Dangerous Beauty

^ Ballerina rose by my front door, showing off with a blast of apricot beauties.


^ The purple Columbine fill my garden with their weedy offspring, but this pink and yellow version has perfect manners and stays obediently in her place, year after year.


^ Native foxglove roam freely around my yard but never wear out their welcome.


^ Ruffled rugosa rose smells as good as she looks.


^ This climbing white rose has moved here and there around the yard over the years; as one patch of sunshine shaded over, she demanded that I replant her in a sunny spot. About fifteen years ago, I finally got it right and she grows here in perfect contentment.


^ Double peonies are the prima donnas of my garden; I stake them carefully long before their massive blooms open, hoping to keep them safe during their high season.

^ More white roses, against purple geranium. I'm a fan of this pairing.

June is a glorious month in my garden. She unleashes blossoms of roses, peonies, and foxglove; countless layers of delicate petals, ruffled clusters of pastel perfection, exploding across the gardens in a symphony of extravagance.

Certainly every month in the garden has something to recommend, but June is the queen of the year. As spring crescendos into summer, I excitedly await her arrival and hold my breath as I watch the magic unfold.

And then I sigh as the realities of June come crashing down.

She's a cool, damp, and wet one, this Pacific Northwest goddess of early summer, and once her plentiful raindrops flood the lush blossoms, turn them to mush, and beat them down to the ground, the slugs slip in to take refuge. 

It's a game of dangerous beauty I have chosen to play, but even as I survey my soggy blossoms through the never-ending mists, I know it's a game that I'm winning. 

And Gracie, who loves a good drink of fresh rain water, is equally content.