Three cheers for the well-established garden.
Not well-planned, mind you.
Just, sort of, well-established.
I was thinking about that as I slaved away, prepping the garden beds for a brand new season. Man! I'm outta shape. Muscles squawking mightily this morning. I'd intended to clean up one, maybe two, areas but I got in a groove and just kept on going.
Plus, I wanted to stay ahead of the weather. Spring doesn't really happen in the mountains. We vacillate between summer and winter, and back again, quite often in the same, darn day.
I lack that gene, commonly known as self-control, so my yard is home to 11 different flower patches, the first of which was planted in the summer of 2003. (AKA, the 'well-established' one.)
But, right now, they're just separate, sunny flower beds. (Mild-mannered enough that you don't need a macho guide.)
The oldest garden is the last place I visit and the longest place I linger. Not so much to admire. Mostly to catch my breath.
In spring, I'm so exhausted by the time I reach that flower patch, it's nice to just plop down and inspect the perennials peaking out of the muddy soil.
These perennials are so big and bossy, that after 7 summers, they are super self-sufficient. Making life easy as pie for lazy little me.
Mostly because they're packed in like sardines.
I know... I know... I should thin them out a bit. But, I highly doubt that's gonna happen. I'm likin' this dense pack. It's so crowded in there, most weeds don't stand a chance.
* My dense pack flowers are just tiny green shoots this early in the season. Bulbs are squeezed into what little soil is left in these over-crowded gardens. They keep things colorful while the long-blooming perennials wake up and start growing.