Grandma's Garden - A Study in Neglect

The playground was empty at noon today, the last day of April, a month that vanished without a trace.

It made me sad.  

I stood outside the silent garden, and smiled at the flowers towering over the wall. 

Then, I went inside.

This is what the wildflower bed looked like on March 4th, the last time I was at school.

This is what I came back to today. 

A week before that, on February 25th, the scallion and aloe vera bed looked like this.  The big leaves are borage, just starting to emerge.  

There's a real reason to thin your seedlings, as today's version aptly demonstrates:

Overgrown is too kind a descriptor.  

It's a soft, blue tufted hedge surrounded by scallions as thick as my ring finger.

I wanted to give the scholars plants-in-Solo-cups along with their end of year packets.

I'm not sure what can be rescued. I know that the kids would have a great time plucking their treasures themselves, wrestling with the prickly leaves in search of just exactly what they want to take home for the summer.  

I'm holding on to that thought, and keeping it just a thought.  This pandemic is laying waste to a lot of plans; I suppose I shouldn't whine that it's happening to me, too.