|A pretty front yard in the city. I coveted the flowerbed, to which this photo does no justice whatsoever|
There have been a couple heavy frosts, I'm told, explaining the black withered death of my portulaca. But they are the only plants that couldn't weather the weather. I expected the carnage to be far worse, and stopped at a greenhouse while leaving Saskatoon in order to fortify myself to face the damage. $75 later ... but now I have a couple more items that no respectable flower-lovin' gal should do without: elegant red nicotiana, white ones with their evening fragrance, orange and yellow calendula to bloom through the fall ... and so on. They are tucked safely onto the floor behind the driver's seat of my old-lady van for now, out of the elements.
I've only poked my nose out on the step and it smells GLORIOUS out there! It's the poplar trees, right? Gotta be.
Yesterday marked seven years since Mom's passing. When she was dying I couldn't imagine living beyond her for years. And— of course this makes no sense at all — I still can't.