I may have an ugly garden. Depends on what day you look.

The past few days, there's been a disturbance in the garden blogging 'Force.' It all stemmed from a post made, perhaps with the best of intentions, about ugly unkempt gardens, mostly of the vegetable type. We’ve had a lot of sometimes heated talk in the past few days about ugly gardens, and messy gardens, and gardens with no design to them, and WEEDS, my dears.

There’s been twittering. There’s been blogging. There’s been myriad comments in defense and in umbrage of the original post, and I’m not gonna name the blog nor the blogger, but I am gonna confess my own sins.

Well, to begin I have this thing about weeds. The worst weeds in my estimation aren’t ‘weeds’ at all, but naughty ornamentals gone out of control. Like the bane of my existence, goutweed (Aegopodium). But otherwise...I really like most of the plants that many would call weeds.

I grow milkweed (Asclepias syriaca AND A. incarnata along with butterfly weed, A. tuberosa). I do this to help out the monarch butterflies, which cannot survive without milkweed. I also let a honkin' big patch of nettles grow up by the spruce trees, because there are the food source for red admiral butterflys (in cat form). I let a lot of wild plants--daisies, goldenrod, asters--do their own thing MOSTLY outside the garden beds, but if one or two plants creep into the perennial borders, no biggie. Bees, songbirds, butterflies, and other benign creatures depend on these plants to help them survive.

There are also gorgeous, glorious wild orchids on our property, some species of Platanthera (fringed orchids) and Joe Pye weed (Eupatorium), a hugely important butterfly plant. And spruce trees, and young firs, and mountain ash, and scubby wire birch, and carex and juncus and many species of wild grasses, many other shrubs and trees, growing in a blissful and healthy riot in the upper parts of the property.

Along the lower border, edging the paddock and a swampy ditch, there are willows, which many people decry as being bad plants. They take up some of the swampiness and create habitat for my beloved frogs. There are major numbers of cattails in the pond; perfect hiding places for small reptiles and amphibians, nesting places for my beloved redwinged blackbirds. There are alders all along the edge of our pond, bounding much of our property, and creeping into the lower pasture where we haven't mowed for several years. Alders are despised by many people. But they are excellent plants for securing stream and creek banks, filtering out toxins from water, providing food and shelter for wildlife.

There are dandelions in my lawn. Lots of clover. These both feed the bees, while all the perfect lawns at the McMansions a few miles off with their lethal doses of chemicals don't feed anything except the wallets of lawn care companies and big chemical.

All these things would give the average suburban home association a massive attack of the pearlclutching vapours. I'm blessed, however: I live on 7 acres, with a woodlot to the north of me, hayfields to the south, and a benign neighbour up the road and across about 200 feet. However, those driving by can't see what I'm up to, and you know what? I don't care if they do. (Oh, but Grace, I did finally get the Christmas wreaths and the swagging off the house and arbour. Today. The snow finally was gone from the base of the arbour that we could move it.)

This time of year, everything is a mess. As you'll see from the photos, even today, there is still snow in some areas. As it melts, it makes parts of the yard very squishy. In an effort not to compact things down more, we're only working around the edges of the drier gardens. I test a lot of plants, and so we don't always have big drifts of perennials because I'm trying a new shrub or perennial and things are accordingly spotty. But colourful.

In our family, I'm the primary income earner, which I do as a freelance writer, photographer, editor, sometime speaker. A lot of my income comes from talking about/writing about/taking photographs of gardens and gardening. And my mantra is "We can all grow great gardens.'

What that term 'great garden' means to you may be totally different from what it means to me. Here, my great garden is a mix of natives and introduced, heritage and hybrids, brand new and old faithfuls, trees, shrubs, perennials, grasses, ephemerals, annuals, bulbs, herbs, even a wee few vegetables. Yours may be three scarlet geraniums in a clay pot on a deck. They're both awesome, because they bring us joy.

In being a freelancer, rather than working for some company as a writer, things can be challenging. I have one client who is always significantly behind in paying me, and others that are occasional clients, others who are awesome and regular, which help me to build cushions for when I'm waiting to be paid by the big client who likes to hang onto their money til the last moment. So I don't have the spare cash to, say, hire a designer to deal with levelling some of the land or building me the stone wall I dearly want or doing any of a hundred other things that could be done. So we do them ourselves, what we can. This year, I am adding more soil as soon as I find some that is decent. I want to join a few beds, top up some areas, raise one section for an idea I have. Due to health issues, mostly mine, we can't do a whole lot in the run of a day, either. A couple hours for me and I can barely move, and I'm in constant, tedious, pain. But I work away at it, and LSS helps when he's not cutting firewood or doing some odd job elsewhere, or working at his own passions (his boat).

So it's not designer-perfect. But it's ours and we love it. If you don't love it, well, then send me some of your spare cash and I'll hire a friend of mine to improve it. Or, just don't look at it. We won't be offended.

And you, whether you have a balcony of succulents or a 20,000 landscaping job, whether you live on a suburban plot or revel in wide open spaces like we do...I hope you love your garden too. Just as long as it's yours and it makes you happy, it's all good. I won't criticize, but I will cheer you on.

I just want people to plant gardens, and plant things they enjoy, and enjoy what they do. Beyond that, we're learn as we grow together. It's NOT all easy, for sure. It can be strenuous, expensive, timeconsuming, frustrating. It can also be heaven on earth.

So just bloom where you're planted, have fun. If something doesn't work, try again next year, or use something else.

Like me. This afternoon, I go to say my last goodbye to my friend Dick. Tonight, if it's not snowing, I'll plant two American chestnut trees in his memory. That's what he wanted: for people to honour the earth in his memory by planting a tree.

Namasté, fellow gardeners. Onward and upward.

Spotlight Saturday: Have you visited This blogger? Introducing Cindee

I have endless amounts of admiration for those who have the ability to maintain more than one blog. My brain feels like it's turning to 3 bean salad some days with only ONE blog to maintain, so for those with two or more, wow, my writerly hat is off to you for your dedication. It also gives me two or three times as many posts to read from them, so that's always good.

With that in mind, I would like to introduce Cindee, who writes about gardens past and present, about crafts...and about cats, too. I found her first at Moonstone Gardens, which is, a she puts it, a "gardening blog based from a 17-acre resort garden." The resort is in Oregon, one of those places I dream of visiting because it's home to many great gardens and garden centres/breeders. For now, I content myself with reading about these places via blogs.



From there, I traipsed over to the wonderful and whimsical Our Grandmother's Gardens, where Cindee celebrates not only gardening but a variety of crafty endeavours, some of them based in garden-inspired art.

And how lucky are the cats who share life with Cindee, because they have their own blog at The Cat House! This one isn't updated quite so often, but it's lovely to visit Cindee's feline friends. My only worry is that OUR cats will demand their own blog. You know what Mungus is like. And Spunky too. I'd have to create a blog for each of them, and put little kitty cams on their heads, and they'd want to write the blogs themselves, and I'd have to share my laptop with them...

Whew. Like I said, one is enough for me.

So that's a bit of a look at Cindee's blogs, and you can see how they'd appeal to me. I think they'll appeal to many of you as well, so I hope you'll pop by one or more of them and say hello!

The Bee-loud Hamamelis: Gardening Gone Wild Picture This Photo Contest

Today is the last full day before official spring turns over on the calendar. I spent a good part of it sitting in the sun watching honeybees hanging out in an 'Arnold Promise' hamamelis. Then I thought that all this bee-watching might result in a fun entry for Gardening Gone Wild's Picture This Photo Contest for March, where the theme is "Awakening'.

Not only are plants showing decided signs of waking up and getting going, my friends the bees have woken up and man, are they hungry! They're also amazingly tolerant and gentle creatures, because I sat with both my cameras beside this witch-hazel, patiently following the busy little bees flitting around from flower to flower looking for nectar, and they didn't get at all offended. I think they know a bee lover when they see one. I know I'm very glad to see them.

So, even though I'm a Canadian outcast, up here beyond the confines of the contest boundaries...I'm tossing another photo into the competition, just for fun. There are some amazing entries again this month, so best of luck to all who have captured a glimpse of spring's awakening, and thanks again to the good hosts at GGW for helping us to become better photographers.

Bzzzzzzzz.

Skywatch Friday: Skies, snowdrops and supervisor Spunky

I keep thinking we're going to pay bigtime for this almost two weeks of fine weather. Daylight Savings Time always scrambles my circuits a little bit, but it's also so gratifying to walk outside in the morning and not need seven layers of clothes. The plants are responding to the sun's welcoming rays, as my Corylus avellana 'Contorta' shows off against a perfect blue sky yesterday morning.


We're still a long way from being frost free, of course, but that lends its own particular charms to morning walks. These snowdrops look like they're dipped in a bit of ultrafine sugar.


Meanwhile, back indoors, my supervisor Spunky Boomerang thinks I really should stop procrastinating and either get some more writing done, or have a nap with him...


But somehow, I don't want to miss a moment of clear, springlike skies, so I'll wait til well after sunset before I turn in.

I hope your Skywatch Friday is as perfect as the past few days have been for us here in Scotts Bay!

"The Plant Does all the Work!" Remembering my friend...

This is the blog posting I hoped I wouldn’t have to write for a long time yet. But the day has come, and my heart is heavy. I’m taking a break from Wordless Wednesday this week because plant lovers in Atlantic Canada are feeling a loss tonight.


It has been almost a decade since I met the famous, formidable and funny plantsman Captain Richard (Dick) Steele. Our meeting was happenstance: Longsuffering Spouse and I were out driving around on the south shore of Nova Scotia in late spring. He, of course, had one eye peeled to the water, looking at fishing boats: I was looking at gardens. We came around a curve in what was a particularly twisty road, and I saw wooden racks of interesting plants, and a modest sign: Bayport Plant Farm. “Stop the truck!” I hollered.


LSS, being an agreeable sort, piled the binders on. At my urging, he backed us up and pulled in the parking lot. I clambered out to examine the plants, and he ambled up a path beyond a line of large yews. Moments later, he came bounding back and grabbed my arm. “You HAVE to see these!” he announced, grinning from ear to ear. I followed him, and stopped in my tracks. Blue poppies. In bloom. Around them, dozens of rhododendrons filled with silken blossoms, irises flinging their fascinating flowers skyward, a joyful riot of evergreens and perennials, foliage and flowers. I was in love.


(Dick Steele with "Other Jodee" on the Great Plant Hunting Expedition of 2007, en route to Battle Harbour. He had two Jodis, both left-handed, a tad mischievous, and besotted with him, among the pilgrims on this voyage. )

A few moments later I was taken to meet the owner of all this beauty, a dignified gentleman I assumed to be in his mid-sixties. (He was actually in his mid-80s). Snow-white hair and beard, glasses smudged with some potting mix from the plants he was transplanting, firm handshake. A retired naval captain, he had a stern countenance until you saw the twinkle in his eye and heard him laugh. If he liked you, he liked you forever, and treasured you as his friend. If he didn’t like you…my understanding from others is that he was exquisitely polite, or else not to be found. For some inscrutable reason, (inscrutable on his part--I was smitten immediately) we hit it off very well, and I owe so much of what I know about plants to having learned from this enthusiastic and generous man. To many people, he was Captain Steele. To those who had the honour to call him friend, he was just ‘Dick’.


Dick has been working with plants, especially rhododendrons and azaleas, but also many other plants that caught his eye, for well over fifty years. I know of exactly two types of plant he heartily despises: goutweed (Aegopodium) and Japanese knotweed (Polygonum cuspidatum). A man after my own heart! He has developed countless hundreds of cultivars, which he has been cold-testing at his farm on the south shore of Nova Scotia and at his home farm in New Brunswick, and has donated who knows how many plants to public gardens and parks, to his beloved Atlantic Rhododendron and Horticultural Society, to friends near and far.


“Take this home and see how it does for you on that damn windy hill of yours!” was a regular comment when I came to visit. A visit with Dick usually started out with a tour around the 30 acre property known as Bayport Plant Farm, and wrapped up with tea in the shed/office where countless visitors had come to talk plants, buy plants, bring plants, ask questions. Although he wasn’t the best email correspondent I have ever encountered, he thought nothing of picking up the phone and calling to tell me about something that had struck his fancy. If he was praised for his plant breedings, he would wave it off, saying, "I don't run around taking credit for breeding this plant or that. The plant does all the work, but I had a lot of fun with helping them."


It was from Dick I learned about the amazing dawn redwood (Metasequoia glyptostroboides) and how one of the oldest specimens in cultivation is right in Halifax. From him came a cutting of the huge, magnificent wisteria from his property that he insisted would grow in my garden as well as it did his. The pieris in my front garden, covered in buds and quivering in anticipation of its bloom period ss one he said I couldn't go wrong with. He always teasingly scolded me that I didn’t have nearly enough rhododendrons, and I always said that the garden wasn’t quite ready to take on too many, because of my wind and clay and and and…

This year, however, I’ll be adding a number of rhododendrons and hardy azaleas.

Every late summer for the past number of years, Dick has led an annual plant-hunting expedition to north-western Newfoundland and southern Labrador, culminating at Battle Harbour. I had the privilege of being one of about a dozen on that trip in 2007, having him blaze past me on the Labrador Highway in his new Honda, listening to his stories in the evenings as we gathered the group together for supper, watching him charge up the side of the hill on Battle Harbour—charge along, with two canes, two artificial hips and one replaced knee. Or maybe it was two knees and a hip. Whichever it was, he put people half his age to shame with his enthusiasms and his energy, and his boundless curiosity about plants.

In 2008, I was too unwell to go; in 2009, there was no trip. And now, there will be no more trips, at least not with Dick as chief expeditionary leader and plant hunter extraordinaire.

(Yellow rhododendron, 'Nancy Steele', bred by Captain Richard Steele. Photo from Atlantic Rhodo Society website)

Our last conversation was before Christmas, and it was no good to ask how HE was, because I knew the answer would be an amused but pithy, "I'm old!" as he always replied when asked how he was, and then he'd change the subject. I knew from talking with his daughter Diana in January that he was slowing down, but given that he had celebrated his 91st or 92nd or 93rd--no one seemed exactly sure--birthday with us in Labrador in 2007, we weren’t all that surprised. Then he went into hospital, and a niece who I have known for years gently explained to me that he wouldn’t in all likelihood be getting out again. And our formidable plantsman slipped off to the great greenhouse beyond on Sunday evening, March 14th.


To say I’m tremendously sad at his passing is an understatement. Look at me sideways, and pass me the tissues. The sadness is shared by any number of family members, friends, fellow gardeners, horticulturists, plants people around Atlantic Canada, and beyond. Yet beyond the sadness, I’m also determined to honour his life, and his legacy, by remembering him and his passion for plants, and following in his footsteps, at least a little.

Dick always believed that if we would put our energy into growing beautiful plants, there would be less unhappiness in the world. I can do this.


I read a quotation on Monday by Sharon Lovejoy, in which she says, "I grow gardens for my life and my soul." So did my friend Captain Dick Steele. We’ll not see his like again any time soon, but we will carry on his work.


And you know who my next book will be dedicated to. My teacher, my friend. Fair winds and following seas to you, dearest Dick.

Garden Bloggers Bloom Day: Surprises indoors and out

Well, I don't know about you, but I'm quite pleased about this. Here I was thinking that all I'd have to offer in the way of blooms for this month's version of Garden Bloggers Bloom Day (created and still hosted by the delightful Carol of May Dreams Gardens!) would be the forsythia that I clipped last weekend, and which has obligingly popped into bloom. After all, we're still in the dreaded Farch, right?

Well, yes we ARE, but the weather seems to have gone into detente. As you saw in the previous post, we still have quite a bit of snow in some parts of the property, but otherwise, winter seems to be in retreat this week. I managed to get outside on Saturday and get quite a bit done in the places where there was no snow, before my joints screamed "Eeee-frakkin-nough!" and I had to go inside and recuperate.

This lower bed is one of my favourite parts of our garden. Not only is it a memory garden to beloved people lost to diseases, it's a pollinator garden from early spring until the last killing frost.

It's also home to the earliest bloomers in the garden. Hamamelis Diane is just stretching out her flower petals hesitantly at the moment, unconvinced that this time it's safe to do so. Under her strong, graceful limbs, Hellebore 'Ivory Prince' whispered this afternoon that it was probably safe to remove the evergreen mulch, at least for a couple of days.

This hellebore is doing very, very well thanks to the tutelage of several gardeners: Frances gave me wise tips a couple of years ago on how to cope with late winter/early spring when it comes to protecting hellebores from erratic weather. And Mr. McGregor's Daughter, (Barbara) did an excellent post on cleaning up your hellebores just the other day. I haven't taken the secateurs to mine yet, mostly because...I can't find my secateurs. Ooops. I hope they aren't in the bottom of the compost heap. I hate it when that happens.

Now, I know, I got a little excited on Friday night/Saturday morning, and told y'all about the first of the snowdrop flotilla putting in an appearance. Haven't started to count them yet, because there's still snow in part of that garden, and the other bed still has evergreen boughs over it because of my precious echinaceas and some new stuff I'm trialing. So we don't want to tickle the weather deities' feet too much. Or else I'll wake up to three feet of snow on top of everything again. And then I'll swear like a sailor. Trust me. I can do it.

But I will give you a sneak peek of what these double galanthus will look like in just a few days, if this weather continues. They are so small, yet so fragrant and so happy-making.

A further programming note; because I'm still really buried in work, I'm going to let the current 'Spotlight Saturday' blog stay as is for the rest of this week. There aren't enough hours in the day, and work takes precedence. But that's fine with me. I have snowdrops. And hellebores. And daylight savings time. It's all good, friends. It's all good.

Breaking News! Galanthus spotted in Scotts Bay snowyard!

Okay, I know I should build up to the big announcement, but since I'm bouncing gleefully like Tigger (at least, inside I am), I have to announce it to the world...we haz snowdrops! About 2 1/2 weeks earlier than last year, and before spring actually gets here. I am beaming like a proud parent, but of course, I didn't do anything. The plants do all the work. I just reap the joyous benefits.


Okay, let's back up a little bit, now that I've gotten that off my chest. Today was the 7th day of sunny skies in a row, and it was above freezing, not windy, and just...nice. I watched it most of the day from inside, where I was dealing with some projects, including the book one.

Late this afternoon, I went outside to walk around and stretch my legs a little, and to just have a bit of a look at the latewinter mess that is our yard. I hadn't looked too closely at the garden since going out a few days ago to cut twigs from shrubs for forcing indoors. Since there is still a LOT of snow in some parts of the yard, I figured it would just annoy me, especially since many of my blogging buds are celebrating snowdrops, and crocus, and daffodils and hellebores, and pulmonaria and ...snif...no, really, I'm just fine.
You have to click on these and expand them to get a sense of how much snow remains around our property. The first yard photo is the south side, my view from my office window. There are shrubs totally buried in some of that snowdrift, and I shudder to think how broken they'll be when they emerge. I lost a viburnum last year in this part of the yard, and while some plants weather such snow onslaughts well, I think this year it's time to put in a row of sturdy evergreens to catch and hold the snow from advancing further in future winters. Oh, yes, great plans I have. The spirit is willing, but the muscles are weak. Happily, Longsuffering Spouse is strong, and usually willing.

The above photo is part of the back yard, with the expanse of Scotts Bay and the Cape Split peninsula in the background. Our picnic table has been buried in snow for about six weeks, and is only just emerging in the past few days. But as you can see, the snow is dramatically melting, and is totally gone in some spots.

I walked around to the front yard and went to check on the bed where my echinaceas and a fwe other special plants live, and then I spied it. Shy, casual, not at all flamboyant, but gleaming like little oval pearls against the decomposing leaves and potential weeds around it. The first snowdrop. Well, the first two snowdrops. Happy dance ensued. Then I thought about the lower garden, where the flotillas of snowdrops show up eventually.

There's still a lot of snow in that lower garden, and I wasn't sure whether I'd find what I was looking for, but there they were. I was so excited that I neglected to take photos of the entire bed. I just put my small camera (my Canon Powershot SX200) on super macro, set it on the ground, and took a bunch of shots, hoping to get something usable. The bed was in total shade by this point but you get the point. The snowdrop celebration has begun.

I'm not ready to declare spring here, though. I know FARCH in Nova Scotia all too well, and she is a perfidious season. We routinely get clobbered with snowstorms throughout March, or ice storms, or rainstorms...but I do feel like we may have broken the back of winter. I'm just waiting for Longsuffering Spouse to come racing inside sometime in the next few days and tell me the Redwinged Blackbirds are back. That's one of my main harbingers of spring, along with my horse beginning to shed his winter coat. And yes, the return of the gallant Galanthus.

Because I'm so gleeful about the snowdrops--hey, I'm actually able to celebrate at the same time as many of my blogging companions around the continent and in northern Europe, instead of trailing along behind like the youngest sibling in a big family--we're going to wait until late Saturday to do the Saturday Spotlight post. I hope to spend at least part of Saturday out in the yard, cleaning up stuff. And grinning at Galanthus.

I hope everyone has something in their yards that make them as giddily joyful as my snowdrops do me. And that spring stretches her warming arms out to all of you this weekend.

Skywatch Friday: Six Days of Sun make winter fade...

I'm not one to be lulled into a false sense of security when it comes to winter weather. Nope, not me. Still and all, the sun finally remembered where we lived last Saturday, and although we've had some clouds in the sky since then, the sun has shone brilliantly DAILY for six days in a row. Amazing.

Hamamelis 'Diane' thinks that perhaps it's safe to venture out a little further, and is shyly revealing some of her fascinating petals.

The sure sign that spring may yet find us is the spectacular sunsets, which are almost halfway across their long march from one end of our property to the other. We watch the sunsets advance through the winter, (when we actually get to see them) and it's enormously satisfying to see these blazes of brilliance once again.

An acquaintance told me today that spring is actually on her way. I remain wary, but I'm loving the return of sunlight to our shores--and our sunsets. It seemed like the perfect way to celebrate Skywatch Friday.

Here's hoping that your sunsets are filling you with hope, too. Spring IS coming (yes, I know it's here already for some of you lucky peeps out west and south of us. I'm glad, really. Not jealous. Nope.)

A minor housekeeping answer to a question left by Catherine in my previous post. The guitar pick is one of rock musician and prolific pick-flinger David Cook's, which I caught at a concert in Kansas City two summers ago. I don't suspect there's an orchid named after him, but I thought a guitar pick would give you all some sense of how amazingly tiny this miniature orchid is. IT's name is Phalaenopsis Sogo Gotris 'Flora Ark'. Just in case you were wondering. I think I could become seriously addicted to mini phals, so I hope I don't see too many more on sale any time soon. Running out of places to put plants in my office, and Longsuffering Spouse isn't about to build me a conservatory. Not yet, anyway.

Wordless Wednesday: "Orchids-come-lately, there's new kids in town..."

The Orchid Show: "All right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up."

Okay, I admit, I couldn't resist it. The Oscars are tonight, and yesterday I went to an orchid show at Acadia University, where some of the most beautiful flowers in the world were gussied up in their best and most colourful finery. Without a hairdresser, fashion designer, or plastic surgeon in sight.


More on these gorgeous plants tomorrow, after I see how my favourite movie--about ten foot tall blue cats and plants that glow in the dark--made out tonight.

Do you suppose I succumbed to the urge to bring any orchids home with me? Kylee knows the answer to this question, I'm sure.

Spotlight Saturday: Have you visited This blogger?

First of all, thank you so much for your good wishes and thoughts. My health issue is an ongoing one, annoying and incapacitating at times but not lifethreatening, for which I'm deeply grateful. I've reminded myself of that especially this week, as we across the gardening blogosphere have had thoughts and prayers focused on our dear blogging bud Katie, who is fighting a serious illness. We send her much love, virtual tulips and healing thoughts across the time zones, states, provinces, countries, continents. (#fightkatie!) The sun is out here in lovely Nova Scotia this morning, so I hope that when it wakes on the far West Coast, it streams in Katie's window and helps her healing.

Two of my favourite things in the world are plants, and the pollinators that help their life cycles, especially bees. A third favourite thing is botanical/nature art. I can't draw or paint. At ALL. But I have a huge appreciation for and love of good botanical themed artwork, from the time of Pierre-Joseph Redoute to the artists of today.


Through the wonderful world of the Internet, I've found some amazing garden artists who blog, and have been following a few of them faithfully over the past several years. One of my favourites, and this week's Spotlight on Saturday choice, is Valerie Littlewood of Pencil and Leaf. I don't remember exactly when I discovered her blog, or by which means--I always figure it's synchronicity when I tumble upon a new blog that really hits me in the heart--but I love her work and especially her current area of interest.


Lately, Valerie has been combining two of my favourite things in her recent work: bees and plants. It's no secret that I'm a huge fan of bees (one of my favourite twitter-peeps is @HelpSaveBees) , and it's even less of a secret to the wider world that bees of all kinds, both wild and domestic, bumble and honey, are in trouble due to a number of factors. So I figure anything that educates us more about these gentle, essential creatures and about what we can do to help save bees, is a very, very good thing. So I hope you'll buzz on over to Valerie's site, check out her paintings and sketches and her Flickr page of more of her work.

Skywatch Friday: Cheatin' with Summer Skies, Grateful for Gardening Friends...

A brief post for today, because I'm having an ill spell and am actually writing this in the middle of the night during the insomnia session that goes along. Since March came upon our shores, we haven't seen the sun, nor the moon for that matter. A full moon came and went but other than a lighter shade of pale in the clouds one night, we wouldn't have known. Such weather is tiresome, typical, and shared by others across the northern latitudes, so I thought a summer sunset might make us all feel better for this Skywatch Friday.


It's really hard for me to do my work-writing when I'm dealing with one of these illness sessions, so I do things that need doing but have been put off. Like tidying my paperwork and finding the top of my desk and tables in my office. One thing led to another, as so often happens, and I had some things to put in a special memory box of letters, cards, and other treasures. I spied my bundle of delightful treasures from last year's Gardening by Letter project, and had to look at them again, as I hadn't had them out for a while. I always seem to bring them out when I'm having a rough patch, as they arrived here last year while I was in the midst of some challenges, and they lifted my heart immeasurably then. They still do that now.

As I wrote last year, I've never met any of my gardening blogger friends face to face, and while I hope to get to Buffalo this year, we'll see how my other obligations go. However, when I talk of my gardening friends, I am often referring to friends such as these; people I've yet to meet, or haven't even talked to on the telephone, yet who I consider friends thanks to the joys of the Internet. You all give so much, and you have no idea how much you're a joy and encouragement across the miles. You're like a spring day in my heart. A real spring day, not these tiresome grey interminably cold with sideways-snow days.


And dearest Anna, thank you again for having hosted the Gardening By Letter project. Like this project, you're a priceless, joyful gift across the miles.

That's it for today, friends. Y'all come on back tomorrow, please, because it'll be time for the next Saturday Spotlight.

Wordless Wednesday: "The winter of our discontent made glorious summer" Purple hydrangea, Yarmouth NS