Every year we take the same pictures of the same things — the wisterias, the first rose. But this morning’s walk is for Katka, who may be in Velky Osek when she reads this, or Brno: in both places I can imagine her walking among chestnuts and oaks or in her own garden near the Elbe River.
Lying in bed with my coffee this morning, I saw that the first roses were in bloom! This rose is rootstock from something which never thrived so I let it go and it’s two stories high, dense with buds. The roses are like dog roses, single, and very light pink.
And wisteria which grows near it:
The deck where we eat our dinner:
And a little clump of lily of the valley at the foot of the stairs:
Three views of the patio leading to the front door:
And what you see when you get to the front door:
Just to the east of the patio and woodshed:
And a sage just coming into flower in the vegetable area:
Those peas again:
And a box of potatoes just in front of them:
I can never bear to weed out the volunteer columbines…
And here’s a view down the driveway where the crabapple brought to us by John’s mum almost thirty years ago is just finishing its bloom. Think of that tree as a bride, dressed in deep pink (her white sisters are further down the driveway), alive with bees. And then imagine a black bear sitting in the centre of the tree each fall, gorging on the scabby fruit…