Every morning I get up, and, resplendent in my mismatching pajamas, I pull on my wellies and head into the garden. I’m sure the neighbors think I’m crazy as I trapeze around my yard in some sort of unfortunate combination of stripes, paisley and polka dots. But they will have to make do as in my head, I’m in my English garden estate, far away from civilization and certainly not within the viewing distance of neighbors.
Today, the cherry tomatoes are doing well, the lavender not so much (only 1 out of 8 seems to be happy here). My beloved Lemon Tree (capitalized on purpose, out of respect), is- and I don’t want to jinx myself- on the mend, having lost all of her leaves save 4, but now is displaying 11 growing buds (I counted). I’m hoping that by Christmas I’ll have enough for a lemon pound cake.
I then take a moment to check in on the newly planted Rose of Sharon hedges. I’m excited about their soft iris blue color. Finally it’s on to the hydrangeas and I sidestep the lily of the valley to get to them (not so sure about their future here, will have to wait till spring). I have four hydrangea bushes- two blushing bride (which were once creamy white with a pinkish tint and have now taken on a rusty red color that I’m not so sure about) and two blue enchantress hydrangeas (shown here). I give them something to drink and think about how much I will miss their color once winter comes.