Since Monday night the garden has been the scene of a struggle between the two faces of the best season of the year. Like good versus evil the killer frosts of the night have been slogging it out against the naively enthusiastic force of new growth. We know that April can be mean to precocity but this morning the killing fields are draped with glassily drooping foliage and browned off clusters of flowers that were the victims of their enthusiasm to break out of tight Winter buds, they will not recover.
Monday’s frost was depressing, so much promise spoiled, Tuesday’s much the same but the damage had already been done, I thought. Last night a killer punch, cold like a mid-winter clod breaker, looking out on the scene it is so very dismal. I fear even the stalwart old timers will have taken a beating. I have to trust that the experiences of eons have prepared my friends the plants for skirmishes like this, most will have the tenacity to struggle on.