Garden Social

On my morning stroll through my tiny plot of garden, I notice that the plants seem to have personalities of their own. They all have their special language and express themselves in a variety of ways. For instance, it's clear that in these waning days of summer, some have already thrown in the towel.

The petunias have given and given and now they're too strung out to bloom anymore. Exhausted, a few lavender funnels hang on to the very ends of the stems that droop over clay pot edges. Next to them, the once purple fuzzed Liatrus spikes turn rusty, waiting for the fall, and then the snow, to turn them into white scepters that rule the garden once again. Even fanned out hasta leaves are curling and crumbling, making way for the young, naive green sprouts beneath them to debut in the spring. Peony leaves redden, impatience leaves yellow and coral bells brown.

But some flowers rally, like the mounds of flox that squeeze out a few more pink stars on the cut-back tips. They want to try again in the August sun, good sports that they are, knowing that this second blooming can never quite compare with the early summer display of petal fireworks. One or two daisies peek out shyly, long after their myriad friends have deserted.

And some plants are still biding their time, waiting for hotter "dog" days to force open their buds. Then white anemone will strut proudly in front of trimmed foliage behind them, towering sunflowers will nod their heavy heads to all the abject subjects below and offer their bounty of seeds to nature's needy. Milkweed pods will burst, gleefully spreading fluff on the wind everywhere.

And still others refuse to bloom at all. An antisocial hydranga folds its leaves across its chest as if to say, "I didn't bloom last year and you're out of luck now, too." A struggling blue balloon plant pouts until its petals finally break open to cry. As I continue my walk through the garden, I can't help but wonder what the trees are thinking. They might have been envying the flowers their colors this summer, but, oh, how they can brag in the fall!