115 thoughts on “Thirty-Three Words for the Winter-Weary

  1. I have several friend up North who are also whispering, “When will Winter be done?”. It’s been a long and rough cold weather with plenty of snow to spare.

    Beautiful picture of The Wild English Geranium by Friko.

    Bye,

    Omar.-

    1. I know you love your weather there in Panama, Omar, and there are reasons you should. Even though we aren’t snowbound, my feeling is, “Enough with the gray and gloomy, already” Of course it’s still February, but…

      Aren’t the geraniums pretty? Friko taught me the difference between the common, potted geranium I knew, and bedding geraniums. It’s amazing how many species there are.

      Linda

        1. Steve, I didn’t know that: about the relationship of the seeds to the name.

          After giving it a bit of thought, I realized I grew up with a geranium-loving mother who pinched off blooms as soon as they started to fade. It encouraged more blooming, but made seed production impossible.

          Even now, when I have geraniums around, I follow her example. This year, I’m going to leave some alone so I can watch the seeds develop.

    1. Thank you, Ellen. I hope the sun is glinting off your icebergs today. We started with blue sky and sunshine, but now? All gray, from horizon to horizon. Patience is required!

    1. At least you get snow, Bella. It’s always seemed to me that, if we have to endure weeks of gray and cold, we at least ought to get snow as a consolation prize. Ah, well.

      At least we’re only a week and a few days away from daylight saving time (March 8). I think it’s silly, but I do enjoy the extended light in the afternoons.

    1. Thanks, Deborah! Blessings abound in this world, and not having to put up with mounds of snow and ice, or sub-freezing temperatures, are just a couple. Rejoice in them! And thanks so much for stopping by.

    1. Melanie, one of my favorite Iowa “winter” memories is the year — sometime between 1959 and 1964 — that we had an Easter snow. The tulips were blooming, and the snow was so deep it reached the bottom of the blossoms. They looked for all the world like a row of colorful votive cups.

      May that NOT be so for you! (Is the boys’ basketball tournament blizzard still a wry joke around there? We used to have one every year — in March, of course.)

      1. I don’t know anything about a basketball tournament blizzard, but I’m not keyed into that. I know we had a couple of pretty unpleasant regional jazz contests at the beginning of March.

        1. I suspect everything’s changed now, anyway, as far as high school sports. Our boys’ BB team was good, and always made regional and state. We did a lot of traveling through those blizzards.

  2. I’m pretty ready myself to trade cold floors in winter for cold floors in summer. Not just wild geraniums, but wild flowers in general. I knew a lady who lived in a 100-year old cowboy “line shack” left over from some big ranch outfit, possibly the XIT — They lived outside of the small town up the road and her front yard was all over wild flowers come spring. It was gorgeous. There’s a vacant lot next to the VA clinic that’s all over bind weed, which looks like ground-hugging miniature morning glories that bloom little white morning glory flowers. There’s another spiny weed that’s a member of the nightshade family that has yellow berries in the fall, but this beautiful purple flower in spring. I need to go on a photographic expedition when the weather sorts itself out again.

    1. I’m with you on that cold floor bit. Poured concrete buildings are great when it comes to resisting hurricanes, but once the temperature drops, it takes forever for my floors to warm up again. Well, months, actually. But it feels like forever..

      I saw my first common dandelion at Mardi Gras, but the Texas dandelion is out and about. I spotted some low-growing white and purple somethings the other day, but was driving at the time, and need to go back and take another look. We’ve got some redbuds blooming, but that’s about it. I hope that, once the cold is over, it’s over. I’d hate for the peach crop to take a hit again.

      We have the purple flower/yellow berry combo, too, but I suspect it’s different from yours. I think ours is a tropical — Duranta repens , but it’s a lovely combination no matter which you have.

      I’m greatly in favor of your photographic expedition. I’d love to see your spring.

  3. It has been in the single digits here, with frozen mounds of snow everywhere making travel of any description hard. And now it is snowing again. You can’t imagine how welcome your gentle, beautiful post was this morning.

    1. Our weather isn’t pleasant, Melissa, but “unpleasant” isn’t at all the same as bone-chilling, spirit-numbing, will-it-ever-end cold, snow and ice. I hope you get a respite sooner rather than later, and that the melt doesn’t bring flooding.

      I’m so glad you enjoyed the poem. A little color always is nice — as you so well know!

  4. Where’s jolly Miss Geranium planted? We easily can expect more deep cold and heavy snows here, so I’m staying with reading plant books and avoiding the torture of looking at the date!

    Maybe if I put up Christmas lights springtime will seem to come so early!

    1. I did go out on the patio this morning and discovered that my pot of kalanchoe is beginning to show a little color. It had better push the pause button, though. We’re heading down to near freezing again tonight. I don’t know what the ficus thinks. It warmed up for two days, and new leaves popped out all over. If it doesn’t hit 32 I’m going to just leave it where it is, out of the wind, and hope for the best. It’s not at all fond of being dragged in and out.

      You always could put up some shamrock lights for St. Patrick’s day. At least they’re green.

  5. I like this poem. It makes complete sense. :-) The pic is very pretty. I wish those flowers would grow here. The weather has been something else. It snowed here on Wednesday and was gone within an hour after it had stopped snowing. The ground and trees were covered and it was pretty for about 2 hours. :-)

    1. Actually, Yvonne, they will grow in Texas. Although some are annual, some (regions 10 and 11) can be perennial. Here’s a nice link I found. I’m even giving a thought to trying some this year. I kept some pots of the more familiar cranesbills for three years, though I had to bring them into the air conditioning at the height of the summer. (Isn’t that a strange thought!)

      The snow you had made it all the way down to Huntsville — only flurries and no sticking, but still… Lucky you, to have some “pretty” for a while. Two hours sounds good to me.

      I’m glad you like the poem, too. I imagine the flowers are as eager for spring as we are.

      1. Yes, I know, this plant will grow here but they do not perform really well where the summers are so terribly hot. I’m not fond of the usual red/pink varieties. I was referring to those wild ones in the photo that you posted and of course those were growing in England where it is not so hot and there is much more rainfall. The link you provided is a good one for info.

        1. It’s like our pansies and snapdragons. They go in as bedding plants here about November, and last only until about April. They certainly do well in our cold, though. It’s not to have a spot of color through the winter. Cyclamen do well outdoors, too. I didn’t know until this year that there are yellow cyclamen. Next year I may have a pot of them.

          1. Oh yes. The cyclamen would be very pretty in yellow. I like that as a potted plant but I no longer use potted indoor plants because of my cats and allergy to mold. I have a few hardy outdoor plants in pots that I over winter in my storage/laundry room.

    1. In like a lion, out like a lamb, as the saying goes. I certainly hope March is coming in as a lion. If this is lamb-like, we’re all going to be in for it at the end of the month. Happy day, Janet!

  6. Maybe in your part of the world, Linda, but I’m afraid that dumb ole groundhog might have been right for us, grrr! We’ve got several waves of storms coming down from the Arctic Circle; in fact, it’s snowing as I write this. I’ve known it to snow in April as well, so I guess I’ll just have to venture south to warm up my bones! Thanks for such a lovely poem — and the colors in the photo are splendid!

    1. I remember April snows too, Debbie. The good news about late snow is that it never lasts long. Maybe it just seems longer because it comes as the end of an already long season.

      I saw some beautiful snow photos this morning. Apparently a lot of people are sharing in your bounty. I need to take a look at our long-term forecast and make sure you’re not sending some of that bounty this way!

      I had fun putting the poem together, and I’m glad you like it. The first two lines have been sitting around for six months or so. They’re actually a take-off on some lines from St. Patrick’s Breastplate: “Christ before me, Christ behind me.” I had listened to the song on another blog, and the geraniums just popped up. The mind is a strange thing, no?

    1. I suppose the good news is that snow means moisture. I just looked at your drought map, and things don’t appear too bad where you are, but more water would be good. As long as it comes without ice and high wind, I imagine it makes your world beautiful.

      As a matter of fact, I see that it does. I just went over to your Etsy shop and looked at some of your winter images. Oh, my. I laughed to see the pickup covered in snow. So wonderful!

      1. Thanks so much Linda. You should have seen it yesterday and this morning after 48 hours straight of snow. Thank goodness for this little break in the weather pattern. and for the visit to my shop, much appreciated

    1. Thanks, Nia. I do enjoy it when I can fit a photo and words together so well. Soon it will be time for geraniums in window-boxes. I’m sure you’ll be happy for that, too!

      Linda

  7. The wild English geranium makes a lovely ground cover. I’ll be working the the annual March Mart Plant Sale at Mercer Arboretum in a couple or three weeks. I wonder what there will be? You have my antennae up for geraniums now.

    My husband and grandson cleaned along the Texas Independence Trail on Valentine’s Day, a very beautiful and unseasonably high 60’s day. As they picked up rubbish they saw an Indian paintbrush bloom. Just one. And then brrr…it got quite chilly here.

    1. Just don’t ask for the “wild English geranium,” Georgette! That was just my fanciful name for a variety of Pelargonium I couldn’t identify. Here’s a link from A&M that has terrific information about the history of the plants, how to grow them from seed, varieties, etc.

      I was surprised to see whole fields of wildflowers in Louisiana. Things still are looking a little sparse here, but I learned my lesson last year. I just don’t live in wildflower country. I’ve going to have to get out and about — and earlier! — if I’m going to see them. That single paintbrush is a reminder that we’re creeping up on the season.

    1. You’re welcome, Terry. I tried doing something with “brown-eyed sun,” but it just didn’t work out. Ah, well. I’ll keep working on it. Maybe some lichen limericks!

    1. You and several hundred thousand others, snowbird — and maybe millions. But there’s this: it’s 6:20 p.m., and not yet fully dark. If we have to put up with cold for a while longer, and least we have more light. I’m glad the post brightened your day a bit.

    1. Yes, indeedy. Unless I specifically attribute a poem or piece of writing to someone else, DM, it’s mine — for better or for worse.

      I do the same with photos. I’m generally able to find something in my own photo files these days, but if I need to use someone else’s, I always attribute. I email and ask permission, too, even if I’ve been given general permission in the past, because everyone has special work they might prefer not to share.

      I’m glad you like the poem. A little rhythm and rhyme never hurt anyone, that’s what I say. A few more degrees of warmth wouldn’t hurt, either.

  8. Lovely! This poem is calling for a tune, I think. As for spring and its seemingly perennial deferral, the Canadian Weather Service has forged a source of solace. Remember, we record temperatures in Celsius, not Fahrenheit.

    1. Oh, Allen! I have several people I’m going to forward that video to as soon as I type this comment. It’s really funny, and that last “public service” bit from Environment Canada is priceless. Self-deprecating humor is an art, and they really got it right.

      And you’re right that a tune might be just the thing. How does “The Geranium Jig” sound? A jig would be better than a waltz, of course. It keeps a person warmer.

      Linda

      1. Glad you enjoy it. Rick Mercer is a Canadian treasure. I like “Geranium Jig,” and it provides you with the happy opportunity of announcing that “The jig is up!” But is that at the beginning or end of the jig…

      1. i saw two specialists yesterday, gave enough blood to make me faint (not really, but i worried that i might) and on monday i’ll have the allergy tests…

        quito is always lovely unless it’s raining, and then it’s cold! thanks, madam sunshine!

  9. Alas, winter is done a little too soon here. I grew up (well, from the time I was 8 anyway) here, thinking spring was January. It was the low 70s and even sometimes 60s, and we occasionally got rain. That’s spring, isn’t it?

    But I will enjoy your eloquent poem for those for whom spring is still a dream away.

    1. That sounds like spring to me, nikkipolani. If we could have 60s and 70s with rain, I’d call it spring in a minute! We’ve had just a taste, with some redbuds and azaleas blooming, but for now I’ll have to delight in your garden and pray that a late freeze doesn’t get our fruit trees.

  10. Hey, we’re plus 1 here this morning! That video from Canadian weather service is priceless—laughed my butt off!

    Loved the poem and the photo. They give me hope. :) I had wild geraniums in my former garden. I need to add them to the list of perennials to be planted here.

    1. That video is great. I was glad you did a repost, so I had a chance to see some of the fellow’s other work. I’d never heard of him until Allen posted the video here.

      I’m going to make some inquiries at my garden center, too. I’m thinking that the pelargoiums (I have to practice making that distinction) might be something for my balcony. I need something that can make do with shade or partial shade, and I’m tired of the old standbys. Last year,I learned that even plants marketed for shade don’t always do well here, because even our “shade” can get much more light than in places farther north.

      Then again, maybe I’ll just sweep, start a few more cacti, and not worry about it.

  11. Greetings from the land of minus 10! I feel like this poem was written just for me and it certainly does the trick in reminding me the longest short month of the year is nearly over, spring technically arrives in a few weeks and soon enough, I’ll be seeing beautiful geraniums, too!

    1. Of course I thought about you while I was writing the poem, Jeanie. I just read your post — no wonder this all is seeming like The Longest Winter. Remember, we not only get formal spring in a few weeks, this next weekend we get daylight saving time. A little more light in the afternoon is good, and it’s a fact that the days are getting longer.

      The only downside I can see on the horizon relates to Dixie Rose. Her internal clock doesn’t reset, and she’s going to be wanting breakfast at 4 a.m. for a while. Last year the “while” turned into two months. Since she’s learned the trick of meowing directly into my ear, there’s no escape. Such creatures they are.

      1. Lizzie is much the same way with the internal clock. To which I say, “Tough. Suck it up, Buttercup.” However, I don’t have the meow-in-ear technique. I hope they don’t chat.

    1. I’ve not read it yet, but from the title of your latest post, even Florida wouldn’t have done the trick.

      On the other hand, people have gone through this before. There was a remarkable snowstorm in Houston in 1895 — twenty-two inches of white stuff. During that same storm, a town in Louisiana received twenty-four inches. The photos are quite something, and a good reminder that life does come in cycles.

      My mother used to listen to me fuss about this or that, then say, “This, too, shall pass.” About 99% of the time, it did.

  12. I know. They are tired of us whining here (Shall we remind them the next time people complain of rain storms leaving a tiny bit standing water?)

    Honestly I don’t mind the cold if there’s sun with it. Enough with all this drizzle/fog/dreary. The cat must desperately need sun baths with vitamin D,E, B complex…she’s attacking the dog who must be responsible.

    The flowers are something to wistfully dream about. It’s not only difficult to find ones that tolerate shade, but also the extreme summer heat. Blooms outside would be nice – the redbuds/pear trees across the lake are blooming. More dandelions around and a few of those tough thistles appearing. Maybe soon (warmer but rain all weekend? Do we dare complain with summer usually so dry?)

    Thank your muse Dixie for inspiring such a lovely poem.

    1. I’m with you on the preference for sun, Phil. If it’s sunny and not blowing like crazy, I enjoy winter working. I have noticed that the coots suddenly are gone. That’s the best proof yet that the seasons are changing. I suspect by mid-March, it’s going to be a whole different scene.

      You’re right about the rain. I said after that 2010-2011 experience I’d never complain about rain again, and so far I haven’t. Plus, there’s great benefit in getting it nicely spread out,rather than getting it all at once, with wind.

      I was listening to the outdoor show this morning, and the fellow who runs the Eagle Point fishing camp called in. After the last front, the water temperature there dropped fifteen degrees. The shrimp have disappeared, along wtih some of the bait fish. Even the fishermen are ready for spring!

      1. There were a couple of big flocks of ducks around the island last week. They’ve all seemed to have lifted off leaving only the local mallard couple ( who is happy to have their home back. Visitors and fish after 3 days, you know) Hope those ducks have some reservations for a warm spot in transit.

  13. When two of my very favorite blog friends pair up to offer a lovely photograph of flowers that inspires an equally lovely poem, I can’t help but feel hopeful that spring will soon be on its way.

    1. Actually, Susan, it went the other way. The poem was written, and I needed a photo of geraniums, since I didn’t have a single one in my files. Friko had taught me the difference between the pelargoniums and our standard-issue windowbox geraniums, so I started browsing her garden posts to find an example — and there it was. It was kind of her to let me use it.

      Personally, I’d be happy to see sixty degrees. I can sand or varnish down to 45F, but I have painting to do as well, and it needs to be at least 55F. Warmer is better. Since even our more moderate temperatures have come with rain or fog for weeks now, progress is being seriously impeded around here. Grump, grump. This is the time of year when I begin thinking of pretty flowers and civilized work: that is, anything indoors.

      1. Well, the converse certainly makes a fine connection, too, and I like your back story on the names of things. I also like your method for getting past the grumps–particularly hard when you’ve got work to do and the bad weather goes on and on! Surely things must improve soon, she says, knocking wood on that all around.

    1. FeyGirl, I think there are some northerners who are beginning to question how they do it, too. I remember loving the beauty of it all, until the melting began, and the slush would get dirty,and refreeze, and then the mud… Oh, we did long for spring by about March. And, come to think about it — we’re nearly at March! I hope you have a pretty, and warm month!

  14. I am sorry that you are still in the grip of winter. I thought Texas was mildish? No, am I wrong? Geraniums don’t mind heat but they want lots of watering in high summer.

    We have the odd sun shower now, maybe even for a few hours in the morning but even our temperate climate winter is getting me down. Grey and damp and dismal do not please me.

    However, for the meteorologists spring starts on Mar 1st; a weather girl said so. I want to go out into the garden, so I will believe her.

    1. We are mildish, Friko, but sometimes the emphasis is on the “-ish” rather than on “mild.”January and February can be break-the-ice-in-the-birdbath season, even if we don’t get snow. I had all of my plants in the living room for two weeks this year. I’m told that plant hauling substitutes for time at the gym.

      Knowing that the geraniums will take heat, I believe I’ll give some another try. One thing I’ll do is get some good, freshly mixed organic landscape soil at our local garden center. It does well for everything else; it ought to make them happy.

      We had three days about two weeks ago when it was possible to go out without a jacket, even in the evening. Windows flew open, People smiled. May it happen for you soon!

  15. They say Spring is nearly here, but so far we have had summer weather in daytime, and occasional blustery evenings. Everything is catawampus.
    I don’t know this flower, but it’s pretty. I love to tuck some blue in among the yellow. Sort of a tribute to the Cal Bear who lives here!

    1. I like blue and yellow too, Kayti. It reminds me of Provence. And I like to put yellow flowers, like tulips, in one of my flow blue chamber pitchers. So pretty.

      A friend in SoCal says she’s been getting enough rain to stimulate a little spring growth in her garden. Her roses are coming on, and her alstromeria are blooming. I hope you’ve had some rain, too — less bluster, more luster!

  16. What winter? As you now know from my post that we even had a record high, 63F probably is warmer than some of your days. But I like your poem. And I’ll never see flowers bloom like that until June maybe.

    1. And I’m so glad for you, Arti. I remember some of your previous winters, and the flooding that occurred once the snow melt began. I suspect you’ll have a bit more snow, but the corner’s been turned.

      Do you have daylight saving time, too? Ours begins next weekend, and I’ll be happy to have more light in the afternoons. Best of all are the increasingly long days, though. Some of my plants that respond to sunlight rather than warmth are beginning to put on new growth.

    2. I just saw this posting from our National Weather Service, and laughed. This is “spring” in Texas:

      “SE TX outlook – cool today, much warmer on Tues, strong cold front Wed, then turning much colder.”

      It’ll keep doing this for a few more weeks. When they add thunderstorms and tornados to the list, we’ll know spring is truly here.

    1. You don’t need this, because you’re there, and you know the land well. But I found this program on Scotland in Winter fascinating. I’ve always thought of Scotland as lush and green. This is quite a different view of the place — and equally appealing.

      Enjoy your time there. Clearly, the Scots might long for summer, too!

  17. Ah, wishful thinking about winter being almost done.

    Your post reminds me that in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Carousel there’s a song—not the best or best known in the show—called “Geraniums in the Window.”

    1. I didn’t know the song, so I went looking, and ended up laughing. I did a search for “geraniums in the window” and kept getting results for “geraniums in the winder.” Sure enough, those are the original lyrics:

      “Geraniums in the winder
      Hydrangas on the lawn
      And breakfast in the kitchen
      In the timid pink of dawn…”

      Maybe soon we’ll be able to experience another “Carousel” celebration of spring:

      “June is bustin’ out all over
      The feelin’ is gettin’ so intense,
      That the young Virginia creepers
      Hev been huggin’ the bejeepers
      Outa all the mornin’ glories on the fence!”

      1. I knew about Hammerstein’s attempts to sound colloquial but I couldn’t bring myself to write winder for window.

        He similarly has:

        “June is bustin’ out all over,
        All over the meader and the hill…”

        I like your native-plant-favoring rewrite better.

    1. Thank you, Otto. One of my friends says that an advantage of blogging is that we can see it’s always spring somewhere. Still, it’s hard not to be eager (and even impatient) for it to be spring right where we are. A lighter touch can help make the waiting more bearable, I think.

    1. Yes, ma’am. It is my poem. I always, always attribute if something isn’t mine. I’ve used some Mary Oliver poems, some Eliot, and a few others, but those always have attribution.

      I’m glad you like it. And I wish you were here to have some of the blackberry cobbler that’s in the oven. I decided the only thing to do was get out some of the last of the blackberries from last summer, and enjoy. Can you get here in an hour?

  18. That is such a delight, Linda. We have some spreading geraniums that have aggressively taken hold in places unintended but their loveliness excuses them. Your thirty three words have brought them to mind and I look forward to seeing them again, although at the moment they are buried under four feet of snow. As a matter of fact, we just added a few more inches overnight and a plow just went by now at 4:45am.

    Funny, when I viewed your poem in my mailbox on this Kindle, it displayed as a paragraph. I like it even better as eight lines. :-)

    1. A paragraph is not a poem.
      Though words seem set, they like to roam
      along the open, empty spaces
      and form their lines in better places…

      Good grief. I have no idea where that came from. It’s just another way of saying that form and function are related, and the reason you like the eight lines better is because that’s the “way it’s ‘sposed to be”! It’s easy to spot the reverse, too. Just because someone takes a paragraph and splits it into lines doesn’t make it a poem.

      We’re suddenly seeing a lot of bloom around here. Pear and plum trees, Texas dandelions, thistle, rain lily… I hope the cold blast that’s coming tonight is our last, so that everything that clearly wants to begin growing gets a chance.

      1. Well, I am certainly happy to hear about things blooming there…actually anywhere at this point. It is encouraging to know that somewhere spring is springing into action.

  19. Love this poem. The long winter season does wear one down and I recall the feelings of cabin fever I used to experience during my early days in Minnesota. The longing for spring, sunshine, and the melting of snow were eagerly anticipated between March 17th (St Patrick’s Day) until March 21st. During these five days we usually experienced the last snowstorm of the season. April was soon upon us and spring stirrings were noted everywhere.

    Living now in the sub-tropics, I don’t miss the snow or those long, dark, cold days and nights. Yet the flip side brings the lack of dramatic seasonal changes, that were exciting in their own way.

    1. You’ve just confirmed a memory for me. When I was growing up in Iowa, it was part joke and part serious tradition that we would have an annual “Boys’ Basketball Tournament” blizzard. The tournament was in March, of course, and it did seem as though that was the seasonal dividing line. We could get snow after that, of course, but it always was gone in a day or three.

      March was mud season, too. There were far fewer hard-surfaced roads in those days, and more than a few farmers pulled more than a few cars out of running-board deep mud or the occasional ditch. Now, even in the midwest, even the non-paved roads are kept in much better condition. There aren’t as many frustrations, but there are far fewer stories!

  20. a lovely photo and lovely words. i keep thinking it’s going to be Spring and then another deluge of winter dumps on us. two years of abnormally cold winters in Arkansas. it makes my mind wander back to the cold winters of my childhood.

    1. Isn’t it just the truth, sherri? It was 80 degrees here today, and I was barefooted at work. Now, the cold front is about two hours away, and we’re predicted to be 40 degrees colder tomorrow, with gale warnings. Well, in like a lion, I suppose. I hope this is the lion we’re getting, and not the lamb!

      I just was looking at photos of Thorncrown Chapel today. I’d hoped to see it this spring, but I fear circumstances aren’t going to allow. Still, seeing flowers and trees abloom anywhere would be wonderful at this point.

  21. What a lovely thought that winter is almost done. It is certainly beginning to feel so over here with rising temperatures and colour creeping into the gardens. We have this plant in our herbaceous border – it’s a beautifully photographic plant.

    1. Andy, I saw a sure sign of spring today. I had to shoo a female mallard off the boat I’m working on. She and her mate clearly are looking for a place to set up housekeeping, and boats are highly favored. They’ll use coils of rope, cockpit pockets — last year, I found an egg lying in the middle of a life ring that had been thrown down. Nature won’t be denied!

      There are so many beautiful English plants. I’m not so fond of formal gardens — especially if they’re all boxwood and too much statuary — but I’m looking forward to seeing the countryside alive again.

    1. That is a beauty, Gallivanta. We’re one zone too far south for it to be completely happy, which probably explains why I don’t see it as a bedding plant.

      You have reminded me of another word I misheard/mispronounced when I was a kid. “Geranium” became “germanium” and stayed that way for a few years, until I got over it.

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