Summer

August 19—today, I planted two Black-eyed Susan plants in the border facing the porch, by where the big fountain stands.  And thus, I have started working towards accomplishing this little dream of mine of seeing the garden embellished with bright, yellow glories.  I also pulled out all the daylilies that have ended up exhausting my patience in my attempts of bringing this garden back to beauty and harmony.  For they all had become an eyesore; droopy as they were and overgrown with no flowers whatsoever; always taking too much space in the garden while obliterating beauty.  So, I was not to waste one more minute or effort on contemplation, in the hope of seeing them do better. They are all out of the garden now, except for one or two plants here and there.  And what a relief doing this has been.

Today I have also finished up dividing the clumps of Shasta daisies that were left on that part of the garden that had become too cramped and already too suffocated under these perennials’ abundant beauty.  Will they thrive? We’ll have to wait until next spring to see what survive and what not.  But I’m optimistic.  

The landscaping guys are quoting me a crazy amount for planting the three trees I need to conceal the two-story house directly facing ours on the back.  Such monstrosity that house is, and one discouraging vision—like a giant with two enormous eyes (windows) looking straight down at us while stripping us off of all sense of privacy and confinement in Nature. I will simply have to do it myself or find someone that can do it for less.

True to their rugged, mountainous origins, the crabapple trees are heavy with fruits; sour enough to set a squirrel's teeth on edge and make a jay scream.  But what a beautiful fruit display in the late season they are.  Plus, they’re useful too when it comes to firming up jellies, jams, and apple butter.

Birds, love them too, and often attack its fruits with gusto as the crop softens and ages with successive freezes in the fall.

And what’s not to love about summer?  Mornings are busy with the sounds and ways of nature, mourning doves cooing my hours, little birds singing little happy songs among branches heavy under their bounties, small breezes carrying the intoxicating scent of some unidentified tree, or shrub—sweet, with the taste of vanilla on the tip of my tongue.  And floating in the midafternoon sun illuminated atmosphere, the purple puffs of the Royal Smoke bushes; like some extraordinary and beautiful fairies of some mysterious places dancing in my very own gardens.   

I love summer—what can I say?  I dream and wish for it with such intensity during our long winters, that to wish it gone now when is in its highest phase is heresy to my summer loving heart.  So, alas, let us bask in all its graces for some time longer, let us rejoice in whatever dose of discomfort, or pleasure it has to offer us, for way too soon it will vanished from the horizon of time, only leaving us dreaming and wishing for it again...