Thursday, June 26, 2014

The city terrace


Yes. Do look up. Because that is what defines what I can grow. North, and the cut-off top of the townhouse we live in, are at the top of the image. But eastern (L) and western (R) suns are cut off, which makes for the midday blast. Plants have to sign waivers before being allowed to live here. "We understand the conditions as set forth in the blablabla and shall not hold the gardener liable..."


The Gloriosa lilies have opened much earlier than anticipated. The ones on the birch fence opened first, and seem very happy.


Down below, in the shadier recesses, are the Dicentra that Paul and Sonya brought up from Virginia last week.


The pink English rose (Boscobel) has lasted surprisingly well in warm weather.


Yeah. Houston? You know that problem everyone keeps saying we have?


It's h-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-re.

Black swallowtail larvae. I swear they followed me from Brooklyn. You want to know what I did? Really? Really???

I put them back. Yup. Right back on the damn parsley. Eat it, I said. I'm going to be away for a while and ain't no way no Frenchman is going to eat the parsley while I am gone. He hates parsley.


So, who knows?


The black raspberries are ripening as fast as I look at them. I baked some in little pies today, with cherries and serviceberries and apples.


The blueberries ripen from the tip of their clusters, down.


And bubbles pour out of the bottle, when you tip it. 

There it is. 

Dayeen. Dayoud.

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