Flares!

I admit it, I am a caldiumaholic. 

I know there is no such word, but I am one anyway.

I love plants, and caladiums are my favorite. I read that there are over 1000 variations of their leaf colors, but I've only seen seven or eight.  My favorite one is a medium green with bright red specks all over it. It is hard to find.

I bought coughs, er, some yesterday, along with a Boston Fern and four or five other types of plants.

I have two porches, and I live in the south. I must have lots of plants on each porch, right? 

Of course I'm right.

I didn't see any geraniums, but I'll get one if I run into one later on.

I saw lots of begonias. My grandmother loved begonias. I can't grow 'em, I can only kill 'em.

I even avoid glancing at them at garden centers for fear my gaze will murder them all with one fell swoop.

We brought the truck load home, and of course I had to go lie down because the concrete floors are a no-no for me. (But I have to, once a year, you know - caladiums.)

Poor Husband worked a steady afternoon potting plants and re-potting some that needed attention from the long winter in the sun room.

My porches look gorgeous. 

Come by and sit a spell.

Husband will join us as soon as he recovers. Early autumn is my estimation.

Bringin In the Sheaves

There are many things I love about the fall. I love the changing colors, the cooler temperatures, the way the light changes and how it looks early in the morning and early evening.

What I don't love is bringing in plants off the porches.

Every year I talk myself into believing that I don't have as many as the year before and it will be a piece of cake to get them in.

Lord, help.

It is, of course, Husband's fault. He started with a bromeliad or two, and now we have fifteen or so. When he purchased them, he was told they were verrry valuable, because when the mother plant produced a baby, she died.

HA.

Our mothers have two or three babies and seldom kick the bucket.

It is my suspicion that bromeliad heaven is pretty empty because they are still here, producing madly.

Since they are so verrrry valuable, Daughter will be rich in her inheritance. By the time we die, she should have so many it will be impossible to walk through the house.

Most of the plants I purchased this year were caladiums, which I never bring inside, nor do I save the tubers for next year. They begin to droop in October and I toss 'em.

I purchased one fern.

We have moved plants for two days! The sun room looks like a jungle, which is supposed to be good for you, isn't it? I hope we didn't bring in too many spiders, but you never know. We've also brought in lizards.

Anyway, I thought I'd just drop by and whine a little. I ain't able to do anything else.

Not today, anyway.

Porches in the South

I bet when you read the title, it immediately conjures up a particular vision: Wide porches, perhaps wrapped around the house, with fretwork and turned banisters and lots of ferns, palms and wicker.

Am I right?

Well, that's what it does for me, and because I am a Victorian/Country House lover, my porches look like that. At least, eventually.

Winter takes a toll on the beauty of the outside of the house, and this year has certainly been no exception. The pollen was stacked up knee deep. Dead leaves, spider webs, mildew, and a frozen lizard added to the mix.

The good news is the lizard thawed out in the sun and resumed his little lizard life.

Armed with Husband's strong back, Daughter's willingness to sneeze her way through sweeping, and my uncanny ability to supervise, the back porch is a lovely, tree-house retreat.

It is on the second story at the back of the house, and is literally in the trees. If you sit really still, birds come within touching distance. They get used to you quickly, and come to the feeders eagerly. I have a small waterfall fountain, a ceiling fan, the obligatory wicker, ferns and palms, as well as assorted other plants, including my favorite, Caladiums.

The back porch is truly my "God place", where I can go to read and pray and find serenity.

The front porch is about half way there. It's big, wrapping around the bow of the front of the house. Daughter has worked hard all day and Husband moved out furniture so she could have plenty of room to clean.

Right now our  yard looks like we are having a sale.

We don't use the front porch as much anymore because since the evil paving of the road took place, there is faster traffic and more of it. I don't particularly like feeling as though I am on display, which is odd, since I was raised in town, and someone spoke to you every three minutes if you were sitting on the porch.

I guess I got used to being in the middle of the woods.

So when you come to visit, let's sit on the back porch where we can be relaxed, tell tall tales and not worry about the next car driving by.

What time will ya'll be gettin' here?