After a slowish start, stuff in the garden is beginning to get its groove on, and I’m glad as were on the cusp of late July and, if last year’s weather was a prevision of things to come and not just complete random insanity, it could snow in September. Pearl Buck has sent out her first tiny bean and the others are not far behind. Tu Fu, one of the other beans to have survived spring’s two lateish frosts, is now easily winding his vine 8 or 9 feet high. I’ve put cross pieces for them to wind on, but they want to go up, not over and out.

For the last little while (a couple of weeks? longer?) I’ve observed three baby ladybugs eating aphids and whiteflies on an unwelcome lilac. I had no idea that lilacs are actually weeds that want to create a lilac forest around my house, but that’s the truth. Summer, among other annoying tasks, is the season of beating back the invasion. My first summer here, in my naïveté, I had the big hedge to the east of my yard cut back. THAT, ladies and gents, is the BEST WAY to encourage the invasion. In any case, there was this ladybug nursery. I’ve checked on them daily since I noticed them and it’s taken a surprisingly (to me) long time for them to make their transformation. Yesterday I saw that one had finished and was a full-on ladybug. “See, Martha? Change doesn’t happen overnight!” they yelled from the depths of the nature metaphor I had no way of NOT reading.

12 thoughts on “Ch-ch-ch-changes

  1. Out here, the California Lilac (Ceanothus) grows wild at the 3-5,000 ft elevation. A local community has a lilac festival every year in the spring to celebrate them. They are members of the buckthorn family.

    OTOH, the common lilac is what most people think of. Syringa vulgaris, which is a member of the olive family.

    • I miss the California lilac. The purple version grew all over the chaparral hills around San Diego; the white one at higher elevations. I loved the time when the petals fell and colored the red trail purple. It was all very magical.

  2. Your lilac is my wisteria. I dig it up by the root–which is a very long potato-looking thing. But, darn, if one piece breaks off in the ground, wisteria roars back. My backyard is a jungle with it now.

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