Wild garden

We've neglected our home base recently, in our gallivantings up and down the coast, into town, down to Tsawwassen; today we remedied that. I did some belated spring cleaning, then headed out to the garden. My astilbes, pink and deep red, were trying valiantly to hold up their flowering stalks through the tangle of London Pride, creeping (galloping would be a better name for it) Jenny, and dead nettle; ferns had almost smothered the Dutchman's breeches. The stones of the path were a couple of inches deep in buttercups.

The early warmth this year, followed by a cool June, seems to have stimulated growth. I removed a full bag of flower heads and invading trailers, and the garden is still crowded. It does look happier, though.

In the afternoon, we went across the street to inspect the vacant lot. The last time I was there, it was a marsh: mud, slime, and muddy water. Today it was dry. And ablaze with flowers, yellow, white, pink, purple, putting my little plot to shame.

Pink clover

Most of the area was covered with tall daisies and grasses, with assorted clovers sprinkled throughout; some pink, some deep red, a few white clovers; smaller plants, inconspicuous except on bare soil. And there was tall, white-flowered sweet clover, waving in the breeze. On the hill, broom showed off its yellow pea-flowers; bindweed flowered among the blackberry canes. A sweet perfume scented the whole field, rising in waves as we waded through the weeds.

Trefoil, possibly greater bird's foot trefoil.

White mallow. I love this delicate, pale pink.

Purple vetch. So very purple!

Floral arrangement, by Ma Nature. Vetch, daisies, deep pink clover.

What have I forgotten? Flowering blackberries, a few stray buttercups, hawkweed along the edges. And this tall thistle:

Tansy grows along the back, but they haven't bloomed yet. But there was a tall stand of wild St. John's wort in a gravelly area.

Here's Laurie, with an appropriately flower-coloured cap, on his knees among the grasses:

And there had to be one of these:

I think this is a Silver Shambler. Hugh says that they tend to topple towards the left. The deep pink markings identify it as a migrant from the south.