Cincinnati Cape Cod

Kitchen Before and (Finally) After

2008-11-09T07:35:00.000-08:00

In an ideal world, my kitchen make-over would have included new cabinets, a new countertop, and cork flooring. I had to make do with new appliances, a baker’s rack, an outlet refresh, and tons of paint.

Before

It took many coats of paint to cover up those awful sunflower stencils.

After (sorry so many pictures, I’m just so happy with the “after!”)

The paint is Behr’s “Golden Cricket.” I had paint left over from covering up the hallway’s “Pumpkin Puke” and decided to give it a go in the kitchen. I’m happy with how it looks next to the true white cabinets and trim. The golden color also lessens the impact of the horribly dated countertop.

I’m proudest of the door. I bought a multi-lite door to replace the existing door, but it was too short and I had to abandon that project. Instead, I transformed the existing door with paint and trim so that it resembles the house’s other doors (all original). The trim creates an illusion of recessed panels that is quite convincing at first glance.

I love my “new” kitchen! I have to stop myself from going in to stare at it too often because the cats wrongly assume that I only go to the kitchen to get them “toon-toons” and follow me in to fix me with plaintive looks and meows. Or perhaps, they just can’t get enough of the new kitchen, either.

First Rose of the Season

2008-05-13T07:36:00.000-07:00

The first rose of the season belongs to Terese Bugnet. She’s a truly indomitable rose. She tolerates part shade and still blooms heavily. She is undaunted by late frosts, drought, and browsing deer. When I had to move her last spring, I ended up dividing her in the process. I planted the three largest portions in the yard and potted up two smaller pieces for friends. My divisions are all preparing to bloom their fool heads off, so I hope the gifted divisions are doing just as well.

Perennial Tulip

2008-04-16T06:33:00.000-07:00

Gardeners are advised to treat tulips as annuals. Despite their association with the soggy Netherlands, tulips are native to the dry, mountainous regions of central Asia. They need cold winters, wet springs, and dry summers to perform well year after year. Most gardeners can’t (or won’t) provide these conditions, so the plants decline after a year or so. Tulip breeders offer varieties they claim are perennial, but are they really? (And, wouldn’t it be counter to the tulip breeder’s interests to produce a tulip that perennializes in the garden setting?)

I’ve either got one of those new-fangled perennial tulips or special conditions in my garage bed because these tulips are going strong on their third year! They’ve received no extra care. I haven’t fertilized them. They got pretty wet this summer as I irrigated the nearby tomato bushes. You want to know what type of tulip they are, right?

I wish I knew! They came free with some bulb order. Ah, the irony, to have a tulip that appears to perennialize and not know how to get more.

Anchoring the 35 Dollar Arch

2008-04-15T06:17:00.000-07:00

My $35 arch kept falling over. It has no spikes or extra long legs to anchor it to the ground. I know from my experience with the cedar arbor that using plants to anchor structures can be disastrous. I ended up staking the arch to the ground with 100 lb wire and bright yellow stakes.

(The cat is only for scale, I promise)

I stood in the aisle of Home Depot for a good 30 minutes, debating the type of wire to use. I liked the look of wire rope and cable, but they didn’t seem like they could be tied off and Mike and I were stumped by the fasteners. I ended up using 100 lb picture wire because the back of the package had a diagram detailing how to twist and hook the wire to “tie” the end. As a bonus, the wire is almost invisible and sure to trip anyone that doesn’t use the approved entrance into the North Corner.

To further enhance the trip hazard, I wanted the wire tight enough to sing when plucked. First, I fastened the wire to the stake, then Mike pushed the stake almost all the way into the ground and I fastened the wire to the arbor. Finally, Mike stood on the stake to sink it as far as it would go, thus taking any slack out of the wire.

The arbor hasn’t blown over again, but I’m still waiting for my first tripping victim.

Flushing the Fountain

2007-08-28T06:24:00.000-07:00

I have a small, self-contained fountain from Home Depot. It used to sit in my sunroom, but I moved it out in preparation for renovations last summer. I set it out on a corner of the deck and decided I liked it there better. However, I discovered that keeping a fountain outside involves more maintenance than inside. Even though the fountain is in the shade, algal growth eventually clogs the water line and the result is a sad dribbling fountain:

Two or three times during the summer, I clean out the line using three common household items (1) hot water, (2) vinegar, and (3) a turkey baster. (I might add that I originally tried to unplug the line with wire, but that was ineffective.)

I remove the hose (and attached mouthpiece) from the fountain and bring it inside. Using the turkey baster, I force a mixture of hot water and vinegar through the line. It takes a few flushings, but, eventually, clots of slimy algae are pushed out the house. I finish with multiple hot water rinses, until I’m sure the line is clear. Then, I reassemble the fountain and plug it back in.

When I’m ready to put the fountain away for the season, I’ll clean the pump itself, but just clearing the line gets me through the summer.

Pink Canna

2007-08-01T05:42:00.000-07:00

When I read Mrs. Greenthumbs, she insisted that all daylilies are orange, no matter the advances in breeding or the pretty catalog pictures. I believed her then, but I’ve since found daylilies in shades without a bit of orange in them. (Not that I have anything against orange. I adore the color.) When I found pink cannas for sale, I was a little more willing to believe that the pictured pink flower was true to life. If daylilies can be lavender, can’t a canna be pink?

You can judge for yourself. It is definitely more orange than the package picture, but you could call it pink. Perhaps “salmon” would be a more accurate description. Not that I mind – I love orange.

City of Portland Canna

Candy Cane Border

2007-07-23T06:17:00.000-07:00

At my open garden, as I described the concept of the candycane border to my guests (flowers in shades of red, white, and pink), I was surprised at how enthralled they were with the concept. Unfortunately, my guests had to use their imaginations to picture the flowers, because the border was between blooms. The moss phlox, daffodils, sweet William, peonies, and roses were spent. The hibiscus and lilies held promising buds, but were weeks from opening. More than one guest expressed a desire to return when the border was in its second bloom. I am unable (unwilling?) to host another event this year, but I’ll share photos here.

I’m fairly pleased with the late summer effect. The border color scheme sounds simple, but it can be difficult to blend the right red and pink tones together. While the hibiscus and stargazer lilies have purple undertones, the cardinal lobelia almost slides into the orange range and the sweet william blossoms varied from red-black to red-orange. Who knows what color the “red” hydrangea (hornli) blooms are because the plant hasn’t flowered (or grown much) in three years. White is the only “easy” color in the border.

I continue to plot and plan to improve the border and, in the meantime, I’m enjoying the bits of it that I think I’ve finally got right.

The Wrong Nigella

2007-07-09T13:12:00.000-07:00

My annual experiment has not yielded quite the results I was hoping for. Instead of Nigella flowers that look like this:

I’ve got flowers that look like this:

Bleah. The problem is, I grew Nigella sativa, from my spice seeds. The garden variety of Nigella is Nigella damascena. Whoops. While I may have a spice harvest, I am very disappointed to be missing the fantastic love-in-a-mist flowers.

I think I’ll sow poppies over my tulips next year, or make sure I have the right species of Nigella.

Gardening Belt

2007-07-06T12:37:00.000-07:00

I figure gardening is good exercise. I don’t mind digging or hoeing or hauling manure. What does bother me, though, is running from one end of the yard to the other to find my trowel or twine or pruners or scissors or camera. Worst of all: running to find my phone, should I happen to actually hear it ring. I needed a hands-free way to tote my miscellaneous items around. So, I asked for this for our 3-year (leather) anniversary:

It holds all the aforementioned items, including a clip-on compass so I don’t get lost!

Now, all I need is a drink holder attached to my cart for my ghetto sangria (Looza/boxed white wine mixture). Or maybe I should just get one of those beer hats.

Duke Garden

2007-07-03T06:48:00.000-07:00

I attended the Tri-State Green Industry Expo in February. While I enjoyed the seminars, the best thing I got out of the experience was meeting John Duke. I’ll confess, I’d come across his name before in connection with the Cincinnati gardening scene. When I happened to sit next to him during one of the classes, I was sure to not let him go. I followed him to lunch and was treated to photos of his charming garden. Before we parted, I got his email address and gave him a card with my blog’s address. We kept in touch over the winter and spring. He read my blog and attended a free preview of my spring show, Vanities. At my open garden, he brought me an invitation to his own event and I finally got to see the pictured garden in person.

His garden is 11 years old, and it just the way I hope mine looks in another eight: with only six minutes of lawn remaining. Yes, it takes his wife, Amy, just six minutes to cut the grass. The rest of the yard is glorious garden, divided into multiple areas: daylily display beds, a children’s garden, a railroad garden, fairy gardens, a patio (complete with firepit), a utility area, and lots of shade (due to all of his lovely, mature trees and shrubs). I found the shade garden beneath his Norway Spruce to be most inspiring, because I’m fighting to plant beneath my four mature specimens. However, if I could transplant a piece of his yard to mine, I’d take the greenhouse. It’s a perfect size for a city garden and made by John himself.

I took over 40 photos of the Duke garden. I tried to keep them in the order I walked the garden. You can view the complete set here:

Giant Cherry Tomato

2007-07-02T18:29:00.000-07:00

When I planned my potager, I sketched in sunflowers and teepees for height. I figured the cherry tomato bushes would be proportionally sized to regular tomatoes plants as the fruit. Well, my “mini” tomato has reached six feet. I think it will even outgrow the sunflowers.

I’m growing the Black Pearl variety of cherry tomato. The tomatoes are indeed cherry-sized, so there was no mix-up there. Why is this thing so huge? Was I silly to expect a miniature bush? I’m hoping some experienced tomato growers can help me out. I’ve used up my longest stakes. If the plant grows any taller, it will just have to support itself.

Open Garden Pics

2007-06-26T11:30:00.000-07:00

Whew! Holding an open garden is exhausting! I’m glad I did it, though, and thanks to all who attended. If you couldn’t make it, check out the photoset by clicking on the photo on the right.

BBB: Foxglove

2007-06-20T18:48:00.000-07:00

I don’t think foxglove is an endangered garden plant, but I do sense some resistance to growing the usual, biennial, form from seed. Judging from the popularity of the 1-year-to-maturity “Foxy” foxglove, waiting two years for a flower is too long. I can understand, especially when the seeds are so hard to germinate!

I’ve had little success with foxglove seed (Digitalis x mertonensis). From my Winter 2005/6 sowing set, I had a yield of three plants. I was terribly disappointed because I love foxglove. They bring back memories of sunny hillsides in the woods, thick with rosy, flowering spikes. That they are terribly poisonous (but the poison is a medicine in small doses) only increases their allure. I like to pretend that if the apocalypse came, I could be a folk healer. (Alternatively, if I got sucked back in time like Claire of the Outlander novels, I could do the same.) Finally, who wouldn’t want to grow a flower that legend says the fairies sleep within?

I’m not sure why the seeds were so hard to germinate, but the plants have been tough. I levered the three survivors into shady nooks around the deck and they all survived the winter. The first has bloomed and the other two have pregnant bulges in the middle of their rosettes. Despite my trouble, I am try, try, trying again. I sprinkled an entire packet of seed directly over the earth along the NW side of the deck. No babies yet, but maybe next spring…

Summary
Germination: difficult!
Culture: easy
Form : ugly leaves, but a nice rosette form. Flowers are on a spike.
Scent : none
Color : shades of pink, purple, white

BTW – that’s a bee butt in one of the flowers.

35 Dollar Garden Arch

2007-06-18T06:22:00.000-07:00

Gardening can be an expensive hobby. I try to save money by growing plants from seeds, swapping for others, and mulching with my neighbors’ leaves. I find it difficult to scrimp on hardscape, though. I am not talented enough to created my own wrought-iron obelisks or cast a bird bath. Those items usually end up costing me beaucoup de bucks. Sometimes, though, I get lucky. Like this $35 garden arch from Big Lots!

You may be wondering, “How good is a $35 arch from Big Lots?” My reply, “Surprisingly good.”

Honestly, I think the most garden arches are way overpriced. This cheapo arch is as good as anything I found for less than $150. It was easy to construct, and turned out to be almost square. The construction reminded me of the metal tube headboards often seen on a child’s bed. It is fairly lightweight, so I’ll need to anchor it in the ground, but I think it would support something as heavy as a climbing rose. Wisteria would probably crush the hollow tubes. I plan on planting it with clematis, so as to not hide the pretty structure.

The arch is the doorway to the north corner (which is coming along quite nicely!) This fall, I’ll be planting a hedge around the area’s perimeter so that the arch frames the entrance to the shade garden. (I’m still debating whether to allow for a second, semi-secret entrance.) You can view the tentative plan here.

So, pretty good for $35, huh?

P.S. Sorry for the blogging break. I was traveling.

Sweet Patch

2007-05-30T05:43:00.000-07:00

Among the many treasures Patrick gave me when I first started gardening was a large tuft of sweet woodruff. As I couldn’t recall the growing requirements for everything he gave me (there must have been starts of 20 different plants), I planted it in full sun. Ouch. After realizing my mistake, I transplanted the bedraggled remains to Cleo’s Garden, beneath the Norway Spruce.

Almost two years later, my sweet woodruff patch is full, lush, and so vigorous that I had to prune it back into it’s semicircular shape (echoing the shape of the bench). I happily spread the prunings to other shady areas in the front yard. I love it’s low, creeping habit, whorled stems, and fresh green color.

I’ve read that some gardeners dislike this plant. They find it aggressive. So far, I’ve found it to be very well mannered, but I have a lot of new, shady ground to cover. If one ends up with too much sweet woodruff, it makes a nice potpourri. When dried, the plants release a sweet scent reminiscent of vanilla and hay. Or, it can be steeped in white wine to make May Wine. I did this with the pieces that didn’t survive the pruning. I advise allowing the leaves to steep at least a day in a pitcher of white wine to fully release the flavor. Poured over ice, it makes a refreshing evening drink in the garden, like drinking liquid sunshine.

I’m hoping Patrick can make my open garden, so that I can show him how much I appreciate his gift of sweet woodruff.

The Annual Experiment

2007-05-29T08:08:00.000-07:00

Last year, I experimented with annual poppies as fillers in my magnolia bed and was thrilled with the results. It was the first year I made large use of annuals from seed. This year, to continue The Annual Experiment, I decided to sow nigella seeds over the bare spots left by the tulips. The only problem was, I couldn’t find nigella (aka Love in the Mist) seeds locally.

After coming home empty-handed, yet again, from the garden center, I remembered that I had a large container of nigella seeds, to be used as a spice, in the kitchen cupboard. I had bought the seeds after copying a number of Iranian recipes out of a novel last year. (I wish I could remember the name of the book. It was a great story about a pair of Iranian sisters who immigrated to Scotland and opened a restaurant there.) I’ve heard of people growing poppies (papaver somniferum) from the seeds available in the spice aisle of the grocery store, so nigella seeds should work too – as long as they weren’t toasted.

I sampled a seed to try and detect if they had been cooked, but, honestly, I couldn’t tell. They tasted dark and spicy, a little like a black mustard seed. Having never tasted nigella seeds before, I didn’t know if I was tasting the pre- or post-toasting flavor. Praying that my seeds were uncooked, I sprinkled them over the fading tulip foliage in early May. The perforated top of the container’s inner lid was quite handy for sowing.

It turns out that the seeds were NOT toasted. I have lots of thriving nigella seedlings pushing up through the tulip husks. Hooray! I’m looking forward to the other-worldy flowers. I doubt they’ll be in bloom by the date of my open garden, but I can always hope.

Now I’m wondering what else I could grow from my spice cupboard. An annual experiment, indeed!

My Favorite Spot, May 25th

2007-05-25T05:32:00.000-07:00

It’s that time of year again: when I’m utterly delighted by the alternating lamb’s ear and East Friesland sage I’ve planted along our front sidewalk. This is the last of the cool colors in the front garden. Soon, yellow sundrops, orange butterfly weed, and hot pink yarrow will spice up the border. For now, silver, purple, and blue dominate, adding a cool note to the sultry May weather.

This is one of my few successful experiments with a cutsey, alternating plant scheme. Usually, it just looks trite. For the third year, though, this combination thrills me every time I walk toward the house, making it my favorite spot.

BBB: Sweet William

2007-05-24T05:13:00.000-07:00

Reading other garden blogs, I don’t think Sweet William is in any danger of disappearing from the garden soon. Still, I think it’s an unappreciated plant. I can’t say I’ve ever seen it for sale. I think, as a biennial, it is probably difficult to sell to the average nursery-goers. Even the discriminating gardener finds its biennial habit frustrating. I remember reading Amy Stewart’s post in which she rails at the fact that no matter how large and robust the plant she buys, it still doesn’t flower until the second year.

Like the rest of my biennials, I grew Sweet William from seed, using the winter-sowing method. I don’t recall major problems with germination, but, as I only ended up with six mature plants, it could not have been that good. I planted them into the candycane bed last fall. They bloomed this spring.

One amusing aspect of growing plants from seed is that each is an individual – unlike the clones for sale at the garden center. (Not that I don’t like clones.) My plants vary a bit in stature, but the most striking difference is the flower color. They are all a deep, dark, almost black, maroon, except for one plant with cherry red flowers. The oddball plant adds a note of discord to my sweet curves. The scent isn’t as variable as color. They all possess a light, clove fragrance. I do wish it were stronger.

Like most biennials, Sweet William plants can last longer than two years, but still remain short-lived. I plan on direct sowing additional seed into the bare spots, between the plants, as insurance for next year’s crop. It does self-sow, but I’d like to experiment with deadheading in an attempt to encourage a second flush of flowers late in the season.

Summary
Germination: medium difficulty (but my seeds were old)
Culture: easy
Form: neat and lush
Scent: light clove
Color: shades of red and pink

Goldfish and Bullfrogs

2007-05-22T05:53:00.000-07:00

This year, I’m trying some different forms of mosquito control in the pond. Last year, I used guppies. They seemed effective and they multiplied, but they weren’t very visible. I want fish that will entertain me, as well eat mosquito larvae.

Although the goldfish died last year, I was swayed by the 12 cent price to try them again. Mike wanted to buy 100 goldfish, so that our pond would be reminiscent of the koi ponds in Okinawa: so thick with fish it looks as if you could walk on their backs. Although I’m coldhearted, consigning 100 fish to death by overcrowding is even too cruel for me. We bought 10, for $1.20, which seemed still seemed like a bit of an overkill. In the end, I’m glad we bought so many, because we now have only four or five hardy survivors. They seem to be doing well enough, despite any filtration or mechanical oxygenation in the pond. Nature must be keeping them be well fed because they show little interest in the flakes I occasionally sprinkle on the water’s surface in the evenings.

I went to buy water lettuce for the pond, to add some shade and cover for the fish, and saw that the Monfort Aquarium had tadpoles for sale. When I asked the price, I was astounded to learn that they were $2 each or 3 for $5. That’s a lot of goldfish. I took one look, and I realized why the large pricetag. They are bullfrog tadpoles and ENORMOUS. They are also hideously ugly. They eat both underwater insects (like, I’m hoping, mosquito larvae) and plant material. I’m also hoping they’ll help with my algae problem.

According to the man at the fish store, the tadpoles will not eat my goldfish. Although the adult frog will eat fish (and even bats!), they should take a few years to reach goldfish eating size. By then, if they survive, the goldfish should be too big to eat. If not (or if I have to replace the fish each year), I don’t think feeding bullfrogs 12 cent fish is going to bankrupt me anytime soon. If it gets too expensive, I guess we’ll be having frog legs for dinner.

I’m having fun with the pond this year. Both the cats and I enjoy watching the little aquatic world in the backyard. Next year, I may even try water lilies!

First Harvest

2007-05-21T06:10:00.000-07:00

I made my first big harvest from the potager this weekend. The radishes were bolting, so I added them, along with cilantro from my garden, to the Asian Coleslaw I prepared for a picnic. I was so proud to bring a dish containing things I had grown myself! Despite a degree in botany, it still seems like magic to me that I can tuck a seed in the ground and, voilá, a few weeks later I have food.

The radishes weren’t entirely successful. A number of them didn’t develop bulbs at all. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to those that developed and those that didn’t. For instance, I found this enormous radish next to some with nothing more than a red root.

For the record, I DID wash it before eating. (It was actually added to the salad.) And, despite its large size, it was sweet and juicy. Mmmm….proud, magic radishes.

My Favorite Spot, May 18th

2007-05-18T05:42:00.000-07:00

Wow. I can’t believe it’s already Friday and time for “my favorite spot” again! This week, I’ve chosen another shady nook, the NE side of the deck. (For the uninitiated, my house faces SE, so I have to resort to odd directional facings to describe my garden beds.)

Like most of my garden, this area was grass (please click on the link for a SHOCKING “before” photo) when we moved in. It was one of the first places I identified as future garden space, if for no other reason than to conceal the deck’s “legs.” Initially, I created beds that simply wrapped around the deck’s three sides, at a depth of only about 18 inches. After attending a few garden tours this summer, I added curves to the candycane bed and this side of the deck. The result is pleasing to the eye and allows more plantings to hide the deck’s nasty underside.

Along with the shape renovations, this area has undergone a number of plant edits as well. Initially, it was planted with clematis, trumpet vine, ostrich ferns, spiderwort, and Francee hosta. I am ashamed to admit that I planted the last three in a repeating pattern, wrapping around the NE and NW sides of the deck. Now, this semicircle contains the same vines, but more ostrich ferns and the addition of two Golden Lights azaleas (still very small), daffodils, repeat-blooming hostas (from a neighbor), primula japonica, and, my favorite groundcover of all time, sweet woodruff.

The plants are doing well. First the daffodils emerge to conceal the deck’s underpinnings, then, the ostrich ferns, which have multiplied this year, emerge to provide an even thicker screen. As the azaleas are still very small, the primroses provide some spring height and color. The hostas, transplanted last summer, are thriving. Although I’m eager to see the azaleas grown to their promised 5 foot height and cover themselves in golden blooms, I’ve found pleasure in the “right now” of my favorite spot.

Goodbye Grif's Gardenia

2007-05-17T06:15:00.000-07:00

I’ve made all sorts of stupid plant choices in the name of scent. I’ve bought and tried to coddle along demanding or marginally hardy species in the hopes of a singularly fragrant bloom. I think I should no longer visit the Fragrant Plants forum on Garden Web because it just sends me into another tailspin of wasted money, time, and effort. Garden catalogs are no better. For instance, I totally fell for Park’s Seed’s promise of a gardenia hardy to zone 6. Ha!

I purchased and planted two Gardenia augusta Grif’s Select in Fall of ’05. I dug a large hole for each plant and backfilled it with heavily amended soil, hoping that I had provided adequate drainage. The following spring, after a lengthy wait for signs of life, I yanked them from the ground and abandoned the plants in a corner. I later discovered that one of the gardenias had indeed survived, but just barely. I kept it watered over the summer and then planted it in a different spot in Fall of ’06. This spring, it was yanked again. Now, it is really dead.

I can’t say for sure whether it was our nasty clay soil (gardenias abhor clay) or the zone 6 winters that killed the gardenias. Global warming may make outdoor gardenias in Cincinnati a true possibility in the next few years, but I think I’ll just stick with the hothouse variety, kept in the sunroom during the winter and on the deck in the summer, for now. Upon reflection, I guess I haven’t learned much of a lesson at all. I still go through an extraordinary amount of effort for a novel scent.

Big Pile of Sticks

2007-05-16T06:07:00.000-07:00

What does the lone range sing as he takes out his trash?
To the dump, to the dump, to the dump, dump, dump!

That’s what I was singing as Mike and I tackled our big stick pile on Sunday. (Well, actually, I was singing “Goodbye to Pisces,” by Tori Amos, but “To the Dump” sounds more appropriate.) These are the dratted sticks that Toby left all over our yard when he trimmed and even cut down a few honeysuckle trees. I won’t put ALL the blame on Toby. Our ice storm in February also brought down a few limbs. (As you can see from the photo, the sticks were making mowing difficult.)

Clean-up was a team effort. Mike cut the sticks into manageable pieces, I stacked them in Tim’s trailer, and Tim hauled them away to the dump, to the dump, to the dump, dump, dump. (I'm sure that's what Tim was singing as he drove along.)

Despite filling Tim’s trailer, we still have quite a bit of brush remaining. Next weekend, I’m hoping Tim will be kind enough to back his trailer into our driveway once again. We have even more sticks hidden beneath the three remaining honeysuckle trees on our property, so I think we have at least two more trailer-loads to take to the dump, to the dump, to the dump, dump, dump.

My First Peony

2007-05-15T06:37:00.000-07:00

My first peony! Well, actually, my first peony blossom. And oddly enough, it’s from the latest peonies I planted.

I’m almost embarrassed to admit that I didn’t know what a peony was a few years ago. I was enlightened when my neighbor, Mary, rushed to the garden fence in May of 2005 with a fistful of blossoms in her hand. I was enraptured by the enormous, frilled, intensely hued flowers. She invited me to smell them and I buried my nose in the silken petals and inhaled a sweet rose-like fragrance. I was smitten, but completely unready to plant a peony of my own.

Two years ago, I had just begun gardening. I received a trunk-load of plants from my friend Patrick and had just started planting in the sun bed. I was fighting the first of many battles with our sticky clay soil and nursing along my first winter-sown plants. I was addicted to the Garden Web forums and delighted in soaking up every detail I could find on cottage gardening and perennials. By October, though, I was a veteran and when Margie gave me my first peony, I was thrilled! I imagined those luscious flowers would be mine, all mine!

I planted my first peony in the candy cane bed that fall. Early, the following spring, I added two Sarah Bernhardt peonies. May came, and nothing bloomed! My first peony and my second and third were total busts. I started to think I couldn’t get peonies to flower in my yard.

I was still willing to give it a go when, last fall, my friend Joy decided to remove the large peony patch from her front yard and replace them with knockout roses. For the price of my labor and advice, I took home five, very hearty divisions. (She had such a large patch that we probably ended up with 20 plants.) I planted the divisions in the pink and white bed. I wasn’t entirely sure they would flower there, because they only get morning sun. Still, in anticipation of the blossoms, I read an entire book on peonies while soaking in the hot tub in Gatlinburg last October. A girl can dream, can’t she?

This spring, I was excited to see buds on the new peonies AND the Sarahs. The new peonies, despite their shadier position, developed first and, as you can see, rewarded me with their first bloom on May 14th. It may be a week or more before the Sarah Bernhardt peonies bloom. And my first peony? It’s in its second spring and, still, no buds. The foliage is lovely, though.

My Favorite Spot, May 11th

2007-05-11T06:18:00.000-07:00

The SE side of our yard was a mess when we moved in. It’s shaded by a Norway spruce, 3 holly trees, and an enormous burning bush. The remaining spaces were filled with ivy, an Annabelle hydrangea, scraggly grass, and lawn violets. I smothered it all with leaves in the Fall of 2005. This week, my favorite spot is a portion of that border, beneath the female holly tree and just south of the shade bed.

This is sort of a rescue/wild area. One of our neighbors announced her intent to redo a portion of her backyard that had been the previous owner’s attempt at a wildflower garden. I transplanted at least a dozen columbine and several solomon’s seal. (I also successfully rescued a redbud, but that is planted elsewhere.) I added ‘Francee’ hosta that had been unhappy near the deck, ferns from along the SE side of the house, brunnera from the SW shrub border, and a Nikko Blue hydrangea that I got a great deal on at Funke's. Finally, I’ve added more wildflowers – toad lily from Pam, trillium from Tim, bleeding heart from Meijer (I’ve had really good results with the boxed, bareroot Dicentra), and Virginia bluebells from some mail order company. (And all these plants are just in the small circle around the holly. I’ve got even more interesting gems on the other side of the path!)

The columbine are currently blooming and I love the effect of the pale pink and deep purple blooms against the last of the bleeding heart and brunnera. It isn’t too far from the wallflower, so I get to enjoy sweet perfume as I pull tree seedlings from the leaf litter. Later in the season, I’ll enjoy orchid-like toad lilies, outrageously plump hydrangea flower heads, and the heady scent august lilies. I expect this to be my favorite spot more than once this season.

Open Garden: June 24

2007-05-10T18:26:00.000-07:00

I've done it. I've committed to hosting an Open Garden this June. It will be an all-day, drop-in event, complete with tours and refreshments.

I've made so many gardening friends through my blog and work and plant swapping and the bus and theater and . . .you get the picture. I can't stop talking about my garden and people keep asking me when they get to see it, so I suppose I ought to open it to visitors.

Expect many anxious posts between now and June 23, as I frantically try to address the nasty spots, like the north corner and the pile of brush I've had next to the house for months (thank you, Tim, for agreeing to help me out with that on Sunday).

If you are in the Cincinnati area, and would like to attend, leave a comment here. I'll try to ascertain whether you are a crazy, killer stalker and then send you an invite (because only crazy, killer stalkers are welcome).

*Edited on 5/11 to change the date to 6/24.

BBB: Dame's Rocket

2007-05-09T05:46:00.000-07:00

I picked up a packet of Dame’s Rocket seeds at Big Lots during the summer of 05. Because spring had passed, all the seeds were deeply discounted. I hadn’t a clue what Dame’s Rocket was, but the package advertised it as a perennial. After a little more research, I learned that Dame’s Rocket (Hesperis matronalis) is classified as a “short-lived” perennial or biennial. While I found that a bit disappointing (this is before I started my BBB cause), I was thrilled to note that it is fragrant!

I also winter-sowed these seeds. Germination was easy. The plants developed into tidy rosettes, not unlike wallflower. I planted them into the garden in late summer 2006.

I chose to site the dames in my SE shrub border, which I had recently converted from grass to garden. The border runs along the southeast side of our property. It doesn’t get much morning sun, because the neighbor’s oak shades it, but it does get a blast of hot, late afternoon sun. It’s a difficult spot: too shady for sun plants but too hot and dry for shade plants. I gave the Dame's Rocket additional water during August and September to help them establish. They seem to love their home.

This spring, the rosettes shot up into gangly spurs (again, not unlike wallflower). However, they have reached up to four feet tall. The flowers are an unremarkable mauvey-purple, and quite fragrant. They are reputed to be more heavily scented at night, but I haven’t conducted a sniff test.

One note of caution is that this plant is listed as an invasive plant and noxious weed. It reseeds aggressively and can crowd out native wildflower species. I would advise against planting this in your premium garden space. It’s best used in the difficult spots where pampered plants won’t grow.

Summary
Germination: easy
Culture: easy
Form: neat first year, gangly second year
Scent: sweet floral
Color: pinkish purple

Whackin'

2007-05-07T19:14:00.000-07:00

Merry Christmas to us! We finally used the $50 Home Depot gift certificate that Mike’s sister gave to us for Christmas. With it, we purchased a Black and Decker Grass Hog. I love it!

Prior to this purchase, we had been using a $2, gas-powered line trimmer from an estate sale. It didn’t work so well, and Mike finally abandoned it. Because I was afraid of both the gas engine and the whacker itself (my father always behaved as if it could take a leg off), I was left to trimming my beds with scissors. Yes, SCISSORS. Now that I have four island beds and ten or so borders, the scissors and I can no longer keep up.

So, last night, after a big beer at BWW, I did some drunk shopping at Home Depot (Mike drove) and then some slightly intoxicated weed whacking (which sobers one up pretty quickly). I did have the presence of mind to don my safety goggles. While I doubt that the line could actually amputate a limb, grass in the eye could really hurt. Using the trimmer was a little more physically demanding than I thought it would be (rough on the wrist), it was much easier than scissors and my beds have never looked so good. I’m a now a whacker!

Big Jack

2007-05-04T06:29:00.000-07:00

It’s been a rough week. By yesterday (Thursday) I was thoroughly confused about what day it was. At one point, I thought it was Friday, so I published “My Favorite Spot.” Whoops. So, today, in place of the usual Friday offering, I’d like to share more pictures of my loverly Jack-in-the-Pulpit.

Reportedly, Arisaema can grow to three feet tall. I’d like to see that! I am thoroughly impressed with my 20-inch specimen, which sports a nearly 3/4 inch diameter base. Regrettably, I couldn’t get Zoro to pose with it again, for scale.

Even if they hadn’t grown to be such monsters, I’d remain enamoured with my Jacks. They are so secretive, with the odd flowers tucked beneath the tripartite leaves. The subtle green stripes of the spathe glow when backlit by the sun. They encourage me to indulge in a bit of imagination play. I like to pretend I’m only 6 inches tall, and walking through a magical forest of Jack-in-the-Pulpit. In fact, if I were so small, I could crawl inside the spathe myself. I wonder if Jack would mind making room for me in there.

I’m meeting a swapper from my plant swap group this weekend, and he’s offering me more Jacks, along with bleeding heart, in return for a few of my seed-grown Heuchera. How could I say no?

My Favorite Spot, May 3rd

2007-05-03T05:29:00.000-07:00

My Favorite Spot is back!

And it’s the Magnolia Bed again! (For those new to the blog, this bed is named for the Sweet Bay Magnolia in its center. The magnolia was the first thing I planted at my house.) Currently, the tulips, phlox, wallflower, and Centaurea montana are blooming. The brighter tulips have expired, and the remaining colors bear more resemblance to those pictured on the “Apple Blossom” mix I purchased. The lamb’s ear and Asiatic lilies are still tidy and fresh. (Unlike the sprawling monsters they’ll become later in the season!)

I believe entangled suggested combining the wallflower with tulips. The combination is pictured here. Stunning, no?

Just wait until you see next week’s Favorite Spot!

Arbor Installed

2007-05-02T18:55:00.000-07:00

Last May, I found myself an extra $200 richer and promptly spent the cash on an arbor. I convinced a very grumpy Mike to put it together and we set it up at the entry to the front walk. We live in a sheltered area, so I assumed that the 7 inch metal spikes at the bottom, meant to be set in concrete, would properly secure the arbor if inserted into sand. Tie on a couple of freshly planted honeysuckle as anchors, and it should remain standing for years. Well, a blustery October day proved me wrong and the arbor blew over. Thankfully, the only damage was to one of the honeysuckle, which was cruelly plucked from the earth.

After procrastinating all fall, I committed to installing the arbor this spring. I was hesitant for a few reasons: I’m afraid of concrete, I wasn’t sure how to suspend the arbor and keep it level as the concrete set, and I didn’t want to involve my grumpy husband again. I figured out solutions to the first two problems and just avoided the last. So here is how I, a complete idiot, managed to levelly install my arbor.

1. Dig some holes. Really, I redug the original holes – the holes filled with sand. It was easy work. I dug two rectangular holes, to accommodate two spikes in each, but you could probably dig four, one for each spike. The holes must be deep enough to fully insert the spikes.

2. Cut some wood. I didn’t mention this earlier, but I also had the fourth problem of being terrified of my new (second-hand) miter saw. I involved grumpy husband (problem #3) long enough to help me set it back at 0 degrees and unlock the handle. Then I donned my safety glasses and chopped up some wood. I even managed to keep all my fingers!

3. Build a bridge. I used my cut wood to bridge the holes. The intent was to set the arbor on the wood so that its weight was on the bridge, rather than the spikes. This also enabled me to…

4. Level the arbor. I had to go back to step #2 a few times, because, damn, I needed a lot of pieces of wood. I also had a brand new package of shims for the fine tuning. To level the sides, I simply had to set the level on the crossbar of each side. To level it from left to right (as you enter the arbor), I laid a piece of molding (the only unwarped wood I could find) across the crossbars and set my level on top for a reading.

5. Make some concrete and pour it in. This is the part that had the neighbors giggling behind their curtains and me fuming. I initially bought 25 lbs of “anchoring” concrete. It was all powder, no rocks, and the devil to mix. I poured the dry mix in a bucket, added water, and tried to stir. The stuff at the bottom refused to mix. The stuff at the top was overly watery and I sloshed it all over myself. I must have looked like some sort of witch, squatting over my goopy bucket, stirring it with a ragged, broken stick, muttering curses. I also thought it would be too much work to bring the hose to my project, so I would stir at the spigot, and then run, slopping concrete down the walk, to pour the badly mixed slurry into the hole. After suffering my way through the first 25 pounds, I had to return to Home Depot for more. This time though, I bought 120 lbs of the cheap stuff, with the rocks in it. And, I unrolled the hose so that I could mix at the work site. Both decisions turned out to be great moves and the rest of the step #5 went well. I added concrete to the two holes (about 100 lbs in all) until I had reached the top of the metal spikes and the base of the wooden legs.

6. Put the dirt back. Ummm….yeah. I haven’t done this part yet. I sort of added A LOT of water to my concrete mix, so I wanted to be sure it was good and set before I covered it up. I don’t anticipate problems.

Finally, here is my magnificent, level, permanently installed arbor. It may not look level in the photo (because SOMEONE did not squarely attach the legs and because it is on a slope), but it is. I’m quite pleased with myself.

BBB: Wallflower

2007-05-01T05:52:00.000-07:00

I think biennials have fallen out of favor. I can understand why. They must be difficult for a greenhouse to sell. Most customers would be reluctant to buy the plant during its first year, without any blooms or even a promise of flowers that season. By the time the second year rolls around, it has to compete with annuals, which are (1) cheaper and (2) more likely to bloom all season. In fact, the only biennials I’ve seen for sale is foxglove and the occasional hollyhock.

I wouldn’t have bothered with biennials either, except that so many are recommended in books on fragrant plants and cottage gardening. There were also a few I unwittingly purchased as seeds that were marked “perennial.” I ended up started a number of biennials from seed during the 2005/6 Winter Sowing extravaganza. This season, I’ll reap the benefits of my preparations. In an effort to Bring Back Biennials (BBB), I plan to highlight the plants as they come into bloom.

This week’s profiled plant is wallflower, which is almost always mentioned in older fragrant gardening books. The specific variety I grew is Erysimum x allionii, from Swallowtail Seeds. I germinated the seeds through the winter sowing method and got good germination rates. In fact, I ended up with so many plants that I didn’t have space to plant them all. (A number of them are bravely blooming in the Pit of Despair.) I planted the nicest plants into the front garden last fall. At that time, they formed neat little rosettes.

This spring, those rosettes expanded into gangly, and somewhat weedy-looking, stalks. I suppose the garish orange flowers are a little coarse as well. The scent, though, more than makes up for the 2-year wait and any ungainliness. I seem to recall that the scent was described as “clove-like,” but I think wallflower smell like a citrusy rose. Like most heavy scents, the perfume tends to sink, so it is best appreciated while weeding nearby. I hope the plants will self-sow because I’d like to see the garish orange, but sweetly scented, blooms every spring. (I love the combination with the forget-me-not, another biennial, in the photo.)

Summary
Germination: easy
Culture: easy
Form: neat first year, gangly second year
Scent: strong citrus rose
Color: slightly muddy orange

Tulips and Tibbs

2007-04-30T06:38:00.000-07:00

This has been a terrible spring for my garden. First of all, I’ve spent very little time in it. I gave Vanities, my final show of the season, every bit of my free time. Then, we had that nasty cold spell in early April. I watched in horror as my magnolia buds were reduced to mush. Finally, my baby, and beloved gardening companion, Mr. Tibbs passed away. The only time I braved the terrible weather this spring was to bury him in the Heart Bed. I haven’t wanted to go back out since.

If it weren’t for the tulips, I don’t know if I could have revived my gardening spirits. They haven’t minded my inattention or the cold. Despite my heartache, they’ve been bravely, gaily blooming. The colorful cups have been silkily bouncing in the breeze, calling me back to the garden. I am thankful for that.

I made plans to plant the tulips last April. At that time, following the initial blooms of the crocus, hyacinth, and daffodils, I found myself faced with a flowerless garden as I awaited the June flush. I vowed then to plant more tulips, along with moss phlox and candytuft. I’m so glad I did.

The “Apple Blossom” mix from Home Depot is pictured here. The blooms were supposed to be in shades of pink and white, but, someone got their bulbs mixed up. I still like the effect. In the rose bed, I planted all red tulips within view the dining room window (perfect for a shot of color on dreary days). I also experimented with species tulips around the pond, green tulips in the SE border, and “fire” tulips in the heart bed. Finally, I buried Mr. Tibbs with a bouquet of pink tulips.

The flowers will forever be bittersweet to me; they represent both death and life. I miss Mr. Tibbs terribly and there isn’t a spot in the garden without a memory of him. I am ready, though, to begin put the loss behind me and celebrate the beauty of growing, living things. Thank goodness for the tulips.

Not a Potty-ger

2007-04-02T01:01:00.000-07:00

I love my kitties, but they do tend to use my garden as a litter box. Keeping them inside is not an option; we enjoy our time together outside too much. They also do a fantastic job of rooting out moles. I’ve learned to endure them occasionally powdering their noses in the flower gardens, but absolutely no pottying can be tolerated in the potager. After I prepared the soil for my veggies in mid-March, I found signs that my cats had found the fluffy dirt irresistible. I needed to cat-proof my potager.

I’ve read a number of good suggestions for cat-proofing gardens on GardenWeb. Although sticking prickly rose cuttings in the dirt like little booby traps seems mean, I have to admire that gardener’s resourcefulness. The most humane, easy, and cost efficient method I read was to cover the soil with wooden lattice. The lattice acts as a mulch, planting guide, and kitty deterrent. I didn’t have any lattice, but our house did come with a big roll of rubber-covered wire fencing. I think it is actually superior to wooden lattice because it leaves the earth exposed to rain.

After buying some heavy-duty wire cutters, I cut the fencing into lengths that would just cover the planting areas on either side of the lavender. I pegged the fence down with U-shaped wire stakes made from coat hangers. (We have tons of coat hangers thanks to Mike’s dry cleaning.) The project didn’t take more than 45 minutes and, ta-da, my potager is a litter box no more! (And those little squares really DO make a nice planting guide!)

It's been two weeks since I laid down the fencing and not only has the bed remained fertilizer-free, but my seedlings are emerging unscathed by scratching kitty paws.

Rescued Hyacinth

2007-03-27T05:33:00.000-07:00

Last April, I rescued a number of hyacinth bulbs from the parking lot of Friendship Park. They had finished blooming and been yanked to make way for the annuals display. With the "okay" from the park staff, I carried off as many as my buddy and I could handle and planted them that very night. My readers wondered…"Will they grow?"

I’m happy to announce that not only did they grow, they are blooming.

While the flower spikes aren’t as dense as they were the first year (freshly plumped up from the fields of Holland or someplace), I think they’ve done very well for bulbs yanked from their loamy homes, fried on a parking lot, and then planted in cruddy clay. The tulips haven’t done as well. I’ve spotted only a single sickly leaf poking up from the location in which I planted 20 or so recovered bulbs.

I didn’t notice a big hyacinth display at the park this year, but I’m going to take a second look because I love "free!"

180 Crocus

2007-03-26T06:15:00.000-07:00

Fall of 2005, I planted 100 crocus along the front walk, thinking that I’d have a veritable flower carpet in the spring. Spring 2006 arrived, and I was underwhelmed, so I planned to plant more crocus along the walk in the fall. Fall of 2006, I added 80 more bulbs. (Amazingly, I didn’t run into a single one of the first 100 while digging the next 80 holes.) Spring has come again and I still don’t think I have enough crocus for my desired effect!

I think I am still unhappy with the number of blooms for two reasons:
1. The crocus haven’t had time to naturalize into nice clumps.
2. We mowed too early last year and some of the Fall 2005 planted bulbs weren’t able to store enough energy for a good show this year.

This season, I’ll be sure to keep Mike and the lawn mower away from the front path until at least the first of May. And, I think I’ll add 200 more bulbs to the walk this Fall. Maybe I’ll have my flower carpet by Spring 2008?

Little Iris, Big Joy

2007-03-21T05:59:00.000-07:00

Last spring, I was amazed to discover that certain iris bloom in early spring. I spotted a few of these beauties in Friendship Park and even more in Tim’s paradise. I placed my first bulb order of the (2006) season in June (I know - sick!) and included forty-eight Iris reticulata. They were planted along the street-side entrance to the front path last fall. This week they began blooming. I’m in love.

Not only do I love the petite flowers, the timing of the blooms could not be more perfect. They opened after the crocus, but before the daffodils. (At least, before the daffodils in MY yard. The daffodils at Friendship Park are going nuts.) With these early bloomers, Dutch iris, regular iris, and repeat-blooming iris, I suppose I could have iris in bloom all season!

I’m interested to see how the foliage die-down is. I doubt it will be ugly enough to keep me from ordering at least forty-eight more.

See For Myself

2007-03-13T05:49:00.000-07:00

One of my character flaws is that I have a hard time taking advice. I feel compelled to try my way and fail before I’ll admit something shouldn’t or couldn’t be done. I suppose that explains why I am growing both trumpet vine and chameleon weed. I’m stubborn too, so although I recognize my flaw, I’m not going to change.

Hopefully, you are not like me (i.e. you are smarter!) and will find value in a few lessons I learned this winter (the hard way).

Don’t leave ceramics outside over the winter. I’ve heard this before. The freeze and thaw process will crack both glazed and unglazed pottery, blah, blah, blah-blah, blah. Still, I don’t live in Alaska, so I thought I could get away with it…and don’t ceramics stretch just a little? No. Everything left outside has shattered or at least chipped. My ghetto bird bath is toast. My pretty green square pot has broken in half. The top rim of another pottery piece cracked right off. Next winter, I need to bring them all in. At least I wasn’t stupid enough to leave my $100 ceramic birdbath outside. It spent its second winter in the garage.

Don’t let leaves sit in your pond all winter. I figured I could get away with this because my guppies were already doomed by the cold and I have no other fish in the pond. What I didn’t figure on is the lovely crop of anaerobic bacteria I’d be cultivating in the leafy soup. As I bailed out the pond this weekend, I got to enjoy its sulfuric aroma and relish the texture of slimy leaves between my fingers. It was like going to a spa in hell. Next winter, I’ll (1) clean out any debris in the fall and (2) cover the pond with a net.

Don’t leave the lids on your winter sowing containers (milk jugs and soda bottles). I left the lids on to keep the plants nice and toasty. Unfortunately, they were a little TOO toasty; I had germination in January and the seedlings died the next time the temperature took a dip. The containers should not make little greenhouses, as I had supposed. (Actually, this tip is from LAST winter, but I thought I should round out this post with an even three tips.)

Moral of the story: Don’t be a Kasmira! But then again, who would take advice from someone they were trying not to be like? I know I wouldn’t. I’d just try it my own way.

TB Failure

2007-03-12T07:10:00.000-07:00

I’m afraid I’ve failed to follow through with my weekend plans. Terese Bugnet still sits in her stairway obstructing position. I was stymied by frozen earth. I managed to remove some of the rose’s suckers (and potted them up as insurance), but the closer I got to the deck, the more like Ben and Jerry’s fresh from the freezer the dirt became.

So, I took a break, hoping the earth would thaw, and did a number of other garden tasks. I finished pruning the roses. I removed all of the babies from the potager (leaving behind neat, eggcrate-like holes in the earth) and worked in 100 lbs of compost and manure. I direct sowed cleome, sweet alyssum, and foxglove. I bailed out the leaf-choked pond and filled it with fresh water. I filled the hanging baskets with Johnny jump-ups. After a few hours of garden house-keeping, I returned to Terese, but my shovel was still only as effective as a plastic spoon.

So, I took a tour of the yard, looking for emerging plants. I found that the tulips are indeed emerging (including the beautifully spotted foliage of this tulip). I photographed the breathtakingly lovely dodecatheon rosettes (pictured right) pushing through the leaf litter in the shade bed. I discovered that a few of the crocus along the front walk have begun to bloom. (Has anyone else noticed that the yellow crocus bloom first?)

I returned to the rose. I chipped away at the softening dirt, but, encountering more permafrost, I finally gave up. I always feel bad about leaving a project half finished. It weighs on my mind, and, this early in the season, my neighbors also have to endure the view of work in progress. However, I still accomplished a great deal for a Sunday, and returned inside with an overpowering urge for ice cream.

Early March Bulb Update

2007-03-09T00:37:00.000-08:00

My first flowers of 2007 have appeared: snowdrops and witch hazel.

The snowdrops in my yard always seem to be a bit later than others in Zone 6. It could be because I disturb the bulbs every year. I really need to stop digging in the corner bed. I enjoy snowdrops and I’d like to remember to buy a whole boat load for the North Corner next fall. Tim has promised me some of his, but so far it’s only talk.

I bought the witch hazel (Arnold’s Promise) for its reputed scent. Admittedly, half the shrub has died, but even when I bury my nose in the flowers on the other half, I don’t smell a thing. I’m starting to think my sniffer isn’t as sophisticated as I once supposed. Migonette smells like old Mexican food and my witch hazel is scentless. Huh.

While not yet in flower, I see foliage from these bulbs or bulb-like plants:

English Bluebells
Hyacinths
Daffodils
Crocus
Iris reticulata
Allium (but they sprouted in the fall!)
Grape hyacinth (another fall sprouter)

No sign of life from the tulips or miniature daffodils yet. This is the first time I’ve grown species tulips or miniature daffodils, so I don’t know if I should be expecting leaves yet. Last year, the hybridized tulips (Darwin-ish type), began blooming in mid-April. I guess I’ll have to wait another month to see if the squirrels ate them.

Spring Season Switcheroo

2007-03-07T07:45:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned in November, I’ve spent the winter acting my butt off. I’m currently in rehearsals for my last show of the season (Vanities with Wyoming Players) and itching to GET DIRTY! I think that will happen this weekend. I plan on starting off the gardening season with the Herculean task of moving a very large and well-established rosebush.

I’ve raved about my Terese Bugnet’s vigor and scent, but I have become terminally annoyed with the annual intrusion of prickly canes into the stairs leading from the deck to the yard. I’ve tried pruning, cautiously the first year and recklessly the second, but I cannot escape the fact that the rose is simply planted too close to the deck and stairs. Luckily a prime space has opened up just a few feet away…

The deck was built in an odd shape to accommodate a red maple (visible in the left side of this photo). The tree must have been much loved by a prior homeowner. Sadly it succumbed to cicadas and Tim chopped it down for me last Fall (2005). I stuck a potted saucer magnolia in the dirt for the winter, but plan on permanently moving the rose here. The magnolia will be planted where the rose presently is. (Switcheroo!)

Advantages:
1. The rose will get more room, sunlight, and air movement.
2. The stairs will be passable during the summer!
3. The roses will scent the dining area. (We put our little outdoor table in the cut-off corner of the deck.)
4. The magnolia, once it grows up, will shade the deck. Right now, after the sun clears the house, the deck is blasted with light and heat from late morning to early afternoon.

Disadvantages:
1. I’ll be moving a very large and prickly bush.
2. The rose may die.
3. I will get very muddy.

I really don’t mind getting dirty and the rose is not rare (i.e. it’s replaceable), so I’m going to give it a go this weekend. Despite the certainty that I will be cursing and bleeding, I’m looking forward to it!

Catmint Freed

2007-01-05T05:56:00.000-08:00

The Winter Solstice was just over two weeks ago, and I haven’t done a scrap of winter sowing. I’ve done but a few hours of gardening chores: I reraked the leaves onto the established and new beds and I FREED THE CATMINT!

I caged my first-year-from-seed catmint last May with Plant Defenders to save them from being uprooted by my felines. Over the course of the summer, the plants happily grew through the bars and even bloomed. I’ve been waiting for the foliage to die back, so I could cut it and remove the protection, but our mild winter has made the process slow. Last week (on another mild day!), I finally trimmed off the mostly dead stems and removed all 18 cages. (That is Yoda in the photo.)

Can you guess what Mr. Tibbs and I found at the base? Fresh, green catmint nubbins. The cage and dried foliage created a cozy nest for new growth. It will probably be blasted by the winter that I still believe is coming, but that shouldn’t keep the plants from resprouting in the spring. In the meantime, Tibbs is enjoying the fresh greens!

Still Blooming After All These Months

2006-11-28T18:49:00.000-08:00

Still blooming as we approach December: red Parade mini-rose and seed-grown sweet alyssum.

(Sorry for the blurry photo. I need to read up on my camera’s macro function.)

29 Days Left

2006-11-22T06:29:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, after I wrote a post about how I wouldn’t be posting much (how ironic is that?), I realized that we had one month left until the winter solstice. Hooray!

Why am I excited? It isn’t just because I’m a pagan. It isn’t just because the solstice marks the point at which the days actually start to get LONGER again. It is because the solstice is the traditional day to begin Winter Sowing! Yes, I still have plants from last year’s winter sowing extravaganza to put in the ground, but I couldn’t help buying more seeds. I found a bunch of fun shade and wildflower seeds on the Garden Makers website. They’ve been chilling in my fridge since September.

I thought I’d give everyone a (little less than) one month warning so that you could be sure to procure your seeds before December 21. If you haven’t tried Winter Sowing before, visit the “how to” page and the Winter Sowing forum on GardenWeb. I’ll be keeping you up to date with lists of seeds sown and exciting pictures of milk jugs filled with dirt.

Sidetracked, For Now

2006-11-21T05:05:00.000-08:00

Mike and I took a trip to Gatlinburg in mid-October. It was great to spend time together without all the demands of school, work, home, hobbies, and pets (four cats can be a handful). We spent hours talking. Over breakfast one morning, while in one of my more philosophical moods, I declared that Mike’s personality could be summed up in one word: “winner.” As evidence, I pointed out how he likes to “win” at everything: school, arguments, poker, ultimate Frisbee, driving, naming the artist of songs playing on the radio. I asked him what my word would be and he said that he didn’t know. (Mike doesn’t like to play the psychoanalyze game.) Undaunted by his lack of participation in my philosophical ruminations, I decreed myself “creator.”

I’m not referring to my goddess complex. Rather, I realized that a common thread runs among the things I like to do; they all involve making something. Cooking (when I actually do that), sewing, decorating, acting, woodworking, dancing, writing, and gardening are all creative activities. I think most gardeners are creative types. With winter approaching, the gardening blogs I read are full of knitting, quilting, tablescapes, decorating, and cooking. Cozy, homey activities.

I’d be at home, making something too (like the windowboxes that I bought all this darn wood for last spring) and posting all about it on this blog, but I’ve been sidetracked by one of my out-of-the-home creative activities – acting. Generally, I don’t post details about my shows because it would mostly be full of complaints about actors who don’t learn their lines (argh!) or directors that keep me up past my bedtime. I need to keep those thoughts private if I want anyone to ever cast me again. Even if I did use the web to publicly rant, it wouldn’t be on this blog, but on Wawa’s World.

The point of all this, and I do have a point, is that my blogging here will be sporadic until spring. I plan on getting some projects done during the holidays, but most of my free time is taken up with learning lines, rehearsing, performing, and recovering from wild cast parties. (Oh yeah, and I have to work full-time too, pbbbbbt!) My creative juices are still flowing, just not in a home and garden sort of way. I’m still here and reading all of your blogs, though.

Done with Bulbs

2006-11-13T05:53:00.000-08:00

There are NO bulbs in my refrigerator! At one point this fall, fully half the space in the fridge was occupied by bulbs, corms, rhizomes, and roots. I planted the last of them yesterday morning.

I am so tired of hoeing. After chopping at the dirt for eight months, I’ve finally worn my back out. I’ve had to lighten up on the trunk exercises I teach in my Thursday and Friday abs class so that I am still fresh enough to garden all weekend. Repetitive hoeing is not good for one’s back.

My refrigerator is empty, but I’m not entirely sure I can keep it that way. I’ve been frequenting the bulb forum on Gardenweb, drooling over spring pictures. I must keep reminding myself that every lovely tulip and daffodil comes at the expense of my aching back. Besides, I need to save some “fun” for next fall!

Negative Space

2006-11-08T05:44:00.000-08:00

I’ve always been fascinated with negative space. I mean that in the artistic sense, not the scientific, anti-matter and dark energy sense. I’m one of those people that will stare at the patterns in a hotel ballroom floor to study the shapes created in the space outside the fleur-de-lis. I look for the faces in Rubin’s vase. When I was in highschool I was obsessed with drawing giraffe spots on my papers. However, I didn’t draw the spots, but rather the winding paths around the spots. What I learned from this exercise was that concentrating on the negative space when creating a pattern can give you more fluid, natural results than focusing on the positive space.

I try to give the negative space that same, careful attention when I create new beds in our yard. The beds are the positive space, and the paths and lawn are the negative. By concentrating on creating interesting negative shapes, the resulting garden beds seem to relate to the overall landscape, instead of looking plopped into the lawn.

On the landscape design forum, on GardenWeb, the use of island beds (especially in the home garden) is hotly debated. Most people, rightly so, believe that island beds look artificial and stiff. They are usually composed of a small berm, planted with evergreens, floating in the middle of a sea of grass. I’ve seen quite a bit of discussion on the proper height, width, and length of an island bed in order for it to look integrated into the yard. I believe the guidelines can be pretty much disregarded if one merely concentrates on the negative space of the lawn. If the island bed’s creation results in a pleasing flow of grass or groundcover around it, it will not look unnatural.

Enough with theory, though. I’d like to share some examples from my own yard. First, the pond area. When I added scallops to the candycane bed and a swoop to the bed in front of the deck, I realized that I had the opportunity to create exciting, winding grass paths in the negative space I had created. I added an island bed in the corner of lawn between the deck and candycane bed. Its contours mirror those of the two aforementioned beds and the round pond. I envisioned the beds and pond like the continents of Pangaea that had drifted away from each other over the grassy sea. Of course, my anal-retentive sense of balance forced me to add another island bed, on the other side of the pond area to balance the first. I adore the resulting, wandering paths and the symmetrical, if not quite circular, patch of grass carved out around the pond. The result is still a little raw (most of what you see here was created this past season), but I can imagine what it will look like when the dozens of bulbs I have planted here spring to life.

In the front yard, I laid the winding, stepping stone path with the intent of eventually creating beds along both sides of it. With our heavy clay soil, I can only provide the woman-power to create a limited number of beds each season. This year, I started with the first two beds on the shady side of the walk, near the house, inside a curve. I was initially going to make only one bed, but it seemed too large, so I cut it in two with a grass walkway. I’m not entirely pleased with the shapes. Looking at the positive space, the larger bed is disturbingly close to rectangular. The smaller bed, while objectively a good shape, creates a grass path of an odd width between it and the shady shrub border to the left. I plan on adjusting the edges of the shrub border to correct the problem. I’m stumped on the rectangular bed. I like the negative space around it, though, and I’m hoping that the bed’s geometric shape will be camouflaged when the plants fill in.

My garden design isn’t perfect, but I believe my negative technique is a valid one. As I pile leaves in areas of the lawn destined to be new shade beds next year, I pay careful attention to both the face (lawn) and the vase (bed). I’m currently scheming to figure out how I can create something similar to Susan’s oval lawn (which is a GREAT example of bringing the negative space to the focus). If you drive by and observe me raking leaves into odd patterns and squinting my eyes, you’ll know that I’m trying to achieve the perfect balance between the positive and negative.

Overwintering the Babies

2006-11-06T05:50:00.000-08:00

I had great success with winter sowing last year. During the growing season, I planted out as many seedlings as I could, but some were too small to put into the ground. Others were large enough, but their new home will not be ready until next spring. So, my deck and rose bed became nurseries for most of the summer. As the season ended, though, I knew that I needed to find a more sheltered home for them to overwinter.

I initially planned to set the dozens of little pots in disposable roasting pans in the garage. I overwintered potted trees in this manner last year. I was worried, though, that I wouldn’t give them adequate water and that the garage may get too cold for such tiny pots. The ideal solution would be to sink the pots in some unused garden space and mulch with leaves, but I didn’t have any empty space.

When I decided to rip out all the plantings in the garage bed in order to grow vegetables next year, I not only freed up garden space, I freed up garden space with well worked topsoil. (A previous owner removed the native clay and filled it with a loamy mix.) It was a piece of cake to “plant” my little pots in the earth. Believe it or not, I ran out of room before I finished! My less desirable plants will be overwintering in the pit of despair.

With at least one hundred little perennials awaiting a home, you would think that I wouldn’t have dozens of new seeds to sow this winter, but I do. What can I say? I’m a plantaholic. At least I’m in good company.

Gardening Commandment #2?

2006-11-02T18:47:00.000-08:00

I’m a neat and tidy sort of person. My Marines used to move my desktop items around when I stepped out of the office just to giggle at me readjusting them mere centimeters back to their proper places when I returned. I initially applied my orderly attitude to gardening. I’ve already discussed how unappealing planting in straight lines turned out to be. I also took a rather anal approach to plant groupings. I would plant them in a straight line, alternating varieties, creating orderly patterns of two or three. The results were not categorically ridiculous, but the patterns usually looked quite artificial.

For instance, in my sunset bed, I initially planted six plants along the edge: two each of cardinal lobelia, red daylilies, and goblin gaillardia. Let’s forget for a moment that the cardinal lobelia abhor a dry, northwestern exposure and I had to move them and that the gaillardia fried to death in a few short months. Had all the plants lived, the result would have been much more appropriate to an amusement park planting than a cottage garden. The pattern, rather than the overall effect, becomes the focus. Planting in 3’s is recommended, but that doesn’t mean to plant in patterns of three.

My experiences with patterns of two have been better. Along the front walk, I’ve planted lamb’s ear alternating with East Friesland sage. Although the lamb’s ear needs twice yearly, savage pruning to keep it from consuming the sage, the result is pleasing. The orderliness nicely balances the wild jungle of flowers in the rest of the bed. I’ve also seen nice results with patterns of two in other people’s yards and at Friendship Park.

Generally, though, I try to avoid patterns of even two, now. The result is formal, even a bit military, and that’s not my style (any more). In fact, I try to steer other people away from it as well. I think it is most tempting to create patterns when you are torn between two or more different plants or varieties. You think, “Well, since I can’t decide, I’ll just get an equal number of each and alternate them!” Don’t do it! If you’re planting in a line (hedge or edging), choose one variety only or choose many and don’t plant them in a discernible pattern (mixed hedges). If you aren’t planting in a line, go ahead and get both plants, but plant them each in their own little blobs (drifts, if you will).

Straight lines and patterns look great in the gardens of Versailles, but they just appear unimaginative and uptight in anything smaller. I guess my Second Gardening Commandment would be to Avoid Planting in Patterns. Unless you’re growing a living chessboard or something. That would be kind of cool.

Gardening Commandment

2006-10-31T05:46:00.000-08:00

I don’t like rules, sometimes masqueraded as “advice.” I have to try most everything for myself before I’ll believe it to be true. I think it makes me adventurous, but Mike thinks it’s just stupid.
I’ve pooh-poohed many a gardening rule and succeeded anyway. I planted tulips much too early (September) and still had a fine showing the following spring. Conversely, I’ve planted lily bulbs in May and they also lived. I (*gasp*) don’t plan on winterizing my pond or even cleaning it out till spring (nothing living in there anyway). Rules, schmules. All those gardening tenets get in the way of my experimentation. I knew I had found a fellow dissident when I first read Sign of the Shovel’s Manifesto. Her #1 principle: “Add manure. There. That’s the only advice you’ll get from me.”

As much as I hate rules, I have unwittingly created my own, through experimentation. (Isn’t that the scientific method? Observation -> Hypothesis -> Experimentation -> Rule? ) If I listed my self-developed principles, I think #1 would be: “Thou shalt not garden in a straight line.”

I didn’t just make that up, either. You’ll find garden design references full of advice to create sweeping, swooping borders. Still, I had to do my own thing when I started creating borders. I’m efficient and I know that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Therefore, I created straight, 5-foot deep borders along the fence lines in one corner of the backyard. The result: phenomenally boring. After the inspiring June garden walk in the Licking Riverside Historic District, I went home and added scallops to one edge. I then cut diagonally across the corner with a small paved area. Finally, I connected one straight run to a nearby half circle border, so that the final result was the undulation suggested by the experts.

I initially did the same boring thing around the deck. I surrounded it with a skimpy two-foot perimeter of plantings. Hated it! While I’m limited to a thin border on one side to allow for traffic, I’ve added a generous curve to the front and have big plans to add more bulges and bumps to the other side. Suddenly, the deck looks less artificial and less stark and more like an integral part of the landscape.

I thought I was liberated from the straight line, but, alas, my fight was far from over. Once upon a time, some other “efficient” person like myself created borders with poured, concrete curbs around nearly the entire house. You guessed it; the curbs form a neat rectangle around our neat rectangle of a house. Some of the borders I can do nothing about. The front bed is bounded by a sidewalk, poured parallel to the house, so, without ripping up the walk, I’m stuck with its shape. I did, however, add a sweeping border on the other side of the walk (eating up some lawn) and the result is much more organic than the original, geometric border-sidewalk-lawn combination. The shade beds are also bound by poured concrete. Again, I’ve created free-form borders on the other side of the curb, leaving a small walkway between the curb-bound border and the blobs. One hardly notices the boring rectangles anymore.

By far, the worst travesty is the yard-wide sunset bed, along the northwest side of the house. Those same garden experts who advise curvy borders will also tell you that three feet is far to slim for a border, but I suppose it made sense to someone to make the border the same width as the stairwell. I’ve finally found plants that will work in the harsh, northwestern exposure, but I was so bound by the damn curb that I planted them in straight little rows, with the poor butterfly bush (buddleia weyeriani) smashed up against the house. The silly thing is, the curb is so badly eroded in this bed, that it’s as if there wasn’t a border at all. I could garden right over it, and no one would know. (In fact, the henbit and mock strawberry make regular forays from the lawn into the garden bed.) So, I’ve tortured the poor buddleia for nothing. Next spring, I plan to extend the bed out into a semi-circle as if there were no curb at all. (The red line on the photo is the proposed new edge.) The butterfly bush will get the room it needs and the rectangular bed will no longer stick out like a sore thumb among the garden’s exuberant curves.

So, that’s my gardening rule: no straight lines. I will do my best to resist the parallel influences of the house, the fence, and the sidewalk. I will fight my tendency to be efficient and give in to the urge to be extravagant. It can be oddly freeing to follow the rules once in a while.

Such a Thing as Too Much Red?

2006-10-29T12:21:00.000-08:00

I really like red. I color my hair red, wear red clothes, and drive a red car. There is no shortage of red in my garden. It is one of my favorite colors.

When I consider fall color, red, again, comes to mind. I disregard fall foliage color described as yellow, pale green, or *ugh* brown. I want scarlet, maroon, and flame. While Mike and I vacationed in Gatlinburg, I repeatedly stopped to stare at backlit vermillion leaves. However, gazing at the multicolored hillsides, it began to occur to me that what made the red so beautiful was its juxtaposition against the yellows, greens, and *ugh* browns.

Quite coincidentally, while soaking in the outdoor hot tub one morning at our Gatlinburg chalet, I came across the chapter in Henry Mitchell’s Essential Earthman on color in the garden. He paints verbal picture of a garden with nothing but red flowers in “Red, Red, and Still More Red”. Initially, it sounds as if it might be a carmine lover’s dream, but the result rather resembles a slaughterhouse. As much as I adore red, it is best used as an accent color, rather than a base. (At least, outside. Red is the primary color in our bedroom, with accents of gold, brown, and cream.)

Gatlinburg seemed to be a bit ahead of Cincinnati on fall color, but our show is heating up now. As my euonymous, viburnum, and dogwood begin their flaming displays, I am enjoying their contrast against the surrounding foliage, rather than wishing everything was similarly ablaze. Next time I read that a plant I’m considering has fall color in a shade other than red, I’ll consider it. I could use more yellow and orange fall foliage, but you can keep the *ugh* brown.

Window View

2006-10-23T06:08:00.000-07:00

I don’t know how many times I’ve read that a particular plant or tree or shrub or garden ornament should be “visible from the house” or “placed along walkways or seating areas” so that one gets full enjoyment. If I followed this advice, the house would be suffocated under a mass of plantings. Occasionally, though, I do plant things where they are visible from a window or where they scent the deck and I have to admit that the effect is pleasing.

I hung my last birdfeeder from the sweet gum tree. It really wasn’t visible from anywhere but the seat of the toilet, if the window was open. (We have no bathroom fan – so the window is often open.) While bird watching from the throne was certainly entertaining, the raccoons discovered the feeder’s location and repeatedly ripped it apart. I finally gave up.

I hung the new birdfeeder in the front yard, from a holly tree. I’ve learned that the birds will destroy any plants beneath a feeder in their search for spilled seed, so I hung it over a path. Of course, I’ve hit my head on it repeatedly. (If I hang it any higher, I can’t reach it to replace the seed.) The location was also strategically chosen so that the birdfeeder is perfectly framed by one of the den windows. On Sunday mornings, I can curl up in the recliner with my tea and book and watch the birds flitter to and from the feeder. A second recliner, close to the window, provides a perch for the kitties to also watch the show. The cats make funny little grunts of frustration and I thoroughly enjoy the scene.

So, all those stinking garden writers were right. I’m enjoying the birdfeeder much more where I can comfortably view it from the house. I do like a garden that requires you to enter it to fully enjoy it, but having a few treasures visible from the windows is a good idea. I suppose a few of those "rules" are worth listening to.

Bulb Irritation

2006-10-11T06:10:00.000-07:00

I went bulb shopping last night and the experience reduced me to a raving lunatic. No, there was no bulb shortage. I didn’t have to fight with other shoppers. I wasn’t even shocked at the price (I had mentally steeled myself). I was brought down by bulb dust, probably from the hyacinths.

I’ve read that hyacinth bulbs can irritate the skin of some people, but I’ve never had a problem handling them before. As I dug through the bins and sorted through the misplaced bags of bulbs, I stirred up a mighty dust cloud. My neck and the underside of my jaw were evidently coated in bulb dust, irritating the tender skin.

The itch quietly began as I finished my selection. Absentmindedly, I rubbed at the sensation, rather than scratching, and compounded the problem as I smeared myself with the irritant. By the time I reached the register, I was going mad with the need to scratch myself raw. I tapped my nails impatiently as the clerk prolonged the transaction ahead of me to chat with a child. I surreptitiously abraded my neck as she scanned my merchandise and filled my bags. I didn’t want to look as if I had some communicable disease. As I walked through the parking lot, my full hands prevented me from finding relief. Once in the car, though, I tossed the bags aside and scratched my neck and jaw with abandon, reveling in the sensation. The itch was so strong that I even checked myself for hives. All I had to show for the experience was a series of angry red stripes from my nails.

By the time I reached home, the itchiness had, thankfully, subsided. I placed my shopping bags on the floor and the cats, as usual, checked out my purchases. Perversely, they seemed intensely interested in the hyacinths and began to rub themselves on the bulbs. I can only imagine how horrible it would be for them to track hyacinth dust onto the couch and into my bed. I immediately moved the bulbs to the refrigerator. When I plant them, I will definitely be wearing gloves. Ten minutes of intense itching was all the warning I needed.

I Don't Look Good in Purple

2006-10-09T06:13:00.000-07:00

I’ve often thought that the colors people choose to decorate their homes and gardens reflect the same colors found in their wardrobe. Our clothing is usually in colors we like, and colors that look good on us. It makes sense that we would choose those same colors for our flowers and walls. My theory has fallen apart with purple.

Purple and gray are on my “do not wear” list. Both colors reduce me to a corpse – with waxen skin and dull eyes. I can safely say that there is no gray in my wardrobe (except pants), house, or garden. Although purple looks equally terrible on me (see photo), it seems to have crept into my life.

I have an entire purple wall in the guest room. It was initially an odd choice for me, but it proved to be the perfect foil to bright pink and peacock blue.

In the garden, I find myself constantly searching for other colors to balance all the darn purple! I’ve got purple hyacinths, lavender, sage, iris, and heliotrope. The fall has brought purple toad lilies, hosta blooms, asters, and violets. I try not to place like colors together, but with the exception of a couple red zinnias and an annual rudbeckia, the garden is currently a mass of undulating purple.

I find myself wondering how all the purple got into the garden. Am I subconsciously drawn to the color? Am I making up for its lack in my wardrobe? Or are there just a lot of purple flowers?

Away from my face, it really is a nice color. It is rich and vibrant. It contrasts beautifully with every other color – including blue. It is even striking against simple green foliage. I’m okay with all the purple in the garden, but you won’t ever catch me with a purple nosegay tucked behind one ear.

Eat or Garden

2006-10-06T05:11:00.000-07:00

From April to October, I don’t cook. It has nothing to do with the heat. I’m simply too busy gardening to spend time slaving away in the kitchen. We eat a lot of hotdogs and pizza rolls in the summer. Admittedly, even in the winter, I don’t make daily dinners (due to rehearsals), but I’ll cook fairly often.

If I did have time to make a meal, I wouldn’t have any place to put the fresh produce required. The refrigerator is currently off-limits to all fruits and vegetables, because I have bulbs cooling their heels in the produce drawers. The ethylene gas produced by certain fruits and vegetables (I can’t be bothered to find out which ones) can retard flower development within a bulb. We have only one fridge, and it is currently dedicated to gardening (including a few mold cultures), not eating.

Around November, I’ll get on a health kick, cook healthy dinners, and lose 10 lbs, until I fall off the wagon again next spring. Everyone else seems to be on the opposite schedule, eating healthfully, with lots of fresh produce, in the summer and then later packing on the pounds with holiday sweets. Am I the only one out there who sacrifices diet for gardening? I guess I’ll be ready for a winter cruise, even though I can’t be persuaded to put on a bathing suit in the summer.

Squeamish

2006-10-05T05:34:00.000-07:00

Gardening is credited with benefits such as reducing stress and increasing physical fitness. I’ve found that gardening not only does these things, but it has also reduced my squeamishness.

For instance, I can now handle worms. Whenever I cultivate a new spot, I try to save the worms from my hoe’s blade. I carefully pluck them from the soil and move them to a safe place. I’ve even come to appreciate a worm’s slimy lubricant. It enables one to grasp the end of a fleeing worm and pull it free of even solid clay. Worms are tougher than you’d think. Much of my squeamishness is related to squishing things and having their insides come out and touch me. (Yes, I have a horror of guts.) Surprisingly, not a single worm has come apart, despite my rough handling. The fatter, juicier worms still make my gorge rise a little, but I just think of all the castings such a worm will make and I feel a little more tenderly towards it.

Another of my garden related fears was the possibility of unearthing a dead body. I admit to a general “dead body” phobia. I’m especially frightened of finding them in bathrooms. When I was younger, if I had to use an otherwise empty public restroom, I would pee as fast as I could because I was sure that, in the stall next to me, a murdered woman was propped up on the seat. I tried to finish my business before that body dislodged from its precarious position and tumbled to the floor, flinging bloody parts beneath the partition. While I can now use public restrooms without qualms (at least, dead body qualms), I still check the bathtub in strangers’ houses for bodies. A drawn bath curtain always arouses my suspicions.

The leap from dead bodies in the bathroom to dead bodies in the garden isn’t as great as you may think. It started after I read Tracker, by Tom Brown Jr. In the (true) story, the boy starts a campfire in the New Jersey Pine Barrens in the winter. As the fire’s heat thaws the surrounding ground, the stiffened hand of a corpse (mob hit) emerges, frightening the boy and forever haunting my imagination. That story, combined with my existing, bathroom corpse fears, convinced me that ground everywhere was teeming with rotting bodies. (I’ll admit, watching Night of the Living Dead didn’t help either.)

I’ve gone on about dead bodies far longer than I meant to, but I think I’ve properly established the background for my corpse phobia. As I dug my first few holes in the yard, I worried that I’d hit the putrifying body of an animal, if not a person. Hundreds of holes later, I haven’t unearthed a single body part, with the exception of a steak bone, probably buried by a dog. I have, though, buried a few bodies myself, leaving a surprise for future gardeners.

I wish I could say that gardening had cured me of my fears of slugs, grubs, cicadas, and spiders, but it hasn’t happened yet. I’m taking baby steps. I can now calmly observe these creatures, if not touch them. Bear brought a cicada into the house and I didn’t go into hysterics. (I did tell him, quite sternly, that cicadas belong OUTSIDE.) Yesterday, I pushed aside my revulsion at finding a slug and knocked it into the pond for the fish to eat.

I wish I wasn’t such a girly-girl about creepy crawlies and rotting things, but I get a bit better every day. Spending time in the garden relaxes me, strengthens my body, and gives me a chance to commune with the wiggly worms and rotting corpses. Can you claim such benefits from another activity?

Five Annual Vines

2006-10-04T06:01:00.000-07:00

I really like annual vines. I use them to dress up the bars on the basement window, decorate a trellis, and festoon my twiggy teepee. I grow them for scent and color. They add a little sparkle to the staid background of perennials and shrubs. Annual vines are the accessories of the garden world; they can be mixed with your basics to create a new look with no commitment. Presented here, is a review of the five common annual vines I grew from seed this year.

Sweet Peas. I had a little trouble getting the seeds going. Those I direct sowed did poorly. For successful germination, I soaked the seeds overnight and then sowed them in containers. Once they had a few true leaves, I transplanted them around the base of the teepee. The twiggy structure was too coarse for the pea’s tendrils to grasp, so I had to tie them to the branches with strips of pantyhose. As I was anxiously awaiting my first sniff of sweet pea perfume, the vines seemed to grow oh-so-slowly. By June, they had reached about 2.5 feet and began blooming. The scent was absolutely as promised and the bright colors were a bonus. Although I did not deadhead, and I’ve read that sweet peas have a horror of hot, humid summers, they furiously bloomed until late August. The vines died with the last of the flowers in September. I collected plenty of seeds for next year. I will definitely grow sweet peas again for those three months of incredible blooms.

Black-Eyed Susan Vine. I grew a variety of black-eyed susan vine last year (Blushing Susie) and was underwhelmed. The flowers were small and sparse. This year, I planted the species and it was much more vigorous. I had success with both direct sowing and starting seeds in containers. I direct sowed some seeds along the wire fence on the NE side of our front yard. With only four hours of direct sunlight and no care from me, they did very well. The cheerful flowers both climbed the fence and scrambled along as a groundcover. I also grew a few plants on the teepee. Although they grew to greater heights and had more sun than the flowers along the fence, they did not flower as profusely. I’ve seen this vine absolutely smothered in flowers in other places in the city, so I believe there is some culture trick that I’m missing. I may try growing BES vine through my butterfly bushes next year, so that the golden yellow flowers contrast with the plum plumes.

Cardinal Vine. Although they don’t look it, cardinal vine is a close relative to morning glory (both in the genus Ipomoea, along with sweet potatoes and moon flower). I was seduced by the seed packet’s bright red flowers and the promise of attracting hummingbirds. The seeds are germinated just like morning glory: nick the seed coat and soak in water overnight. Again, I had more success with growing the seedlings in a container and transplanting than direct sowing. (I suspect that my clay soil is slow to warm up in the spring.) I grew the vine in a container (climbing a trellis) and up the teepee. I liked the foliage more than the flowers. The leaves have a graceful, feathery appearance. I think they would mix nicely if woven into a coarser-leaved shrub. The flowers were a gorgeous scarlet, but very small and not numerous enough to make an impact. Like morning glories, the flowers faded by late morning. I never saw a hummingbird feed from this vine. (They seemed to prefer the sweet peas.) If I grow this again, I will try growing it through a shrub or mixed with other vines.

Morning Glory. This is the second year that I’ve grown these annoyingly reseeding plants. I wised up and grew a single specimen, in a pot, surrounded by concrete in the basement stairwell (aka the pit of despair). The vine’s purpose was to camouflage the bars on the basement window. It did a nice job and produced pretty blossoms to boot. The plant also proved itself quite tolerant of drought, as I often forgot to water it. I will use it in exactly the same manner next year, but maybe I’ll give it a bigger pot.

Moon Flower. I had a difficult time getting my seeds to germinate. Direct sowing was an absolute failure. When sown in a container, I had only a 50% success rate. Of the two resulting vines, I planted one on the SW side of the front porch and the other on the SW side of the back deck. Both vines grew well with little care. I’ve read online that the wait for flowers from this vine can be long. I wondered if I’d have any at all, since my seeds didn’t even get going until May. On the last day of September, my first flower opened. I missed the actual event by what must have been only minutes, as I spotted the flower in early evening. This is another flower I had grew purely for scent, so I eagerly bent my head over the bloom and sniffed, expecting the heady perfume described by others. Unfortunately, I found the scent very faint, but pleasant. (At least it didn’t smell like Mexican food.) I probably should have sniffed again at midnight, when I suppose its pollinators were abroad, but I didn’t try again until morning, with the same disappointing result. I’ll try the sniff test with the next flower, and I also intend to catch it in the opening act. I am undecided on whether I’ll plant this vine again next year. Without a captivating scent, the plant unfortunately reminds me of another morning glory relative, bindweed (not in the genus Ipomoea, but in the same family).

Overall, I love annual vines. They are usually inexpensive and colorful. I’ll continue to grow them because I’m the type of girl who loves to pile on scarves and dangly earrings. Any suggestions for next season’s garden accessories?

Planting Vacation

2006-10-03T05:54:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I took a vacation day from work because I desperately needed to put some plants in the ground. The dwindling daylight, weather, and rehearsals (Mrs. Bob) have kept me out of the garden. On Monday, none of those things were limiting factors. I planted:

3 lavender
2 roses
6 dianthus
4 black-eyed susans
3 monarda
9 sundrops
10 wallflowers
4 daylilies
3 ladies mantle
6 spider lily
3 forget-me-not
2 honeysuckle

The grand total is 55 plants. Sticking 55 plants in a tilled garden plot is not a great chore. However, when 49 of them are planted in new, unworked beds composed of mostly clay, it can take you a full eight hours. By 4 o’clock, I was pooped and the mosquitoes were ready for dinner. I feel a little bit lazy for knocking off with three hours of daylight left, but I was beginning to hate digging holes.

I still have hundreds of bulbs to plant and dozens of perennials to both plant and transplant. The bulbs can wait until November, but I’ve got to get the perennials in the ground in the next two weeks. With only an hour of daylight each evening and weekend commitments, it will be tight. I haven’t felt this overwhelmed since spring! Right now, I’m sort of looking forward to winter so that I can have a break. I need a non-planting vacation.

Tippy Teepee

2006-09-26T05:31:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, we had some terrific storms. I grew up in a place where thunder and lightening were fairly rare, so I’m still thrilled by the novelty of electrical storms. I love to be tucked cozily inside the house, listening to the patter of rain and the roar of thunder. However, it isn’t nearly as pleasant to be out in the storm, buffeted by winds and pelted by raindrops. Apparently, my sunflowers agree. The last of the sunflowers bowed to the elements this weekend, and took my teepee with them!

I’ve tried to right the entire mess, but it is impossible. The teepee was never well grounded and only the tenuous hold of the vines has kept the whole thing from going horizontal. The teepee’s structure seems sound, though, so I’ll allow it to lean until the first frosts destroy the blooms. Then I’ll untangle the jungle and store the teepee until next spring.

My Greatest Success

2006-09-22T05:37:00.000-07:00

This season, buoyed by my successes last summer, I tried a lot of new things in the garden. I grew annuals, built a pond, and installed an arbor. However, I believe my greatest gardening success was my twiggy teepee. I built it in early March from trimmed holly branches. It looked like something out of the Blair Witch Project until July, when the sweet peas grew tall enough to at least cover the drunken legs. After the sweet peas petered out, the cardinal and black-eyed-susan vines continued to provide color and coverage. At the end of the season, the two sunflowers I planted to grow through the teepee’s framework continue to bloom and bloom and bloom. Below, I’ve presented the teepee’s seasonal progression.

March 13:

July 13:

July 27:

Sept 22:

I’m looking forward to enjoying it in a new location next year.

Gimme Leaves!

2006-09-20T05:23:00.000-07:00

Today feels fall-ish and I’m greedily eyeing the leaves on our neighbor’s trees. I can’t get enough leaves. Our trees are mostly evergreens. The honeysuckles’ leaf fall is negligible and our hackberry tree drops most of its leaves in Mary’s yard. Our sweet gum drops a good portion of leaves, but not nearly enough for my nefarious purposes. As the season advances, I will be canvassing the block for my neighbors’ leaves so that I can kill more grass.

Last fall, I spread Tim’s and my eastern neighbor’s leaves along the southeast edge of our front yard. Two hollies, an enormous euonymus, and a floppy Annabelle hydrangea line the fence separating our yard from the neighbor’s. The ground cover was a mix of grass, violets, henbit, and ivy. A generous layer of leaves (roughly 4 – 6 inches) effectively smothered the ground cover and created a shade garden. I have had to remove a few survivors (mostly the damn pernicious violets), but, for the most part, I am a convert to this simple way of turning lawn into garden.

This year, I plan on ridding the yard of the grass on both sides of the sidewalk. I’ve already begun planting in the hell strip, using the tedious sod-removal method. The other side of the sidewalk is heavily shaded by our two Norway spruce and a hackberry tree. The grass is sparse and removing it will be a blessing. I plan on spreading a thick leaf mat in the hell strip, beneath the Norway spruce and hackberry tree, and over the entire north corner of the back yard.

The only drawback to using fall leaves as a smothering mulch is that, initially, they tend to blow away. The dry leaves shift out of my artfully arranged piles and I am compelled to trudge outside with a rake to reform the edges of my future beds. As the season progresses, the leaves lock together into a soggy mat. However, those first few weeks are difficult. Add whooshing cars, doodling doggies, and errant bicycles, and the leaves I’ve carefully arranged in the hellstrip don’t have a chance.

Thankfully, I heard about a product called Leaf Lock. Derived from corn solids, it combines with water to form a “shell” that prevents a leaf pile from blowing away. I haven’t checked at the local big box stores yet, but I’ve heard that it is only available from Amazon. I suppose I’d better place my order before the fall rush. I plan on using this product on the leaf piles in the hellstrip and anywhere else that I need to maintain a hard edge.

I also use fallen leaves as a mulch in my garden beds. Contrary to popular opinion, I’ve found that they do not smother perennials, even when applied whole. I do take care with the low growers and I do not cover the evergreen groundcovers at all. Sweet woodruff seemed to like a very thick layer last fall, provided it was pushed aside in the spring. Most perennials, though, send up strong, vigorous shoots in the spring that easily penetrate the weathered leaf mat.

While most people are cursing the leaves falling from their trees, I’ll be volunteering to rake my neighbors’ yards and snatching full leaf bags from the curb. (Strangely, Mike will help me drag leaf bags home but strongly objects to my plucking newspapers from recycle bins.) I’ll smother the lawn and mulch my beds with the excess. If I am lucky enough to still have leaves left over, I will try the black plastic bag composting method. Fall, leaves, fall!

Hillside Garden in Mt. Adams

2006-09-15T05:51:00.000-07:00

After a year of walking through Friendship Park twice a week at lunch, I was ready for a change. I was also tired of paying $2 to park at Sawyer Point on Tuesdays (the only day I drove to work). A few weeks ago, I left home early and figured out how to drive to the free, on-street parking at Mt. Adams. Serendipitously, I also discovered a new place to walk at lunch.

From work, a short (5 minute?) walk takes me over I-71 and into the Mt. Adams district. There, houses, apartments, and condos jostle for space on the steep hillside. The incredible views of the city and river make it worth living three feet from your neighbor. Many of the houses are historic. The varying architectural styles on just one street are enough to slow me from my brisk walk. I’ve seen everything from modern to Victorian to Moorish! Although most of the yards are small, some of them host stop-and-stare gardens. The limited space calls for carefully edited collections. For those with an aching for more acreage, enormous Eden Park borders the district.

I’m just beginning to explore the area in one-hour jaunts. I was amazed to find that I made it to the conservatory (in a very round-about manner) and back to work a single hour. I carry my camera with me to capture the inspiring views. Clicking on the Mt. Adams area photoset in the sidebar will take you to the ongoing collection of snapshots.

Today’s selection from Mt. Adams is a rather large garden. This hillside, next to the gardener’s hillside home, is overflowing with annuals and perennials. I spotted the elderly gardener on her balcony after I parked beneath her garden one morning. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to say more than “beautiful garden” before I hurried to work. I long to climb the hillside to see the plants that I can see only a hint of below. It also looks as if she is continuing to expand the garden to the south, to the right of the photo. While most of the hillside is a ruin of old foundations and weeds, her portion is a small Eden. Bravo! I applaud gardeners who extend their paradise to the street to delight passersby. It gives us a glimpse of what life might be like if everyone did the same.

I hope to bring you many more featured gardens from the Mt. Adams area in the future. If you live there, watch out for the crazy red-head with the camera. She just may be pressing her face against your garden gate to snap a photo for the garden blogging world

Toby Did It, Again

2006-09-13T05:43:00.000-07:00

Toby has been at it again. We have more honeysuckle carnage in the backyard. It looks as if four or five of the shrubby trees have been lopped and sawed down. The remaining stumps were leveled with an axe and one was even ripped from the ground, roots and all.

Toby must have overheard me declaring war on the honeysuckle. The invasive trees have a lovely name, but an ugly habit. Commonly used as screens, they grow to 30 feet high and, from the outside, have a graceful, arching shape. Beneath the trees, though, a wasteland is created. The dense shade is uninhabitable except for ivy (English and poison), Virginia creeper, and vinca (all undesirable). Looking up beneath the trees, one is confronted with a thicket of dead, naked branches, shaded out by those above. My neighbor, Mary, has a habit of snapping the brittle branches off as we chat across the fence. Even uglier, is the sight of a row of honeysuckles are pruned into ungainly hedges. (They are usually, incorrectly, pruned in a “V”, revealing their naked legs to the world.) Legend has it that a woman in Hyde Park brought the bush honeysuckle to her yard from China. Whether or not that is true, the tree has spread across the Midwest and is listed as an invasive species in many states. The bright red berries are eaten by birds and the seed is spread. In the wild, the exotic honeysuckle outcompetes native plant species and contributes to increased predation of birds’ nests. (See Roy Rich’s article on invasive honeysuckle in the Midwest. Of particular interest, are his suggestions for site level control and eradication.)

Both for ethical and aesthetic reasons, I would like to rid my yard of the honeysuckle. The entire SW border of our property is lined with a double row of the trees. I am reducing them to a single row. (I cannot remove both rows because the parallel row resides on or on the border of my neighbors’ properties.) Along the NE border of the backyard, I initially planned on removing every other bush this year, and the remaining honeysuckle next year. However, it looks like Toby decided to, instead, remove all but one. I can’t blame him; it’s easy to get carried away when pruning. Hopefully the goatsbeard I planted along the fence will quickly obscure our view of one neighbor’s trashy yard.

To replace the honeysuckle, I am planting redbud (Cercis canadensis), Carolina spice bush (Calycanthus floridus), Carolina silver-bells (Halesia carolina), Cornelian cherry (Cornus mas), spice bush (Lindera benzoin), hydrangeas, azaleas, and camellias. I’m underplanting the trees and shrubs with goatsbeard, ferns, heuchera, hosta, and spring ephemerals. The result should be much more interesting than the honeysuckle monoculture.

In the end, I don’t mind Toby’s work, but I wish he wouldn’t leave me with the shrubby mess to clean up. It takes many times longer to chop the limbs into manageable sizes and stuff them into yard waste bags than it does to whack the trees down. Where is Toby when you really need him?

Sniffing the Katsura Tree

2006-09-12T05:47:00.000-07:00

The calendar says autumn and our nighttime temperatures hint at agreement. The leaves of some trees are beginning to color, but we are still months away from the peak of the fall show (mid-October). Trees selected for autumn interest typically have bright leaves or showy seedpods. The leaves of the katsura tree (Cercidiphyllum japonicum) simply wither and brown, but they release the most fabulous smell as they fade, usually described as like cotton candy or hot sugar. If you have room for this large shade tree, it is worth inclusion in your landscape for the scent, if not the color, they bring to fall.

A whiff of a withered katsura leaf takes me back to high school and the childhood home of my friend Ryan. His family lives on a large lot, on Coal Creek Road, at the edge of town. The property encompasses woods, the aforementioned creek, and fertile fields, farmed for some profit and their own consumption. One of the major crops is strawberries. They sell many of the berries at the farmer’s market, and dry what they can’t eat or sell. The food dehydrator, in the kitchen, is a large cabinet with slide out screens. The strawberries are sliced, laid on the screens, and slid into the dehydrator. A fan circulates warm air over the berries and into the house as they slowly dry. Katsura leaves smell to me exactly like Ryan’s house when the strawberries were preserved: sweet, slightly tart, and fruity.

In Cincinnati, the katsura leaves are just beginning to fade. At my work, one large tree stands outside a side entrance. I will linger there, after returning from my lunchtime walks, to breathe the sweet air. This year, I intend to swipe a handful of dried leaves to use as a potpourri in my office. One whiff removes me from my sterile environment and connects memories from my youth with the present Midwestern autumn.

*I visited Marvin’s Organic Gardens (in Lebanon, OH) last weekend, and they have nice, reasonably priced katsura trees for sale. Go sniff them if you are in the area!

Rosa "Julia Childs" Review

2006-09-11T05:35:00.000-07:00

When I started gardening, roses scared me silly. They have a reputation as needy prima donnas. It was with great trepidation that I pruned the roses that first year. However, as I continued to care for the existing roses, my confidence grew. After viewing enough outrageously gorgeous rose photos on the Cottage Garden Forum, I gathered the courage to plan my own small rose garden.

I selected the Julia Child rose, a 2006 introduction. The rose’s description (from www.rose.org):
Julia Child is a floribunda destined to be as famous as her namesake. Personally chosen by the award-winning chef herself, this rose combines old-fashioned style with delicious fragrance rarely found in a free-flowering plant. This rose has a rounded habit and excellent disease resistance, raising the bar for any English-style rose. Julia Child also features a sweet licorice perfume that exudes from each fully-petaled flower, as well as a butter-gold color that's perfectly suited to any landscape.
“Disease resistance” and “sweet licorice perfume” were the selling points for me.

I planted my three bare-root roses in April. Over the course of the summer, the canes have developed into the promised medium sized, rounded, bushy plants. The foliage is neat, green, and glossy. I have had absolutely no problem with disease or pests. Except for working manure into the planting soil, I did not fertilize the roses. I’ve given them consistent water over the season.

The first blooms appeared in June and the bushes have been blooming non-stop ever since. The blooms begin as a fairly bright, almost lemony, yellow and gradually mellow to the described “butter-gold color” before fading to almost cream. Also consistent with the description, the color blends well with my other plants. Suspended over a carpet of white sweet alyssum and backed by the blue mist of caryopteris, the roses contribute to a dreamy color scheme.

The scent has been variable. At times, I detect the strong, licorice fragrance. Sometimes I think that the blooms smell more like citrus. Other flowers seem to have no scent at all. I’ve been so pleased with the rose’s easy care and appearance that I don’t mind the general lack of scent. I have catmint, sweet alyssum, and scented lilies planted in the bed for fragrance.

I’m impressed with the Julia Child rose and am gradually getting over my misconception of roses as difficult to grow. For those not willing to spray or live with defoliation, I believe that disease-resistant roses are key. This fall, I’ll be expanding my rose collection with two Livin’ Easy roses. I hope to post a similarly glowing review next year.

Pantyhose in the Garden

2006-09-10T05:54:00.000-07:00

I don’t do much staking in the garden, but I am training a number of vines up various structures. My favorite material for securing plants to supports is pantyhose. Working up the legs, I cut a section off and snip it in half to yield a stretchy length of fabric. The elasticity is the hose’s main attraction. It allows the plants to respond to wind and mechanical disturbances without snapping the stems. I also like pantyhose because the light brown color blends well with the garden. It is unobtrusive.

It can be difficult to find enough hose for a season of gardening. Generally, I don’t wear pantyhose. However, I often have to wear it as a performer. After we complete a run of a show, I ask for all the ladies’ pantyhose (which are generally full of rips and holes by this point). My germ phobia could be an obstacle to handling other people’s dirty tights, but I remind myself that the garden is worth it and hands are washable. Once home, I wash all of the hose and then store them in the garage for use. Tammy Faye yielded plenty of pantyhose for this season and beyond.

I’m still undecided on the material’s longevity. It does seem prone to UV-damage. I’ve noticed that some strips are beginning to look a bit ragged after a few months of exposure. This hasn’t been too much of an issue because I continue to add new lengths to the top-growth of the vines, so the older, lower ties are no longer crucial.

Although the hose seems to breakdown while in use, I’m concerned that the snipped off ends that fall in the soil and used lengths that make it to the compost will persist in the environment. It probably seems silly, but sometimes I worry about the earthworms choking on nylon strands the way sea turtles do on plastic bags. Generally, I try to police the unneeded pieces and toss them in the trash.

Time will tell whether pantyhose prove to be a reliable tie-down for my plants, but I’m willing to experiment with a material I got for free. The hose seems to be working well so far, and I enjoy chuckling at the sight of saggy tights mixed in with my gardening tools. Finally, I’d rather cut up pantyhose than wear them!

Don't Hate Lamb's Ear

2006-09-09T06:11:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, Maggie and I met at Greenfield Plant Farm to swap plants. She was surprisingly cute and bubbly. (I had a mental image of someone older and dour. Sorry, Maggie!) We had a great time talking and I am disappointed that she lives a good 45 minutes from my house. During the course of our conversation, she revealed that she hates lamb’s ear. I wanted to drag her back to my house immediately to show her how lovely mine is. I’ll have content myself with showing her, and you, this picture:

I absolutely adore this plant. It is a fabulous edger. Its neat appearance and silvery foliage make an orderly transition from sidewalk or lawn to garden. It multiplies rapidly, so I have plenty of clones to continue edging other beds, give away, trade, or sentence to the hell strip. Along my front walk, I have interspersed the lamb’s ear with East Friesland sage and I admire the contrast of deep purple against silver nearly all summer long. The leaves are evergreen, providing some structure when most of my perennials have retreated beneath the ground during winter.

The most common objection to lamb’s ear is its aggressively spreading habit. True, I must divide my clumps in the spring and fall, but I can always find a use for the excess. Some don’t care for the silver color. Others (garden fashionistas?) simply find it out-dated.

When Maggie comes to see my garden next spring, I will continue my efforts to warm her to stachys. Lamb’s ear is like a fuzzy, lovable puppy – sometimes a little out of control, but charming all the same. Maybe I can manage to send Maggie home with a division or two (because, after all, who can resist puppies)!

My Favorite Spot, September 8th

2006-09-08T05:30:00.000-07:00

Although I made no official announcement, I was sure that my Friday “Favorite Spot” posts were over for the season. They petered out as the summer progressed until I finally gave up hope of having a favorite spot again till spring. As I look around the garden, I can classify the beds as “fried” (flowering is done!) or “raw” (too new for me to like looking at yet).

Two late bloomers have persuaded me to bring back “my favorite spot” for the last(?) time this year. I did not anticipate it, but caryopteris and sweet autumn clematis have a significant bloom overlap and look absolutely magical together.

I offer only this close-up shot because a wasteland surrounds these two beauties. I am training the clematis along the railing above the basement stairs (aka Pit of Despair). The caryopteris shares the half-moon bed with a number of plants (lilac, coreopsis, gazania, oriental poppies) that look like absolute hell right now.

My favorite spot may only be two cubic feet of blooms, but it is better than nothing. Till next year!

Very Early Muscari

2006-09-07T05:22:00.000-07:00

I planted my first bulbs last fall – tulips, crocus, daffodil, and muscari. I was surprised to see the muscari foliage emerge the following January. I was even more surprised to see it pop up again at the end of this August. A bit of research revealed that muscari commonly send up fall foliage that will persist over the winter and into the spring. Last year’s leaves were actually “late.” I will be interested to see how the foliage weathers the winter.

Drifty

2006-09-05T05:18:00.000-07:00

As I began gardening, one of the tenets I quickly picked up on is planting in drifts. I believe Gertrude Jekyll popularized the style of planting grand sweeps of a single plant. As a newbie, I found the concept of drifts daunting, both in terms of plant selection and cost. To my credit, I originally envisioned planting my sun bed in drifts, but my plans were waylaid by stubborn seeds and unrealistic expectations. Instead, my bed is a colorful mess. Serendipitously, I prefer this look to sweeping drifts of color. It seems to fit the cottage style I aspire to.

As I plan and plant my shady areas, though, I am firmly committed to drifts. Let’s be honest, a shade garden is not vibrant, exciting, and in your face. It is subtle, peaceful, and relaxing. Planting in drifts gives the eye and mind less to digest. It creates seamless waves and swirls of foliage. In the spring, I hope to achieve subtly winding paths of blue, pink, yellow, and white.

Some contend that drifts look a bit artificial, but I prefer drifts to a naturalistic look. If I wanted naturalism, I would have let the ivy, violets, and henbit hold sway. The drifts may look (wo)man made, but I believe I’ve earned a little credit for my efforts. I would also argue that drifts aren’t wholly unnatural looking. Plants that spread by runners, like ostrich ferns, naturally form small monocultures within a shady area.

Not only are drifts pleasing to the eye, they also make maintenance easier. The water hogs can be watered without unduly soaking the bulbs that prefer a dry summer. Weeds are easily spotted and routed. I’m also less likely to slice into a dormant mertensia with my shovel when they are all clustered together.

Drifts, though, take discipline. I can’t simply load up on one of these and one of those and one of this and one of that. Instead, I try to obtain everything in multiples, whether I am buying, sowing, swapping, or stealing. I must leave large patches of ground open to accommodate future additions. Most of all, planting in drifts requires thought and planning. I have to save my impulse purchases for the cottage borders.

Don’t be fooled into thinking I’ve already accomplished impeccable drifts. I have a single may apple, flanked by a drift of blue cohosh on one side and multiple astilbe on the other. (The may apple cost me $10. There was no way I was buying three!) I had only two pulmonaria in a “drift” until Maggie swapped me two more. (I’d say three or more plants constitutes a drift.) Wherever the singles appear, I’ve left them room to run or self-seed so that I will eventually have a grouping. The drifts that I do have are a bit patchy looking as I wait for the plants to fill in.

I’ve already begun to see where drifts can have their downside. The forget-me-not drift I planted in afternoon sun is a large eyesore without consistent moisture. (I had thought their planting spot was a bit shadier than it turned out to be.) If they were tucked in among hosta and ferns, I might not notice their sagging foliage. A drift of mertensia must be co-planted with toad lilies to avoid a large bare spot all summer and fall. I am fearful that the deer or slugs will discover my drifts of hosta and denude an entire planting.

Finally, one can go a bit overboard with drifts. For instance, pictured here is an enormous drift of hosta, comprising almost an entire shade garden. To my eye, it goes beyond restful and into the realm of boring. In a larger shade garden (like a park), it would be appropriate, but here, it borders on monotonous. I have no firm percentage to offer, but the size of the drift should be somewhat in proportion to the size of the garden. For those who prefer prescriptive rules to the eye’s judgment, perhaps the golden ratio would be a place to start?

Planting in drifts may appear to be overly regimented to some, but I believe the results are worth it. When I feel an ADD moment coming on I can always go plug random annuals into my sun beds. When I’m ready to calm down again, I take a stroll through my restful, shady border and appreciate the repetitive beauty of columbine foliage en masse.

Hi Ho, Holly-O

2006-09-04T06:59:00.000-07:00

Our house came with three mature holly trees. I haven’t a clue as to their proper names. They might be American Holly, Ilex opaca, but I’m just guessing. These behemoths are 30 feet tall, armed with the lethal leaves, and ornamented with bright red berries. (At least, the two females have berries. The male is wisely hidden along the side of the house.) Because our soil is alkaline, the leaves are usually a sickly yellow, although they’ve improved this year with the addition of Holly-Tone and peat moss. Overall, I find them ugly trees, despite the year-round foliage and ornamental berries. Like the Norway spruce, I would never have planted hollies, but I’m stuck with them.

Last fall, Mike and I spread the neighbors’ leaves along our side yard, beneath two of the hollies and our burning bush, at a depth of about eight inches. The leaves effectively smothered the patchy grass and my shade garden extension was born.

As I’ve gardened beneath the hollies, I’ve come to appreciate them for the wonderful quality of shade they provide. The canopy is not dense, so the shade is dappled, providing perfect conditions for most shade plants. When the wind blows and the small holly leaves are tossed, the resulting light patterns remind me of being underwater. It’s all very restful until I kneel down to pull a weed and am poked in the knee by a sharp holly leaf.

Unlike the Norway spruce, the hollies’ roots are easy to garden above. They dive fairly deep into the soil, but when encountered, are easy to dig and plant around. Except for my pouty hydrangea, the holly and my shade plants do not seem to compete for moisture.

From beneath, the branches are revealed to fabulously contorted. It’s as if the world’s spinning has confused the growing tips into lurching in random directions. The result is artful, if difficult to fit into a yard waste bag after trimming the tree.

I still find the hollies ugly when studied from afar, but I’m enchanted once I’m beneath their spread. In most other yards, the hollies’ branches extend down the trunk to ground level, creating an impenetrable cone. Those homeowners don’t know the magical world they’re missing beneath the holly boughs.

Garage Bed Potager

2006-09-01T05:35:00.000-07:00

I dubbed the strip of dirt between the sidewalk and the garage my “garage bed.” The garden plan for this area has gone through numerous revisions. I’m still not happy with it.

Currently, the bed holds a hodgepodge of plants: Carolina jasmine, Silk Road orienpet lilies, Lysimachia ‘Alexander,’ Lysimachia ‘Firecracker,’ lavender, tulips, coreopsis (2 kinds), hollyhocks, creeping jenny, gladiolas, yarrow, and echinacea. It looks terrible.

The wall faces SW and the soil is good, but dry. The only plant that really seems to thrive here is the lavender. Given the conditions, an herb garden seems appropriate, but I don’t think it would give me the height I want. I’m considering adding veggies for height and annual flowers for color to create a potager next year. My plan:

Leave the lavender beneath the window
Plant cherry tomato plants on either side of the lavender
Plant sunflowers (the regular kind) on the outside of the tomatoes
Construct bamboo teepees at either end of the garage for climbing peas or beans
Plant low growing crops, herbs, and annuals in the remaining space

I’ll confess that I have not grown vegetables before. This was my first year with herbs and some of them look truly terrible. Many of you fellow garden bloggers grow veggies, so I’d love to hear your advice. Some questions I have are:

What kind of legumes can I grow on the teepee? Are they cool-weather crops? Should I plan for two or three crops on the teepees over the season?
Instead of teepees, what about arches extending over the sidewalk, with one on either end of the garage? Oooh, then I could grow birdhouse gourds…
Will cherry tomatoes become so bushy that they’ll block the path? (I haven’t measured it, but I think the bed is 2.5 or 3 feet deep.)
Any suggestions on low-growing crops? Should I plan, again, on different veggies for different times of the year?
What about perennial vegetables, like rhubarb and asparagus?
Finally, do you recommend any good books on potager gardens?

The world of veggies is completely bewildering to me. I feel like I’m learning to garden all over again. I appreciate your help!

Tale of Two Pumpkins

2006-08-31T05:01:00.000-07:00

When Mike and I were dating, our favorite activities were water sports (we lived on a sub-tropical island) and going out to eat. After moving to a land-locked state and one income, we discovered that we don’t have many shared interests left. We continue to try new things (hiking, going to the racetrack, Frisbee golf) in an attempt to find a shared activity. Still, during most of our free time, we end up splitting up. I garden; he plays poker. We both profess to hate the other’s activity, but we keep trying to connect. I listen to “bad beat” stories and he occasionally helps me in the garden. My latest attempt to make a gardener out of him is by appealing to Mike’s competitive side. Hence, The Great Pumpkin Contest.

On July 4th, we each planted pumpkin seeds. Planting around this date is supposed to yield pumpkins by Halloween. I selected the magnolia bed as our garden plot, and let him choose between the two corners. We planted, we watered, and we waited.

Mike’s pumpkin sprouted first, but even the earlier start date cannot account for the size of his vine vs. mine. His vine has at least three branches, dozens of flowers, and is about 8 feet long.

My vine is much smaller and boasts only a few flowers.

We haven’t yet decided the criteria for winning. Obviously, I’ve ruled out size of the vine. We are debated whether the winner of The Great Pumpkin Contest is the person who grows the most pumpkins or the biggest pumpkin (or, perhaps, the most beautiful pumpkin). I'm tempted to skew the criteria to favor me and my puny vine, but I suppose letting Mike win would better accomplish my goal of interesting him in gardening.

Aw, who am I kidding? Look at that vine! He’s going to win either way (unless I “accidentally” step on his pumpkin or spray it with some Round-Up). Mike will win. I will pout. And I’ll be glad when he returns to poker and leaves the gardening to me! Couple activities are overrated.

Mowing the Course

2006-08-28T18:10:00.000-07:00

Inspired by Front Yard Gardens, by Liz Preimeau, I have removed about 25% of the lawn so far and replaced it with gardens. I plan on tackling another quarter this fall and perhaps one more quarter the following fall. The new garden area is a combination of border and island beds, so the lawn is not only reduced, but is being transformed into grass paths.

As Mike’s only yard duties are mowing and cleaning the gutters (and he detests them both), I thought he’d be pleased by the reduction of lawn area. His comment after mowing on Saturday: “It’s like a goddamn obstacle course out here.” I thought it would be more fun for him - like a race course! I suppose that is the Pollyanna in me.

Hardy Hibiscus from Seed

2006-08-23T06:28:00.000-07:00

Way, way back when I first started gardening (okay, March ’05), I made the long trek out to Amelia, OH for some plant divisions from my friend Robin. She gave me a hunk of bleeding heart and yarrow. During the tour of her yard, she pointed out a large, hardy hibiscus to me. I noticed that it was covered with seed pods, so, after asking her permission, I plucked a few.

The seeds had an amazing germination rate. As the season progressed, I moved the seedlings into pots, and then, in the fall, I planted the eight survivors in the candy cane (red, pink, and white) bed. Next season, true to their reputation, my hibiscus waited until almost June to emerge, while I fretted all the while. The plants emerged vigorously enough, but are still rather small, 3feet high and 1 foot wide. I didn’t expect blooms this year, but I was still envious when lushly blooming hibiscus appeared at the local greenhouses and mine remained vegetative. In August, however, I began to see flower buds on my own plants and I waited with bated breath for the first to open.

Because these are seed grown plants, and I have not seen the mother plant in bloom, the flower color was a mystery. Questioning Robin revealed that her plant has pink flowers. According to an internet search, the “wild-type” plants have flowers in shades of red, white, and pink. I was fairly sure that I would have blooms that fit with the bed’s color scheme, but I was a little wary of finding purple-pink blossoms. (I absolutely detest mauve flowers.) Thankfully, two of the plants have bloomed so far to reveal shades of pale pink, without a hint of purple.

The flowers are nice, but the plants have a long way to go before they create a substantial presence in the bed. I’m hoping that they’ll leap in the third year.

If you are not looking for a hardy hibiscus in designer colors, I recommend them as a perennial grown from seed. They were easy to grow and have required very little aftercare. I had to water them often while they were in the clay pots sitting in afternoon sun, but I’ve been able to completely neglect them after planting in the ground and morning sun. (I did have to stake two plants, but I’m not so sure that wasn’t the cats’ fault.) They are a great beginner plant for someone with a small budget and plenty of patience. Email me if you’d like some seed!

Garden Carts Rock!

2006-08-22T05:00:00.000-07:00

Last fall, I whined about my wheelbarrow. It is too unstable to maneuver with a full load and the darn nuts and bolts keep coming loose. At my readers’ suggestion, I tightened all the hardware down and applied Loctite. I used the red formula, which supposedly seals the hardware together for all eternity. It lasted through the fall and early spring before I noticed that I was, once again, missing nuts and bolts. Still, I limped along with the crippled wheelbarrow. While I couldn’t use it to carry loads, I still used the barrow as a large mixing bowl for amending my soil. It squeaked and shook as I broke apart clay chunks, but didn’t collapse altogether. I figured that I could make it work until my birthday (November) when hoped for a garden cart from Mike.

My birthday came early when Mike helped me with the planting this weekend. After I told him that he’d have to carry the stripped sod to the compost pile by the bucket-full (because the wheelbarrow just wouldn’t make it), he cried “bullshit” and took me to Home Depot to get a garden cart.

Our new Rubbermaid garden cart is a single piece of molded plastic – no separate components to fall apart! It has two wheels, instead of a wheelbarrow’s single, so it is unlikely to tip over. Growing up on a hobby farm, Mike had a similar cart, in which he claims to have transported endless loads of pig poop. Although he’s never seen anyone hoe like me (I now use the cart as my chopping and mixing bowl), he is pretty sure that the thick plastic will hold up against even my abuse. The cart’s best feature is that it holds 300 lbs. Now Mike can give me and the cats and a load of dirt a ride around the yard.

25 Daylilies and 50 Hosta

2006-08-21T06:12:00.000-07:00

What do 25 daylilies and 50 hosta look like?

Actually, there turned out to be 28 daylilies and 65 hosta in these buckets. I ordered the bareroot plants in bulk from Gilbert H. Wild and Son, after receiving a flyer in the mail. The company has a so-so rating (76%) on Garden Watchdog, but for less that $1 a plant, I decided to take a risk. The roots (and the water I soaked them in) smelled pretty rank, but appeared healthy. Some of them even had a few green shoots. They roots looked freshly dug and had desiccated very little in the shipping box.

How long does it take to plant 28 daylilies and 65 hosta? About 12 hours, spread over 2 days. Thankfully, I had my garden helpers out in full force.

Where does one with a city yard put so many plants? All 28 daylilies went in the hell strip. I didn’t dare plant any hosta along the street because, while deer are uncommon on our street, they have munched the hosta in Cleo’s Garden in the past. The daylily buds may also be eaten, but I’ll take the risk. I divided the hosta between Cleo’s Garden, the NE Shady Shrub Border, and the North Corner.

By Sunday afternoon, Mike and I were grumpy, tired, and nauseated by the smell of wet roots. He kept trying to throw hosta over the fence (so that he wouldn’t have to dig another hole) and I wanted to whack him with a shovel. (Mike actually begged to be hit so that he wouldn’t have to garden anymore.) At the end, even I was sick of gardening. Admittedly, the last 13 hosta were not planted with much care.

Thank goodness the hard part is over. I’m not sure I’ll order that many bareroot plants again! Hopefully, the results will be worth the work and strained marital relations

Purple People Plantings

2006-08-19T09:26:00.000-07:00

When my Secret Squirrel Agent at Friendship Park told me that they were doing something special with the annual beds this year, I was on high alert. After a few weeks of observation, I thought I had the theme figured out. It was a tribute to the Purple People Bridge!

Turns out that I had overthought a bit. This year’s theme was more simply envisioned as “cool.” I, however, cling to my theory that the color scheme is actually connected to this summer's unveiling of the Over the Top experience on the purple bridge.

My Favorite Spot, August 18th

2006-08-18T05:21:00.000-07:00

My garden, too, looks like August crap. Some of it is my own fault. I’m doing major surgery on the sun bed, so it is looking rather bare. I’ve got new beds started with newspaper and straw in both the front and back yards, so my garden looks and smells like the county fair. This week, I’m appreciating the hardscape, instead of the flora. My favorite spot is our outdoor dining set, on the back deck.

It’s my favorite spot, but I’m not spending much time there. The mosquitoes, perhaps sensing that the end is near, are so voracious that we cannot eat outside without coating ourselves in DEET. Unfortunately, the scent of bug spray does not blend well with food. Not that we’ve had any food all week, because we went almost 2 weeks without a visit to the grocery store. To make a long story short, I view my favorite spot from the dining room window.

I love to watch the light play through the umbrella and illuminate the capiz shells. When the shell chime clatters in the breeze, I can almost pretend that the wind is fresh and cool, instead of sticky and warm. My houseplants, freed from the sunroom (which is pending renovations), have never looked better. They enjoy the filtered light and moist air. I prefer the cool, dark house, and gazing out the window at my favorite spot.

Watering Devices

2006-08-17T06:15:00.000-07:00

You won’t find any fancy product plugs here. I use very basic tools to water my garden, with the exception of an experimental deep watering device (sounds Top Secret, huh?).

Hose. Yup, I use a regular old hose. It isn’t a soaker hose. It isn’t a coily hose. It isn't a "never kink" hose. It’s a medium-duty, plain hose. I only had two requirements when I bought my hoses. First, they had to reach from the house to the areas I need to water. A 150 foot hose in front and another in back meet my needs. Second, the hose had to color coordinate with the house color. That may sound superficial, but the front hose is very visible and I didn’t want it to be the first thing I noticed as I walked up to the house. I’ve seen hose hiders for sale, but I couldn’t convince myself that they would be easy to use. I managed to find a pale gray hose to somewhat blend in with my white house. I honestly think there could be a market for color-coordinated hoses. At least they could come in white and brown.

Sprayer Attachment. This is usually set on “gentle shower” so that I can use it to water my plants with the hose. The much more chic attachment would be a watering wand, but I bought the sprayer before I’d even heard of such a thing. And the sprayer was only 50 cents at a garage sale. And, before I bought a longer hose for the backyard, I needed the spraying function in order to reach some of my plants with the water. Now, I’d consider a watering wand, but only if it was gifted to me. In absence of the sprayer (or wand), I’ve found that a thumb works quite well.

Sprinkler. This is another fairly basic tool. I use it to give entire beds a good soaking. Yes, a sprinkler has its pitfalls. It is not as efficient (due to evaporation) as other methods (like a soaker hose) and it sprays water on the foliage, increasing the chance of fungus problems. In the sprinkler’s defense, I think the evaporation isn’t all that bad because it tends to cool the air in the general vicinity, providing relief to plants, people, and cats alike. I also haven’t had a single case of mildew, so I am starting to think that sprinkler’s reputation has been maligned. However, I’m not a total lost cause when it comes to water conservation. I plan on putting soaker hoses in two areas I currently sprinkle, cutting back on evaporation and the chance of mildew.
My sprinkler sends out a circular spray of water, but sometimes I need just a half-arc. I would like a sprinkler with adjustable water patterns, so that I can minimize water waste. I’ve seen models with a selection plate and models with individual nozzles that can be aimed in the desired direction. I may consider buying one of these next year.

Hose Splitter. This is perhaps my favorite watering gadget. It turns one spigot into two. Using the selection levers, I can simultaneously sprinkle a flower bed and fill my watering jug. I need a second splitter for the backyard. The best part about this gadget is that Mike doesn't understand how it works, so he never knows which hose will have water coming out of it!

Watering Can. While my front yard hose is long enough to water all of the containers, maneuvering it to certain areas can be difficult. To water the containers near the driveway, I prefer to fill the can and carry it. I also use the can for spot watering newly planted, or just very thirsty, plants. I usually reserve the sprinkler’s use for entire beds in need of water.

Holey Milk Jug. Because I DO care about water conservation, I have a holey milk jug in clinical trials in the front yard. For those of you not familiar with this method, this is how it works:
- Take a clean milk jug, minus the cap.
- Punch a bunch of little holes in the bottom.
- Dig a hole next to your thirsty plant.
- Bury the milk jug so that just its opening is showing.
- Water the plant by filling the jug.
Supposedly, the jug will slowly deliver water directly to the plants roots, minimizing evaporation and encouraging deep root development. So far, I have to give the holey milk jug a big thumbs down. Maybe I punched too many holes, but I have to put far more than a gallon of water into the jug before it fills to the top. Then, it quickly drains. My thirsty hydrangea (the experimental subject) still wilts and pouts nightly. I’m not sure I’ll be burying anymore jugs. Frankly, even partially covered with leaves, it looks like I’m gardening in a garbage dump.

Minus the jug, these are all the watering tools a beginning gardener really needs. I’ll be upgrading to some fancier gadgets next year (my 3rd season of gardening), but they are only a convenience, not a necessity. The milk jug is probably going in the trash.

Watering Practices

2006-08-16T05:58:00.000-07:00

Hanna at This Garden Is Illegal recently posted some good advice on watering in the garden. I have to confess that I follow almost none of it. While I let most of the grass brown, I am watering the newly seeded patch colonizing an area of the yard I regraded. I don’t reuse water from the tub or shower. I don’t have a rain gauge, or measure the water I sprinkle on the lawn. I don’t own a soaker hose. I water at whatever time of day I find it convenient and I do have a few thirsty plants (like hydrangeas). I don’t actively practice water conservation, but I do try to make good watering choices. These are a few of my watering guidelines.

Water the Wilted. I almost always water if I see wilting, although using flaccid leaves as an indicator can have its dangers. On a hot day, transpiration in the leaves may simply exceed the roots’ ability to uptake water, even when the soil is moist, resulting in limpness. Watering in a situation like this doesn’t help, and can eventually hurt, if you flood the plant. Some of my plants, like the hydrangeas, seem to wilt every afternoon, but that doesn’t necessarily signal distress. If the plants haven’t recovered by morning, they need a watering.
When wilting really is a symptom of dry soil, water is needed, but it may be too late. Leaves wilt as the plant’s cells lose water and, hence, turgidity. The cells will bounce back upon watering, but if they become too dry, the membrane within the cell will actually detach from the cell wall and then the death knell has sounded. Like a thirsty human, wilting is often a sign that the plant is already in a water deficit.

Nurture the Newbies. Plantings less than a year in the ground get extra water. I don’t wait for wilting. Because the new plants don’t yet have established root systems, they can be almost as vulnerable as potted plants to drying out. While they need regular watering, first year plants do not need to be watered deeply because their roots are busy establishing. I won’t claim to have a scientific method as to the amount of water the new plantings get. Generally, I just water “some.” If I’m unsure, I stick a finger in the soil to see if it is moist a few inches down.

Tough Love. If watered beyond the first year, plantings should be watered deeply to encourage the roots to dive deep into the earth for moisture. If all they receive are shallow waterings, they will not develop the deep root systems that will last them through droughts or vacations. For the most part, though, I have found that plantings established for even just a year have not needed any water beyond rainfall.

Extra Container Care. Container-bound plants are subject to extremes of temperature and air movement. Many first-time container gardeners are surprised at the amount of care required to maintain life in the tiny oasis of a pot. Container-bound plants don’t have the option of sending roots far and wide in search of moisture and nutrients. Instead, they must have it regularly delivered to them. I water most of my containers daily, especially if the container is porous, like a clay pot or fiber mat. Even plants in plastic containers sometimes need daily watering if they are in full sun. Some plants, no matter how much you water them, just don’t like containers. I either plant those unhappy individuals in the ground or toss them into the compost heap.

Vacation Watering. If I’m going to be gone only a few days, I water all the new plants and containers very well for the two or three days preceding my departure. If I will be gone three days or longer, I follow the above procedure and hire/coerce someone into watering the containers every other day. In this situation, I also take extra precautions with newly planted trees and shrubs. Following Carolyn Harstad’s watering advice in Got Shade, I lug a 5-gallon bucket of water to each newly planted tree or shrub and dump the contents at its base. Even if I managed to get the plant on sale, trees and shrubs are too valuable to lose to drought!

This year, I have many new beds and containers, so I spend a lot of time watering. Fortunately, I enjoy it. I love the smell of the cool water hitting the hot surfaces of the dirt, pavement, or deck. While I water, I examine the garden for other signs of distress, or simply appreciate its beauty. I usually make watering my last gardening chore of the evening, so it is my chance to relax, unwind, and transition into my indoor duties.

Tomorrow: a fascinating, in-depth look at my watering devices.

Free the Catmint!

2006-08-15T05:04:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I planted eighteen of my seed-grown catmint plants in the ground as an edging in the rose bed. I dutifully covered them with the Plant Defenders in order to save them from my grazing kitties. I intend to use the Defenders for this year only. By next year, the plants should have become established enough to resist being pulled from the ground and robust enough to recover from a little gnawing.

I expected any plant parts that grew outside of the dome to be promptly nibbled off. What I didn’t expect, is that my cats would concentrate their efforts on one plant. The poor plant pictured here has borne the brunt of the grazing. I’ve tried to get the kitties interested in some of the other plants, to allow this one to recover, but they’ve already made a habit of dining in a particular location.

The remainder of the plants are doing very well. A few are even flowering. I am hopeful that next year, when I remove the cages, they will all grow to be so lush. I also hope that the cats will have lost the habit of chewing on the underdog plant and, instead, graze a little more evenly. Five cats versus eighteen plants seems like a fair fight.

Mosquito-Eating Guppies

2006-08-14T06:29:00.000-07:00

I haven’t shared this with the internet audience, but Mike and I put in a small pond over the 4th of July weekend. The final product is somewhat raw looking, so I’ve been waiting to share pictures until I have some impressive before and after images. While I’m still not ready to post a picture, I’m ready to talk about a first-time ponder’s experience with mosquitoes.

Our pond is a still pond. There is no elaborate waterfall or cutesy spitter. I chose to construct a calm, meditative pond for two reasons. First, I just didn’t want to mess with the gear required for running water. I didn’t want to run an electrical line. I didn’t want to maintain a pump. I spend enough time clearing the pumps in my fountain and the kitties’ water dish. Second, once I get the hang of this pond thing, I want to put water lilies in. They require full sun and still water.

The idea of a still pond is great. The reality, though, is that it is a mosquito magnet. Our backyard is already so plagued with skeeters that I go through a can of bug spray a week. I was wary of putting fish in a pond with no aeration, but I couldn’t find any Mosquito Dunks at Home Depot, so I plopped an oxygenating plant and two, 99-cent goldfish in the water. They happily consumed bugs and larvae for about a week, until we had a thunderstorm. Whether it was the sudden weather change or a turnover in the water (the algae bloom died at the same time), I’m not sure, but the fish were belly up the next morning. I suspected that might happen. The water was too warm and low in oxygen to support goldfish for long.

While I dithered over the ethics of consigning two more goldfish to death in the murky waters, the mosquitoes took over. Within days, the pool was seething with larvae. A visit to Funke’s finally yielded Mosquito Dunks and I put a quarter of a doughnut in the water. While the Dunks are advertised as safe for animal water troughs, I felt uneasy adding the chemicals to water my cats drink. I needed to find another solution. I decided to try guppies.

To most Americans, guppies are aquarium fish. I thought of them in the same way until I deployed to Thailand, in 2002. Stationed on a Thai Royal Marine base, I found guppies in nearly every body of standing water. They were swimming in the cement water garden troughs that rimmed a number of the headquarters buildings. Their bright bodies were flashing in the scummy water of drainage ponds. They didn’t seem to make a significant dent in the local mosquito population, but they demonstrated an amazing ability to live in warm, stagnant, low-oxygen waters.

Remembering the tropical guppy, I first used them as mosquito control in a shallow water garden I maintained on the balcony of our apartment in Okinawa. It consisted of a 4-gallon, flattened pot filled with water and studded with a small “rock” island, bought pre-planted with ferns. Before I added guppies, I would find numerous wrigglers when I conducted the weekly water changes. After the guppies, none. Sadly, the guppies died when I left the garden outside during a typhoon. We moved shortly thereafter.

Besides their appetite for mosquitoes and tolerance of still water, guppies have another great quality: their reproductive capacity. One male and one female guppy will result in more babies than you'll know what to do with. In my small, Okinawa water garden, I could only support two fish, so I bought only the showy males. My present pond is larger, but, as guppies are dearer in the U.S. than Okinawa, I could only conscience buying two fish again. However, I doubled my money by buying a male and a female. Two weeks later, I had five guppies. The female looks to be pregnant again. (Guppies are viviparous. The gestation period is about 28 days, so my female was gravid when I bought her.) As guppies are tropical fish, I will either have to overwinter the guppies inside or buy a new breeding pair next spring.

So, does it work? Are my guppies keeping mosquitoes at bay? It is hard to tell. I don’t drain the pond, so I can’t examine the water thoroughly. From the surface, I don’t see any mosquito larvae. (I could see them during the brief period between fish.) Now that I have five fish in the habitat, I’ve begun to feed them in the evening. They seem to be hungry, so I assume they’ve cleaned the pond of other edibles. I have no definitive proof, but I believe I’m maintaining a still pond without adding to the general mosquito population.

Next year, I’m ready to add water lilies to the mix.

My Favorite Spot, August 11th

2006-08-11T07:31:00.000-07:00

This week, the spot I’ve seen the most of happens to be my desk at work. No one wants to see a picture of that (and I’d probably violate 57 security rules if I posted one). My views of the garden have all been in the twighlight or rain, so nothing there has struck me as this week's "favorite." *Sigh* I'm favorite-less,

Instead, will you tell me about your favorite spot in the garden?

Fancy Sunflowers, All in a Row

2006-08-07T05:55:00.000-07:00

Sunflowers sounded like such a good idea. They are bright and cheery and feed the birds. I thought they’d be the perfect addition to a cottage border. My sunflowers, however, have gone all wrong.

My first mistake was growing fancy sunflowers, instead of the regular type. I thought red sunflowers would be far superior to yellow. While the color is nice, the blooms are smaller than the usual flower and definitely not in proportion to the size of the giant stalk. I have to actively look for the small, dark red flower heads, unlike the standard yellow beacon.

I also ignored one of the cardinal rules of gardening: thou shalt not garden in a straight line. I lined my sunflowers up like soldiers along the back of the sun bed and sunset bed. Boring.

The final problem with my sunflowers is that nearly every one has fallen over. They seem to grow puny roots to support such extravagant growth. My very tallest sunflower, once sturdy enough to stake gladiolas, is now bowing into the path.

If I had to do it all over again, I would have grown the plain, old, black oil sunflower seeds from my bird seed mix. There is nothing wrong with yellow sunflowers! I would have planted the sunflowers in clumps, not rows. Not only would my planting look more spontaneous, the sunflowers could have supported each other. Perhaps my yard would have looked a little more like this “sunflower house” I photographed in Vancouver, WA.

My one success with sunflowers may turn out to be the plants I stuck into the ground beneath my teepee. The plants are well supported by the twiggy frame and, when they finally bloom, the flowers should be somewhat of a surprise, peeking out from the sweet peas and cardinal vine. If they fall over, taking the teepee with them, I’ll have to declare sunflowers a complete loss for this season.

My Favorite Spot, August 4th

2006-08-04T05:29:00.000-07:00

Last year, the steps to the front porch were framed by asters, which I promptly renamed ass-ters for their sprawling, flopping habit. After asking for readers’ suggestions on what to replace them with, I promptly ignored all advice and planted red mini roses. Thankfully, I had the sense to surround them with annuals because the roses, although blooming, have lost all of their leaves!

Even with the leafless roses (which are, by the way, recovering now) this is my favorite spot. I love the combination of red roses, purple heliotrope, and pink and green nicotiana.

Although I maligned nicotiana in an earlier post, I’ve come to really like this annual, even though most of my seeds yielded plants with lime-green, scentless flowers. The plants are bushy and upright, even without pinching. They produce an endless supply of colorful flowers.

Heliotrope is sold as a fragrant annual, but the really fragrant variety, white heliotrope, is hard to find. While my heliotrope’s cherry pie scent is faint, its intensely purple flower head and dark green leaves redeem the plant. I read somewhere that heliotrope is actually a sub-shrub in warmer climates. I may try to overwinter cuttings for next year.

The mini-roses are the ubiquitous Parade roses sold at discount and grocery stores throughout the US and Canada. I bought one in June 2005 (Big Lots) and the second in November 2005 (Bigg’s). They both overwintered in my sunroom (where they molded from the humidity). I planted them out in early spring, just before the hyacinth began to bloom. I’ve read that it is not unusual for mini roses to lose their leaves just after transplanting, but mine defoliated three months after their move. The leaf loss is probably due to some sort of pest, but I’m a lazy rose gardener. I feed them and water them, but that’s about it. If they don’t survive, I’ll find a more disease-resistant mini-rose.

You may notice that I’ve only shown you one side of the front stoop. I attempted to duplicate the planting on the right side, but it didn’t turn out as well. The nicotiana is ALL lime-green (no pink!), the heliotrope hasn’t bloomed yet, and the mini rose is about 1/3 the size of its brother. When I walk up to the front door, I just have to close my right eye, so all I see is my favorite spot out the left.

Challenging the Earth Mother

2006-08-03T05:16:00.000-07:00

If I believed in God, I think my deity of choice would be Gaia, the neopagan Gaia, not the original Greek goddess. I would worship the Earth Mother. I would pray in the cathedral of vaulted pines and take a communion of blackberries. To me, Nature is the closest thing to God.

When I speak of Outside or Nature, I mentally capitalize the words, giving them their due as Proper Nouns. Outside is my church, until the mosquitoes (surely they are the demons of my religion) drive me indoors, or at least to the refuge of DEET. (I think I may worship DEET too, or at least give it the status of holy water.)

Whatever your religion, I feel that most gardeners are making some sort of homage to Nature when they garden. For Christians, there is the Garden of Eden to emulate. I was struck by the link between Christianity and gardening at the close of Children of Eden. In the play’s final scene, Noah’s sons and wives disembark from the ark, and each couple makes a decision on which direction to travel in order to repopulate the drowned world. The final couple decides on no direction at all. Instead, they choose to wander the earth in search of Eden. Depending on your paradigm, this is either a testament to our desire to return to a state of grace or an expression of a basic human need to live in harmony with Nature. Either way, it was a powerful ending.

Not only do I hold rather pagan beliefs, I make the same errors of hubris that mortals have committed against their gods throughout history. Once, during a rare moment after I had managed to wrangle Mike Outside to enjoy evening in the garden, he said, “Wow. It is like Nature out here.” “No,” I replied, “it’s better than Nature.” He was aghast at my presumptuousness. Although I expected a lightening bolt of doom from slighted Gaia, I escaped unscathed.

My garden IS better than Nature. Although most gardens are going for a “natural look,” the very concept of a garden is unnatural. Where, in Nature, does one see colorful perennials jam-packed together so tightly that constant maintenance is required, as in a cottage garden. Where do we find raked sand next to a perfectly contorted juniper, complemented by a half-moon foot bridge? How about a symmetrical ring of boxwood enclosing fussy hybrid tea roses? I argue that instead of imitating Nature, we are trying to create our own idealized notion of it, whether that is a sylvan glade, an orderly vegetable patch, or our very own Garden of Eden.

As we garden, whether we do it to glory God or fight evil Entropy, it fulfills a basic creative need within us to improve our surroundings. If in the process, some of us developed swelled heads and an inflated sense of self worth, well, there are worse sins. Like Round-Up.

Swappin'

2006-08-02T06:10:00.000-07:00

I was afraid that no one would join my plant swap group, but it turns out that my fears were unfounded. The group is two weeks old and we have five members. The swapping has begun!

I made my first swap on Saturday. I traded my two Russian sage, which quickly outgrew the corner bed, and a hunk of stella d’oro for four enormous basil plants. I expected something small enough to fit into a 6 inch pot. Instead, I received huge, lush plants with root balls so thick and healthy that they had to be cut from the ground in brick-like chunks. I felt like an ass for trading almost bare root plants for these stunning specimens. Because the basil wouldn’t fit in my pots, I transplanted them to the rose/nusery bed, where they look very nice. I can’t wait to make pesto.

I am currently negotiating another swap for ajuga, red daylily, and jewelweed seeds. I’m a swapping junkie!

Hot and Sweaty

2006-08-01T05:59:00.000-07:00

I’m sure this is a recurrent theme in the gardening blogs lately: it is too damn hot! Our A/C has been broken for months, but, after sweating through the night, the repairman fixed it this morning. Hallelujah!

Honestly, I don’t mind the physical discomfort while I’m in the garden. The hose is always handy and I stick to the shade and non-strenuous activities. My chief activities have been watering, weeding, and pricking out seedlings. (Yes, I am still sorting through all of my winter-sown perennials!) I am also doing a lot of daydreaming. I stand in the shade, with a sprinkler at my back, and work through design plans to implement in the fall. I have even dared to transplant a few things – knockout roses, siberian iris, burgundy gaillardia, threadleaf coreopsis, and zebra grass. Thanks to copious water, only the zebra grass looks like it is truly suffering. (I’m hoping it will spring back when things cool down.)

After working in the garden for a few hours in the evening, I come in sweaty, dirty, and reeking of DEET. Yesterday, there was no relief to be found indoors, but I’m looking forward to an icy blast of air tonight!

The Mexican Food Flower

2006-07-29T10:32:00.000-07:00

I LOVE Mexican food. It is my all-time favorite type of cuisine. I suffered unbearably in Okinawa where there was no decent Mexican food to be found. I’ve been on a binge ever since returning to the U.S. Mike and I have tried nearly every Mexican restaurant within a reasonable radius. I cannot get enough enchiladas, chile rellenos, and, of course, chips and salsa. While I would happily consume Mexican food at every meal, the smell of it in my garden turns my stomach.

I am not referring to the scent of crushed cilantro leaves or bruised chiles, but mignonette, Reseda odorata. I started Josephine Bonaparte’s favorite flower from seed for the promise of an exquisite scent much in vogue during the Victorian era. The blossoms and their famed fragrance make numerous appearances in romantic literature – tucked into bosoms, love letters, and bedclothes. The scent has been described as a deliciously sweet raspberry, but to my nose, it smells of cumin and lard.

From others’ descriptions, I knew the plant would be weedy and the flowers inconspicuous. I tucked my mignonette between showier flowers so that only its heavenly scent would advertise its presence. Thankfully, the smell is faint, so I hardly notice the plant at all. It looks like a weed and smells like kitchen leftovers. Yum.

It may not be mignonette’s fault. Perhaps the genes that make me swoon over the scent of lilies and even appreciate the muskiness of cleome also cause me to gag over mignonette’s odor. I’m curious to know, how do you find mignonette’s fragrance?

My Favorite Spot, July 28th

2006-07-28T05:53:00.000-07:00

My magnolia bed is a little lacking in height. The sweet bay magnolia and mock oranges are still babies. To add some vertical interest, I knocked together a twiggy teepee for the season. It was knobby and awkward when naked, but now that it’s clothed in sweet peas and cuddling a buddleia, it is my favorite spot.

I’ve planted sweet peas, cardinal vine, and black-eyed susan vine at the corners. The sweet peas will fade soon, just as the cardinal vine and black-eyed susan vine come into their own. I popped two baby sunflowers inside the teepee to give them support. I expect the sunflowers to bloom in the next month. Around the teepee, I have butterfly bush, annual poppies, black-eyed susans (perennial!), and zinnia in bloom.

Not only do I love this spot, the animals love it too. I’ve spotted a hummingbird sipping from the sweet peas and songbirds using the teepee rungs as perches. On a warm day, the teepee is humming with insect life, from bees to butterflies. I’ve even caught Zoro curled up inside. (Yes, the photo is posted sideways. It was initially a mistake, but then I thought it looked more interesting that way.)

The teepee will need to be moved next year to allow some growing room for a nearby mock orange. I think it may end up in my newest bed to lend me height and interest again

Annual Black-Eyed Susans

2006-07-27T05:56:00.000-07:00

I adore perennial black-eyed susans. They are hardy, reliable, cheery, and easy to grow. When I learned that an annual variety exists, I couldn’t think of any reason a gardener would grow them. Why fuss with new plants every year, when you can plant the perennial flower to enjoy for many seasons? Still, I was curious, so I bought a packet of seeds.

The annual BES is a bit different than the perennial. The leaves are larger and hairy. The flowers are also larger, but fewer are produced. (However, this could be a result of my plants’ morning-sun location.) The most interesting difference is the flower’s center. It is shiny, almost glossy, like a true eyeball. The perennial flower’s center is a matte brown. The plants stand at about the same height, three feet.

My verdict: I won’t go out of my way to plant annual black-eyed susans again. I enjoyed trying something new, but they really aren’t worth the bother.

Flower of Babyon

2006-07-26T06:58:00.000-07:00

I’ll admit it. I wanted a piece of my friend’s passion flower vine simply for its evocative common name (and the possibility of harvesting a passion fruit). I was disappointed to later learn that “passion” referred to the Passion of Christ, not some aphrodisiacal quality of the flower. However, if the flower reminds me of any biblical figure, it would be the illustration of the Harlot of Babylon I remember from My Book of Bible Stories. She was pictured as a heavily-made up woman with wild red locks and a revealing, flowing purple dress. She was dripping with gold jewelry and holding the leash of a viciously snarling, multi-headed, horned dog. To me, she represented power and beauty. Honestly, I wanted to be the Harlot of Babylon when I grew up.

Passiflora is similarly beautiful and powerful. The flowers are strikingly intricate. The decadent fringe (representative of the crown of thorns) resembles wildly colored false eyelashes. The undulating purple stripes remind me of the lights in a pumping discotheque. You may use your own imagination as to what the swollen, upright stigma and pendulous stamens resemble. The bees agree that this is one sexy flower.

The vine itself is extremely vigorous. In its second year, my vine is busily devouring a rose bush, zebra grass, and a fence. (I’m moving it to a better location this fall.) I received my start from a friend who has to mow religiously (pun?) along her fence line to keep suckers at bay. I’m willing to donate my suckers (when they appear) to any plant swappers brave enough to take this lady on.

I am not the first to take a sacrilegious slant on Christ’s flower. In Japan, the flower is a symbol for homosexual youths. I suppose we’re all going to hell. I’ll be there wearing my purple dress and a maypop tucked behind one ear.

Paghat’s Garden website contains a nice article on Passion Flower Symbolism, from religious to profane.

Does This Yard Look Lopsided?

2006-07-25T05:24:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I bemoan the fact that my husband has no interest in gardening. He isn’t even interested in the lawn. While other men are aerating, fertilizing, watering, trimming, and over-seeding their grassy acre, I must nag Mike to mow our yard just once a week. I suppose, though, I should count my blessings. Because Mike has absolutely no interest in the yard, he doesn’t mind that my garden is slowly, but surely, consuming the lawn.

Every time I create a new bed, I tell myself, “At last, I have achieved the perfect balance between garden and lawn.” However, it takes just a few months for me to start eying another grassy patch. I have grand plans to tear up the hellstrip and a portion of the lawn along the sidewalk this fall. I will also be tilling and smothering the weed-cover in the north corner of the backyard. Those projects seemed like enough to achieve my final, grand vision until I took a look at our house from the street and realized that the garden looks lopsided! The bright flowers on the sunny left side completely overwhelm the reserved shade garden on the right. The asymmetry has been bothering me ever since. My solution is to create another island bed to the right of the stepping stone walkway, leaving “grass” paths between the new bed and the shade bed behind it and the shrub/shade border to the right. Our house faces southeast, so, although the holly tree will shade the new bed in the early morning, the plants should get six hours of sunlight during the late morning and early afternoon.

I plan on creating my new bed with the same method I used for the magnolia bed: smothering the lawn/weeds with newspaper topped with straw. The 6 – 10 sheets of paper I used in the magnolia bed proved absolutely impenetrable to the existing vegetation. Although the straw did contain grain seeds, they were few and the straw’s attractiveness more than made up for the inconvenience of pulling a few stalks of grain.

The best part of my plan is that I now have a place to plant dwarf forsythia (I’ve been coveting forsythia since last spring), to transplant the perennials I need to thin or move from other beds, and to house my bumper group of winter-sown biennials and perennials. I anticipate no objectsion from Mike, because there will be that much less grass for him to mow.

Too Many Gladiolas

2006-07-24T05:47:00.000-07:00

It’s gladiola season and time for me to complain, again. My magenta gladiolas came with the house and, although they are tender corms, have proven themselves hardy enough to be left in the ground over the winter. Last season was our first together and I was very excited to see them flower. I was impressed by the tall spikes and vibrant colors. Eventually, though, I came to view them as a maintenance nightmare.

Each and every flower spike must be staked. Time and time again, I have been fooled by a seemingly sturdy looking spike that is then dashed to the ground by a summer storm. By the time I find the wreckage, the flowers are too far gone even to cut for a vase. I end up staking about 1/3 of the flowers and losing the rest. (The photo shows the perfect, “no work” stake: a nearby sunflower!)

Although the corms should not be hardy in zone 6, they not only survive, but thrive in my yard. The corms reproduce at an astounding rate. I cannot dig in my gladiola patches without slicing into a few. I have unknowingly distributed hundreds of cormlets throughout my beds and am constantly “weeding” them out.

The time has come to start thinning the gladiolas. I simply have too many (again!). I’m going to dig up the entire patch along the garage to swap. I’d gladly trade them for iris!

(By the way – I apologize to the two readers (Heather and Jennifer) I promised gladiolas to last fall. I dug the corms up and potted them, but left the pots out on the deck all winter. They weren’t hardy enough to survive the exposed situation. Email me if you still want some and I’ll do better this year.)

True Blue, My Ass

2006-07-22T06:51:00.000-07:00

I bought the Dianthus amurensis 'Siberian Blues' seeds from Park's. They were described as "the closest to a true blue dianthus!" Some of my first-year plants have bloomed and they are absolutely not blue. They are mauve. They are exactly that shade of lavender-pink that I detest in the garden. To add insult to injury, they aren't even fragrant. Anyone want to swap?

Cincinnati Plant Swap

2006-07-20T18:33:00.000-07:00

If you are a gardener in the Cincinnati area, please consider joining the Cincinnati Plant Swap group on Yahoo. Using the message board, simply list the plants you have to trade and those you’d like to acquire. Chances are, your message will be read by someone who would like to swap with you. I’ve kicked off the group message board with my own list of “Have”s and “Wanted”s.

To prevent spammers and advertisers from flooding the board, you must be a member of the group to post messages. Membership costs nothing, but I must approve. (Again, to prevent spam and advertising.)

Hope to see all local gardeners there!

Click to join cintiplantswap

My Favorite Spot, July 14th

2006-07-14T06:24:00.000-07:00

On weekend mornings, I rise as early as I can bear. I stumble down the stairs, trying not to trip over the cats. I head into the kitchen, open the back door, and collapse into the hammock. Then I lie there in a daze, allowing the morning air to finish the job of waking me up. Later, I’ll muster my strength to brew a cup of tea, and then return to the hammock to nurse my cuppa. After sipping the stimulating brew, listening to the trickle of the fountain and clatter of the wind chimes, and gazing at the vibrant flowers, I’m ready to begin my gardening day.

My favorite spot this week, the deck, gets heavy use. Not only is it my second bedroom, but it is also the kitchen and dining room most evenings. It is also my nursery. The snowy deck hosted my winter sowing containers during the cold months and now supports my immense stock of shade-loving seedlings.

I’ve planted the area around the deck fairly intensively. The southwest side is lined with spiderwort and nicotiana. Along the northwest, I’ve recently planted ostrich ferns, Golden Lights azalea, Fairy primrose, sweet woodruff, hostas, and a Ruby Spice clethra. A Terese Bugnet rose was already resident on the northeast side. While Terese’s head is in the sun, the area around her feet is shady, so I’ve planted more ostrich fern and chameleon plant there.

When I first began to plan the landscaping around the deck during March ’05, I debated over which vines to climb the overhang. I was torn between clematis jackmanii and trumpet vine. I decided to plant them both. Neither plant flowered last year, but I was rewarded with purple and orange blooms this year. Four enormous fuchsias hang in the windows, completing the lush, tropical feel.

Can you see why this is my favorite spot?

Park's Shrubs

2006-07-13T05:32:00.000-07:00

The fall issue of Park’s Seed catalog arrived recently. I thumbed through it on the bus as I rode to work. As I flipped through the pages, I thought, “I have that….and that….and that…and…” Last season, I placed multiple orders with Park’s. While I bought a few perennials from them, I mostly ordered shrubs.

Park’s Seed doesn’t get a great rating on the Garden Watchdog, but I like the glossy catalog and easy-to-navigate website. If you’ve noticed that the Wayside Gardens’ website looks strikingly similar, it’s probably because Wayside is an affiliate company of Park’s. Unlike the Direct Gardening company of Bloomington, IL, which masquerades under a number of different names, Park’s seems to be a reputable company.

No matter how stellar the company, I’ve found that plants ordered by mail always seem shockingly small when they arrive (except Forest Farm). The expectation vs. reality disparity is even more pronounced when one orders shrubs. I ordered six shrubs (four varieties) from Park’s and imagined enormous potted bushes emerging from the back of a delivery van. With the exception of the hardy gardenia, my arrivals turned out to be sticks in tiny pots via USPS. Supposedly, the smaller the plant, the better it transplants, so how did those sticks fare?

The following is a rundown of the shrubs I purchased from Park’s last season. I hope you find the information helpful whether you plan on ordering from Park’s yourself or are just interested in the same variety of plant from another merchant.

Mockorange (Philadelphus) "Snowbelle." The two plants were short, single whips upon arrival. I planted them in the sun bed last fall. I did not expect them to bloom this season, but they surprised me by covering themselves with double, white blooms in the spring. While I was impressed with the bloom production, I was underwhelmed by the fragrance. However, I think the scent will be more noticeable when the plants become large enough that I don’t have to belly crawl through the mulch to smell flowers.

Hydrangea paniculata "Limelight." I planted the 8 inch stick in a carefully prepared hole last fall. It did not survive the winter. At $14.95, I probably could have bought a much larger plant at a local fall sale.

Hydrangea macrophylla "Hornli." After Limelight’s dismal performance, I didn’t expect Hornli to live either. This dwarf surprised me by leafing out this spring and looking very much alive. I see none of the famed red blooms, but I won’t complain, yet.

Gardenia augusta "Grif’s Select." The story of the gardenias is a very sad one. I ordered two and they arrived as small, multi-branched plants covered in deliciously glossy leaves and sporting a few fat flower beds. I amended our clay soil well and hoped the plants would survive the winter, as promised. (This gardenia is advertised as hardy to zone 6.) The gardenia is also described as evergreen, but it lost its leaves over the winter (and the flower buds never did develop.) By April, there was no sign of a reappearance of leaves, so I resigned myself to the fact that these were losses and replaced them with viburnum. However, I didn’t toss the gardenias in the compost pile, but instead stuffed them in plastic pots to monitor. A few months later, it is evident that one of the plants appears to be clinging to life. I’m really not sure what to do with it.

I don’t think I’ll order shrubs from Park’s again. I prefer to buy my shrubs locally. However, if you are looking for a specific, hard-to-find cultivar, I can’t recommend Forest Farm highly enough. The shipping charges are high, but I received large, undamaged shrubs. I’ll highlight those survivors soon.

Stinkin Cleome

2006-07-12T05:07:00.000-07:00

I never would have grown cleome had a new gardening friend not pressed the seeds upon me. In my opinion, cleome look weedy. She, however, insisted that there was no better flower. I said, “What the hell,” and planted them with the rest of my annuals in March.

We both had very poor germination (the seeds were from Ed Hume), but I managed to raise three seedlings in a strawberry container. I don’t recommend strawberry containers for winter sowing, or even spring sowing. The many vents cause the soil to dry out rapidly. My poor cleome seedlings demonstrated their will to live, though, and hung on through the drought-like conditions. At last, I took pity upon them and planted them in the witch hazel bed.

Sometime after I planted them out, I heard that cleome is fragrant. The promise of scent had me watering and weeding my three seedlings, awaiting a flower. This week, the most vigorous plant bloomed. I buried my face in the wispy flowers and inhaled. Quite puzzled, I sniffed again. There was no doubt about it, cleome smells like skunk!

The plants are fragrant indeed. They have a light, musky, animal odor. I would not recommend cutting a bouquet of cleome for the dining table, or anywhere else in the house. While the effect of one plant is mild, I can only imagine the stink that a sweep of cleome would make.

A discussion of cleome’s fragrance on GardenWeb was quite enlightening. Apparently, the bruised foliage smells as bad, or worse, than the blooms. While some people don’t smell a thing (personal genetics, I suppose), others find the odor so offensive that they will not have cleome in their garden. I have the plants far enough away from any sitting areas (and the house) that the smell is not a problem. In fact, I think I’ll grow it again next year because, now that I’ve seen it in my garden, I don’t think it is weedy at all!