Dry Times and True Confessions

That phrase has always puzzled me.  I mean, if it's not true how can it be a confession?  Is there such a thing as an untrue confession?  Isn't that just another word for lie?  And how do the Catholics feel about that?  Since they have far more experience with confession than I...

But on to the confession:  My friend said, "I saw your blog post, your garden looks amazing, I think those of us who struggle with gardening, especially in this drought year should give our water allotment to people like you who have real gardens. "

As temping as that offer is, here is my confession: My dear, we do not photograph our mistakes.  We do not put them proudly on display, or feature them in magazines.  Or brag about them to our friends, "Oh, you should see my hostas - they have been devastated by snails this year!"

We put only the beautiful on blogs and in magazines.  We don't put ugly children on cereal boxes.  So here are some of the ugly children in my garden.  I love them no less; they require vastly more work - mental and physical.  Do I cut it back or pull it out?  Do I feed it?  Spray it?  Organic only, of course.  Or do I plant something else there?  Oh wait, it's a drought year.  I'll be lucky if the established plants make it thru the summer.  And I am giving up entirely on the hydrangeas.  

So there will be no water for new things, not until the rains start.  I will have the ragged leaves of the hollyhock,

One of my favorite flowers from childhood, alas not at its best, and of course the first thing you see when you pull up to our house.

 The acorus was happy and beautiful next to the lawn, all that lovely water.  And then I turned the lawn water off.  Oh well, at least it matches the hollyhock.   If you have a bog, I have a plant for you.

 And the boxwood cone that cost the earth, and got planted too deep, next to another cone that hogged all the water.  I've put in a riser extension.  I'm hoping for a full recovery, but with the drought I'm thinking maybe green spray paint?

And lest you think it's all gloom and doom here, there are some sweet surprises.  

There is the Chilean jasmine that was not supposed to make it thru the winter, fragrant and fragile looking, just slightly exotic and so much prettier than the dreaded and overdone potato vine...it's covering the arbor outside the kitchen; it cheers me when I open the door.  I swear it's happy to see me.  Me too it.

The morning glory that was also supposed to freeze is up to the roof and still going strong, its clear blue flowers framing the entry.   I know, I know - it looks purple here.  It. Is. Not. 

I have a feeling I'll be singing a different tune in August when I'm trying to find the window to my office.  Go away for a weekend and the front door might disappear.  But today?  So happy it's here.

P.S.  Just after I wrote this I cut the hollyhock right to the ground.  But I saved the seeds.  Hope springs eternal.  And that, after all, is the whole point of gardening.