Kaempferi iris

What a weird spring. Every day is like perennial twilight here in the Pacific Northwest. I took these photos at high noon. And this is pretty much as light as it gets most days.

Orange daylilies

And there doesn’t seem to be much going on in my garden this year. Of course, the orange daylilies are blooming. But they just opened today.

Jolly Bee cranesbill

And the cranesbill is happily doing its thing because that’s just what cranesbill does.

The six-year rose

And this rose that I planted six years ago as a stubby little twig has sprawled into a 6-foot behemoth and is finally covered with a profusion of blooms. That was a nice surprise.

Diablo ninebark

But it’s the 10-foot diablo ninebark that seems most out of place in this perennial twilight, like the gangly star center of the girl’s basketball team standing in the rain in her poofy pink prom dress.

Red Impression tulips

And then hailing. And then snowing some more. And then getting sunny before it starts all over again. It must be spring.

That pretty much sums up the situation in the Sorry Garden—rain, rain, and more rain for the last few days and the next few to come. It’s like winter finally remembered to stop by.

It was too late to bail out the mushroom hunting, though. I only found five, instead of the 50+ I usually find. I called Grandma yesterday to break the news to her that I won’t be sending any home this year, but she’s not returning my call. Either she’s giving me the cold shoulder or she’s out doing something philanthropic, like bundling gauze at the hospital. You know how grandmas can be.

My Orange Emperor tulips are looking pretty out there in the rain, but it’s too wet to take many photos. Also, I seem to be going through a dreamy flower photo phase. Where’s the harsh realism? The sharp focus? The super-macro macro? It surprises me that the dreamy look pleases me so. And it makes me feel like an artiste (yes, with an “e”).

Some of my other tulip shots lately have been borderline pornographic—accidentally, of course—because at heart, I’m far too uptight to be a true artiste-with-an-e. But the flower porn shots have certainly aroused Mr. Sorry’s interest in my photos. He even keeps some prints beside the bed.

I hope I’m still on this kick when the irises bloom. It’ll be one hot May in the Sorry Garden.

It’s one of those smoky-voiced days in the Pacific Northwest. One of those days when the moss glows in the gloom. One of those days when the azalea surprises you with a single, blinding bloom.

Thus ending a record dry spell since late May or June—depending on if you count the “mist” we had a few weeks back or if you’re a stickler who goes by the official rain gauge at Sea-Tac Airport. But in the Sorry Garden, it is indisputably raining by anyone’s standard.

Check back with me in six months when it hasn’t stopped yet, and see how I feel about it then. But for now, it’s glorious!

Fricasseed Francee Hosta

So much for stifling in Seattle. It’s now sagged into the 60s. So slip on a sweater and come along for a crispy tour of the Sorry Garden.

You’ll notice that I’ve labeled all of the plants clearly, in case you have trouble recognizing them because they’re lush and green in your garden. Click the photos if you can stand to take a closer look. Here we go now, but please stay on the dormant-my-ass grass paths. Oh, you thought that was dirt?

Mariesii Limpcap Hydrangea

Merritt's Supremely Brittle Hydrangea

Let’s start our tour with the hardly hydrated hydrangeas, shall we? On your left, is a Mariesii Limpcap—which, frankly, I find much more fun to photograph now that it’s flaccid. And to think I’ve been watering it all of these years. On your right, is a Merritt’s Supremely Brittle. Excellent for drying.

Molded Leaf Dogwood

Dart's Gold Brown Scorched Ninebark

Now let’s go over yonder have a look-see at some of my favorite yellow variegated shrubs, such as the Molded Leaf Dogwood. And there’s my treasured Dart’s Gold Brown Scorched Ninebark. A very rare specimen. Don’t ask for it in nurseries near you. And if they have it, go elsewhere.

Smokin' Smoke Bush

Doubled-Over Doublefile Viburnum

Moseying around to the front yard, we have a Smokin’ Smoke Bush that should look shoddier if it weren’t in shade. I’ll be sure to move it this fall so it can smoke properly next year. And then there’s the lovely Doubled-Over Doublefile Viburnum, which continues to provide multi-season interest with its fascinating leaf curl and colors.

Croaking Crocosmia

Not So Jolly Bee Cranesbill

Had enough shrubs? Let’s saunter over to the side yard and enjoy some flowers. Or not. Even the old stand-bys are fading fast. Why there’s the Croaking Crocosmia in critical condition. And the Not So Jolly Bee cranesbill. Apparently the heat had the last laugh.

Well, that concludes the crispy tour of the Sorry Garden. Thank you for stopping by. And on your way out, please watch your feet near the Fricasseed Francee Hosta. It’s fragile.

A hunderd’n what?! In case you haven’t heard, we nearly ran out of thermometer in Seattle this week.

Triple-digit temps are extremely unusual here, so most houses don’t have air conditioning. During the remodel, it even seemed decadent to install a ceiling fan in the master bedroom. When I reminded Fa that we don’t have A/C, he said, “that’s just stoopid”—a pronouncement he reserves for only the dumbest of dumbass moves. I tried to explain that USUALLY summer days don’t exceed 80, and USUALLY nights dip into the 50s, so open windows cool the house enough to sleep … but I collapsed from the heat exhaustion of flapping my jaw that much.

I’ve used the word “stifling” before, but I never truly understood what it meant until this week. Stifling is air so thick that it wraps around you like gauze. Stifling is air so still that it doesn’t stir when you walk. Stifling is air so oppressive that you simply cannot escape.

Mr. Sorry and I talk about nothing but the heat. The rest of the world has faded away in a stifling haze. My God, it’s hot. What’s the thermostat say? My God, it’s hot. Are the dogs okay? My God, it’s hot. When’s it going away?

In desperation, he found a Website with an hourly temperature forecast so he could calculate the precise moment in the evening that there would be a one-degree temperature differential between outside and inside so we could open the windows and rev up the jet engines of the strategic system of fans he rigged to circulate the stifle through the house by blowing the hot air out and the slightly less hot air in. His knack for engineering practical things like that is why I keep him around. That and he grills one hell of a steak.

As if the heat weren’t enough, the aquifer that feeds our shallow community well is running low. But conserving water is a way of life in our neighborhood, where we live in palpable fear of not being able to shower. We flaunt our dead lawns like badges of honor, with a medal of distinction for the family whose lawn has been the deadest for the longest. The neighbor heard me mowing the other day. “You’re not watering your lawn, are you?” she accused. “Absolutely not,” I retorted. “I was just knocking off the dead clover heads. I swear.” We do everything we can to be absolved of all guilt on that fateful day when we climb into the shower and it dribbles only silt.

Of course, watering my garden is right out, unless I’m willing to make tradeoffs—such as not flushing the toilet. And I don’t love my Annabelle hydrangea quite that much. My one concession is to fill the dog bowl with fresh water in the morning and dump the old water on the heirloom hellebore that cost me $32.95, because I still can’t believe I paid that much for a perennial and because it makes me so incredibly happy year after year when it blooms in February amid the otherwise-frozen garden.

The rest of my plants are on their own. They’re waaay past drooping and are now in writhing in agony. But there’s nothing I can do for them with so much heat and so little water. They’ll either make it, or they won’t. That’s one advantage of being a sorry gardener—low expectations from the get-go.

And so much for that funny post I was writing about watering my tomatoes. If you have A/C, crank it and think of me.