Good morning, and it's been a wild week. Welcome to Saturday Morning Garden Blogging.
Two weeks ago, on the evening of the first Presidential debate, Denver experienced its first blast of cold of the season — we had wind, we had frost, and we had snow.
This week, after the sound and fury of the second Presidential debate Tuesday evening, we had another cold front literally blow in — and it blew in fiercely. Wind speeds were over 60 mph here in Denver. Lots of trees and branches were blown down, including one at the end of the block that knocked the power out on our side of the street until Wednesday afternoon.
The power outages were very odd — hundreds of small sections of the city. In our case, the north side of our street, and the south side of the street next to ours were without power for two blocks to the west of Broadway — but the lights were burning merrily a few dozen yards east on Broadway and across the street.
Thank gawd there's only one more Presidential debate; I hope it doesn't bring a blizzard.
I always find autumn to be a very melancholy time, and this year events surrounding me have deepened that mood.
In late September a young woman pedestrian — she was only 32 — was killed by a hit and run drive right at the end of my block. It was about 1:00 a.m. on a Sunday, and she and her boyfriend were crossing the street after trying out a new bar/restaurant in the area. The boyfriend had paused to say final goodbyes to the group they were with while the woman continued on across the street; the car that struck her was speeding down Broadway going at least twice the speed limit. Her body was thrown across the intersection and partway down the next block. I could only be comforted by knowing that it happened so suddenly that she wouldn't have had time to know or feel anything.
Since that occurred there's been a streetside memorial, as people have placed signs and bouquets of flowers on the corner where she was hit. It looks rather sad now — the signs are worse for the weather; the flowers are wilted; the ribbons are limp.
And then in early October Jessica Ridgeway disappeared while walking to school in one of Denver's northern suburbs; her body was found a week later six miles from the abduction site. My heart hurt at the thought of how scared that poor little girl must have been.
During one of the televised news conferences I thought I glimpsed fellow kossacks and garden bloggers amongst the gathered and grieving relatives. A diary by Nurse Kelley confirmed that people with whom I've shared an afternoon's conversation, and whose contributions are growing in my yard, were bearing the double-load of missing their adored great-niece while at the same time providing strength to their niece.
At the park near Jessica's home another memorial has sprung up, filled with temporarily photogenic balloons and stuffed animals. But I want to do something more permanent in memory of Jessica, and for affection to her great-aunts.
In my own garden, I plant gladiolas in memory of my father; pale pink hyacinth in memory of my friend MJ, and fennel in memory of the Mister's brother. And now I will add a planting of purple and orange — purple as Jessica's favorite color, and orange for my fellow Kossacks.
These fall-blooming crocus will be a good start.
That's what's happening here. What's going on in your gardens?