Inexplicably, our 20-year-old French lilac began the growing season as usual, put out its usual complement of emerging blossoms, but I noted leaves were not sprouting, and felt certain it was ailing.  It is now not dormant, but dead.  Its removal will leave more room for the adjacent maturing magnolia tree and roses to stretch out a little more.  It had its time, and although it's always sad to see something expire, it won't be missed too much.

Most of the trees, shrubs and perennials are faring quite well this summer.  It has been puzzling to see what has become of the first offerings of the tomato vines that I usually plant in large garden containers; they have been peculiarly cursed with the appearance of rot on the hanging bottom halves of the fruits.  Despite which, we allowed the largest of the tomatoes to ripen, took it off the vine, cut away one-third of the bottom where the rot occurred, and found the remainder to be exquisitely tangy-sweet and juicy.  We grow those tomatoes because it's fun to do so, to watch them develop through the summer months and because we enjoy their harvest.  Not much to enjoy this time; one of the vines grows a grape-tomato the other a field-type tomato, and there haven't been many blossoms, even though both are directly in full sun for most of the day and both have been well watered, despite the drought.

Strangely enough, the developing new tomatoes don't appear to be suffering from whatever kind of blight attacked the older ones, though the atmospheric conditions remain the same, as do our ministrations to the health of the two vines which look no different than others we've grown far more successfully in the past.

On the good-news front, the architecture of the gardens themselves, their texture, colour and variety continue to give us great pleasure for a minimum of effort, as established gardens.