This morning I revelled in simple florabundance. All the lush greens, vivid pinks, creamy whites, and shocking purples. It was like floating in a river of wellbeing.

The only thing better than a walk in a garden is a walk in a garden with a friend.

—Ali Stegert

I was so brimful of gratitude I had to share it with my parents who live overseas. What a nice treat it is to be able to beam images in real-time half way around the world. Thirty-five years ago when I first left the nest, we communicated mostly via snailmail with a three- to four-week time lag between sending missive and receiving reply. I sure don’t miss those flimsy, origami aerogrammes.

Gardens are for sharing! It’s a special pleasure to enjoy a flower or a garden with someone, whether hand-in-hand with my husband or via Facetime with my parents or even over the ether with you here, now. Let me share some pretties from my posey patch this morning and tell you about my rose-woes…

Rangy Rose

Summer is taking its time this year. We’ve had gorgeous, mild weather with plenty of rain—perfect conditions for growth and blooming, but one of my rose bushes, a buttery-yellow David Austin ‘Graham Thomas’, refuses to flower. Changing positions hasn’t helped. Nor have big doses of chook poo and potash. The plant just gets taller and rangier with no sign of flowers.

I asked my friend Graham (no relation to the plant!), a real-deal green thumb, what could be going on. He thinks the pot is too small. *Insert head-slap emoticon.* He’s right. The more successful bushes are in huge pots, but this one is in a tall narrow pot, much smaller in volume. My potted Iceberg is nice, but it’s got nothing on my friend Graham’s monumental, bushy, blossom-covered beauty—that’s planted in the ground.

If only I had a proper bed. I’m pretty sure the sandy, seaside soil in our yard won’t support roses, but next winter, I plan to go all out: make compost, dig it in and prepare a proper rose garden. I can’t wait.

Garden Gratitude

fullsizeoutput_ceeSo rangy old ‘Graham Thomas’ is keeping me humble. (Not hard really. Every gardening success feels like a complete fluke to me. “I haven’t killed it yet. Huh! What do you know!”) Each morning, as I water and dead-head my flowers and check for critters, I feel grateful the plants are alive and thriving, more or less. And in my tiny florabundant corner, I feel alive and refreshed—even more so for having shared it with you.