Is it spring finally?

To the garden!

The weather gave us a break today, so I got to go out to putter in the garden. It will be my first real gardening year at this house.

To give you a bit of background, we live in a cute old stone house built in the 20s. The lady who lived here previously fancied herself some kind of master gardener but really just liked to visit the garden center to buy lots and lots of stuff and arrange in in ways she thought was attractive without regard to the plants’ habits. It was cluttered and ugly as s###. So last year, my gardening at this house consisted mainly of having the landscaper remove tons of rocks, garden ornaments, rocks, fountains, rocks, ugly bushes, and rocks. Did I mention the rocks? Then I had him put in a nice picket fence to enclose the front yard and establish beds for a cottage garden. Then I discovered that I couldn’t grow much of anything in the beds because the landscaper had used Roundup to clear out a lot of the crap. Some of it did okay, but there were stretches of ground I don’t want to talk about.

So this year, finally, the Roundup should be broken down and I get to have a cottage garden. This afternoon’s puttering found the violas that went in a couple of weeks ago bravely blooming in spite of the weather. I love violas and pansies to brighten up a spring garden. Some of what I put in last year is coming back. Some of it I can even remember what it was—balloon flowers, mums, coreopsis, some herbs, a tree peony bought on sale at the end of the season. Foxglove didn’t make it—didn’t think it would—and I don’t think the hardy hibiscus was actually all that hardy because it looks pretty dead. I found some peony shoots sprouting in the middle of the lawn and managed to move a couple intact to a more suitable location.

Everywhere there are mysteries left by the last owner. Why is a peony growing in the middle of a lilac bush? And why is the lilac under the magnolia tree? What possessed her to plant chameleon plants? And what is that thing sprouting over there?

Other mysteries predate the last owner. We have a gravestone for a dog named Skipper who was killed by a car in 1938. No idea where the actual grave is. We can see the faint outline of a pathway under the front lawn. Where did that pathway go? Certainly not to today’s doorway.

Ah well, time to browse the Internets to find the ideal climbing rose for the front arbor.