I’m too sexy for my leaves.

Too sexy for my stem.

I do love the color palette in this image.

It’s just hawt.

I might’ve seen a bazillion tulips at the Ottawa Tulip Festival.

It’s only right.

In Other News ~

Rockin’ Don’t Stop Now (Ooah) on Spotify. I have the Only Daughter to thank for this earworm. Pretty sure it’s considered dubstep.

Has it been two weeks since Ottawa? I could be on a train right now. I’d like to be on a train right now. Heh.

I’ve been scurrying around the gardens just like the pigmunks and Baby Undead Bunny, who has morphed into a tween. Guess I’ll just have to call her Tweenie Bopper.

So.

We planted white clover in the back garden grass so it would be stronger, healthier, happier.

Tweenie Bopper eats the white clover. Poops the bigger tweenie poop. G-Pup eats the Tweenie Bopper poop. Everything is tasty to a G-Pup. Poops the Golden poop. Kills the grass. And we plant the white clover seed. Again.

The new cycle of life at the casa.

May was just weird. The first half was all cold temps and rain, and a constant risk of frost. Not gardening weather. We arrived back from Ottawa to unseasonably warm temps — mid 80’s and dry, dry, dry. We haven’t had a spit of rain.

I worked like a demon squirrel getting peas, tomatoes, shallots, Flamingo Pink Swiss Chard, mixed heirloom lettuce, and a bunch of herbs into the garden crypts and containers. The Bobo Hydrangeas got planted in front of the new fence. Annuals were plunked in containers, hanging baskets hung. The umbrella went up over the table. Roses pruned. The bird bath is bringing in a variety of birds. Pigmunks too.

We’re a Burbville habitat.

The lilac was so prolific this year with bloom and scent, you could smell it through the neighborhood. That Dwarf Lilac is 9 feet tall. Hahahahahaha. Somebody must have been playing with the tags at the nursery. It wasn’t me! I chop two feet off it every year after it finishes blooming.

Ribfest is coming this weekend, so I better eat a vegetable or ten today.

Here be Friday. The first Friday of June.

Crikey. June!

You know what to do. Meet you in the bar in 3…2…1…

Hurry, y’all! I’m parched.

Elen