Gardening is one of my favorite parts of my day. After a long day full of other peoples' houses, I'm always glad to see my own. I strip off most of what I've worn to work and head out to the backyard, barefoot and holding the hose in one hand...an ice-cold Bohemia in the other.
I'm planting about a million blooms in my backyard, but please forgive me if I don't know for certain every plant's name. I tend to call them by nicknames, like perfect pinks and little shots of sunshine and periwinkle loves. It just sounds prettier to me.
I'm planting about a million blooms in my backyard, but please forgive me if I don't know for certain every plant's name. I tend to call them by nicknames, like perfect pinks and little shots of sunshine and periwinkle loves. It just sounds prettier to me.
My mom left yesterday after an incredible visit. Wisest, kindest woman I've ever known. She always tells me I explain way too much; "No one needs to know all the little details, Jamie," she says. She's probably right, of course, but I like to tell stories...even if they get lost in translation.
She knows every flower's given name, and if she were writing this post I bet she could tell you that this one is a Pansy and that one's a Marigold and those over there are Impatiens. I just pick out the brightest blooms at the nursery and hope they thrive in my garden.
Just as happily as the fresh crop of freckles covering the tip of my nose and cheeks. Of course...I call them sweet sun kisses.
Flowers from here and here.
