Open the latch on the little gate that guards my front door, and you will be greeted by two barking dogs in a window, roses (‘Benjamin Britten’) in full bloom, and a riot of color to the left and right of you. You will also find a smattering of nasturtium sprawled across the few steps leading to the door. By now, anyone in my life worth a grain of cottonseed meal knows not to walk up the front steps, avoiding a potential and unforgivable accident of squashing my annual’s orgy (*note that it reads “annual’s orgy”, not “annual orgy”). I’ve noticed the entrance to my house has slowly evolved into the fabulous little hermitage I’ve always wanted. The nasturtium and lavender are like constantly vigil bouncers, turning their foliage away when confronted by any non-plant like being, saying “too filled with flowers to allow for people, sucks for you.”.
And the sweet peas occasionally attack if you smell too close. Beware and enjoy.