July holds the garlic harvest—which, if I've been clever at planting, means that I can isolate the mature bulbs from our watering system and let that soil dry out until it's crumbly. Pulling garlic without putting your back out is, well, ideal. There's the annual kids-in-the-dirt potato scavenger hunt, which involves a lot of giggling and a muddy bath afterward. My neighbour's plum tree was cracking from the weight, so we picked a few baskets and froze plum concentrate for drinks. These button-cute blush zinnias are the grand-daughters of Floret’s Little Flower Girl. They are branching well, and I look forward to a bushel-full in August.
Dill abounds, nasturtiums mound, the beans are spiralling up, and the peas are winding down.
Sadly, I found evidence of virus in my tomato patch... this could have come from an infected dahlia, or any one of thousands of asymptomatic plants. I pulled out the affected vines and will be watching closely. Go figure that the year I'm more hands-off is when the worst offender comes calling...
To counter this trouble, I have had a boon of sweet peas, which has been so delightful while the roses catch their breath. Here are the eight varieties I planted this year:
High Scent
Also known as April in Paris, is an absolute must-add to your garden. They are vigorous, productive, rich in perfume and have also been decent in the heat.
Blue shift
New to me this year, these have also been productive, with a pleasant scent. Their star power, however, lies in their rare ability to—well, it’s in the name. Blue is the rarest flower colour, and I find them magical chameleons in bouquets.
janet scott
Last year, I was underwhelmed with a grand total of two flowers (one of which I carefully monitored to produce seed for this year), but this year’s drier, sunnier location has produced an absolute profusion. I haven’t taken a satisfactory picture of the tangle propped up against the mildewy tool shed, but it certainly adds a cottage charm. Next year, I’m putting sweet peas anywhere I can stuff ‘em.
midnight
Wow. Last year, they had no scent. Now, I’d say they’re 2/5, and just as luciously large as I remember. You might not care much for dark blooms (I mean you, MIL), but they add drama and contrast to the vase.
lunar blue
Stop the scroll, and buy these ASAP. They would probably photograph better en masse, as my two little vines are competing with the vigour of High Scent and the height of the Golden Sweet peas, but this colour is unearthly. It washes out against the more potent Midnight, or King’s Ransom, but in a bouquet of pastels? Magical.
Mollie rilstone
I made the mistake of following the standard “pinch your tips” advice, too late in the season. Poor Mollie and King’s Ransom are far behind the others in flower production, and I haven’t been able to enjoy a full posy; just a sprig here or there. I do love the ombre of rose and cream, and next year I hope to have much more of her.
King’s ransom
Folks, some things really are worth the hype (last year, 12 seeds sold for $15!). Because of my pinching error, KR didn’t show up for some time, and when it did, I was quite disappointed at the lack of any scent. But then the pleasing raspberry turned smoky, with a mauve undertone, and the petal veins became almost ghostly. With more flower power next year, I’m going to have fun with this palette.
miss wilmott
I normally don’t go for hot pink, and I knew that the heirloom “old fashioned” sweet peas tended to be much smaller. They also tend to have strong scent, and though I didn’t find that to be the case with this variety, I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed the two-tone hot pink upper petals with the cool fuchsia guard petals. They are small enough not to feel “loud”, and I imagine a quiet, diminutive Victorian spinster who is unapologetic about her bold garment choices.
Two years ago, the city was late in their pruning of the road ditches, and the spring rains had produced incredibly long dandelion stems. I picked and dried these, having seen @foragedfibres soft golden cordage. So finally, I misted, twisted, and fashioned myself a makeshift loom from a strip of pegboard.
I had the idea to crochet the cord, but it got too bulky. There were a variety of other techniques that I attempted and unwound, but this turned out quite well—a stiff open card holder, a wallet of sorts. In future, I would perhaps design it with a fold over flap, though that would make it bulkier.
Making cordage is easy, addictive, and is a fascinating skill that attunes you to the functional properties of the plants around you. Care to try?
