June 12, 2026
The Frangipani is a tropical shrub or small tree that wouldn’t survive our winters, so every fall I load her up in the bucket of my tractor and haul her to the outbuilding, set her on dollies, and wheel her through the door. She barely fit last year, so this winter I’ll be building a small greenhouse with double doors wide enough to drive the tractor bucket straight through. Margot isn’t alone in there—she winters with a dozen or so potted plants of various sizes for company.
And she now has a companion. The wind snapped off a limb earlier this year; I stuck it in the dirt, and just like that—a second Frangipani. Apparently they didn’t get the memo about being hard to propagate.
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“Flowers are the poetry of nature, written for us.”
Emily Dickinson
A piece of art!
Love ya Mo!