Gardening Magazine

What to Do When It’s 92.

By Kate_miller

What to do when it’s 92.

Big bumbles sleep in my Hollyhocks.

It was briefly hot, not terribly hot, and for that I've been grateful. A summer I would describe as:
Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. 
Actually, Kurt Vonnegut is the one who came up with that wonderful quote. So I'll give my favorite author some credit at the bottom of this post.

What to do when it’s 92.

Cosmos + Allium.

In comparison to previous years, the weather has been delightful. 
It’s cooler this year so we’re trying to forget. 
What to do when it’s 92.

The West has been bruised and battered. With a seven-year drought, heartbreaking wildfires, endless heatwave. I live across the street from a bone dry meadow and it's just a matter of time before some dummy shoots off fireworks and sets it ablaze.
Severe watering restrictions prevented me from sprinkling my little flowers last summer. Rains have vastly improved that situation.

What to do when it’s 92.

Moppy-headed Bee Balm.

All that previous misery is behind us. At least, for now.

What to do when it’s 92.

Can't remember.

This morning, I took a walk in the gardens. 
Appreciating those tough cookies, aka waterwise and native flowers, who happily survived. 

What to do when it’s 92.


Just strolling about, bending down, collecting seeds from spent flowers, tossing them into other areas.
Thanking my lucky stars for the monsoon rains. 

What to do when it’s 92.

Maltese Cross.

Monsoons are kind of a new thing for us - up here in Utah. Very common in New Mexico. I’m no meteorologist; I’m just observant. It feels like the summer weather patterns from New Mexico are moving farther north. 
Monsoons are intense, short, rainstorms - hits like a wall of water. Likes to show up right about the time you're far from home, without an umbrella. 
After the deluge, you’re gifted with a pretty rainbow and a garden of tall perennials collapsed in the mud. 

What to do when it’s 92.

Hollyhocks from Hazel's Garden.

Most folks, like me, who choose to live in high elevations do so because we can’t take the heat. The few, the proud, who fully embrace winter and all the fun it has to offer. 
So even though it’s been cooler this summer, I still find myself hiding out in the air conditioning, mid-afternoon, checking up on the gardeners of TikTok. 
I suppose it sounds kind of odd that I prefer this social channel vs. Facebook. But I just love those TikTok gardeners. 

What to do when it’s 92.

Mallow ~ Miniature Hollyhocks.

Back during the halcyon days of blogging, we were thrilled with 1,000 followers. 
These gals have 2 million viewers taking a virtual stroll through their backyards. And they are so much fun.

What to do when it’s 92.


TikTokers inspired to me to plant more seeds, this summer. 
Every garden has some odd quirk. It’s hard for root-bound, potted, perennials to take off in my poor soil. And even though it’s practically impossible for seeds to survive – thanks to this little jerk, below, who ate half the seeds and invited all her friends to the party...
It’s really fun when my annuals pop up and say howdy. 

What to do when it’s 92.


Busy days. 
Been riding quite a bit. We're enjoying a super bloom of wildflowers in the High Uintas. I try to photograph whatever the horse doesn't eat.
What to do when it’s 92.

Hurricane Hattie has been sharing her recipes for the bestest mud pies. 
What to do when it’s 92.

Charlie is learning to appreciate the fragrance of the Wild Asters + Russian Sage.  
* That yellow flower is Helianthus. A perennial sunflower -- and the very best choice for late summer color in mountain gardens. 
Only plant her if you're willing to allow her to multiply and please don't call me in a few years when you have 100 of them instead of 10. 😇  Because this is me. Saying I told you so. 
What to do when it’s 92.

The big talk on TikTok was what to plant for late season flowering. None of the flowers in this post were recommended -- maybe they're just too boring. But I love 'em. 
I’m happy the weather has finally cooperated. And the gardens are beautiful, once again. 
* Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse 5, “Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.”

Back to Featured Articles on Logo Paperblog