The Secret Garden

We're almost to July. Our three shades of pink roses are going strong, despite the heat and our lackadaisical deadheading habits. Thousands of {what I think are called} trumpet vines have blossomed in the last week, adding vibrant orange color to our stone walkway. And yesterday we had the pleasure of meeting our very first hydrangea of the season. Our hydrangeas are blue and gorgeous in full bloom, so their arrival is something to celebrate.

As for the rest, I'm ashamed to say I cannot name any of them. Ashamed because my father was a professional landscaper when I was younger, I planted flowers for him, my brother studied horticulture, and my first publishing job out of college was with a national gardening magazine. I was the fact checker {my mom still laughs at this title}--the person who knew all the plant names (Latin and common). I was there for over three years. So yes, I am ashamed that roses and hydrangeas join a very elite group of plants in our yard that I am able to identify. To make matters worse, we bought a house with a beautiful landscape that was obviously painstakingly maintained from year to year. By someone who knew what they were doing, albeit she planted things a little close together if you ask me. I appreciate these exquisite symbols of nature's bounty, maybe more than anyone, but I haven't a clue what to call them. To Buby I say "Look, yellow flower. Pretty purple flower! Mmmm, smell."

I do have some old gardening references in the attic from that first job out of college... I suppose I could go dust them off. Or... you could just write in and tell me what's what when I post flower shots. THANK YOU! All of these photos were taken by moi on Sunday afternoon while on break from staining the new picket fence Daddy built {what did I get myself into??} and while the boys washed the motorcycle in the driveway. Translation: Daddy hosed down and Buby did what he does best: Splash in puddles. Of mud. So muddles.