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Again with the snow? I was not expecting this. Neither were the flowers. But they are hardy, and the snow will pass.
My mother was visiting recently and we went to the Bellevue Botanical Garden on what was, I think , the last purely warm and sunny day of the year. The dahlia bed in front was quite astonishing in its wild colors and flower forms, and the bees were making the most of it. Cathy has almost the same picture in her blog — bees clearly have the same agendas no matter where they live.
We also stopped by Olsen’s Scandinavian Foods in Ballard, where I saw bags of Lapskaus in the freezer,
showing the Scandinavian connection to the British dish lobscouse, as detailed in the excellent tome Lobscouse and Spotted Dog, by the multi-talented Lisa Grossman and Anne Chotzinoff Grossman. If you don’t have a copy yet, you should!
The Baby Surprise Jacket is coming along well. I’m past the half-way point, and eagerly await turning this amorphous blob into a charming sweater.
I really love the way the yarn looks!
I call this the School Year Rose, because it blooms in mid-June, the end of the school year here, and again with a small second flush in early September, at the beginning. Its blooms are signs of transition to me, opportunities opening and closing, change, new beginnings, and endings. It is sweetly scented, sunny yellow, round and generous in form. A lovely rose. It’s a David Austin rose — the tag has gone missing, but I think it’s Charlotte. It grows in a pot on my back deck, and yes, those are wine corks as mulch. They do a good job, although the crows keep picking them up and tossing them into the grass down below.
I’ve put up some raspberry jam to enjoy during the bleak mid-winter, perhaps with some Ginger Scones. It’s good to have tangible reminders of summer, sunshine, and harvest.
I took some measurements for Mary’s sweater — hard to believe we all wore sleeves that were 8 inches long at some point!
I ran into Jon Singer at Denvention, and asked if he could recall the name of the rose he gave me, giving him the details: pink, striped, good scent, climberish in form. “Ah, Ferdinand Pichard!” he exclaimed, and so it is. He also promised me a cutting of another rose — my notes say Von Steinforth, but I can’t find a rose by that name, so I clearly have written it down wrong. I’ll pass along a cutting of Ferdinand Pichard to our mutual friend Amy Thomson, along with a chunk of root from the rhubarb, another Singer gift. Thus does vegetation make humans submit to its bidding.
More Denvention reporting later . . .
This is Evangeline, and the variety dates back to 1906. a vigorous climber that covers itself in these tiny single roses in July. Lightly scented, the merest hint of fragrance.
There are a couple more roses, I’ll try to show them another time.
The first one is now done, and I’m just starting the increases on the second of the pair. The colors are quite summery, aren’t they? But the yarn is a bit too heavy to wear on a warm day.