It's one of those summers, not as hot as it could be, not even as hot as it should be. But so humid it doesn't matter. It may only be 88, but it feels like a 100. The weeds love it, think they've gone to heaven cause I can't stay outside long enough to get to them. I pull out handfuls every day and I can hear the rest of them just giggling that I'll never get them all and they're right. I'll clear an area and the next morning it has already started filling in with weeds again.
Some of our plants are not very happy with the rain and humidity, the tomatoes are rotting and the roses are resting. But the Hydrangeas must be part weed because they're as happy as a clam. As is the Rose of Sharon.