Daylily du jour.
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Morning Garden Report
ITEM: Tropical Depression Beryl is predicted to move through eastern Virginia this morning. We are already getting a few raindrops. My camera lens, which spent the night in air conditioned comfort, was hopelessly fogged when I stepped outdoors. Relative humidity - 85%. Dewpoint - 71 °F (22 °C).
ITEM: I finally gave up on the sweet basil. This is a remarkably easy plant to start from seed, but I have sowed the bed twice this spring, and nothing germinated. Twice! I finally bought some six-packs of basil from the local feed-and-seed. We have grown dependent on these plants for a year-long supply of pesto, frozen in ice cube trays and stored in the freezer.
ITEM: Some invisible pests have gnawed the bell pepper plants bare, but they have not bothered the cayennes at all. They must not care for spicy food. I bought new bells to replace the ravaged plants. I may try applying a dilute green-soap mixture to the leaves to discourage the insects. Little bastards.
ITEM: My favorite spider daylily bloomed overnight! Now it’s summer!
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Played 28 times
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
For __________.
“Dedication,” by Alice and Michi, from Strange Bloom, May 2012.
Think this is meant for you? I might tell if you ask politely. Maybe not. A guy’s entitled to a little mystery. This ain’t Delilah, after all.
“I used to help Mama make flowers for the graves out of wire and paper and wax every year. I told her, ‘I’ll always put flowers on your grave, but I’m going to buy them.’ I hated making those wax flowers.”
“The new graves all have headstones and urns for flowers, but families don’t take care of them. They let the church keep up the graves.”
“Every year. We’ve never missed a year.”
“I like the way they do it in New Orleans. The families get together at the cemetery and have a picnic.”
“I wonder if the younger generation is going to carry on the tradition. I don’t think they will. They don’t care.”
The concrete grave ledgers, inscribed with the family names, are freshly painted with gold and silver metallic paint.
“I come a few days before each year to trim around the graves, and paint the markers. The other side of the family doesn’t take care of their graves, lets the grass grow over them. In a few years you won’t even be able to find those graves.”
At Zion Christian Church in rural Suffolk, Virginia.
Every year the children of Florence and Joseph Copeland gather here on Memorial Day to place wreaths on their parents’ graves.
I was the high bidder in an online daylily auction, and today my prized shipment arrived in the mail.
The fans were wrapped in damp pages of the sports section from the May 27, 2007 edition of the Sioux Falls, South Dakota Argus Leader, which raises several puzzling questions: Why is my letter carrier so grumpy? With what will we wrap things once the presses stop and the last physical newspaper is printed? Why wasn’t this five year old paper recycled already? Inquiring minds seek answers. In vain.
What’s Blooming: Almost-a-pomegranate.
Every year this plant produces several dozen gauzy orange crêpe de Chine flowers, and every year the fruits drop just as their hypanthia begin to swell. But it is a favorite of the hummingbirds - a small compensation for its lack of productivity.
