Yesterday afternoon, another overcast day, found me again on the front porch messing
about with my plants.
The largest rosemary now has a deep new pot. All three rosemarys had pushed their roots down to the bottoms of their containers and made those matted clumps which can't be unraveled and must be gently removed. With the soil left in the sack which I purchased on Sunday, I potted on tiny lavender seedlings.
I don't know that I needed more lavender plants--although I did lose one in the herb garden, presumably to late winter damp and chill.
I attempted growing lavender from seed years ago in Vermont. Usually the germination was poor, although I did once achieve nearly a dozen plants of Lavender, Lady.
Last spring I had lavenders to tuck in the herb garden and several to give away.
In the April exuberance of stopping by a rack of seed packets I purchased lavender seeds which came mixed with a starting medium, the plan being that one dumped the whole on top of a pot of soil.
I did just that, and suspect that every seed 'took.'
I now have more than two dozen lavender seedlings growing on in an assortment of recycled plastic pots.
[And I steeled myself to toss out half a dozen that were spindly!]
Above you can see two flourishing rosemarys that I started from seed in 2012 and wintered under a flourescent light in the basement.
Two small achillea need a home somewhere in the garden.
The nasturtiums aren't looking hardy--some voracious bug chomped them nearly to death before I bought a new shaker of rotenone to drive them away.
I plonked a few of my remaining signet marigolds in pots, then traipsed out to the clothesline flower strip to pull up encroaching grass and distribute the remaining marigolds along the front edge, pulling out the dried stems of poppies to make room.
I inched my way around one long and one short side of the small plot before sprinkles of rain began to spatter. Casting a baleful eye on the sky I yanked out several large grass clumps on the far side of the patch before deciding that I didn't wish to be rained upon.
We woke to rain and to evidence that rain had fallen during most of the night.
The boy cats insisted on charging outside as usual, milling about in the wet yard and returning, sodden-furred, to collapse on the nearest bed.
Edward landed damply on my lap, purring winsomely.
I patted him, which encouraged him to climb onto the desk where he stomped, purring, in front of the computer screen.
My services were commandeered by J. who wanted an assortment of items posted on craigslist.
I complain when asked to do this, as craigslist is terribly balky, 'timing out' when the photos are meant to be loading. The system was especially slow and irritating today, making it necessary to reattempt loading the photos several times.
Flowers hang heavy with rain.
Puddles stand in the driveway and in the back yard.
J.'s rain gauge shows a fall of about 2 inches since last evening with more rain in the forecast for at least three days to come.
J. ventured out to inspect the garden and snatch a handful of green beans, a crisp green pepper and several cucumbers.
I went downstairs, thinking that a bit of fire wouldn't go amiss to thwart the damp chill
seeping into the house.
This lead to the not surprising discovery that the drain in the outside basement stairwell was clogged and water running over the floor in the back hallway of the basement.
J. used plunger and rods to lift out the usual leaves and such which manage to get through the drain cover.
I made soup--an unusual meal for the 4th of July!
There has been no hint of sunshine, just green darkness.
I try not to think of the winter wheat standing in the squelching field--grain that was ready for the combine two weeks ago--our cash crop for this season.
We lease our large north field to a local crop farmer on shares--the wet summer has delayed the planting of soybeans, the harvest of wheat, the fertilizing of corn which stands yellowing in the wet in fields around the county.
J. quoted grimly this morning the old adage, "A dry year will scare you to death and a wet year will starve you to death!"
Matilda the Flying Pig [an anniversary gift from friends] stands guard on her metal stake, overloking the herb plot.
I've dashed out with debris for the garbage heap, dumped tins in the recycling bin.
I've put a load of laundry through the washer and dryer, knowing that a 'drying day' is not in the forecast.
I've made a mug of green tea to fortify myself.
Time to tip Edward's black and white furry bulk from my lap and trudge downstairs
to my sewing machine.
I can always make quilts when it is too wet to tend the garden.