YOUR HEAD PLANTSPLODE

Magnificent weather the last few days. Sun-soaked, golden, breezy, and I think they even got that raging fire on the other side of the valley put out, so the smoke is clearing!

And you know what that means! PLANTSPLOSION.



Alpine asters everywhere! (I think they’re alpine. Never been good with plants.) I love scrubby alpine plants. Mom says that when she moved here from California lo these many years ago, she was horrified at how bald the mountains looked. I still don’t understand. They are covered with shrubberies!



Pick your favorite PLANTSPLOSION pollinator caption:
A. COVERED IN BEES!
B. That’ll give you … er, bees.

Unfortunately, I have to love the foliage from indoors, because everyone knows that happy plants = hayfever apocalypse. It is bad, my friends. Every mucus gland is working its gooey little heart out to complement my inflamed sinuses, and my joints are having flashbacks to The Malaria. And I’m not the only one. The gnome who came to fix our stove today was having similar problems, and we had the following conversation about it:

STOVE GNOME: *wheeze* *snorf* *honk*
ME: *whiffle* *sneeze* *snuff*
STOVE GNOME: *understanding honk*

I offered him some juice, but he declined and snuffled his way out to his van. (We’ll get a fixed stove by next year, almost for sure.)

I keep trying to cowboy up, by which I mean I am breathing through bandannas to try to filter some of the crud out of the air. So far it is not working very well. I may have to make another cup of lemon tea to stick my face in.

At least there are bees out making honey for my tea. PLANTSPLOSION isn’t all bad.