Who hid the Aleve?

 

     I didn’t count how many plants I bought on Monday.  I did count them today.  My jaw dropped when I hit forty-four.  Yikes!  I planted all but six of them today.  Am I an idiot?  Yes, yes I am.  Because not only did I did dig thirty eight holes and stuff thirty eight plants into the ground I also dug out three large Iris groups, a few coreopsis, a couple of moss roses, two sedums, and by the time I finished, I felt as if the partridge and pear tree had come along for the ride.

     Why did I dig up so much of my flora?  (It barely put a dent in the garden)  Wednesday, I was telling G that I needed to split many of my perennials this year.  I knew she couldn’t take them.  G’s tiny yard is already jam packed with flowers.  For a postage stamp yard, it is gorgeous.  I made the comment about wishing I knew someone who’d like some flowers.  

     M walks her dog past our yard daily, we’ve only talked briefly, and that was about Patty who wanted to eat her dog.  Patty’s greatest desire is to wipe all dogs (except her big brother Gavin) off the face of the earth.  I was sure I was on this young woman’s list of people to avoid.  However, she was within earshot and I saw her eyes light up.  I asked her if she gardened.  She grinned.  G and I introduced ourselves M told us her name and that she lived on the other side of the cemetery.  The three of us talked for quite a while and M and I arranged for her to come for flowers today.

     Around five, the yard is shaded, the rest of the time most of the gardens are in full sun.  M arrived with a shovel and bin.  I gave her a list of all I had available to split.  We didn’t even come close to one of each item when we had filled her car.  M will be back.

     I still have a ton of iris to split, bleeding hearts are running rampant among the beds, and many other flowers that have bivouacked where they don’t belong.  Jackie, bring a shovel and expect to work for your flowers.  I’ll supply the coffee. 

     I’m sore tonight—not getting any younger.  Where the heck is the Aleve?