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GREAT GLORIOSA GYPSOPHILIA, Pierre knew a thing or two about flowers!

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In the story, Dear Reader, I'm still here at Longwood Gardens, my Yard Man with me.






We're enjoying the flora and the fauna and the fountains and the food (yes, yes, Reader Dear, the first thing we enjoyed was the food!)


And we're enjoying the other folks focusing on the flora and the fauna and the fountains and the food.



























































































Of course, there are a few folks photographing family, as well.



And I mentioned the fauna, did I not?


But these are gardens, after all. By far the main focus is the flowers and trees.
And speaking of the trees--that's what The Yard Man and I are doing, having a little discussion about this fabulous, oh-so-fantastic line of Copper Beech trees.

They are marvelous, we both agree! Were we not inspired to plant our very own Copper Beech tree when we saw these very same majestic trees so long ago?!

"But," says my Yard Man, "they are not mature trees."
And I, "What?!! You can't be serious! These are very, very old!"
He thinks not.
But I'm so sure. "It takes fifty years for a Copper Beech to mature. These have been here much longer than that!"
But no, he is not convinced.
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And that's about the time I spot the guy sporting the yellow shirt--an official employee of the gardens!






"Can you answer a question for me," I ask, waving down the young man. "Can you tell me, how old are these trees?"










Ahh, he's not absolutely sure.
But he knows who to ask!
He rides away.
We will have to wait, Reader Dear--you, me, and The Yard Man!

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MEMORIAL DAY! It was nearly hot enough to fry an egg on the porch (and I'm talking about cracking that thing right onto the slate of the porch floor, Reader Dear!) and yet my yard man and I waited until the sun was at its zenith yesterday to go and stroll around the gardens (the really big gardens of our friend Pierre).

While we sat in the shade, praying for a little breeze and waiting for the fountain display, we could close our eyes and imagine we were in India, Russia, China...or Japan. Even Italy (assuming our interpretation of the accents were not too far off the mark). What I'm saying is that there was a very international group of visitors populating the park, prompting me to imagine that the yard man and I were jetting around the globe. (Aha! I thought, Mr. DuPont, in spite of his vast wealth, never had the opportunity to do such a thing [Now you know, Reader Dear, I'm talking about actually jetting around the globe; there's not a doubt he had an imagination, what with these fine and beautiful gardens he left for posterity!])



"Let's find some fountains where we can get close enough to cool off," suggested my yard man.
And we did just that.



That yard man walked over to the lower row of little spiking fountains and leaned in for some splash-able water. OH! Dear Reader, he so nearly lost his balance and got a real soaking, and I so nearly rolled on the ground with laughter, and you so nearly would be ruing the fact that I do not have a video to show you! (Ahem, well, at least it's for certain I'D be ruing!)



So then we continued on to another water extravaganza.
Here, however, we felt the burden of maturity, constrained as we were by the sign declaring No romping in these fountains. Once again my imagination came into play (since I didn't), making me pleasantly cool just by watching (The cool breeze across the fountain may have helped just a tad)!



On the other hand, my imagination concerning this unexpected reptile was not so pleasant!





(What good fortune, that experience was offset by the friendly amphibians we came upon next. They willingly sang for us! [Oingo Boingo's Nothing to Fear, I believe it was. (Because of their accent, Viewer Dear, I can't be sure)]!
















For sure, however, I fear there's more to tell, Reader Dear, about
the heat and Pierre and...oh, and the flowers! The trees!

(What I mean to say is: To Be Cont'd)
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HOLIDAY WEEKENDS ARE SO NICELY enhanced by patio meals with extended family.



(How fortunate, the yard man and I have a brother-in-law who hosts these kinds of gourmet togetherness at the drop of a hat [Chef's hat, I do believe!]!)














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SUMMER ARRIVED ABOUT a month early in these parts. This afternoon it bestowed upon the Little Actor the position of King of the Water Hose. His vast domain was the whole of the kitchen porch.  I'm afraid, Dear Reader, that his only subjects were two laughing idiots.



Though they were utterly devoted to His Majesty!



During his reign, and even after his dethroning, one of his subjects was quite sopping wet!
(It so pleased the king)

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LAST WEEK I caught that yard man of mine doing
the Eighteen-Leg Two-step with some co-workers.



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