A Garden in Revolt

I feel like I’ve had a hangover for the last 3 months. Have you ever gardened with a hangover? Me either.

And my garden has taken notice...

So I finally went back to see what state the garden was in. I was having a burst of energy after work, in fact- it was really only a puff of energy.

The Rosa glauca, with it’s towering canes flopped over like a velvet rope, said, “I’ll need to see a photo ID, please,” and would not let me cross.

“Oh come on, it’s ME!” I whined. Spying a dead, from thirst or possibly cold, Jasmine laying on it's side in the shadows...

The Ligularia ‘Britt Marie Crawford’ triplets sassed, “We consider ourselves orphans now.”

“We’ve discussed it, we’re wildflowers now,” shouted the Black Lace Elderberry- looking about as natural as a Joan Rivers.

“Come on, guys- you neeeed me!” I begged.

“What the heck do we need YOU for?” gasped out the Cardoon, choked by aphids.

“Look what YOU let happen to the Dahlias!” said the Trachelium.

“It’s from the cold. It’s not my fault, it happens every year. And guess what? You’re next. Mr. Annual. It’s just a matter of time,” I reasoned.

The limp-with-thirst variegated Iris were now weeping quietly.

The Black Knight Buddleia said nothing.

3 Black Mondo Grasses sit, in their cans, in the grass waiting to be planted- stiff with confusion.

So I dug out the melted mess that was the Dahlias, in 2 seconds flat, and turned on the hose and gave everyone a good, deep drink. Amazing how THAT worked to regain power. I haven’t heard a peep out of them since.