A few weeks back I was introduced to the apparently ancient piece of wisdom that the time to prune your roses is when the forsythia blooms. (h/t Paul Zimmerman on the Fine Gardening blog).
Truism of the week: no matter how long you've been doing something, there is always some piece of 'common knowledge' that you haven't heard.
The forsythia is blooming vigourously here in Cape Despair, so I took the hint and pruned my roses.
(Forsythia is one of those things I like in other people's gardens -- I can enjoy it while it blooms and then safely ignore it the rest of the year).
I continue to hope that one day Mrs Woods' Lavender Noisette will bloom. The shrub itself seems healthy, but I haven't seen flowers yet. Maybe this year?
'Céline Forestier' once again made it through the winter and since this is now her third year in my garden, maybe I can hope that she'll start acting like she likes it here.
(Just another way in which gardening must be considered an act of patience: it is not the least bit unusual for perennials and shrubs to sulk for three years after you plant them.)
I filled bag after huge brown bag with leaves and don't seem to have made any appreciable difference in the number of them. I had planned to run the lawnmower over some to mulch them, in preparation for sowing that clover seed, but on Sunday afternoon I simply ran out of energy. I hope next weekend will still be all right for sowing clover.
Gooseberries, blackcurrant, and mockoranges are leafing out, which makes me happy, but no daffodils yet. This time last year I did have daffodils.
The daffodils are coming up, of course, as are the wild hyacinths and several other things. But there are no cheerful yellow flowers. (And now I am waiting for some smartass to suggest I plant forsythia if I want yellow flowers).
The hellebores are blooming, though, and that's something.