And so the gardening season begins.
It’s been a beastly spring here, with record rainfall for April. You know it’s bad when there’s a raging current running behind your house, in a spot that’s normally just a grassy swale. When a mallard pair showed up to check it out, I groaned. They’re pretty. But they bring ill tidings when the nearest body of water is two miles away.
Much of this torrential, God-smiting-us rainfall ended up in our basement, so Mr. TrowelTart and I are undertaking a massive regrading project that will involve removing several trees, replacing window wells, adding drainage tile and—this is where I come in—digging up a pantload of perennials that must be saved (the perennials MUST be saved!) before the dudes with the backhoes show up.
Today I concentrated on removing some plants I knew would tolerate hanging out in pots until I get around to replanting them, and moving a wheelbarrow’s worth of big honking rocks aside to save for another project. It’s the tip of the iceberg. Sweet woodruff, columbines, hostas galore, and the random bleeding heart or two await my ministrations. And the rock pile is going to get much, much bigger.
No idea what to do with the daffodils, which are finally blooming—they showed their green tips before Christmas, so the fact I have any blooms at all is a miracle. They’ll be spent before the big project starts, but the foliage won’t have died back. Do I dare dig them up when their stems are limp but still green? I could use some advice.
And if your garden is crying out for ajuga or dianthus, let me know.