There will be a party at No. 9 on Sunday: 60 years of marriage - my parents. My mother has called it, and the menus read: The Last Party.*
Parties require flowers. Many come from the garden. (zinnias, plectranthus, salvia, plumbago). But for back-up I went to the Sillery Farm, and bought a gazillion dahlias, in their late summer prime.
And today Don and Rosie will be married in their fynbos garden in Noordhoek; their family, friends and Herbert Baker henhouse chickens will be witnesses. In the flurry of flower activity here I sneak away for a couple of hours to join them.
It is a wedding-y weekend. Beginnings and endings. Hope and endurance.
Wish them all well.
* Correction: My mother read this post and corrected me: It is NOT the last party, she said. It is the last LUNCH.