My sweet boy and I managed to go on a walk this past week. It is his second week of life.
It was beautiful out. Mid 80s and I managed, with a bit (just a bit!) of new mother confidence to stroll through our neighborhood P-Patch. It is just four blocks away and oh so much appreciated. Mom’s got a bit of cabin fever and was dying for some fresh air and a looksee at what is blooming out of doors. It’s not the change in sleep schedule (this week) that is challenging for me but being INSIDE for a two week respite. Midwife’s orders. I rebelled ever so slightly.
At the Evanston P-Patch, Milo and I were greeted with oh so many dahlias. Mid-summer = dahlias to me. Along with the image of State Fairs where these gorgeous bobbing heads of blooming color could easily compete with the size of their growers’ proud smiles standing by. I particularly love the globe-shaped variety that look like those perforated party favors, you know those old school decorations (think wedding bells)? They are hard to describe but you “open” them up from their one dimensional shape and voila they pop into their 3-dimensional tissue-i-ness? Here’s a picture of the dahlia I am talking about…
I typically don’t do dahlias. They intimidate me. Do I dig them up in the winter? Divide? But alas, one person’s high maintenance flower is another’s low. Our lovely nurse, who gave Milo his first swim in the sink post delivery swears by dahlias. Indeed regarded herself as a terrible gardener. But dahlias? She does.
The learning never ends when it comes to gardening. We all have green thumbs. And we all have black thumbs.
Let the learning curve begin. I am going to go get me some dahlias. Even if it is a bouquet.