I love my flower garden. Last fall I did a lot of digging to make it happen. It was a patch of Bermuda grass with a large, random stump in the middle at the corner of the front yard. A ho-hum average non-native, suburban grassy grassland in need of a makeover. The stump was a former evergreen tree, possibly a Monterey Cypress, Cupressus macrocarpa, but maybe a spruce of some sort, according to a neighbor. Whatever the case, it came down one day, cut down, and no one really knows why or quite remembers what it was other than an evergreen, but I smell cypress. I dug and dug to get that stump out. I love digging, especially down. I threw that dirt, ahhhh, threw that dirt, like no tomorrow, no tomorrow. I threw that dirt with the vigor of a digger, a digger much more than me. Between my legs, goes that dirt, all that dirt. I lose all focus on the job at hand and just dig, dig down. Down I dig, da down, down, down. Oooops. I should have gone around that stump.
The black hollyhocks we started from seed last year. Alcea Rosea Negra, now about seven feet tall. They are gorgeous. The poppies and cornflowers went in as seed this March. There are blueberries, artichokes, and zucchini hidden amongst the saliva, nasturtium, hummingbird sage, and Zauschneria californica mexicana, California fuschia. There are bees and ladybugs and hummingbirds. We have our own little nature center in the front yard. It is so lovely. It makes other people happy although I wish all the dog walkers would stop their dogs from peeing on the flowers. I lost two lavender plants that way. Head to the Bermuda grass. There is lots of it. Have at it.
But I have to ask you about my hat. Does it make me look jaunty? Smart? Silly? Or just fat?