I want to show you images of celestial sunflowers in my garden.
But I don’t have any.
Here, however, is the rest of the magnificent ONE plant that produced the bloom in the first, perhaps slightly misrepresentative image –which of course I immediately clarified for you because of my almost debilitating honesty.
I came upon this plant recently when the Fates had me drive through a residential neighborhood to avoid road construction. The plant lives in front of a modest house, where it grows madly, all ablaze with yellow suns of bloom, almost certainly a volunteer. It is about six feet tall and thriving among several dehydrated snapdragon plants which have wilted around its ankles. “Damn,” I said to my passenger (Max the wonder terrier), “now that is a sunflower plant.”
I parked the car and, armed only with my phone camera, I risked my life (you would understand if you knew this particular town) and took a photograph of someone else’s sunflower plant. No one came out with a gun (I didn’t linger) and I got away with the image.
I found tiny comfort in knowing that I do have sunflower potentials started, though so very late, in my garden.
But, oh doctor, why did I fail to plant at a reasonable time? How did this oversight occur, and how will it end? Will I have bright blooms at Halloween? Or the horror of frozen buds? How can I have set myself up for this unnecessary crisis of season? And why do sunflowers grow so well in ditches anyway…?
Fortunately I have this little painting my friend John created for me, to get me through the hard times. Thanks John.
Now I do have a Rudbeckia called ‘Cherry Brandy’ which I grew from seed. The blooms are a nice foil to peachy colored roses in bouquets, and it’s cheerful enough in the garden as well and…but really, it’s not yellow and not big and it lacks all the glories of sunflowers. [Sometimes a person just needs to whine.]