This interesting bloom is the Mountain Laurel, which happens to be my mother’s name. I planted it a few years ago on a whim, plopping it into the space outside our fence, which means I tend to forget about it. This year it caught my eye just as it came into bloom, so I quickly snapped a few photos to remind me to take a little better of it.
Given its shady nook and such negligence, it hasn’t thrived, but still it blooms. That’s the kind of determination I admire and reward. I’ll pamper it with a top-dressing of cow manure, the greatest gift I can give to such a recipient.
