If there's anything more fun than picking flowers and making tiny bouquets, I don't know what it could be. I have a bunch of tiny bottles, blue, green and clear, gleaned from various yard sales, and I line them up on my kitchen window sill and put a blossom or two in each.
This bouquet gets the special spot by my computer, though (at which I spend far more time than at the kitchen sink) because it has my very first rose of the year, plus a sprig of summer snapdragon, which is a perennial I planted today, plus a purple flower that I planted last year and have no memory of what it's called. The purple really clashes against the peachy-pink of the rose, though--I love it.
And the rose smells wonderful, which adds to my enjoyment as I sit at my computer desk.
I never hear people talk about the mysteries of buying a home and trying to figure out the plants that come with it. Our home's first owner was a guy who planted a few shrubs and odds and ends of flowers, the second brief owners did their utmost to decimate every shrub out front, and then I came along...trying to replenish the previous owners' destruction, and also to figure out the odds and ends the first owner left behind.
The rose, for instance--I'm sure it's some sort of hybrid tea, but I have no idea what. Next to it in the bed is a miniature rose that has had every pretty red sprig of new growth chomped off by the bunnies. Again, I have no clue what it is. Mysterious bulbs were unearthed when we put in the front boxwoods--calla lilies that refused to sprout again in the spots we moved them to. A tree is rising in the side beds that looks like nothing I've ever seen before, and there are several other mysterious stumps that are putting out sprouts after being chopped down two summers ago. And I found a bulb down by the creek happily sprouting white flowers of a type I've never seen before. How did it get there in the woods?
These little mysteries are what keeps life on the ridge interesting.
