Water #1 aquitted herself admirably over the weekend and probably ensured the survival of the garden (and will still be wined and fed at Al di La on Thursday before she moves to North Carolina. Ugh!). And she turned on the AC for Le Chat.
But Waterer #2 fell down. However: Waterer #2 did look after my kitty and scooped the litter tray, so really, that's all that matters, and fair's fair. And dead plants give me an excuse to. Buy. More. Crazy grin.
So while I sat on the tarmac in my big 747 for an hour last night at JFK while the airport was closed, pending the end of the lightning storm, rain fell on us all and cooled the place somewhat. I am lucky, I missed the horror. Still, a tribute to the casualties in 66 square feet:
The fig: this is a hard one. I don't see how the baby figs can recover, as most of the leaves have given up the ghost. The three nearly mature figs shrivelled up and cried, No more!
This one after I picked the dead leaves off.
The oregano today. Toast.
The geum. Toast.Corydalis, fried leaves...
But! in the understorey. The plectranthus was happy. Yay. It's South African, you know.
The mint went wild. No, it's not South African. Chimichurri sauce, hmm. Proper mojitos, hmmm.
It's going to be a while before breakfast looks like this again, though. Notice, no up-to-date pictures of the roses. Some dignity is required. I cut the Icebergs back hard this evening, fed them a little, watered them some more, and we will see. The Abraham Darby seems fine, surprisingly, new shoots and all. I think the New Dawn's days are numbered. It survived, but I'm not happy with it. The flowers do not stand up to any kind of heat (not in this location anyway) and I may remove it and plant a grape. I need leaves for dolmades.