Now that's a name you won't find in any catalog. My grandmother lived in Gatchelville, PA. It was and is, a small place. When I was a child there was a store, a church, and a few houses. I spent many happy hours there.
These iris grew in my grandmother's garden. Mom loved them, and took a piece of iris root with her whenever she moved. Now they are growing here. My sister has them too. Ownership of Grandmother's house has passed from the family. It is my responsibility to keep this iris going. They are planted in several different places in and around the garden. I have shared them with many gardening friends. I can take no chances with this family heirloom.
They are not a big showy iris. They don't flop over when it rains. With their deep purple and snow white, I find them elegant and striking. Their fragrance is sublime!
An elaborate bird song caught my attention while I was working in the garden. I ran to the house to get the binoculars thinking of a mockingbird because the song was so varied. The bird who was sitting in the very top of the locust tree near the garden was a brown thrasher. The bird book had little to say about the song of this bird so I searched for and found my bird song disk. After listening to that, I decided we must have the Caruso of brown thrashers living here. He can sing for me anytime.
No comments:
Post a Comment