That whole "galloping horses will never see it" and "imperfection is part of my charm" thing is getting old. Failure is no longer funny. I want a nice garden and I want it now.
The sad thing is, I was feeling pretty good about the garden (and myself, by extension) when I went to DC in June for my very first Garden Bloggers Fling. I had a great time, except for the part where my self-esteem suffered a blow from which it has not yet recovered. "Is this inspirational or depressing?" a fellow blogger asked me as we surveyed an impossibly beautiful garden. "Depressing," I said. Inspirational is when something is within the realm of possibility.
I'd really like to be a gardener, but I'm not. At best I'm a grower. In a good year, that is. And this is not a good year.
I could tell the tree didn't have long for this world, but since its main role was to provide shade for my Ghost and Japanese Painted Ferns - just about the only plants that had been doing well in this Summer of Death - I was hoping it would have the courtesy to hang on until cooler weather. Of course it chose to drop dead in July, when the average temperature is 95 degrees and 100 isn't unusual. Finding instant shade for the ferns was imperative, triple-digit temperatures be damned.
Bear with me, I'm almost at the punchline.
So last Saturday, I plopped Tonto into the hole lately occupied by the weeping birch. Then I prayed.
Today, as I write this, we are enjoying our fourth straight day of 95 degree-plus weather, with no end in sight. And guess what? Tonto objects.
I give up. I really, really, really give up.