Like a new mother, I am always surprised when plants survive my handling.
Four hours of gardening on a hot March afternoon. Dead stalks and weeds pulled out, soil amended, new plants put in.
Now, in the predawn hours, clad in pajamas, coffee steaming in hand and scuffs on my feet, I step outside in the cool spring air. Yes, the plants are still alive. Upright, even--and are those flower buds just the teensiest bit more open?Round two for Persian shield in the big container. This year I'll try not to break the stems, since hubby got me a watering wand to attach to the hose instead of the power sprayer.
Moving on to the backyard, I am happy that the new salvia is alive in its container, one of two decorative ceramic pots that survived a transAtlantic trip from Italy.When the sun comes up, I will repot the foxtail fern that has split its current home. The dead stick of a tomato plant will be replaced with new, hearty cherry tomato variety; hoping it will perform better than last year's dud. The hen-and-chick container needs to be weeded, and the flower-shaped sedum needs to be rid of the brown leaves threatening to keep out the sun. The remains of basil will be pulled out, and two more salvia need to be potted. The mother-in-law's tongue is looking rough; should probably give it some new soil, too. And the old foxtail fern could use some pruning of dead branches.
I'm sure I'll be up again tomorrow morning, making sure today's work is still alive and well.