This tree fascinates me. It has long white flowers in the Spring, a purple pod in the Summer, and these stars in the Fall. I have no idea what it is called.
Yesterday was supposed to be a very productive Saturday. I was going to get up early, finish up clearing the rock wall, plant new bedding plants, and catch up on my professional reading.
If I had entered the Olympics, I would score straight zeros in the compulsory round.
I slept in well past 9. And Jiggs let me get away with it.
I awoke to one of the most pleasant mid-November days I have ever seen. If you have ever lived in British Columbia, Ireland, or England in November, you would know exactly what to expect in Oregon: gray skies, constant drizzle, and a temperature that hovers in the 40s.
Not today. Clear. Sunny. 37. A perfect day for gardening.
So, I cooked up some left overs, retired to the hot tub, and read an alternative history novel about the post-Civil War years. I enjoyed every minute, but I was certainly not getting my chores accomplished.
Jiggs pestered me enough to take him for a long walk. He did great -- on the walk. Now, he is stumbling around on three legs.
Around 2, I headed off to visit the nurseries for bedding plants. Apparently, they understand the seasons better than I do -- they were closed until February. I could have bought a few scraggly plants at Home Depot. Instead, the rock wall gets moved to February.
That was the day. I did nothing I had planned. And that is fine with me.
