Hope

I had never really thought that comparisons were odious until I just hauled out my nice then rose pictures to juxtapose with the horrible...now...rose pictures. I had been feeling quite chipper about the whole Armageddon on the Terrace thing, noticing new shoots already, buying new herbs to replace The Fried, until I looked at these...Of course, all things being equal, I wouldn't have had any flowers now anyway, since their first flush was over. But I would at least be well on the way to more. Now I have these poor, leaf-stripped numbers, where even today more were dropping off.

Then (actually May 2007 - for some reason I never took a good pic of the standard Iceberg on its own this spring) and Now. Like, ugh?

The climber.

Now it's more of a crawler.

But whatever. There were survivors, like the pink agastache. Except that I never grew attached to the pink agastache. It begs one to ponder the nature of attachment. To plants, to people, and the reaction to the severance of said attachment. I really miss the fennel. It survived the winter, for Pete's sake and its feathery, water-sparkly fronds were so pretty. I bought some new baby fennels at the farmers' market today, but I don't know them: they are still strangers.

The parsley survived! Not sure why, when the thyme kicked the bucket. I guess they just got some water.

The very tips of the fig are fine.

And the new guys. The geum pot will be recommissioned and will become the basil pot. I bought Greek basil, too. Its leaves look very good on tender slices of mozzarella. And I bought thyme with a heavy heart. Again, my old thyme came with me from Flatbush Avenue, the Troglodyte Days, and made it through winters, but not the weekend.

And to cheer myself up (but not the cat, who hates FIRE!!!!) Tonight's dinner: spatchcocked chicken on the BBQ...

More is nog 'n dag...