Waterlogged

Drenched acer.

The week's been
wet
wet
wet.

Rain
then snow
then rain
more rain
& even more rain.




Hailing from the mountains myself, I'd rather it rain than snow.

I need to check the prisoners in the basement.

My gardening companion, Mizzy BunnyButt doesn't agree.  She cries at the door & once open, refuses to go out, then stomps off in disgust as if the rain's my fault.  A few minutes later, she's back, rinse & repeat.


Lately, she's taken to wailing at cellar door.  Next best thing to prowling a waterlogged garden, I guess.

Enough with feline woes.  With Mizzy BunnyButt safely dry in the cellar, out I go into the wet, doing my best not to slip slide across lawn as I bring you my Six on Saturday.

1.  Right by the back door, there's a single rose bud battered by the holly next to it.  This rose was here when I moved in, so name unknown, but it's scented, with a lovely strong pink colour.

As to the holly, I suspect it's a self seed number, considering its proximity to the rose & location in front of the window.  I haven't decided how best to prune this warring pair, but it's a decision whose time has come.

Rose & holly.

2.  For all the rain, fortunately only the leptinella pot needed some plumbing.

Leptinella brass buttons

3.  While doing my rounds, I stopped to check on the nigella babies . . .

Nigella nursery.

& discovered (pun alert) a lovely in that thar mist!

A surprise nigella bloom!

4.  You may remember Madame Owl perches outside our downstairs bathroom.  This week, I noticed she appeared to have an injured wing.

Mme Owl thinking about shortbread.

She's made of metal & sits protected from the wind & flying debris, so a bit of a mystery as to how it happened.  Since it's fairly certain the fox kits've been climbing the tree to steal morsels from the bird feeder.  I wonder if they're to blame for this bit of damage as well.  A quick zip up the fatsia & they'd have her.

5.  Back inside, there were new books to read, seed catalogues to scour, & plans to scribble in my garden journal.  I've been using this particular journal for 5 years now, thinking of it as a tool rather than a record.

This week, I flipped through it, revisited former gardens by reading about plants I'd forgotten bloomed early in 2012, who got transplanted where the next year, lists of plant spacings, labels pasted in with the intention of finally learning a few Latin names, diagrams of what colour tulips were expected to reveal themselves & in which pots.

My garden journal is a journal of myself as well.  Fancy that.

Much anticipated inside activity.

6.  I'll end with another Great Unknown.  A new garden tool set appeared under my tree & there's one implement who remains nameless.  My guess is it's a medieval surgical instrument, but figure it'll perform the same tasks as the butter knife I keep in my trug.  Anyone out there recognise this fella?

Or maybe used to remove brains during Egyptian mummifying procedures.

There's my slightly damp Six. 

Post-wet walk Big Nose dog.

Now get yourself over to our #SixonSaturday overlord, The Propagator for his Six & links to all his garden-rabid minions' postings.

See you in the New Year!