The Last Days Of Monet

There were some late freeze knock downs, but Ku'ulei 'Aina rocked the house this spring. Mother Nature played the staring role.

The meadowlands are the gardens in the time of vegetation. They begin blooming at first inception and continue non-stop to killing frost.

I nudge the meadowlands with my editing and additions. One discarded 'Bird's Nest Spruce' is being given a second chance.

Eight years? Ten years? I waited a long ass time for this azalea to bloom. I was expecting yellow. It must be spite. I had been warning of a hard haircut to see if I could get them to send up sucker sprouts that might try blooming or even growing robustly. That is still the plan.

Orange! I'll have to live with it now.

The meadow did an astounding job this year with the spring blooming Golden Ragwort, Packera aurea. It is said to be a perennial, but it behaves more like a biennial. It is in constant motion. It is certainly not a long lived perennial.

There are hundreds of trilliums, a full showcase of spring ephemerals and more blooming weeds than I can count.

It is awesome to behold.

When you find a spot they like, a patch of Iris cristata can become a stock source for further travels. One day I just need to dig a bunch, go for a walk and plant them along the way.

That is sort of how Garden Blogger's Bloom Day works, planting flowers along the way.

I have been visiting/editing in Bulbarella's garden of course. It is another world unto its own. The plant community there is completely different. The rhododendron and blue Phacelia purshii are about to rock her house.

The Lady lives over there. Three perfect blooms. My wish did come true.

My right eyeball is getting sliced open tomorrow. You can see right away, but it takes about two weeks for your eyeball to heal and not be sensitive.

I sit on my front porch with a half set of cataracts contemplating learning how to see again. What will my collection of seeing eyeballs do this time? I'm getting distance vision lenses. Reading vision is up to me and my other eyeballs.

These are the last days of Monet. I see the beginning of sharp edges. I can see the tiny weeds good enough to ID. The Under Garden is getting absorbed. Lush.

It may be time for Rousseau.