Black-eyed Susans

Might as well start with a picture, right?  So you can fall in love, too.

At the top of the slope leading from my driveway to my vegetable gardens, there's a large swath of Black-Eyed Susans.  Pete planted these many years ago, and they have flourished and spread joyously.  The Susans bloom mid-summer to fall.  When they die, I do not cut them back, as the birds like to hang around them throughout the winter.  Also, they make a stark contrast against the snow, which serves as a reminder that what once bloomed will bloom again.

I was curious how Black-Eyed Susans got their name.  A Google search told me that the name comes from an Old English poem of the post-Elizabethan era entitled simply, “Black-Eyed Susan,” written by a very famous poet of the day named John Gay.  Seems to be a love story of Susan and Sweet William.  Even though it’s not a native, if you seed wild Sweet William with common Black-eyed Susan, they’ll bloom beautifully for you at exactly the same time.  Because both are basically biennials, and her gold plus his bright reds and purples blooming together is a sight to gladden any gardener’s heart.

Well.  I guess I need to look into this Sweet William thing.

I mean, look at my lonely Susan:

Now, that's a face akin to a Golden Retriever's!  Rather sad, don't you think?

Ah, but my field of Black-Eyed Susans are not sad at all!  They are a sunny day personified!  It must be this joyous abundance that beckons them to multiply.  Susans have sprouted up all over the place, and I do not have the heart to pull them.  That's what love does to you.  You know that.

One more picture to secure the love: