|Aunt Rhody survived the storm.|
|She's a trooper. Buds all over the place.|
It's bad, I tell you. The shade garden is seriously compromised because the beautiful dogwood branch that formed a ceiling that I've likened to the Sistine Chapel is busted and broken. We're going to have to just cut her down, that poor old dogwood. And I'm telling you this, when the saw hits the trunk, it's going to feel like I'm slicing my off own leg. The maple over my deck might be hopelessly damaged, too. I can see it has a life-threatening split in one of her main branches. And besides that, I'm in agony about planning a new vegetable garden, knowing full well that That Fucking Deer is just going to come in and eat it all. So I've got some serious gardening issues here.
|My inner-Meryl just wants so bad to have a garden like this!|
I want to wear a breezy white shift with a tie at the waist and a darling sun bonnet and wander aimlessly down perfect paths--Earth goddess like. I want an orchard with ripe fruit that glows from low-hanging branches. I want a grape arbor. I want built-in raised beds. I want colorful containers filled with basil and lavender and sage and parsley arranged artfully on the deck. I want day lilies at every turn.
Sigh. The Putterer