Less than a week ago, with several days of rain predicted,
I headed to the terrace garden to pick a few zinnias.
Since midsummer I've had a few zinnias in a range of sizes, shapes, and colors, in little vases and jam jars around the house. The flowers last for days in water, and sometimes even change color as they begin to - well, I was going to write "fade" but when a flower turns from a coral-rose to purple, it isn't really "fading," is it?
With so much rain predicted in the first week of November, I thought that might be the last handful of zinnias I would be carrying up to the house in 2019. And it was.
Thanks for another grand year, zinnias!
It was just last year, when on a whim I started some zinnias from seed in the tiny greenhouse, that I discovered how generous and joyous these plants are. Many of those tiny seedlings were eaten by insects before I could get them into the garden, but the plants that survived just grew and bloomed and grew and bloomed, right into late Autumn. They were one of my greatest joys in the 2018 gardens.
The bees and other pollinators certainly enjoyed them, too.
All day, every day: bees on the zinnias.
I saved some of the dried flower heads at this time last year, and planted the seeds this Spring. I planted a single row of seeds. That was all.
And all summer, I was greeted with:
The plants grew two to three feet tall, and branched out to form a wide row.
I ran a line of soft rope at knee-height along the the row, to help support them.
Maybe next year I'll make a little picket fence just for the zinnias.
Because I'm saving seed again this year.
Of course.
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