Spring Has Sprung, The Grass Is Riz

Thought we were joking about the lawn, didn’t you.

When you have a 4’x 12′ strip of grass that masquerades as a lawn, it’s hard to become too exercised over it getting longish. It’s full of crab grass and clover, and provides us with tiny yellow flowers, and we rather like it the tangle that it tends to be – but we also try not to scare the neighbor too badly, so we’re bound to try and weed and feed and shoo away the mushrooms that grow luxuriantly in a weird patch toward one edge.

Suburban gardens can be so gorgeous. We’ve got such plans for container gardens and bird feeders (high enough so Evil Squirrel Trio doesn’t eat them all again) and bird baths – as soon as we finish doing yard things for others, and get our deck fixed. OY, the deck has been a long project – made longer still by the fact that this is a rental house, and you have to do acrobatics and stand on one leg to get things done, even if they were promised to be done when you moved in almost a year ago. The project was started then apparently it was abandoned for other emergencies in the cold snap of October, so we’ve had to start over with our property manager, getting bids and such. It’s a real pain, but this time we’re going to follow through with the time-honored NAG so it gets done.

We’ll have late veg this Spring – but that’s what comes of having to rely on the schedules of others to get your garden in! We’re happy enough to go with containers on the deck, flowers and butterfly grasses and rosemary and such. The prevalence of soil sold in tidy bags (no longer called “compost,” and we’ll miss the John Innes, to be sure) makes it all so easy.

Meanwhile the roses are blooming and blooming and blooming. We’re a little amused and slightly worried that each bush is now rocking two kinds of roses… yes, the rootstock, despite our wholesale whacking back this winter, has grown out. One particularly thorny, scrappy white bush has produced such loveliness in terms of smell – and now the perfectly creamy white blossoms – still way too thorn-ridden for “nice” gardens – are pulling that sweetness into more uniformly perfect petals – somehow a slightly different shade of white. Bone white roses? Who knew. And the reds are showing purples and peach centers, white what were huge pink roses are now also… pink and white. Don’t know what to do about this, or if one must DO anything – we’re just deadheading as fast as we can, and taking pitchers of them to friends and the few family members not currently inundated. Our fig tree is leafing up, but no figs on it just yet – possibly because of The Trio of Evil always leaping around in the branches, but we’re not sure. We certainly have bottlebrush and hummingbirds enough for anyone! The aerial battles continue unabated, as do the nosy visitations – these little upstarts rather like hovering while one is near the roses, and woe be unto you if you don’t fill their feeder fast enough. Between the fox, the raccoon, the woodpecker and the tiny dive-bombing hummers, it’s an active yard.

We’re still in the stage of being aware of just how easy gardening is in these parts – the Isle of Albion has so many shades of green it dazzles your eyes, but we’re pleased with any bit of warmth that brings out the shades of golden brown – and also makes the tomatoes non-crunchy. ☺ Contentment in all things, yes? Yes.