All I want to do today is sit on my deck in the sun, enjoying the views of my garden in bloom. I was sitting out there this morning with a beautiful book I got at the library about Virginia Woolf’s garden at Monk’s house (by Caroline Zoob if you would like to look it up). Her garden at Monk’s house was much bigger than what I have with my 1950’s bungalow, and I know that they employed gardeners, but it is so inspiring to look at. It’s also fascinating to read about. The garden was already old when Leonard and Virginia Woolf bought the house in 1919 and then they added to it and altered it. A lot of the plants they inherited and even some they added can’t be bought now or are hard to find. It makes me a little sad that a gardener did not live in my house before me. The only perennial I inherited with my house is my peony, which I love. I did not even know it was a peony until my mom told me–it was a little leafy plant that never bloomed stuck in a corner under the living room window, completely shaded by the lilacs. We moved it to a sunny corner in my backyard and it has bloomed beautifully ever since.