While I was checking in on Roxy last weekend, I cut some phlox from the back yard. I think that would sell me on a house just about anywhere. Roof falling in, no biggie. It has some raggedy, neglected phlox way in the back! Sold.
In our Oak Park garden we had phlox growing everywhere. All different colors, though always the wrong shade against that shell pink house. Didn't matter. I pulled the Outdoor Companion off the shelf for the first time in years and looked to see if there were any shots of my wonderful old garden, all phloxy. Not so much, but there were these. A little touch of it on the right there next to the playhouse by the achillea.
(Our beloved, handmade playhouse, Rabbit Cottage!)
A little bit there too, in the corner. Funny, I remember that garden and think of it as all pink phlox.
And none here, but I looked at this image for awhile. I'm missing that porch these days. Not all the stuff on it anymore, just the chairs, the wobbly creak of the rocker, the view of the busy sidewalk and all those happy kids playing right there.
It was really and truly just as storybook sweet as it looks. Yep, it sure was.