This time of year, Partner and I walk to and from work more
often. Our neighborhood is full of pretty houses and nice gardens, and it’s
always entertaining to see what people are doing in their yards. The other
evening, for example, I was scampering home by myself, and squealing like a
pixie over each and every late spring / early summer plant and blossom:
creeping phlox, flowering quince, bamboo, copper beech, wood hyacinth, honey
locust, vinca –
Oh.
And hosta.
Hosta is a border plant often found in Eastern gardens. It
puts out its greenery in April and May, and later – June/July – it puts out
dull light-purple blossoms.
I find it terribly dull. It fills in the gaps in the hedge,
but so would Romaine lettuce. The flowers and leaves are dusty-looking, and the
foliage (in summer) is undramatic and uninteresting.
Partner tells me that, in his childhood, he and his friends
used to pop the flower-buds before they bloomed, just for the hell of it.
I understand the temptation.
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