Planting in the dripping rain

Colchicum autumnale and C. speciosum album (single and double flowering bulbs).

K

For couple of days ago, I planted a whole wheelbarrow load of divisions, bulbs and corms. Wandering around my garden with the rain dripping down my nose and neck, I spent hours figuring out the best places for the treasures I had got. And still, I could not feel real joy for what I was doing. The matter is, that my gardening friend and her husband, about whose wonderful place I wrote twice last spring, have sold their large property and are moving away. It is time, she says, and I can see it, but I had hoped that this would not take place quite yet. There will be new development, and nothing will remain of this enchanted place by a little stream in a slope, hidden amongst the Seattle suburbia. The Hardy Plant Society is doing a "garden rescue" on Saturday and saving all they can, potting up as many plants as they can for a charity plant sale next spring. There are thousands of them, hundreds of different genus and species, many of which are very rare.

K

Here they are, some of the stars of this sad story, before they were transplanted into my garden. Now, after a weeks time of settling in, they still seem a bit surprised, probably missing their old friends and lush surroundings, and of course, the gardener they had gotten used to. I am still looking for the best possible place for the white, double Trillium I got; nothing seems to be good enough for this little gem. Life goes on, as usual. At the same time, it is frustrating to see how little of the work of even the best gardeners can be saved and enjoyed in the long term.

K

Disporum sessile variegata, three beautiful plants ready for new soil.

Five divisions of Pulmonaria longifolia, which keeps its foliage the whole season, found its place in front of a light pink Camellia sasangua.

Paeonia wittmanniana with two fresh eyes; it is a close relative to P. mlokosewitschii, but the leaves are lighter green and the flowers paler yellow, sometimes almost white.

Fat, juicy bulbs of large, white lilies.

K

I wrote about the magic flowering carpets in this beautiful garden in March and in May. The pictures, despite taken by an amateur photographer like me, are still heartbreakingly beautiful. I hope the little transplants I got feel themselves at home in my garden, even if it will never be able to match the place they came from.