I’m sorry, this has just gone way, way too far. Words written in public become deeds, and some deeds are inexcusable and I see no point in excusing the inexcusable. There are those who may not be able to forgive me for veering over the edge of politeness, but nobody can claim I’m the first to go there, and I just don’t care. (Update: extra fact-finding.)
I’m referring, of course, to Don Park’s claim that his roses are fatter than mine. Don, when I’m provoked I bite back, and so do my flowers; be careful or my roses will make some phone calls and, well, the consequences will be severe.
I gotta say, though, that Don’s tomatoes are pretty damn uber. Especially considering it’s only the beginning of July. Ours are completely wimpy and may not come off at all this year.
Now that I’ve lured all you scandal-seekers in here, maybe I can increase the viewership of my flower pictures to more than the usual pitiful fraction of the number who come to read about search algorithms and syndication politics. Only three more pix.
Below are a pink and a white Astilbe, which grow beautifully almost entirely sans sunlight; they live in a deep dark canyon between us and the neighbor, which gets maybe fifteen minutes on a good day, so I pounced with the camera.
This last one below is a little embarrassing, neither Lauren nor I can remember what it’s called and I can’t find the envelope in the file of used seed envelopes. But it looks kind of cool this time of year. (Update: Thanks to Anita Rowland for the sharp eyes. That flower is a Crocosmia.)