Years and years ago I dug a bunch of bulbs from Daddy's garden and planted them out front, under the living room windows. In the spring they brought forth waves of beautiful green leaves, not unlike daffodil leaves. I waited. And waited. And waited. Just leaves. By late May the leaves were dead and I cleaned them up, leaving bare dirt.
In late July and early August single sturdy stems sprouted They grew so fast I could measure their progress, day by day. Soon on the ends of the stems were pods which opened, one every day or so into beautiful Lilly like flowers. They were Naked Ladies. Their botanical name is Amaryllis belladonna.
I have been digging the bulbs and giving them to friends so I don't have the hundreds I used to have. They also need more fertilizer than they are getting so their blooms are lighter in color and not all of them bloom every year. The two close ups are borrowed from the Internet, not actually my flowers.
But this one is. It sprouted right up through the bark of the pine tree stump. It deserves a mention for its perseverance and determination.
Also note the lovely little oak tree. I have hundreds, maybe even a thousand oak trees in all sizes. I have to use pliers to pull them up and still more are there, in the same spot that last week was clear. There is a LOT of perseverance going on here, at our household.
If you want a start of either the Naked Ladies or ten or fifty or a hundred oak trees let me know. The Naked Ladies have a short window of opportunity and should be dug in the next few weeks. The oaks? You could dig ten a day until the snow falls and I'll bet they would all live and thrive.
Her Excellency of Mousehole planted the oak trees from four acorns years ago and we now have four beautiful oak trees that shade her old bedroom and part of our living room. The air conditioner doesn't turn on until afternoon, thanks to their generous shade.
Thank you, Her Excellency, for the wonderful shade.
And thank you, Daddy, for the "conversation starter" flowers.
And thanks to everyone else who will come and dig up all my pesky...er, I mean, lovely little oak trees.