I've shown you my 100 year old crepe myrtle before, but every year I'm drawn to the vibrant pink blossoms that are so heavy they droop. I'm smitten.
Just like an old friend, she reappears, even when times are tough. The first year we were here, the carpenters butchered her, not realizing she was a keeper, because her limbs were draping on the roof. This year the late frost nipped her tips.
No matter. We still have a show.
I wish all plants were this hardy.