There is a put down associated with this flower, which I was thinking of using as the title for this blog simply because we ought to be able to laugh at some of our strange attitudes to people and flowers. I mean I used to love dandelions; I still do, but I was bullied something rotten for picking them as a child, and for daring to like them.
I decided against the title, not to offend….
This pansy is old, by my standards, since for years I have not been able to keep one alive for more than a couple of months.
The pansy, which I planted late last year, is still alive and has some new growth and buds on it. I’ve planted it in a sheltered spot, underneath a rose bush, and I will let you know whether it survives another year.
I haven’t been successful at growing pansies since I was ten or eleven; I grew them in Greater London, in a small plot I was given, alongside some carnations, which, likewise, although I’ve planted five or six gardens since (mainly in Dorset where the pH may have been different), I have not been able to grow successfully.
I watered this one all winter.
