In a drought year, most days in San Francisco don’t feel like drought years. It’s still cold and damp, and you don’t much mind the lack of garden maintenance because who wants to be outside when it’s that cold, anyway?

But, because we don’t depend on the rain for our livelihoods, we don’t begrudge the farmers and ranchers the water we’re saving by not watering —even on days as warm and sunny as today. If you ask me, the dry, crinkly garden was even more beautiful, in its way—it is like it brings a bit of wild California into our backyard. The golden grass smelled of the hills in the central coast, and the lack of annuals means there’s no distraction from the glory of our drought-resistant perennials.

I’m really quite shocked by how well the roses are doing, really. I don’t think I got any pictures of the wild rose, but it is just overwhelmed with white blooms.

I’m obsessed with orange-and-purple combinations in the garden:

And with sticky, sweet-smelling lemon blossoms:

And with delicate, two-toned rosebuds miraculously withstanding the heat:

Of course, the only response to beauty like this is to put on a sunhat, pick up your hand-sewing (and your German textbook) and your coffee, and go outside.

So that’s what I did. (Note the quilt-patch-and-scissor impromptu bug-guard on the coffee mug.)