Swelling Flower Buds. Hollywood Plum and "Son of Oregon Curl Free" Peach. 2.16.19

Flower Buds, Hollywood Plum Tree. 2.16.19

These are in the chicken and duck yard.  The Hollywood Plum tree was grown from cuttings taken about 5 years ago, I think.  The tree is covered with swelling buds now.

The peach tree was grown from a peach pit, from an Oregon Curl Free peach tree.  That tree died of canker.  This tree is also 4 or 5 years old.  Last year were the first flowers, no fruits.  It could be a dud, but I hope not.  No evidence at all for any leaf curl.   No canker yet, either.  This tree grew fast. If it bears nice fruits, I want to give it a name that honors those who were here before, possibly a word in the Cowlitz language.

These blooms could be killed by a late freeze.   However, they seem to produce, every year.   Wait and see.

Flower Buds, Peach Tree Grown From Oregon Curl Free.  2.16.19

Rufus Watching the Rain. 2.16.19

After his bath, Rufus watches the El Nino rains pouring down.  Too muddy out thete to do any gardening.

Clivias in Bloom. 2.16.19

 We grew these clivias from seeds, sVed from other clivias.  They like to bloom now. Large, dramatic plants.  Very easy to grow.

Starting More Seeds Indoors. 2.11.19

 Here are the seeds that I started yesterday.  It's too early for tomato seeds. I wanted to test them, and also see how they do in the sunroom.

The Supersweet 100 seeds are from 2015, as are the Sunny Boy hybrid.  The Brandy Boy seeds are from 2018.  If any don't germinate, there is plenty of time to try again.

I'm also teying again with the peppers that did not germinate 2 or 3 weeks ago, and trying a very early start of some perennials, Ridbeckia, Echinacea, and  Goldenrod.  Interesting, the goldenrod seeds were so tiny, they were like fine dust.

This Weekend in The Garden.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

by Robert Frost

 Whose woods these are I think I know.
 His house is in the village though;
 He will not see me stopping here
 To watch his woods fill up with snow.

 My little horse must think it queer
 To stop without a farmhouse near
 Between the woods and frozen lake
 The darkest evening of the year.

 He gives his harness bells a shake
 To ask if there is some mistake.
 The only other sound’s the sweep
 Of easy wind and downy flake.

 The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
 But I have promises to keep,
 And miles to go before I sleep,
 And miles to go before I sleep.