures she was carrying for me. Surprised? Didn't think so.

So that was one thing I learned--I can be seduced into liking at least ONE species or cultivar in a genus if the right colour combination catches my eye. But the thing about this little interlude that cracked me up is that I was looking at another flower on the plant, with single petals and a cluster of stigma in its centre. "Why is this different?" I ask.

"That's the female flower," she says. "The male is the bigger, showier one. Some people cut the female flowers off so more energy can go into the fancy double ones."

D-uh to me. All these years and I didn't know that? Okay, granted, I've said I don't LIKE them and consequently don't grow them or read about them or...but still. Wow. But I've never pretended to be a know-it-all, just a curious person. And like I said, I love learning something new.

Oh, so what else got into the car today besides the begonia that felled me in a single swoop? I'm not telling, not today. Just a tempting little hint; rich dark foliage, blue flowers, orange flowers, rosy pink flowers, vine, annuals, perennials, succulents. Hmmmm. What has she gone and done NOW?

You'll have to wait a day or two to find out, friends. With the Saltscapes Expo only 5 sleeps away, I have much to do before I head to Halifax for the weekend.

Urgent Plant-Seeking Madness: Do you have this Condition?

In my previous post I mentioned how the initial signs of Urgent Plant Seeking Madness (UPSM) were upon me, as witnessed by my foray out on Saturday "just for a look" and my return home with the car packed with plants. Ooops.

Others of you have commented that you've also been stricken--or smitten--with this condition. You may have it and not even be aware of it, or you may already be in the full-blown condition. In the interest of public (garden bloggers) health, I thought I'd offer a reprise of a post I did several years ago, with some additions and of course shiny new photos. Gotta have more pretty pictures, don't we?

UPSM affects a broad spectrum of individuals. It’s closely related to Urgent Plant HUNTING Madness, which is a less-known form that causes botanists, nursery operators, garden writers, and other plant enthusiasts to go off on forays to exotic locales such as the Himalayas, outer Mongolia, central Africa, and Newfoundland and Labrador. UPHM sufferers should have bumperstickers on the backs of their vehicles that say, “I brake for interesting plants”.

There is no known cure for either affliction, other than a change of seasons, or an exhausted bank account. Even an overflowing garden doesn't cure the situation. You'll figure out ways to make more beds. Who needs boring ol' lawn, anyway?




Here are the warning signs of UPSM:

1. All winter you’ve been salivating over blog posts, catalogues, websites and magazines, learning about new plants.

2. You’ve got a list longer than your regular grocery list of ‘Must Have’ plants.

3. You can’t pass by a nursery, garden centre, or even a bigbox asphalt ‘garden centre’ without going in. Just. For. A. Look.

4. You come out of said business with at least one garden-related item. Probably more like six or seventeen. Or two dozen. Or so.

5. You carry a tote box, plastic trunk liner, spade and bucket with you wherever you go.

6. You find the need to have to go run errands far more often. No matter that the price of gas is approaching that of a dentist appointment. There are plants to be checked out!


7. Your grocery budget takes a dip towards hamburger helper, peanut butter, and canned soup.

8. You start parking your vehicle around the back of the house, so as to unload your ‘groceries for the garden’ (as my friend Flora and HER long-suffering spouse call these outings) more conveniently (and out of view of your long-suffering spouse, who’s getting tired of peanut butter sandwiches and hamburger helper).

9. An enormous queue of new acquisitions lines itself up along your walkway in your dooryard (That’s Maritimer-speak for driveway/walkway/front yard), or your holding bed, or your greenhouse. Or your kitchen. We do what we gotta do to protect those new little darlings.

10. Despite that enormous queue, you continue to suffer from UPSM and to seek out nurseries, plant sales, yardsales with plants, garden centres, plant giveaways…

11. The first thing your longsuffering spouse says to you when you come home from an expedition is “Where are you going to plant THAT?” The second thing, of course, is “what are we having for supper? Not MORE hamburger helper!”

12. You blithely say, "Oh, that's been here for years!" when confronted about the new magnolia or Japanese maple or plot of hellebores or three dozen Osteospermums that have suddenly appeared in your yard. You change the subject to, "When are you going fishing, dear?" or some such diversionary tactic.

13. You plan Sunday drives/family outings so that they'll accidentally go past nurseries. And then, well, since you're in the area, you need to stop in. Just. for. a. minute.

14. While longsuffering spouse drives, you scan roadsides for houses with tables of plants for sale, even though you KNOW they'll mostly be stuff you already have. And damned ol' goutweed.

15. You make up excuses to go off by yourself for drives. Just to do some thinking, you know. (and because you don't want to waste valuable vehicle space with other family members.)

You can’t wait for the next trip so you can do it all again!

More interesting new blues from plant breeders.

We all know that in flowers, blue is the rarest colour. Which means some of us go koo koo for cocapuffs over it. Quite a few of us, actually. That number would include me, of course. From the glorious of the difficult, divaesque, but oh-so-beautiful blue poppy...


To the stately cobalt splendor of blue delphinium...

And even the dainty, delicate, spring chorus of scilla drive mere mortals to frenzies of bountiful blue blossom blissdom.

Well, you know how plant breeders are. They're never content to rest on their laurels, and they've been at work developing some more blue flowers for us to enjoy. The following stealthy, shaky, grainy photos are of a few cultivars that your intrepid correspondent risked life and limb to get photos of for your viewing enjoyment.

For those who are thwarted by growing blue poppies, perhaps you'd like to try this dandy geum, 'Til I'm Blue Cooky'. I think it would work particularly well, like most geums, in full sun with well-drained soil.

We're always taught that hemerocallis come in every conceivable shade except black and true blue. Well, we can cross the latter off the list with 'Crazy Iovanni', which to the best of my understanding was created by genetical manipulation, introducing the DNA from the blue April Fish into one of the showier of yellow daylilies, 'Fools' Gold.' I wasn't able to ascertain, from my lofty perch in a truffula tree, whether the foliage of this new hemerocallis was evergreen or not.

Ah yes, the blue rose. We've all heard about how some things are as 'rare as blue roses.' Well, once again, the GMO wizards have been at it, splicing some DNA from that blue delphinium with multiple excited protons from the Large Hadron Collider, and zapping them into a pimpernelifolia rose. Meet 'Harison's Blue.'

And apparently pollen from the bluebanded bee, when stolen from a blue Eryngium planum and dipped onto a double white coneflower, yields this blue eyed beauty, 'April BlueNose.' Because I was in deep ninjacover while clambering around in trees, I couldn't hear the breeder say when any of these blue beauties would be released, but I suspect it will be probably around June 31st of next year.

Whew. It's sooooo good to be out of March, isn't it?

Accidental synchronicity

I'm a wholehearted believer in zen, karma, synchronicity, and other such inexplicable wonders. When I posted my exquisite green flower yesterday, I had only two things in mind; the need for seeing something green, and one of my favourite short stories ever, Ray Bradbury's "The Green Morning," from The Martian Chronicles.

I read that story for the first time in grade 8, and thrilled to the thought of trees growing even more quickly than beanpoles (or goutweed). Even though the logical part of my mind knew that Mars wasn't hospitable to life as we knew it and that we weren't gonna get there by 2001, despite the best efforts of Stanley Kubrick, Bradbury, Clarke, and NASA...I loved the concept.

For Valentine's Day, I did not want the traditional roses. Hubby didn't have to get me anything, actually, but what he did was tell me to go pick out some flowers I wanted. I didn't want red, or red and white, or pink. I wanted rich, brilliant, soul-drenching colours. Hot magenta orchids. Brilliant, sizzling gerbera daisies. And deliciously green chrysanthemums.

Not exactly your traditional Valentine colours, are they? When it comes to chrysanthemums, which are meant to mean optimism and joy, I actually only like the green ones. It's no secret that I absolutely love green flowers, so it figures that green mums would suit me perfectly.

It happens that Valentine's Day was also Chinese New Year, kicking off the Year of the Tiger. Chrysanthemums are often used in celebrations, although usually in red and yellow rather than green. But this was all accidental synchronicity, remember. Hopefully my Chinese friends will excuse me celebrating with green chrysanthemums rather than other colours.

The most striking little tidbit of synchronicity, however, is that green chrysanthemums are part of the bouquet given to Vancouver Olympic medal winners. The bouquets include green spider mums, green hypericum berries, all wrapped in a sheath of green ferns and grasses.

I've never been a huge fan of the Olympics, and I don't like the hype and politics that goes along with. But watching the athletes, and the enthusiasms of the crowds, and the camaraderie even in competition, I found myself feeling optimistic. Proud of my country, and of the youth who have worked so hard to come to this point. I feel cheery. This, despite sordid politics in my own province, tiresomely cranky weather everywhere, and assorted other irksome travails.

We're over halfway through February. March is next, which will herald spring for some. We will make it.

I wish you all green chrysanthemums. Or green mornings. Or other colour-drenched ways to feed your spirit as we slouch towards spring.

Encouraging our fellow gardening bloggers: Adopt-A-Blog?

Stormy days are a great time to sit with a mug of coffee, glower out the window, be grateful to be indoors, and muse about things that puzzle me. I've had something on my mind for a couple of weeks, but it's taken me that long to pull my thoughts together in a way that I hope will encourage and challenge other bloggers in a happy, intriguing way.

One of the things I've noticed since getting really back into blogging and reading is that there really are a lot of gardening and garden-related blogs out there. And I mean a LOT. I don't remember how many there were at Blotanical when Stuart launched the site nearly 3 years ago, but I knew and read a good many of them. Some had been blogging for a while. Others started up and then joined Blotanical as word of the site spread. A visit to the site this morning shows me some 900 on the 'most visits' list, yet one blog is ranked as # 1364 in 'most favourited'. Let's just say there are a huge number, some of which I've never visited. That doesn't include those who don't belong to Blotanical, either. And I know this is the same experience for many of us. Can't possibly read them all regularly, or even visit them all regularly.


There are so many ways to keep track of other blogs now, that it gets confusing. We can 'fave' blogs and blotanists at Blotanical. We can 'follow' bloggers through Facebook, or become a fan of them. We can follow thru Google Friend Connect, or by various widgets through Blogger, and I assume through Wordpress and Typepad. And then there's Twitter...

But there are still so many out there that get very few visits, (at least via Blotanical), and very few if any comments. And for some reason, I feel really badly about that. Because so many of these blogs are very well written, with good information, excellent photographs, strong and charming personalities. They deserve to be read, commented upon, supported. Not everyone has the same interests, of course, and there's sometimes a language barrier with bloggers from other countries.

I know that people blog for a variety of reasons, but obviously most of us put thoughts out there on the Internet to communicate with others, share our thoughts and experiences. That makes it safe to assume that most want to attract readers, commenters, followers, etc. So, what can we longtime bloggers, Blotanical veterans, etc, do to encourage and help out other bloggers in raising their profiles?


From sleuthing my way around the Web and following some of the more active bloggers, I have a couple of observations. There are people who regularly visit other blogs and leave lovely, well thought out, funny, wise, comments. Some of these same people also participate a good deal on Blotanical, picking posts, sending welcoming notes to newer bloggers, dropping in to other bloggers to announce their own recent posts, etc, which helps encourage newer bloggers to participate. I don't want to mention anyone in particular because I don't want to leave anyone OUT, but my hat is certainly off to those who encourage other bloggers.

What I've been wondering is what about if we each--and by each, I mean those who feel like doing this--adopted a new/newish blog (or three or four or a dozen) and regularly visited, commented, put them in our feeds, at the top of our 'faves' lists? Would others notice and spend more time reading those other blogs? What do you think, friends? I'm sure someone has a better idea, and gardeners are great at brainstorming over gardening questions, so why not this? Could we perhaps have a conversation about this, as we while away the winter months and wait for spring?

I hesitate to call what I'm suggesting 'mentoring', which is something I have done in my real-life writing, mentoring newish writers as they entered the wonderful world of freelancing. In fact, I struggled long and hard with even creating this post because several years ago, I did a series of three posts to help out other bloggers, making some suggestions on how to make things easier/attract more readers. I caught flack in emails and also indirectly from several other bloggers who thought I was criticizing the way others blog and trying to get everyone doing things in the same way, which wasn't the intent at all. Oddly enough, several of those critics no longer blog.


This has nothing to do with bloomingwriter's visitors, for the record--I'm more than happy with my own blog's statistics, I don't do awards or competitions of that nature, and I have the privilege of receiving wonderful comments from around the globe. I'd just like others to receive more visitors and support, because they deserve such accolades. When I was trying to decide whether I should overhaul my blog, close it down, or just carry on as I could, I received the most wonderful support and encouragement. It was truly humbling, and proves my point about this community of gardeners and writers. Y'all are just awesome.

That's enough out of me for today. I'm looking forward to the conversation among this community of generous, fun and talented people. That includes those of you who are newer to blogging--what do YOU want from the community? What's working for you, what do you wish could be improved? If it merits, I'll do a follow up post based on how the conversation flows.

"Rainbows, Pots of Gold and Moonbeams..."

Isn't it funny what a word or two will trigger in our heads? When I read Rebecca's post offering a Rainbow Invitation to fellow bloggers, I knew I would have to participate, because rainbows are one of those things that make me instantly happy. I surround myself with them, with faceted crystals that send rainbow light dancing through my office at just the hint of sunlight, (and sometimes even without), with rainbow coloured fun things...and with plants of course.

Thinking about a title for this post, the first thing that came into my head was the old song by Studebaker Hawk, 'Rainbows, Pots of Gold and Moonbeams.' Usually it's Israel Kamakawiwo'ole's 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World" that pops into my head, or possibly David Cook's Time of my Life, which we snarky Cook fans refer to as the Magic Frakkin' Rainbow song. Or possibly something from Radiohead's 'In Rainbows' album.

Okay, it's entirely I'm possibly procrastinating today because I should be writing plant profiles for a work project, not poking through my iTunes collection. Onwards with the floral rainbow.


Poppies are freerange around our place, which I should have called Poppy Hill instead of Sunflower Hill, I suppose. They are instant happy-making, whether they're red, purple, orange, yellow, white...or blue.


I've finally mastered the art of growing geums: not too much winter wet, and they'll come through and flourish nicely. And cutting the spent blossoms means they'll flower for a lot longer. This is 'Cooky'.

Yellow roses just do it for me, providing they are hardy to my garden's foibles. Of the three that I grow, this is the most fragrant, (and the thorniest), the lovely rugosa hybrid 'Topaz Jewel'.


Oh, well it can be no surprise to anyone who knows my tastes that for green, I'd have to trot out Echinacea 'Green Envy', which still continues to delight me. I have 'Coconut Lime' double echinacea as well, which also does splendidly, but of all the funky coloured cones, 'Green Envy' is still my first love.
Bet you thought I was going to torment y'all with Meconopsis (the naughty blue poppy) here, didn't you? I did an ode-to-blue flowers a few weeks back because I do adore them, and while Meconopsis is important to me, it's the china blue forget-me-nots that touch my heart most deeply, because of my Dad, who died of Alzheimer's disease almost five years ago.

For my indigo offering, I couldn't resist presenting the Perennial Plant Association's 2010 Perennial of the Year, Blue False Indigo (Baptisia australis). It is an awesome perennial, but don't be in a hurry for it to bloom after you plant it, and don't move it because it will pout and sulk even longer.

We do clematis really, really well here, because of the cool dampness that keeps the roots happy, and because we work our way out of the fog in time to bathe most of the species and hybrids we have in warm sunlight. I think this is 'Jackmanii', though I can't be sure because we rescued it years ago from a house that was going to be torn down.

A note to regular readers: this next few weeks are going to be particularly hectic for me, so I may slow down in both posting and in visiting, commenting on, and 'picking' posts from other blogs. Rest assured, please, that all is well, and I will have some good news to share a little ways down the road. Maybe not a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but happy news none-the-less.