I think that I have mentioned here before that we might be moving soon and we aren’t not sure as of yet if it will be to an apartment or to another house. On thing is for sure though, we are done with rentals, and what ever it is it will be our very own. For me this means that  I am fantasising about what will be perfect for us, and what will be possible, and how, If we do have an actual garden, I will be able to get it to a higher level of perfection than the house - since land, water sun and plants are in abundance (except for the water.)

Anyway, I ran into a beautiful post about Frank Lloyd Wrights most perfect Falling Water which as far as I am concerned is both the perfect house and the perfect garden, mostly because he didn’t think of the house and the surroundings as different entities and totally incorporated them, bringing the building out and the plants in.

Any way, I was reading a post about this house in the Art of Gardening, and I fell totally in love with it.

There are some gorgeous interior and exterior shots that demonstrate the inside out side way of thinking,

I know that that is a lot to aim for, but I can keep it in mind as perfection - can’t I?

phot via wiki

I’ve always lived in Texas, but I’ve never had space to grow anything other than some potted plants that I could easily water in a few minutes each night. This is my first summer living in rural Texas, where this is quite a bit more space than I know what to do with, and finding blooms that can survive the Texas sun has proven to be a challenge. Most of our space is open, and prone to full sun.  Summer temperatures average in the mid-high nineties ((around 36 ºC), and we can go for weeks without a drop of rain. to my surprise, though, i have found a couple of flowering plants that thrive with nothing more than mother nature’s loving care.

First, there is the prickly pear cactus. Being a Texas native, I am partial to this species of cactus and its nostalgic presence. It is a relatively common sight in areas with lots of open space, but usually isn’t found in the manicured and green landscapes of the suburbs. This is the first year I’ve experienced one of my very own. It spreads out in a 7 ft. diameter (about 2 m) tangle of paddle-shaped, spiked leaves and fills our yard with prickly joy year-round. I knew that dark purple fruit, we call tuna, would be available for the picking later in the season, but I never imagined the beauty it would bestow in the early summer months! It budded all over with big, yellow, billowing blossoms. Bees and ladybugs enjoyed the flowers as much as we did, and could always be found nestled in the petals. All the while it flourished on nothing more than the occasional storm and the kiss of the summer sun.

Then there are the purple pom-poms of the thistles dotting our landscape. These flowers grow on tall, thin stalks in clumps in the places the mower and tractor can’t reach. Sometimes their stems and leaves are covered in prickles that cause skin irritation for some people (me included), but their bright purple blooms are so unique and whimsical that I can forgive this one defect. We have 2 varieties growing wild in the yard - one has a bloom that is a more vibrant shade of purple and is less round, the leaves of this variety are also not prickly (bonus!). Always growing in close proximity is what seems to be the most frequently encountered variety - with a rounder shape and spikier, lavender blooms. This one has prominent prickles, and requires care in handling. Like the cactus, the thistles grow on their own accord, with no help from my hose. I have admired their rustic beauty over the last few weeks, and finally donned my gardening gloves and clipped some for the kitchen window. After a quick rinse in the sink, I had a lovely purple bouquet!

 Photo credit courtesy of Rob Shenk

In gardening, Like in anything else, you learn something new every day, whether you want to or not.

Like everyone else, I have my stubborn weeds that infest certain beds, and try what I can, I just cant get rid of them. I tried and loved the boiling water method that I  wrote about some time ago, but you can only really to that on paths, because you don’t want to scorch the plants that you want to keep around.

Elizabeth from Gardening while intoxicated, planted some lilly bulbs in a weed infested bed like this, once she pull as many weeds as she could - for some reason, this is supposed to be the kind of plant that will bully the weeds right back. I suppose it make sense that plants with more aggressive growing patterns would be able to stand up the the weeds and fight them off, though I have never really heard of that before.

Does anyone know anything about good weed fighting plants?

These beautiful Delphiniums were grown by the Patient Gardner from seeds. I find that particulary admirable.

I was looking at this photograph and a poem called the Dormouse and the Doctor by A.A. Milne popped into my head

The Dormouse and the Doctor

There once was a Dormouse who lived in a bed
Of delphiniums (blue) and geraniums (red),
And all the day long he’d a wonderful view
Of geraniums (red) and delphiniums (blue).

A Doctor came hurrying round, and he said:
“Tut-tut, I am sorry to find you in bed.
Just say ‘Ninety-nine’ while I look at your chest….
Don’t you find that chrysanthemums answer the best?”

The Dormouse looked round at the view and replied
(When he’d said “Ninety-nine”) that he’d tried and he’d tried,
And much the most answering things that he knew
Were geraniums (red) and delphiniums (blue).

The Doctor stood frowning and shaking his head,
And he took up his shiny silk hat as he said:
“What the patient requires is a change,” and he went
To see some chrysanthemum people in Kent.

The Dormouse lay there, and he gazed at the view
Of geraniums (red) and delphiniums (blue),
And he knew there was nothing he wanted instead
Of delphiniums (blue) and geraniums (red).

The Doctor came back and, to show what he meant,
He had brought some chrysanthemum cuttings from Kent.
“Now these,” he remarked, “give a much better view
Than geraniums (red) and delphiniums (blue).”

They took out their spades and they dug up the bed
Of delphiniums (blue) and geraniums (red),
And they planted chrysanthemums (yellow and white).
“And now,” said the Doctor, “we’ll soon have you right.”

The Dormouse looked out, and he said with a sigh:
“I suppose all these people know better than I.
It was silly, perhaps, but I did like the view
Of geraniums (red) and delphiniums (blue).”

The Doctor came round and examined his chest,
And ordered him Nourishment, Tonics, and Rest.
“How very effective,” he said, as he shook
The thermometer, “all these chrysanthemums look!”

The Dormouse turned over to shut out the sight
Of the endless chrysanthemums (yellow and white).
“How lovely,” he thought, “to be back in a bed
Of delphiniums (blue) and geraniums (red.)”

The Doctor said, “Tut! It’s another attack!”
And ordered him Milk and Massage-of-the-back,
And Freedom-from-worry and Drives-in-a-car,
And murmured, “How sweet your chrysanthemums are!”

The Dormouse lay there with his paws to his eyes,
And imagined himself such a pleasant surprise:
“I’ll pretend the chrysanthemums turn to a bed
Of delphiniums (blue) and geraniums (red)!”

The Doctor next morning was rubbing his hands,
And saying, “There’s nobody quite understands
These cases as I do! The cure has begun!
How fresh the chrysanthemums look in the sun!”

The Dormouse lay happy, his eyes were so tight
He could see no chrysanthemums, yellow or white.
And all that he felt at the back of his head
Were delphiniums (blue) and geraniums (red).

And that is the reason (Aunt Emily said)
If a Dormouse gets in a chrysanthemum bed,
You will find (so Aunt Emily says) that he lies
Fast asleep on his front with his paws to his eyes.

courtesy of Photo Gallery

I have to be frank with you. I never thought much of roses. Kind of never gave them a second glance. Even as a child they seemed to me to be From the old generation, with nothing to bring them through to modern day. They were fluffy and stuffy, and very Aunty like… in short, they held no interest to me.

Of late, I have begun to realize that we are really so much like our elders, and the generation before us (maybe due to motherhood) and I find myself looking at things, or more willing to look at things through different eyes.

Heirloom Gardner pointed me out to an article  WSJ on roses that has me reconsider my my position, especially this sentence:

That scent, we learn, derives from the evaporation of oil in the petals. Best to sniff between 11 a.m. and 2 p.m., when it’s warm enough for the aroma to be released but not so late that most of the oils have already evaporated.

No doubt there is some old world charm their :-), after all, you have to be free to go and smell the roses between 11 and 2. it could be a goal in life - free up enough to be able to smell the roses…