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Showing posts with label hosta. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hosta. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Deer are Nibbling my Hostas


The white tail deer explore the yard and nibble our hostas like salad greens.  They prefer the smaller white and pale green plants.  Why can't they eat the gout weed?  It has the same coloration.  

I had healthy hosta plants, now I have chewed stems. And they've moved on to the less favoured all-green hostas.  

These deer are no longer endearing visitors. They've become pests who are stripping the gardens.

Do you have any suggestions?


Sunday, July 1, 2012

Rain Music



Rain Music

Hostas cradle rain.
Droplets shimmer in the folds.
Clear, like tiny bells
glittering so perfectly,
you can almost hear them ring.

Photo is mine.

This is a Tanka poem for wewritepoems   Wewritepoems is a site that offers poetry prompts; click on the words in red to go there.

Friday, September 30, 2011

Autumn Outdoors


Each day I notice more signs of autumn.

The temperature changes are dramatic.  Being outdoors means constant movement; to stay warm requires staying in the sunlight.  I continuously move the position of my chair.  If I'm outside writing or gardening, I follow the sun.

Fall changes are stunning. The deep wine shade of the fruit cones on the staghorn sumac indicates that they are nearly ripe.


As their leaves turn yellow, the hard green grapes have become powdery purple on the grapevines.


Soon enough, a grey squirrel or starling or pheasant will feast on nature's bounty.



Fuzzy flowerbuds are forming on the Saucer Magnolia, in preparation for next spring's blooms.



Because it is a tender tree in the Maritimes, we will wrap it to protect the stems and buds from the worst of winter.



It is the time of year to transplant ferns and lilies and hostas.  Lots of digging and hands in the soil.



Once that is finished, perhaps my fingernails will grow longer and lose their stains.  My fingertips are rough and ragged.  My skin is scratched and ripped from working with roses and barberry bushes.  Gardening is so hard on my hands.


Can you see the squirrel
on the fence?

I do love this season of changes.  There is nothing to compare with sitting on the porch on a cloudless autumn afternoon, sharing a glass of wine and conversation with a dear friend
and simply enjoying the yard.

All photos are mine.