the back quarter acre

Preserving parkland

2012-01-19T20:24:00.000-05:00

Running along the opposite side of our street is a stretch of wooded parkland. This sliver of open space hosts native plants as well as, yes, some patches of invasives. At its lowest point, a pond and surrounding wetlands support mallards and other birds. On the far side, the land rises sharply to a train bed.

Recently, our town had to vote on whether to sell a portion of this parkland so that an 18th-century house could be moved on to it (and then vastly augmented so as to ensure financial feasibility for the developer). As an abutter to this parkland, the idea of destroying even a single square foot was incomprehensible. Rule one of natural resource management: once open space is lost to development, it is gone forever. (I won't labor all the political back and forth but, in a nutshell, more suitable locations for the preservation of this house have been identified.)

At Town Meeting, where the authorization to sell was debated by the citizens, it was quite revelatory to hear other townspeople say again and again how much they valued this parkland--for its trees, its wildlife, its refreshing green stretch of open space. On voice vote, the potential land sale was overwhelmingly defeated. Instead, a bike path may be set along the train bed. How wonderful if that project could be combined with a wildlife census and the removal of invasive plants. Anyway, happily, it now looks like this patch of parkland will be preserved for all of our citizens to continue to enjoy.

Winter lawn sports

2012-01-08T17:57:00.000-05:00

In the winter, it's something of a New England tradition to create your own backyard skating rink. Growing up, my husband's family would flood their driveway to make a sheet of ice for testosterone-fueled pick-up hockey games between siblings and cousins. This winter, his brother erected a board and batten rink in the middle of his circular driveway. For the kids, of course. Well, our sloping yard doesn't have level space for skaters, sticks, and pucks, but we do have a small frozen slab in our side yard.

If the voles and mice that channel paths through the garden this time of year ever decide to take up ice sports, this patch would be the perfect size for their athletic endeavors.

For a brief moment, I can almost see Stuart Little skating between these banks. Then I remember that he's just a rodent. And rodents are pests.

Our watercourse is simply runoff from the stream that rises further up our hill. When the ground freezes, the water ices over in the edging ditches along the garden beds and eventually spills on to the lawn. Over the next few months, the freeze and thaw cycle is not going to be kind to this lawn. Repairing a mucky patch of dead lawn will probably be on this spring's agenda. Wonder if Stuart Little ever considered mud-wrestling?

Greenwich Village greenery

2012-01-01T22:43:00.004-05:00

During this past week's immersion in Manhattan, I missed my mid-winter pilgrimage to the High Line. However, between perfume shopping at Aedes de Venustas and nibbling Nizami rolls at Thelewala, I did happen upon the most wonderful Greenwich Village holiday greenery.

Almost all of the houses along West 10th Street were decked out for the season. I had to stop, admire, and take a few 'phone pix. Lots of wrought-iron railings were swagged with evergreen boughs. In front of this double door, pots of paperwhites were additionally stacked on the stairs between miniature pines and trailing ivy.

At another house, there was more liberal use of miniature pines and ivy, embellished with pots of ornamental cabbages and strings of white fairy lights.

The same house viewed obliquely displayed lights just starting to twinkle along the railings and tree branches.

Across the street, the bare branches of these two small trees were hung with tiny glass drops. Around the trees were bedded red and fuschia cyclamen and pink ornamental cabbages. Rock my world!

These black painted window boxes were filled with evergreen branches, ilex berries, ivy, and white ornamental cabbages. Perhaps a more conventional arrangement but nevertheless a satisfying foil to the iron grillwork.

Even if the balmy weather didn't seem very seasonal, these swags, wreaths, and abundances of greenery certainly did!

Amaryllis mite and main

2011-12-02T08:00:00.003-05:00

Because we have been enjoying a long stretch of mild weather, the seasons seem to be rolling along slowly. Perhaps that's the reason why I've been late in sending some bulbs to the refrigerator to chill and nudging others out of their cool hibernation. Last night, I finally got around to potting up two amaryllises that I had ordered from John Scheepers.

While cleaning up "Red Pearl," I noticed a soft area on the side of the bulb. My museum background has me hyper-sensitized to any signs of pest presence, and, with a little poking, a colony of pinpoint-sized shiny white insects was exposed under a layer of rot. Although these little things look like eggs, they are actually bulb mites (Rhizoglyphus spp.). They spread disease, cause distorted leaves, and result in rotted plants. Ugh.

The deeper layers of this bulb were mushy, discolored, and shiver-making. More ugh. Yes, you can treat the infested bulbs by high humidity, fumigation, and trimming--or you can just pitch the bulb and scratch that nursery off your list of amaryllis suppliers. I voted for the latter option.

The other bulb, Picotee, was clean and firm. It was potted up and placed in a sunny window.

Not to be held back by my 50% loss in bulbs, I cashed in a gift certificate to White Flower Farm for my favorite red holiday amayllis, Royal Velvet. In the meantime, I'm gearing up for the Christmas groove with the first rush of paperwhites. Can snow and twinkly lights be far away?

Golden foliage/flowers/fruits/feasts

2011-11-28T08:00:00.004-05:00

The goldenrod may have died back and the maple leaves shed, but there is still a wealth of gold in the garden.

Fronds of soft needle-leaved Amsonia hubrichtii are waving in the fall breezes. This plant has benefited tremendously from being moved to a sunnier spot (even though it took its transplanting hard and slow) and being sheared to 10 inches after spring blooming.

A male American holly Ilex opaca is sporting jaunty yellow berries. The Ilex ladies next to him don't care that he is a ill-shaped shambling wreck as long as he has the goods.

Happily established on our front stairs, volunteers of "Dakota Gold" helenium are welcome interlopers. I like them better than the potted mums that are our (snore) official flower display.

And, inside, it's all amber, yellow, and ochre. Let's call it golden and say thanks!

Over-wintering dahlias, the extreme edition

2011-11-14T20:00:00.008-05:00

My standard regimen is to treat dahlias like high-style annuals. At the end of the growing season, I cut down their foliage, fork up the tubers, and toss the whole vegetative mess away. However, over past few years, I've accidentally left a piece of tuber buried over the winter. I never realize my oversight until the following spring, when a lush green sprout cuts through the soil about a month earlier than any of the newly planted dahlias. That headstart pays off big in terms of bloom duration and plant vigor.

This summer, it was a nubbin of Normandy Painted Pearl that made the seasonal leap--a happy achievement since I had been unable to locate that variety among dahlia nurseries.

So this got me to thinking: As satisfying as it may be, why rely on mistakes and carelessness for serendipitous garden success? Why not be intentional? Yes, this is a Zone 6 New England garden and dahlias may be tender perennials, but they have demonstrated that they can spend a chilly winter safely nestled next to a south-facing foundation wall.

With the goal of volitional gardening in mind (and having been unsuccessful with conventional winter storage), I've undertaken the extreme edition of dahlia over-wintering. Following our first hard frost (and pre-season bizzard) last month, I allowed the foliage to wilt, brown, and start to harden off. After two weeks, I cut each plant down.

The lowest part of the stalks was still succulent. Just to mark the location of each plant and to ensure proper stake placement next spring, I substituted the orthopedic metal stakes that these heavy plants require for support with a lighter variety.

At this point, I tried to simply recreate my previous haphazard technique by digging down to expose the clump of tubers. With clippers, I cut off each stalk where it ended. Those plump, juicy tubers looked good enough to eat!

The final step was simply back-filling each hole and mulching the row of plants with shredded maple leaves. Hopefully, this covering will be the extra little blanket that keeps the tubers snug during the winter snows.

The dahlia varieties are, from left to right, Pattycake, Arabian Nights, and Normandy Painted Pearl. Except for the minimal effort expended by running over the leaves twice with the lawn mower, I think that this over-wintering approach serves my intention to enjoy being a lazy and lackidasical gardener. Not that that takes much effort!

Jump to it!

2011-11-13T23:53:00.002-05:00

It was perfect weather over this holiday weekend for jumping through autumn chores. Cool enough for vigorous lawn mowing (the lazy gardener's way of cleaning up fallen leaves), but still warm enough to get my hands wet. Some urgent tasks can be checked off, but others need to be completed before winter bears down on us.

1. Fertilize rhododendrons, hollies, and other broad leaf evergreens with Holly-Tone. Done 11/13/2011
2. Prune climbing rose "New Dawn."
3. Cut back perennials. On-going 11/12/2011-12/4/2011
4. Spread composted manure on beds. 11/27/2011-12/4/2011
5. Clip iris leaves. 11/12/2011-12/4/2011
6. Pull and discard tomato and other container plants. Scrub planters and put away. Done 11/13/2011
7. Plant spring bulbs. Done 11/12/2011
8. Spray "Sky Needle" hollies with anti-dessicant.
9. Compost fallen leaves after shredding by mowing twice. Done 11/13/2011. More, please!
10. Remove old amaryllises from pots and cool for nine weeks. In the refrigerator 11/28/2011. Pot up newly purchased amaryllises. 12/1/2011

Fall harvest: compost bin and wash tub filled with shredded leaves

Iced out

2011-10-31T08:16:00.000-04:00

After the snow and ice from this weekend's surprise storm has melted, there is going to be a great deal of sorry cleaning up and cutting down. The season of tender perennials, annuals, and summering indoor plants has come to an abruptly chilling end.

Fortunately, I had time to pick a final bouquet of dahlias before they were glazed over.

Sunken surprise

2011-10-28T08:00:00.022-04:00

As I was racing to a luncheon lecture at the Radcliffe Institute earlier this week, I was stopped short in my steps by the sight of this lovely little sunken garden on the Institute's grounds. How could I have worked in Cambridge for a quarter of a century and never before stumbled upon this jewel?

It was decked out in fall flowers blue (asters, monkshoods, and irises--how is it that those are even flowering now?!) and white (anemones) and in foliage orange and green.

The hardscaping of stone and brick walks, walls, and water features provided a perfectly scaled framework. The design led straight in the right places and swooped around in perfect curves. Unfortunately, the fountain was also under renovation, preventing full access to the garden. I can't wait to have a fuller visit this winter . . . and in the spring . . . and summer . . .

The only disappointment--and a surprising one, in light of its location in the most historically conscious and self-reflective university in this country--as well as one that sponsors a renowned landscape program--is that I could locate no information about when or by whom this sunken garden was designed. A brief citation in a history of Radcliffe indicates that it was installed sometime in the first quarter of the 20th century. Oh, and a plant list would be nice, too!

Seed send-off

2011-10-15T07:57:00.002-04:00

For a dear friend and gardening buddy who is leaving New England for the Intermountain West, I put together a stack of seed packets: black-eyed susan, joe pye weed, columbine, larkspur, and northern sea oats collected from my garden.

I'd hoping that at least some of these will take root in the arid soil of southern Idaho. Just like her friendship (and her offerings of plant divisions) have been perennials in my life.

2011-10-11T07:00:00.000-04:00

Ever since I broke two bones in my right hand back in August, my gardening activities have been drastically curtailed. Sure, I could have used that functioning left hand to catch up on weeding but I just couldn't stand the thought of weeks and weeks of weeding and nothing else. So, instead, I've done . . . nothing else . . . and just allowed late summer to roll along without ever lifting a (cast or splinted) finger to assist. I've sat back, put my feet up, and celebrated the parade of dahlias currently passing by.

Normandy Painted Pearl

Karras 150

Pattycake

Park Princess

Arabian Night

Bonne Esperance

The dahlia output was more uneven this year than in the past. Some tubers, like Rose Toscano, are yet to bloom despite being planted exactly where they flourished so abundantly in previous years. Others, like Arabian Night and Pattycake, are six feet of blooming madness. And Normandy Painted Pearl, which I accidentally abandoned in the ground over the winter, is a towering seven-foot explosion. Despite our Zone 6 climate, it seems that a dahlia tuber left in the right place--next to a south facing foundation wall--has enough warmth and protection to survive. I'll add this tip to my lazy bones gardening manifesto. But then all my bones are lazy right now.

Bounty!

Pestering spring bulbs

2011-09-25T23:18:00.004-04:00

Regular readers will know that I have kind of a thing for Robin Lane Fox, gardening correspondent for the Financial Times. Not only is he is fluent in all the proper Latin botanical names--as he should be since his day job is as a Reader in Ancient History--but his horticultural opinions are refreshingly contrarian. (And, when not gardening, he leads the occasional cavalry charge in a Hollywood sand-and-sandal epic.)

Anyway, Lane Fox's article yesterday on fall planting began by lambasting both the vermin who ravage spring bulbs and the "woolly minded eco-gardeners" who are their advocates. As a veteran of constant battles over the predations of backyard swarms of squirrels and rabbits, I say sign me up on your team, Robin! I've gone over to the dark side of gardeners for whom Peter Rabbit is no longer a cute, cuddly cartoon bunny.

This year, I've given up planting any bulbs that these pests like. It's hard to enjoy a plant when all the time you're wondering first, if the bulb was dug up and devoured in the fall and second, how long before something hops or bounds over and snips off the leaves and flowers. Not going there this year. Instead of tulips, I am trying Spanish hyacinths. They may be a poor substitute but, honestly, nothing carries off spring as flamboyantly as brilliantly-colored Darwin tulips anyway. At least I can inject a little springtime pink with Spanish hyacinths. In addition, yes, there will be more daffodils--the late blooming variety "Quail" and, as reminders of a lovely spring in Portugal, hoop petticoat daffodils.

The plant list is below the jump. Full, but not complete--I'm guessing there will be a few more purchases.

Outdoors
100 Narcissus bulbocodium conspicuus (front walk bed) (John Scheepers)
10 Narcissus "Quail" (new side bed) (John Scheepers)
50 Hyacinthoides hispanica "Dainty Maid" (old side bed) (John Scheepers)

Indoors
20 Paperwhite narcissus "Ziva" (John Scheepers)
5 Hyacinth "Gypsy Queen" (John Scheepers)
1 Amaryllis "Picotee" (John Scheepers)
1 Amaryllis "Red Pearl" (John Scheepers)

Evening primrose

2011-08-28T20:42:00.001-04:00

Following from my last post about the need for a color infusion into the late summer garden, my mind was going back to the bordering-on-neon flowers that my mother used to grow. She always kept a small patch for favorite wildflowers, among them tall yellow-blooming evening primrose Oenothera sp. I started doing a little on-line research about evening primrose and learned that most available are short biennials grown from seed. That's not what I was looking for!

So I was delighted the next day to literally stumble across the tall variety lining the trail through the Great Meadows National Wildlife Refuge in Concord. Oh, the unexpected joy of serendipity!

The banks were thick with evening primrose. I'm still confused about their habitat: my mother would grow them in partial shade and on-line accounts indicate a preference for drier soils; these however were flourishing in exposed wetlands. More research is in order. And, eventually, perhaps, a supplier of plants as well as seeds. (Our rabbits are enjoying anything grown from seed way too much these days.)

Even if I never figure out how to grow them in my own yard, I'll know where to go to find them in the wild.

White out?

2011-08-17T07:23:00.000-04:00

The garden in August needs a jolt of color. Sure, salvia, echinacea, and rudbeckia are sparking and sizzling, but way too much of what's in bloom has no charge. Why do white flowers lack that electricity?

This isn't an intentionally white garden, like the White Garden at Sissinghurst. I suspect that the heavy representation of the color here results from two thoughts that pop into my head when selecting plants: "Oh, white goes with everything! That's a safe choice" and "White flowers could brighten up a dark corner of the garden." The overall result appears just as uninteresting as these lines of practical thinking would indicate.

Flower whites, clockwise from upper left: Argyranthemum frutescens "Vanilla Butterfly," Achillea sp, Phlox panticulata "David," Shasta daisy, Clethra alnifolia "September Beauty," Hosta "Guacamole"

The balance of "how much white in the garden is too much white" has been tipped. White should be used either sparingly or exclusively, and in this garden it's neither. I do like crisp, cool white flowers, but next year, I'll need to think about how to replace some of those daisies and achillea with colorful Phlox panticulata varieties like "Sir John Falstaff" or "Russian Violet"--or even a few annuals.

The recent rain has also sprouted some not so welcome flushes of white. Powdery mildew is rampant on the peony foliage, and tiny earthball fungi are popping up on battered areas of the lawn.

Fungus whites: Powdery mildew and earthball fungi

Yes, need to get those whites out!

At last, rain. And lots of it.

2011-08-08T19:03:00.001-04:00

After a day of torrential downpours, the garden is breathing mist. Or maybe my camera just got wet when I was caught in a shower.

It feels this steamy, anyway.

A watched tomato . . .

2011-08-07T11:05:00.002-04:00

Maybe it's driven by my appetite for raw fruits and vegetables or maybe because I am impulse-control challenged, but for whatever reason, it seems like the "Sugary" grape tomatoes have taken an eternity to come to the table.

The plants started fast out of the gate, but then lingered and shilly-shallied and dawdled over ripening. Why go red and be picked when you can be a unbothered green?

Way back in May, six plants went into two pots over Memorial Day weekend. In less than three weeks, there were lots of blossoms.

Followed by fruit just a week later. And then the pace slowed. The tomatoes hung on the plants, staying green. Occasionally, one would just drop off, unripe. Meantime, the plants themselves are starting to look exhausted. Come on, tomatoes, get red!

At last, our harvest started coming in this week. After waiting 66 days, the crop was so welcome that the first sweet batch was almost all consumed right off the vine. But there are more still ripening . . . of course.

Winning a reprieve

2011-07-10T11:56:00.005-04:00

It's been four years since I started to make a raingarden out of a wet corner of the backyard. The first plants stuck into that mucky mess were blue flag irises (Iris versicolor). Winter, summer, spring, fall: there has always been plenty of green spiky iris foliage but never, ever, any flowers. This spring, I was becoming so exasperated with the lack of bloom performance that I was wondering exactly how bad it would be if I replaced these blue flags with yellow iris (Iris pseudacorus). Yes, my line of thinking/rationalization went, yellow iris is listed as an invasive by the USDA and prohibited as a noxious weed in Massachusetts, but they look so lovely blooming in May and June along the margin of our town pond. So, if yellow irises are flourishing on town property, how bad could they really be?

Thankfully, I was saved from sliding down that slippery slope by a single blossom. At last, the blue flag sent up a flower. And it is beautiful. So, no doubt, this iris wins a reprieve.

Okay, I was so surprised to see this blue flag that after I uttered, "What the what?!" and caught my breath, I had a little episode of photographic mania. I just had to document the event . . . again . . . and over again . . . Now, if I could only figure how to spur more blooms.

Fireworks

2011-07-04T23:16:00.067-04:00

Looks like the garden is celebrating this holiday weekend with a small scale fireworks display. The red and coral blossoms of this trumpet honeysuckle Lonicera sempervirens "Major Wheeler" shoot out like tiny versions of those sky-shattering explosions.

In the past, I've grown sweet peas on this trellis, but this year, I missed the early spring planting out season for seeds, and later I couldn't locate any nursery-grown plants. The past few years, too, I've had real difficulty keeping the sweet pea vines from going bleached and brittle by mid-summer. Flower yields have been less than impressive. Anyway, all these thoughts were rattling around in my head as I wandered down the aisles of my local garden center wondering what to do. As soon as I picked up a potted vine with the name "Major Wheeler," I knew I had my answer.

The twisting vines of my own family history are heavy with military Wheelers. No Majors, but lots of other officers. To mark this patriotic day, here are a few.

Captain Wheeler (1796/1798-1867)

Colonel Wheeler (1826-1901)

Lieutenant Wheeler (1895-1918)

They definitely set off fireworks in their own days. And so did we!

Biding my sweet time (Updated 6/30/2011)

2011-06-29T23:57:00.005-04:00

May 30: A total of six "Sugary" grape tomato plants were set into two pots

June 19: Plants begin to flower

How soon will we have tomatoes?

I'm passing the time waiting by fertilizing, staking, and tying. Oh, for that pungent tomato plant smell!

My question was quickly answered: this baby was waiting for me that afternoon!

"New Dawn": it's on!

2011-06-20T06:00:00.002-04:00

My "New Dawn" rose is celebrating its glory days. This plant is just perfect for its sunny space over the back door--robust enough to cover the arbor, softly colored to complement the house, and freely flowering enough to supply a near limitless number of bouquets.

Although claimed to be an everblooming rose, "New Dawn" really has one good shot and mid-June is it. However, with a little luck (and a bit of fertilizer), a few random blooms will continue to be thrown out until the first snowfall.

My care regimen for this rose is oh-so-simple. By far the most challenging component is pruning, which is wrestled out only at the cost of several days of teetering on a ladder, buckets of sweat, and armloads of scratches. Last year, I cut this rose back hard, and it totally paid off: no loss of flowering and a far better shape.

If only it had a stronger scent and fewer thorns! Maybe not the best climber ever, but pretty darn good.

Happy father's day

2011-06-12T09:28:00.001-04:00

To inspire his fatherly feelings towards native plants: a little pot of woodland phlox (Phlox divaricata) for his shady garden.

It's something that my father used to grow in the small corners of my parents' suburban Maryland yard.

50 daze of daffodils

2011-06-06T07:57:00.005-04:00

As if I needed more reasons to adore daffodils--what, their sunny colors, pest resistance, and willingness to naturalize aren't enough?--this year, I learned that season-stretching should be added to the plus column. From April to June, I've enjoyed fifty delightful days of daffodils. A longer run is no doubt possible, if you were a more intentional and intelligent gardener than I.

So, here's a fast paced run-down of what was in bloom and when. No commentary other than the names of the varieties and the dates of the photographs . . . that says it all.

"Marieke" April 16

"White Medal" April 24

"Ice King" April 27

"Hawara" April 28

"Pheasant's Eye" April 28

"Minnow" April 29

"Ceylon" May 1

"Mount Hood" May 3

"Tete a Tete" May 6

"Thalia" June 4

The month of May looks a little sparse. Maybe I don't need any additional reasons, but now I have an excuse at least to plant a few more bulbs.

Memorial Day weekend: changing of the guard

2011-05-31T19:00:00.002-04:00

Even if our local swimming pool isn't scheduled to open until July, Memorial Day weekend marks the end of spring and the beginning of summer, garden-wise, in this neighborhood. It's time for changing of the guard.

On Duty:

Two new pots of "Sugary" grape tomatoes

Dahlias in both side beds and along the back of the house

Siberian irises from a work colleague

"New Dawn" roses fertilized with 1 1/4 cup of Rose Tone

Joe Pye weed (Eutrochium purpureum) "Gateway" cut down to 2 feet

Shasta daisies pinched back to 6 inches

Discharged:
Spent tulip bulbs
Weeds, lots of 'em
Marsh marigold seed heads
Lots of gardening energy

Water feature wannabe

2011-05-16T08:09:00.003-04:00

My relationship with the the wet area in the backyard has matured from one characterized by jumping in with both feet to a series of negotiations. I dig around a little or move some rocks in the stream bed or cut back the edging and then wait to see what happens. The volume and course of water is unpredictable: sometimes it pools in one of the channels, other times it flows to the far end of the raingarden, or it simply finds its own way and eases on to the lawn.

Marsh ferns (Thelypteris palustris), variagated sweet flags (Acorus gramineus "Golden Ogon") and dwarf goldenrods (Solidago x "Little Lemon") were planted last fall along the sides of the stream bed. These three plants work perfectly together because they each bring a different texture and color to the mix.

Yes, I guess that it's still pretty chaotic. That vision of ferny stream banks and water lazily meandering around grasses may never quite be realized.

At least we're no longer referring to this area as "the swamp" or "sinkhole," though it may not yet deserve the label of "water feature."

Drive-by shootings

2011-05-09T07:00:00.002-04:00

My workday commute is about three miles, door to door. In a New England rush hour blizzard, the trip can take three hours. More typically, thankfully, I'm in the car for about a half hour. Lots of other commuters travel the same roads, so there is plenty of stop and start driving. Sometimes when I'm waiting at a red light, I'll see an example of horticultural horribleness, but more often, I glance over to see something that makes me think, "Wow! What a great idea!" I grab my camera and take a quick shot before stepping on the gas pedal.

Like this little raised bed, bounded by an asphalt driveway, concrete sidewalk, and a stockade fence. The play of the deep rose color of dangling dicentra flowers and upright tulips, kicked off with chartreuse foliage--is that a euphorbia?--and a breeze of white daffodils energized the start to the work day.

And passing this mossy copse of paper birches makes me appreciate that my route goes by mansions inhabited by folks with buckets of money to spend on whimsical gardening.

Of course, topping off a wall with masses of spring bulbs is a guaranteed bulls-eye! It's hard to miss with daffodils, grape hyacinths, and beautifully-laid stone.

Wonder what drive-by thoughts our little patch inspires.

Spring sunshine

2011-05-03T07:00:00.007-04:00

We may be headed into some grey, wet weather over the next few days, but this past weekend was the perfect New England spring: sunny, cool, and breezy.

The weather was great for those necessary but not very interesting tasks: cutting down old growth, weeding, spreading compost, and edging beds. The most intellectually challenging--and emotionally difficult--task is tidying up perennials. It's hard to dig up (and even discard) those plants that have wandered outside of where they belong. Teasing wayward daisies out of clumps of lady's mantle, rooting lilies of the valley up from the lawn, re-bedding larkspur that had seeded in all corners of the yard and always, trying to contain this boisterous mass of marsh marigolds . . . but it will be well worth the hard heartedness come summer. In the meantime, these yellow jolts of happiness definitely spread their own spring sunshine.

Xeriscaping, round two

2011-04-27T13:10:00.000-04:00

Over the past couple of weeks, I've had a chance to remove dead sod, dig up soil, and add several hundred pounds of composted cow manure and peat moss to what will become a new bed for drought-tolerant plants.

In the photo above, check out that crazy line of lawn demarcation between last autumn's new green grass and last summer's parched brown lawn! Interestingly, when I started spading and forking, I realized that a big part of the problem in this area is heavy clay. Brown clay, grey clay, beige clay . . . we've got it all. So there will be more soil amendments heading towards this bed. Good thing that it's located next to the compost bin!

Coneflowers and salvia are on their way. Hurray for planting weather!

Varmints

2011-04-19T13:13:00.056-04:00

Now that buds are budding, leaves are leafing out, and blossoms are blooming, all the varmints that chew, pluck, and otherwise destroy nature's glory have emerged.

Rabbits have been eating a swath through the tulips. It's amazing the damage that those adorable furry creatures can do.

Destruction by New England cottontail (Sylvilagus transitionalis) or the Eastern cottontail (Sylvilagus floridanus)

Hopefully, a good shake of pelletized organic rabbit repellant will curb their appetites.

More destruction by New England cottontail (Sylvilagus transitionalis) or the Eastern cottontail (Sylvilagus floridanus)

But not only four-footed varmints are a problem. We also have trouble with the two-footed variety. Last year, a roadside line of daffodils helped us pay it forward. This year, instead of sparking a smile from passers-by, the flowers seem to have fired an urge to help oneself. Caught in the act, the picker of this daffodil shouted, "Lady, what, you're going to give me a hard time for taking one flower?"

Destruction by Massachusetts License Plate 6905BL

Another varmint blithely mused, "Oh, they'll grow back," as he stuck a daffodil into his lapel. Too cheap to buy a bouquet? Too stupid to understand that by taking flowers for your very own extremely special self, you reduce enjoyment of everyone else? No impulse control when passing something pretty? Or just an illustration of the tragedy of the commons?

Jilted

2011-04-11T08:13:00.001-04:00

Iris reticula "Katherine Hodgkin"

Until a few years ago, I used to plant the beds lining the front walk with different varieties of miniature or rock-garden irises. They bloomed early and adorable but some spark of over-the-top springtime enthusiasm seemed to be lacking. And people always thought they were crocuses. So, for the past couple of years, I've loaded small daffodils into this area. However, come April, a few reminders of my previous dalliance still show up.

Iris danfordiae

Iris reticulata '"J.S. Dijt'"

Xeriscaping, round one

2011-04-05T23:34:00.003-04:00

Because our long cold winter is finally retreating--yes, temperatures cracked 60 degrees today--and because the snow has almost entirely melted, spring feels in the air. No sightings of bouncing bunnies or blooming forsythia, but the bluebells are starting to chime.

And planning for a new xeriscape-ish bed is underway. You can see how this area of the yard suffers in the summer heat. That grey-brown stripe down the middle of the photograph below? That's lawn. Dead, dried lawn. Thanks to drainage renovations and good grading, there's also a flood-resistant basement located to the left of the photograph. And a ginormous weeping beech to the upper right. Between the hydrologic effects of humans and nature, this area is receiving none of the water that rises to the surface elsewhere in this little yard.

The preliminary plan includes a mix of drought-tolerant plants. Some have been languishing elsewhere in the garden: squeezed behind the compost bin, wedged in a corner, or trapped under the hose. Hey, whose garden doesn't host a few such neglected specimens? Others I had better get around to ordering before all the choice selections have sold out. Anyway, double-click on the photograph to see the plan up close. I'm calling this round one, because I know there will be many changes before everything has been bedded, mulched, and watered. I just remembered some coreopsis "Moonbeam" that could happily migrate away from its current location by a dryer vent.

Can't wait to start tearing up that old turf with a pitchfork and spade.

Joking is . . .

2011-04-01T07:44:00.001-04:00

. . . what happens on April Fool's Day.

Cherry blossom time

2011-03-30T12:39:00.004-04:00

Tidal Basin view, 2011

Growing up near the nation's capital, cherry blossoms were the joyful harbinger of spring. Even though the trees encircling the Tidal Basin are the best known blooms, there are masses planted throughout the area.

By the Basin, 2011

With these other trees, you could celebrate your own private cherry blossom festival: flowering branches arched over the sidewalk on the way to school, trees lined the streets of a nearby community, and a specimen brightened the backyard. If you climbed to the top of a tree in bloom, you would find yourself floating on a frothy pink sea. The fallen petals could be tossed like confetti.

Somerset Elementary School, Chevy Chase, 1998

It felt like old times to catch a glimpse of these pink flowers on a recent trip to Washington. But then, on returning home to Massachusetts, I realized that I keep a reminder of a mid-century Maryland childhood on the walls and in the curtains of my bedroom and master bath. These cherry trees are always in bloom . . . and, marvel of nature, fruiting at the same time!

Schumacher and Co. cherries

Spring, snow and ice

2011-03-20T23:12:00.000-04:00

On this first day of spring, the little hillside behind our house is still harboring a few patches of snow. A line of hemlocks and a spirea hedge shields this area from sun and wind. A few bulbs have started to poke up through the frozen crust. I'm betting that these pale chartreuse leaves belong to the appropriately-named "Ice King" daffodil.

Across the yard, snowdrops blanket a sunny slope. Now, this looks like spring!

Defense in depth

2011-03-05T13:22:00.021-05:00

Back in the day, when I was struggling with the Spartan children model of British university education, typologies of crossbow brooches, and living quarters warmed by a single coin-operated electric heater, I ran across Edward Luttwak's provocative book, The Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire: From the First Century AD to the Third. The basic thesis of this book was that by the fourth century, the Roman army had abandoned a forward defense along its imperial frontier and instead employed a military strategy called "defense in depth." This involved delaying barbarian attacks, in part by dotting the countryside with minor forts. (Remember that opening battle scene in Gladiator? Those guys weren't interested in stopping for anything.)

I'm implementing my horticultural version of defense in depth here. To combat these last days of winter, flowering plants are being forced throughout the house. Those springs of forsythia last month are leafing and flowering in the living room.

A big tray of L'Innocence and Gipsy Queen hyacinths is set out on the dining room sideboard.

Last weekend, all the amaryllises were removed from their refrigerator dormancy, potted up, labelled, and stuck in an upstairs bedroom window. The radiator should provide some warmth from below and spring should bring in more sunlight through this south-facing window. Here's hoping!

And always, and on any spare surface, there are Ziva paperwhites. And more Ziva bulbs tucked away in a cool dark closet, waiting for their roots to form before being brought out into the light.

I know that my side is going to win. Eventually.

Weapons of Mass(achusetts winter) Destruction

2011-02-24T07:00:00.024-05:00

I'm crawling, bare-knuckled and teeth-gritting, towards spring. To battle those terrors of frigid temperatures, dirty piles of snow, and black ice, I have these weapons.

Who can resist in the face of shamelessly over-the-top roses? I love red. And anything that comes wrapped in tulle and ribbon.

The butterfly petals of a white cyclamen always look clean and fresh, even on an overcast day. Yes, there will be sunshine and spring breezes, eventually.

This "Novella"amaryllis keeps me going until the rest of my bulbs are ready to come out of the refrigerator, get themselves planted, and start blooming. Hey, it might just be that time!

A straggly forsythia Lynwood Gold, transplanted a year ago, has finally sprung shoots for flower forcing. What a struggle up the backyard hill in knee-high snow just to snip some twigs! This plant is not exactly burdened with branches, but hopefully a few won't be missed.

And within 30 seconds of cutting the ends of the forsythia twigs under warm water, this little twist of leaves had unfurled. Even if they don't bloom, that sight was worth the inconvenience of snow down my boots and icy hands. But, oh, I do hope that they will flower!

But to really arm myself against winter, I spent a few hours in the the 19th- and early 20th-century greenhouses at the Lyman Estate in Waltham. There, the weather is always balmy, the bouganvillea is in bloom and, through the glass panes, the skies shine a sunny blue.

And there were gazillions of orchids to see and sniff. And what doesn't combat a New England winter better than these?

Midwinter moonlight gardens

2011-02-13T09:46:00.003-05:00

A girls-only trip to western Florida last weekend landed me at the Edison winter estate in Ft. Myers. In addition to the glorious orchids nestled in the boughs of mango trees, heirloom roses embellishing the grounds, and banyan trees dripping with prop roots, this romantic little private garden was a heart-stealer.

Designed by Ellen Biddle Shipman in 1929 for Edison's wife, Mina, this moonlight garden was restored to its intimate, contemplative beauty in 2006. The diminuative outdoor room, extending from the back of Edison's "Little Office," is enclosed on its other three sides by a deep green hedge topped by scarlet-flowering bougainvillea, "Barbara Karst." An antique white climbing rose, “Prosperity,” sprawls up the Little Office's chimney. Between the white Chinese paper lanterns ringing the garden perimeter are more white flowers: Pentas lanceolata, star-like Vietnamese gardenias, and Begonia odorata "Alba." What glorious scents there must have been at night!

In the evening, strings of electric lights would have been reflected, starlight-like, in the pool below. This is one of those thoughtful gardens which succeeds as much because it aligns perfectly with the personalities of those for whom it was designed as for its own gentle charm.

Returning up north, I peaked out at my own moonlight garden last night. Here it is, shivering in the frozen, snow-covered midwinter darkness. How much longer?

Xeriscaping, not

2011-02-10T08:02:00.000-05:00

When I set as one of my garden goals for this winter to read up on xeriscaping, I had in mind the horticultural improvement of this modest dry patch in the side yard.

Little did I know that my job would be sending me a few months later to a place where the dry patches are really dry. Desert dry. And desert big.

This is not a place where xeriscaping or native plants or environmental stewardship has made much traction. The plants are almost exclusively imports: petunias, bougainvillea, mangroves . . . even these palm trees are indigenous to another continent. Irrigation systems are necessary to supply de-salinated water.

The solitary native plant that I encountered was this hardy soul, perhaps Lycium shawii, which was enjoyed as camel fodder.

I had hoped to bring back some photographs, plant lists, and landscaping ideas for drought-tolerant species. Perhaps even a few seed packets would find their way into my luggage.

But, no, nothing. Though I did pick up a most appropriate memento in the Amsterdam airport on the way back.

Don't look for it in the xeriscaped area of my garden this summer.

Garden goalroll, 2011

2010-12-18T13:57:00.011-05:00

For the past two years, I have run a garden goalroll: this is my place to scribble horticultural marginalia and to post reminders about what needs doing when. Or to record what I still haven't done. Bearded irises, I hear you. I'm making plans for a glorious 2011!

Dead of winter

Read up on xeriscaping in anticipation of extending the bed in front of the day lilies. The drought-killed lawn there is going to go! Plants to consider:

Coneflower "Green Jewel" (move from current location)
Sedum "Autmn Joy" (move from behind compost bin)
Fort Ticonderoga bearded irises (move from current location)
Pink coneflower

Order dahlia tubers. Ordered 3/1/2011

Back of house: Arabian Nights, Rae Ann's Peach, Rose Toscano, Patty Cake
Old side bed: Karras 150, Bonne Esperance
New side bed: Park Princess

When the forsythia blooms

Continue to prune front foundation plantings into shape.

Prune clethra to remove deadwood and shape.

Edge garden beds.

After the forsythia blooms

Dig out a new curved bed in front of the day lilies, amend, and load up with drought-tolerant plants.

Lightly fertilize bearded irises with bonr meal, superphosphate or other low nitrogen (5-10-15) supplement.

May or June

After flowering, shear Amsonia hubrichtii by 1/3 of its height to promote better form.

When it is 3 feet tall, cut the joe pye weed "Gateway" back to half its height to encourage dense growth.

Pinch sedum "Autumn Joy" when it reaches 8 inches; stake with ring.

Organize the bearded irises, so that visually compatible cultivars are grouped together. Tag individual plants so that they can be moved later in the season.

Stake dahlias when the tubers are planted and again and again as they grow. Stop dahlias by pinching stem back to four pairs of leaves.

Pinch back shasta daisies to 6" in late May.

And stake, stake, stake!

Columbus Day

Dig in bone meal around peonies.

Lightly feed evergreen along front of house with Holly-Tone.

Veterans Day

While daytime temperatures are still above 40 degrees, spray an anti-transpirant, like Wilt-Pruf or Wilt Stop, on "Sky Needle" hollies to prevent winter kill.

Top-dress beds with composted cow manure.

Thanksgiving

Winter-sow larkspur seeds.

Inside edition

2010-12-06T12:37:00.000-05:00

Although this past weekend's brisk temperatures and sunny skies were terrific for some end-of-season outdoor clean-up and top-dressing, a few hours had to be devoted to preparing indoor plants for winter bloom.

I should have cut off all this lush foliage and set the amaryllises for dormancy about six weeks ago. I pretty much follow the same drill every year. My biggest challenge is always rot. The onslaught is unending. I feel like an embattled Churchill in 1940: "We shall fight on the beaches. We shall fight on the landing grounds. We shall fight in the fields . . . "

This "Temptation" bulb had produced lots of leaves, thrown off a plump off-set, and looked firm--but the papery layers of skin were soft and covered with brownish-red patches. I stripped off what I could and cut out the rest. Usually, I am not so ready with the knife but I figure there's nothing to lose.

To cheat out the long wait for these cooling bulbs, I also planted a new "Novella"amaryllis and set it to warm by a radiator in a south-facing window.

I also began the weekly cycle of paperwhite planting. "Ziva" are my favorite: their fragrance, overpowering to some, is perfection to a diminished sniffer of scents like myself. I have reported on an alcohol-inspired way to ensure short stems, but I'm starting the season with long stems supported by a tall vase. Just add glass pebbles and water.

To ensure good root growth, I start the bulbs in a cool, dark place. For a few weeks, they are resting in the closet of coldest room of this cold house. (What, everyone doesn't set the thermostat to 60 degrees and wear a knitted cap indoors?) Waiting, waiting, waiting . . .

Harvest home

2010-11-30T08:27:00.003-05:00

Thanksgiving may be receding in the mirror, but our New England weather still feels like fall.

Lots of chores are on the list this time of year. Since daytime temperatures are still above 40 degrees, I sprayed an anti-transpirant on the leaves of the "Sky Needle" hollies to prevent winter kill.

Larkspur seeds that were gathered after flowering and stored in the refrigerator are now directly winter sown.

It's probably too late, but the ground has not frozen, so I will still lightly feed with Holly-Tone the broadleaf evergreens along the front of the house. Fruiting was sparse this year.

And always the beds need to be top-dressed with composted cow manure.

Gardening in a cold climate, hurray!

Tulips, purple and orange

2010-11-14T18:13:00.003-05:00

Fall, spring, and all year round, one of my favorite color combinations is orange and purple. Add a sprig of green, and I'm in secondary color heaven.

And what better way to indulge than with the tulips "Prinses Irene" and "Purple Prince"?

The bulbs were planted this weekend. In this neighborhood, hungry suburban animals thrive on tulips: in the fall the bulbs are dug up by squirrels, and in the spring the flowers are nipped off by rabbits. Past years, I've covered the bulbs with a layer of chicken wire. Today, I had a flash as I was tossing around the Bulb-Tone. Why not use peony hoops as a deterrent? I recollect seeing a similar set-up in the garden of the Longfellow House in nearby Cambridge.

I just placed the hoops directly on the ground over where the bulbs had been buried and secured the hoops with the wire legs. I'm a lazy gardener who's looking to escape as much of the fall clean-up as possible. This way, the hoops don't even have to be washed and put away. Could it really be so simple?

Competitive gardening

2010-11-04T17:00:00.017-04:00

Just becaue my husband grew some basil in a pot and planted a few bulbs across the street this year, he thinks that he's now ready for competitive gardening. What is with men anyway? This is the guy who needed to race his swim team girlfriend across the pool back in the day. Of course, he lost. His girlfriend, admiring that mix of bravado and foolhardiness, married him. And now he's dog-paddling his way into gardening.

Our sporting event was houseplant renovation. The subject to hand was, I think, a dieffenbachia which had been adopted, nameless and straggly, as a sprout. Some years later, it was still nameless and straggly but awkwardly large.

So back in July, we unpotted the plant and cut the stalk in two. My better half, confident that he had selected the plant's better half, potted up the root ball. I can't be certain, but I think that he was smirking as he walked off holding his selection. All I had left was a bunch of floppy leaves on a stem.

Repotted, the two separate parts were pretty sorry looking specimens. The top portion needed stakes and string to hold it upright. The bottom portion looked like a plant in the early stages of assembly.

A few months later, and both plants look pretty darn good. That part without roots grew roots; that without leaves grew leaves.

The new leaves are slightly yellow, probably due to a lack of fertilizer, too much sunlight, or some other fault of the competition.

Of course, I think that my plant is the winner. At least, it's greener. Maybe size isn't the only thing that matters!

Seasonal slippage

2010-10-31T23:14:00.003-04:00

It didn't take trick-or-treaters ringing the doorbell or tonight's forecast freeze warning to announce that the seasons have slipped. Signs are everywhere in the garden.

Even though the dahlias are defying the fall with a final flush of flowers, their foliage has become dull and embrittled by the cooling temperatures.

This "Normandy Painted Pearl" variety sports a glorious color range: the outer petal surfaces are coral-pink-purple and the interiors are yellow and pink. The blooms change color dramatically as they mature.

This morning, I cut a massive amount of dahlia blossoms. When I put a vase in the dining room, I realized that their pink-yellow-coral palette aligned perfectly with the shot cotton quilt that I am currently piecing.

Serendipitously, I've found my seasonal slippage sewing project.

Garden variety jonesing

2010-10-02T23:59:00.021-04:00

I didn't even really try to abstain. None of that facing yourself in the mirror stuff for me. I was simply looking to indulge my addiction for spring bulbs, and this morning's Financial Times provided the slender excuse needed. I mean, who am I to argue when Robin Lane Fox is hustling spring flowering bulbs? More "Tete-a-Tete," you say, Robin? Sure, why not!

As midnight rolls around, this fall's order looks like:

Brent and Becky's Bulbs

10 Narcissus "Tete-a-Tete" (beds to side of front walk) Planted 10/31

50 Narcissus "Minnow" (beds to side of front walk) Planted 10/31

50 Narcissus "Thalia" (new side yard) Planted 11/6

10 Tulipa "Purple Prince" (old side yard) Planted 11/14

Old House Gardens

10 Tulipa "Prinses Irene" (old side yard) Planted 11/14

And for indoor forcing:

White Flower Farm

1 Amaryllis "Novella"

24 Paperwhite Narcissus "Ziva"

Old House Gardens

3 Hyacinth "Gipsy Queen" Cooling 11/12

3 Hyacinth "L'Innocence" Cooling 11/12

Total okay-ness.

Jumping in with both feet

2010-09-27T01:36:00.002-04:00

This weekend, we dug out the little stream that drains into the raingarden, laid some stones and planted a few ferns, grasses, and flowers in the muck. Yeah, it's kind of a hot mess. I have absolutely no idea how this excavation will affect our soggy hillside. The plan here is just to shut your eyes and jump in with both feet (or maybe, more accurately, follow the Leeroy Jenkins strategy).

Several hundred pounds of wet gray clay were replaced with a mix of peat moss and composted cow manure. From one of my favorite small providers, Lazy S's Farm Nursery in Virginia, I ordered some marsh ferns (Thelypteris palustris), variegated sweet flags (Acorus gramineus "Golden Ogon") and dwarf goldenrods (Solidago x "Little Lemon"). They are now settling into their new home. Hopefully, this little spray of goldenrod buds means they plan to stay.

Every (rainless) cloud has a silver lining

2010-09-16T12:55:00.000-04:00

Our New England summer has been sunny, scorching hot, and (when not dealing out the rare torrential downpour) bone dry. Seems that even when it rains, the sun is beaming down.

As a result, it's become painfully obvious which parts of the backyard are naturally better-watered and which are not. Around the hillside stream, the grass is green. But in the side yard, thanks to the combined excellent performance of our French drain and the deep thirst of a neighbor's weeping beech, we are experiencing dustbowl conditions.

The silver lining to these rainless clouds is garden expansion. Yes, come spring, a swath of turf along the daylily bed will be replaced with some drought-tolerant perennials and annuals.

I will have the entire winter to draw up plans, make lists, and browse plant catalogues. And I promise to learn how to correctly spell "xeriscape."

A number of current garden plants will be better sited in this dry patch: a neglected coreopsis "Moonbeam," a division of "Autumn Joy" sedem, and a straggly "Green Jewel" coneflower for starters.

'

Then, I'm thinking about sundrops, more daylilies, and some serious coneflowers. Grasses? Sages? And someone to help dig?

Dahlias: dem, dos, dese

2010-09-08T07:00:00.000-04:00

Dahlias, clockwise from upper left: Karras 150, Rose Toscano, Normandy Painted Pearl, Pink Princess, Rae Ann's Peach, Roxy

Every fall, I second-guess that year's dahlia selection: "Why didn't I opt for something dark?" "Maybe I should have planted another one of those?" "Am I bored with collarettes yet?"

The mosaic above shows the current selection of backyard blooms. My second guesses run something like: "Yes, why indeed didn't I opt for something dark?" "Why is Normandy Painted Pearl so shaggy this year?" "Thank goodness I missed digging up that Rae Ann's Peach tuber last fall, so it came up early this summer!" "What was that tuber marked 'WP' that never grew? White Perfection?"

Next year, I'm thinking less Normandy Painted Pearl and more American Dawn. Shadow Cat or Crossfield Ebony? Is it time to order yet?

Sungold harvest

2010-09-06T18:06:00.004-04:00

This year, I planted two pots of "Sungold" cherry tomatoes, along with the usual container of "Sugary" grape tomatoes. The good news is that we now have lots of cherry tomatoes, even after the low-hanging fruit has been harvested by the local bunnies. This plate is holding about half of what ripened up over the Labor Day weekend.

The not-so-good news is that in comparison with the sweet grape tomatoes, these cherry tomatoes taste bitter. Maybe it wouldn't be noticeable if there was only one crop but with the sugary competition, these cherry tomatoes are also-rans. And, while the tomato fruits are perfect saffron-colored spheres, the plants' growth habit is slovenly, sprawling, and downright shabby.

A few are being eaten straight off the vine (by humans), but most have been regulated to cooking tomatoes. They are serving in pasta dishes and ratatouille and as salad garnish. Did I mention that we now have lots of them? Oh, yeah. Maybe next year, we'll have none.

Damp drought

2010-08-05T13:27:00.001-04:00

Although we have been suffering through a string of blastingly sunny hot summer days, one corner of the garden is absolutely flourishing.

The raingarden is over-flowing with black-eyed Susans (Rudbeckia fulgida "Goldsturm"), Joe Pye Weed (Eupatorium maculatum "Gateway"), and Northern sea oats (Chasmanthium latifolium).

And that's because even during this drought, we have plenty of water running through this area. Our two-year old French drain is very effectively catching water as it flows down the back hillside. By the end of each steaming hot day, the standing water in the raingarden has evaporated, leaving just a margin of damp silt.

But by the next morning, water has pooled again.

Despite the French drain, the grass downhill is damp and squishy. And water is rising to the ground surface just uphill. What to do?

I am thinking that this hillside stream might have to helped along: removing the sod, inserting a series of flat stones to ladder and guide the flow, and edging the course with some marsh ferns (Thelypteris palustris), a low growing goldenrod (Solidago canadensis "Baby Gold"), and a dwarf sweet flag grass (Acorus gramineus "Golden Ogon").

This re-visioning was totally inspired by (soggy feet every morning and) a recent ramble through a profusion of Joe Pye Weed, goldenrod, cattails and loosestrife in the wetter parts of our local conservation land at Rock Meadow.

Yellow, purple, green, and pink. I'm in.

Traveling the High Line

2010-07-23T07:45:00.000-04:00

I took advantage of an early Sunday morning during last weekend's trip to Manhattan to explore the High Line. I'd read a lot about this smart, sensitive, and refreshingly whimsical re-visioning of the urban landscape. Originally built in Lower Manhattan during the 1930's as an elevated railway, the High Line tracks were laid through the center of buildings in order to collect goods without affecting street traffic. Since it was decommissioned in 1980, the derelict railway has been in eyesore. Starting in 1999, a group of inspired activists initiated a move to re-use this urban space. Much work later, in June 2009, Section I (Gansevoort Street to 20th Street) opened to the public.

Because of its elevation, long urban vistas unroll from all angles. A cross-town canyon stretches beyond a screen of Joe Pye weed (Eupatorium purpureum "Gateway"), purple coneflowers (Echinacea purpurea "Vintage Wine"), and broadleaf ironwood (Vernonia glauca).

The quintessential New York skyline of a rooftop water tank on a block-built modernist building is softened by foreground grasses.

Rather than trying to force the High Line into the ill-fitting form of a romantic garden or a greensward park, the designers played with its abandoned urban history: they incorporated lots of native plants, like this familiar wasteland tree (oh, what is its name?) and Ohio goldenrod (Solidago ohioensis), and included species that had been growing on the tracks.

The plant selections are in tonal harmony with the reds, greys, and browns of the built environment. Here, layers of grasses, silvery coneflowers (Echinacea purpurea "Jade"), and pale pink American boneset (Eupatorium perfoliatum) echo the stone facade behind.

The seed heads of many flowering plants, like these drumstick alliums, remained intact, giving just the right mix of color and texture.

How great that the park attendant I asked could give me the Latin names of the plants I asked about! But there were so many varieties I was interested in. Next time, I'll bring a copy of that month's plant list with me!

A couple of days after my visit, the Rockefeller Foundation awarded to the High Line founders the 2010 Jane Jacobs Medals. Congratulation to the most deserving recipients whose work "creates new ways of seeing and understanding New York City, challenges traditional assumptions, and creatively uses the urban environment to make New York City a place of hope and expectation." And forward to the future!

Hard pruning

2010-07-03T08:00:00.002-04:00

"This thing is out of control," groused my husband as he slipped under a spray of "New Dawn" rose canes blocking his entry through the kitchen door. "What the heck are you feeding that?" asked my neighbor from his yard next door. "Yikes!" I thought when I saw the tussle of rose blossoms clambering up to a second floor window.

Such was the impetus for my most despised gardening activity: rose pruning. I have to admit--as if I could claim otherwise in the flowery face of the evidence--that I had kind of let things go. A couple of years, I really couldn't prune because I didn't want to disturb the birds nesting in the arbor. Another year, it was just too dang hot. My mother, an excellent rosarian, was no longer around to take up the task. Meantime, canes sprouted, curved, flopped, and grew some more.

With several days of cool, clear weather forecast, I set to pruning every evening after work. After more than five hours teetering on a ladder and after accumulating over five bags of clippings, I can say that I'm done.

It was hard to prune, and I pruned darn hard. My mother's rallying cry--"Whack it out!"--spurred me along. She was a ferocious rose pruner--my tender-hearted father couldn't even bear to be around when she was wielding her clippers--and every time that I wondered WWMD, I knew the answer was cut, cut, cut.

Anything that was where it shouldn't be was snipped off. (Almost all) distorted canes were removed. Deadwood was clipped. New canes were tied to the arbor. A good 1 1/4 cup of Rose-Tone was scratched in around the roots.

And then, among the debris of shorn branches, there was even the thank you of a few last blooms!

Extra credit amaryllis

2010-06-21T00:41:00.003-04:00

Back in May, the amaryllis season seemed to have ended. Bulbs had shot up multiple stalks, flowered, and spent themselves. They were indulging in some well-earned rest and relaxation--sunning themselves, exfoliating dried and flaking bulb skin, and sipping regularly on diluted fertilizer. Ah, the spa life!

Less than a month of this treatment, and Picotee let loose with another volley of blossoms. The grades for this year's flowering course may already have been submitted but this extra credit effort--even at a late date--is A+!

Foxgloves

2010-06-09T17:23:00.002-04:00

Foxgloves are blooming. I can't quite figure out how these plants "work." All I know is that the flashy peach and raspberry cultivars championed by fancy nurseries can't hack our harsh New England winters. But the common yellow foxglove (Digitalis ambigua)--demure in habit, presentation, and color--does just fine. It isn't much of an attention-seeker, but it does spark up a dark back corner of the garden.

Care consists entirely of cutting the flower stalks down after they are spent. The plants themselves move around, bumping up against columbines and anemones, but never elbowing them aside or squeezing them out. A little like a polite but slightly tipsy guest. A big bed of roaming foxgloves, still bounded by this green and yellow hosta, would be quite wonderful. And maybe they could get really crazy out there!

Beauty the brave, the exemplary, blazing open

2010-05-30T12:17:00.000-04:00

There it is again: peony time. Here, an excerpt from Mary Oliver's meditation on mortality, Peonies . . .

Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?

Dear Reader

2010-05-28T19:00:00.001-04:00

My readership (excluding those devoted Chinese spammers who leave links to porn sites on my comments page--thanks for forcing me to moderate comments, you 人渣!) has probably figured out that despite a change in appearance, the back quarter acre is pretty much growing just the same as ever. But you knew that, right, dear reader?

The price of a bit more blogger functionality was an upgrade to a new template. I'm still fiddling with the details, adding and subtracting features, and cursing my limited knowledge of HTML. Soon it will be time to step back into the garden. Soon, very soon.

Mushrooming compost

2010-05-28T07:40:00.080-04:00

I am constantly discovering all sorts of crazy volunteers sprouting in my compost pile. Sometimes, I'm blessed with a serendipitous crop of vegetables but more often, the compost pile is hosting a wayward morning glory vine or a buried butternut. This morning, when I was emptying the pail of kitchen scraps, I encountered a clutch of ink cap mushrooms (Coprinopsis atramentaria).

So here is a twist on "mushroom compost": this compost is not a by-product of mushroom production, but compost that produces mushrooms.

Ink caps are edible but, unless my mushroom-loving husband discovers them very soon, these fungi will be forked over in the next bout of compost turning. Since my husband enjoys his wine at dinner and since ink caps induce a hyper-sensitivity to alcohol when eaten--hence their nickname, "tippler's bane"--these interlopers are best returned to whence they sprung.

Which, by the way, is steaming!

Lawn enamelling

2010-05-25T23:02:00.002-04:00

What is with the Financial Times? I used to associate that salmon-colored daily with boring blah-blah-blah accounts of the coal crisis in Silesia and pork belly futures in Singapore. But then I discovered the weekend edition with its witty writing by classicist-cum-horticulturalist Robin Fox Lane and periodic features about exotic gardens in north Wales, the Royal Horticultural Society Chelsea Flower Show (on now!), and the like.

Earlier this month, Jane Owen wrote about "enamelled" lawns of non-flowering grasses. I have a small space set aside for such a wildflower lawn. In the spring, this area is covered with flowering squills and snowdrops. As their foliage ripens, all sorts of other grassy stuff springs up. Currently, it's at the height of henbit, buttercup, and clover. A mowing in early July brings it back to balance. I love this patch of meadow--but I love boring blah-blah-blah lawns, too.

Backyard Baleal

2010-05-16T23:58:00.007-04:00

One of the beautiful sights of my recent trip to Portugal was the headlands of the Baleal peninsula. This past weekend, I put together a little reminder of that glorious landscape. Lacking the crashing waves, strong sea breezes, and gyring gulls, I focused my aide-mémoire on the wildflowers that massed over the cliffs.

At Baleal, the rocks were covered with stonecrops, carpets of ice plant (Carpobrotus edulis),

and a dense cover of bird's foot trefoil (Lotus creticus).

So here's my backyard Baleal: a pot loaded with stonecrops and hens-and-chicks. Just add sunshine, strong coffee, amigos de peniche and dream.

Late breaking news

2010-05-10T22:09:00.004-04:00

Despite tonight's frost advisory--yes, freezing temperatures in May are part of what passes for spring in New England--the season is actually running about two weeks earlier than usual.

As a result, those fall-blooming plants that are very late to break their dormancy are already in full leaf. This Clethra alnifolia "September Beauty" is covered with glossy chartreuse leaves.

Nearby, Eupatorium maculatum (Joe Pye Weed) "Gateway" is racing upwards to its towering maturity. This year, I will be following some well-tended techniques to keep the height of this giant in check. Pinch, pinch, snip, snip.

And just about to break are these fat peony buds. Now, that will be headline news!

Amaryllis accounting

2010-05-09T23:22:00.005-04:00

Now that the amaryllis blooming period has officially come to a close with the last stalk trimmed back, it's time for an accounting.

Amaryllises, reading clockwise from upper left: Royal Velvet, Temptation, Minerva, Picotee

I lost one bulb to rot after planting (Ruby Meyer 0%). Two of the bulbs were rolled over from last year and bloomed lightly and late (Royal Velvet and Minerva 75% x 2). I need to up my average with a better job of applying half strength fertilizer every other week and summering plants outside. The two new plants (Temptation and Picotee 100% x 2) totally delivered. So about 70% this year--a passing grade.

Paying it forward

2010-04-26T07:00:00.001-04:00

How it made me smile, on a recent trip to Portugal, to see these wild hoop petticoat daffodils (Narcissus bulbocodium) growing along the ramparts of the Moorish Castle at Sintra.

It's hard not to feel gladdened by the sight of these flowers. Even the artificial ones, like these flourishing in the no-food-or-plant zone of my office, will do the trick.

I am totally converted to daffodils in the garden, too. They bloom forever, naturalize well, and are of minimal interest to hungry rabbits, squirrels, and voles. Here are the varieties currently in bloom, reading left to right, row by row: White Medal, Ceylon, Hawera, Mount Hood, Pheasant's Eye, Ice King, Marieke, Tete-a-tete, White Medal.

And I'm already planning to add more for next spring. Thalia? Mint Julep? Jack Snipe?

Last fall, my husband paid it forward by planting several dozen King Alfred bulbs along the roadside opposite our house. Now that the flowers are in bloom, walkers stop to admire them, cars slow down as they drive by and, as I was taking this photograph, a passer-by came over to say, "Thank you! They're fantastic!" And they are.

Marshy marsh mallows

2010-04-20T07:57:00.002-04:00

While basements, storm drains, and dams may not have appreciated our rainy spring, these marsh mallows have flourished in the April showers.

They are sited on the raised ridge of the rain garden bed, so they can keep their feet wet and their glorious yellow heads dry. Water has been moving downhill through this water course for weeks. It's wet back there!

Peonies, pre-perfection

2010-04-12T20:34:00.005-04:00

Each spring, the peonies that I brought up from my mother's garden in Maryland start off with burgundy-flushed foliage.

The tender stems and leaves are the most beautiful deep shade that, with maturity, passes to green.

Even this early, flowers are forming and ants are sipping nectar from the buds. The peony hoops went in yesterday--while the plants were young, flexible, and promising of perfection.

Spring thaw

2010-03-22T07:17:00.002-04:00

Despite the recent warm and sunny weather, it's still too early for removing mulch or digging beds. This weekend, I settled for raking up shed twigs and branches from the winter's storms and admiring this hillside spread of snowdrops. Spring is in the air!

Youth and old age

2010-03-18T00:22:00.000-04:00

For anyone feeling his or her advancing age, this photograph says it all . . .

My parent and child "Minerva" amaryllis bulbs were planted at the same time. The child is sporting six inches of greenery. The parent? Too tired to do more than squeeze up a couple of leaf tips. I'm exhausted just thinking about how much effort was required for these slim results.

The child won't bloom for several years. The parent? Well, I thought that was on bedrest, but I'm delighted to see the flower bracts just nosing up above the bulb. Make haste slowly, as my elderly father would say with a wink.

Winter wind-down?

2010-03-08T08:44:00.002-05:00

I'm hoping that March means the end of the snow season--as it's also the end of my supply of "Ziva" paperwhite narcissi.

Winter, I'm so over you!

The hyacinth experience, sight and smell

2010-02-07T23:29:00.007-05:00

All nine of the hyacinths growing in glass vases have burst into bloom simultaneously. Winter has brought a bumper harvest!

This is just one slice of the hyacinth experience. The other part is the heavy scent, so deliciously syrupy that even a smelling-impaired person like myself can discern the perfume. I moved a platter full of the apricot-colored "Gypsy Queen" bulbs down to the dining room sideboard so that I could enjoy the sweet waves as I sat working with my sewing machine at the table nearby. I was floating in a happy little hyacinth bubble, unbothered by the challenges usually posed ripping out seams, trimming and re-trimming, and laboriously matching up quilt blocks. A good place to spend a winter weekend.

Potting up, kicking off, and over the top!

2010-01-18T13:38:00.006-05:00

When last seen back in October, my old amaryllis bulbs were headed into the refrigerator for three months of dark and chilly hibernation. Yesterday, I pulled them out. Absolutely no signs of rot and decay! Applying that copper fungicide seems to have worked. You might question the logic of storing bags of chemically-treated bulbs next to organic celery and free range eggs--but in an "I hate to cook" way, it definitely makes sense to me! That's what cognitive dissonance is there for, anyways.

I planted the bulbs in their pots, watered well, and set them in a south-facing window over a warm radiator.

Hoping for some good ju-ju (and more success than last year), I tucked the baby "Minerva" bulb into a little pot given to me many Mother's Days ago (back when I had black eyes and wore blue lipstick) by one of my own off-spring.

Meanwhile, this new amaryllis "Temptation" is kicking off the amaryllis season just right--over the top!

Jewel tones

2010-01-17T18:30:00.004-05:00

After almost 12 weeks of cooling in the refrigerator, the hyacinth bulbs are ready for forcing.

The three different varieties have slightly different colored bulbs: "L'Innocence" is white, "Gipsy Queen" is tinged with pink, and "Lady Derby" is a deep purple. But right now, the best part is just enjoying the bulbs in their glass forcing vases. And, if they bloom, great!

Snow roses

2009-12-07T01:01:00.002-05:00

Finally, winter has arrived. Our first snow storm of the season iced these late-blooming "New Dawn" roses.

Goalroll, 2010

2009-11-24T17:00:00.010-05:00

Running a garden goalroll was tremendously helpful over the past season: it reminded me when and where to transplant summersweet Clethra ainfolia, jogged my memory about adding a few Astilbe x rosea "Peach Blossom," and let me know that I never did get around to organizing the bearded irises. Next year, I promise, next year! Roll on, 2010.

When the forsythia blooms

√ Continue to prune front foundation plantings, especially rhododendron and little-leaf hollies.

√ Prune clethra to remove deadwood and shape.

√ Rejuvenate privet hedge by cutting to < 1 foot high and topdressing. On-going Edge garden beds.

After the forsythia blooms

Expand the new side bed to join more fluidly with the raingarden.

May or June

√ June 15: after flowering, shear Amsonia hubrichtii by 1/3 of its height to promote better form

√ When it is 3 feet tall, cut the joe pye weed "Gateway" back to half its height to encourage dense growth. May 30: cut down when 4 feet high to 2-2.5 feet.

√ Pinch sedum "Autumn Joy" when it reaches 8 inches; stake with ring.

Organize the bearded irises, so that visually compatible cultivars are grouped together. Tag individual plants so that they can be moved later in the season.

√ Add a pink coneflower to complement annuals Ageratum houstonianum "Hawaii Blue" and Salvia farinacea "Victoria Blue." Ended up with three "Green Jewel" coneflowers, instead. And only one at end of fall.

√ Stake dahlias when the tubers are planted and again and again as they grow. Old side bed: "Karras 150" (white); new side bed: "Normandy Painted Pearl"; house back: "Rose Toscano" (peach) and "Park Princess" (pink). Planted around May 22.

√ Pinch back shasta daisies to 6" in late May. May 30: Cut back shasta daisies in new side bed to about 6 inches. June 10: Cut back shasta daisies in old side bed to about 12 inches Will they set flowers? Yes, and cutting back had minimal effect on floppiness.

And stake, stake, stake!

Thanksgiving

While daytime temperatures are still above 40 degrees, spray an anti-transpirant, like Wilt-Pruf or Wilt Stop, on "Sky Needle" hollies to prevent winter kill. Done November 28.

Winter-sow larkspur seeds.

Top-dress beds with composted cow manure.

Lightly feed evergreens along front of house with Holly-Tone.

Dig in bone meal around peonies.

Flower in the crannied wall

2009-11-23T07:00:00.003-05:00

Unlike Alfred Lord Tennyson, I will not be pulling out this little flower in the crannied wall.

With perseverance, this "Dakota Gold" helenium self-sowed from last year's big pot of coleus and red fountain grass. It is flourishing, even at the end of November, in its little cranny between the bricks and mortar of the front steps. I just hope it seeds again! Now, how to get that re-pointing done?

Balancing act

2009-11-08T21:40:00.003-05:00

I really enjoy fall clean-up. Why else would I spend six hours in the garden, pulling out spent dahlias, cutting back perennials, shredding leaves for the compost pile, mowing the lawn, planting tulip bulbs, preparing leaf mold, and edging flower beds?

Maybe to attain the perfect balance of exhaustion and satisfaction? Yeah, I think that's it.

Amaryllis anxieties

2009-10-25T00:10:00.016-04:00

After losing multiple amaryllis bulbs last year, I am more than a little anxious about this year's cycle. Those remaining are my favorite bulbs for sentimental or aesthetic reasons. Can't let anything happen to them!

So, this weekend, I started the bulbs on their countdown to next year's bloom. "Royal Velvet," "Minerva," and "Ruby Meyer" had spent the summer in the bright light of south-facing windows. Thanks to restraint in watering and fertilizing, their leaves were green, their bulbs looked firm, and this "Minerva" amaryllis had even sprouted a fat little off-spring.

The bulblet released easily from its mother. Hopefully this baby will actually sprout. So far, I've had no success with growing bulblets. And, even worse, last year's mother bulb expired after giving birth.

Because last year's amaryllises were plagued by death and decay and because this treatment had seemed to help, I dusted the bulbs with a copper fungicide.

Again, thinking of the rotted-out bags I discovered in the refrigerator after 12 weeks of chilling last winter, I placed the bags on a layer of crumpled newspaper hoping that this will promote better air circulation.

The final step was following good garden hygiene by scrubbing the pots in a dilute bleach solution.

Well, it's not quite correct. The true final step is waiting--anxiously--for five months.

Dumbarton Oaks, autumn

2009-10-14T17:40:00.004-04:00

Folks rave about the beauty of the Washington spring--cherry blossoms lining the Tidal Basin, swathes of daffodils running along Rock Creek Parkway--but autumn is pretty darned lovely, too.

Last weekend, I spent an Indian Summer afternoon at my very most favorite garden, Dumbarton Oaks. I've raved about the sublime Beatrix Farrand landscape in a previous post, so here's a single highlight: the herbaceous border.

From outside the towering walls of yews bounding this garden, all you can see are billowing clouds of pale purple asters.

Inside, two 100-foot long beds of mixed perennials and annuals line a sloping central walk. At either ends are columnar yews. No fantastically exotic flowers here: just masses of zinnias, chrysanthemums, asters, ageratum, and verbena.

And this sublime beauty.

Gloriosity

2009-10-06T19:31:00.002-04:00

This is the glory of dahlias: you can just step outside your back door and pick a bouquet of earth-shattering beauty.

And then, the next day, you can do it again. Sometimes you even have a helper.

Bulb addenda

2009-10-06T13:11:00.003-04:00

A finale to the bulb ordering . . .

Brent and Becky's Bulbs
20 Narcissus Tazetta "Ziva" (indoors)
10 Narcissus "Ceylon" (new side yard)

. . . and on to the bulb planting, chilling, and potting up!

Fall plans for spring plants

2009-10-04T20:00:00.004-04:00

Last night, I finally settled down in front of the computer to place my fall bulb order.

Given the rabbit feeding frenzy this year, I am reducing the percentage of delectable tulips and am hoping that the daffodils planted last fall will continue to flower. I'll also no longer be digging hundreds of little iris reticulata into the beds by the front walk, only to see them--or, more accurately, not see them--disappear. Miniature daffodils will go into their place.

Here's this year's very short list:

Old House Gardens
10 Tulipa "Generaal de Wet" (back of house)

White Flower Farm
50 Narcissus "Tete-a-Tete" (front yard by walk)

Brent and Becky's Bulbs
10 Tulipa "Purple Prince" (old side yard)
10 Tulipa "Prinses Irene" (old side yard)

And for indoor forcing:

White Flower Farm
1 Amaryllis "Temptation"

Old House Gardens
3 Hyacinth "Gipsy Queen"
3 Hyacinth "L'Innocence"
3 Hyacinth "Lady Derby"

It was way past my bed-time when I pushed the final "Enter" button, so I seem to have left a few dozen bulbs of paperwhite "Ziva" off those orders. An excuse to expand the list . . . more daffodils, I think!

Autumn approaches

2009-09-15T23:57:00.003-04:00

Somewhere between recent travel up and down the East Coast, being laid up with a back injury, and rainy weekends, the garden has been sadly neglected during the past few weeks.

Nevertheless, autumn is marching resolutely in our direction. These "Purple Dome" asters (Aster novae-angliaeaster) are just coming into bloom.

Seasonal blues

2009-09-05T09:50:00.003-04:00

My dear children have flown the roost to college, and I miss them. A floral sentiment includes sweet peas, salvia, hosta, and ageratum.

Late summer gardening, A(fter) D(ahlias)

2009-08-30T20:28:00.021-04:00

Before I was introduced to dahlias, my late summer garden was a mere echo of its early spring glory: there was green, brown, a few flecks of color, and more green. Then a few years ago, my father-in-law asked me to babysit some dahlia tubers while he was away over the summer. Stunning flowers! I was hooked. Because my attempt to over-winter those tubers was an utter failure (for which my father-in-law graciously forgave me), now I treat dahlias as annuals and embrace the opportunity to try out different varieties every year.

This summer's garden is testing "Pink Princess," here sparkling against a backdrop of yews.

This "Karma Choc" is quite wonderful though, because of its dark flowers and stems, in a kind of weird David Lynch-ish way. The perfect accent plant: a little goes a long way.

At the opposite end of the attention-grabbing scale, this white semi-cactus "Karras 150" is the chorus member who stands at the back of the stage while other dahlia divas seize the spotlight. The supporting cast definitely has a welcome place, too.

"American Dawn" takes pride of place: unfolding here, the petal fronts are pinkish-coral and the petal backs are purple. The stems are almost black. Like the other dahlias in the garden, this one is about four feet tall. And also like the other dahlias in the garden, these need to be staked. I lost two of them due to a poor quality job.

After years of being considered declassé, dahlias are finally on their way to rehabilitation according to no greater authority than the London Times. Not a moment too soon!

Integrated Pest Management, the natural way

2009-08-28T07:30:00.009-04:00

At first I thought this was a joke. What family trickster had tossed a white panicle of flowers onto my tomato plants?

But closer inspection revealed that this was no laughing matter for two of the three parties involved.

Me, because that "flower" was actually a hornworm caterpillar (Manduca quinquemaculata) feeding on my tomato plants!

The hornworm, because those white "blossoms" were actually cocoons of parasitic braconid wasps (Cotesia congregatus) feeding on it!

Here's where it gets really ugly. The braconid wasps lay eggs inside the hornworm caterpillar. In their larval stage, the wasps eat through the hornworm's body to its surface, where they spin these tiny white cocoons. After hatching, the wasps continue introducing other tomato hornworms to their lethal brand of Integrated Pest Management.

So there's a happy ending for two of the three parties involved. And a natural ending to the third!

Chesterwood, Stockbridge

2009-08-25T18:30:00.000-04:00

Hoping that I could beat the Boston heat, I slipped away for a brief jaunt to the marginally cooler climes of western Massachusetts. Among my carpe diem goals in life is to visit every one of the Gardens of the Berkshires. This weekend, the stop was in Stockbridge at Chesterwood, the home and studio of sculptor Daniel Chester French.

The grounds were pleasant enough but--how to say this?--under-gardened. A long bed sported lots of black-eyed Susans (Rudbeckia sp.) and monkshood (Aconitum sp.), along with some well-staked helenium. Serviceable, but not exactly the level of creativity that you'd expect to see in an artist's garden. There were lawns and woodland paths, too, but again . . .

An allee of flowering tree hydrangeas formed a promenade to the studio. Not exactly Giverny, but nice enough.

The most dramatic presentation of natural beauty that day was encountered elsewhere in Stockbridge: the thunder rolls and barrage of lightning bolts that accompanied a spectacular storm sweeping up the Hoosatonic River valley.

So sweet, so red, so bountiful

2009-08-17T22:53:00.010-04:00

Happily, it's hard to keep up with the abundance of container-grown cherry and grape tomatoes. We pick a few handfuls for dinner every night and, the next evening, there are still more to harvest.

Tying up branches, pinching out yellowed foliage, and reaching between the leaves for ripe tomatoes immerses you in that special tomato smell--the perfume of summer! And these "Sugary" grape tomatoes taste pretty darn good, too.

The Caltha palustris conclusion

2009-08-10T07:00:00.003-04:00

I was so excited back in April when these neon yellow marsh marigolds (Caltha palustris) heralded the arrival of spring . . .

. . . and in June, I was so intrigued by their super-cool star-shaped seed heads . . . .

. . . that I failed to realize that August would be spent pulling out hundreds of volunteers. The raingarden is blanketed.

While weeding, I spied this fine green fellow resting on a bed of seedlings under a flag iris bower. I left his boudoir undisturbed.

Inside inspiration board outside inspiration board inside

2009-08-05T20:17:00.012-04:00

Dahlias began to bloom a week ago. This year's mix of colors and shapes include, running clockwise from upper left, "Rae Ann's Peach" (red/peach), "Park Princess" (pink), "Rose Toscano" (peach), "American Dawn" (peach/pink/purple), and "Karma Choc" (dark red).

As I was downloading today's dahlia photos, I noticed that same palette of peach, pink, purple, and red was echoed in a group of photographs taken the day before. When it's too hot to garden, I am sewing up a storm on a string quilt. The inspiration board next to my sewing machine is tacked with swatches of fabrics, photographs of favorite tulips and dahlias, and a salad days snapshot of this quilt's recipient wearing a lilac gown and crown of purple grapes. So the inspiration circles from garden to board to quilt and back again.

Chimera

2009-08-02T21:26:00.002-04:00

This single variegated pachysandra pops as a white punctuation dot in a bed of green. It appeared, a spontaneous mutation, about two weeks ago.

Botanically, this plant is a chimera, composed of genetically different tissues: one that produces green growth and another that yields white growth. Much more pleasing than the mythological monster!

Mosses

2009-07-27T20:00:00.004-04:00

With all of our rain, this year has sprouted a bumper crop of moss. Green patches are flourishing on the north-facing stone walls . . .

. . . tracking along the concrete courses between bricks . . .

. . . with some leafy liverworts, eddying around the base of Siberian irises . . .

. . . and even sheltering under a spray of yarrow leaves.

I like moss. We all benefit from having our hard edges softened, and moss smooths over the rough places in a most serene manner. My mind was opened to the possibilities of what I had previously considered a nuisance by this array of mosses displayed at the gardens at Ginkaku-ji, the Silver Pavilion, in Kyoto.

In Japan, even the mosses are arranged by status. The sign below reads "Very Important Moss (Like V.I.P.)." At the other end of the hierarchy are the "bad" mosses. Too bad the individual plant labels are in Japanese. I'd like to know who rates the most respect. Maybe sugigoke (Polytrichum commune)?

You can just make out the undulating moss-covered hillside on the opposite bank of this pond at Ginkaku-ji. Serenity.

Daylily days

2009-07-20T21:01:00.009-04:00

Late July means that the daylilies are roaring along full throttle. Their bed can barely contain its mix of boldly colored tetraploids. These plants came in one of those discount grab-bags of unnamed cultivars. Occasionally, I'll see a photograph in a plant catalogue that resembles one but then, on closer examination, the match just misses.

Nothing blends and none concedes a supporting role to its neighbor. The red flowering plants have been increasing their hold while the yellow ones disappear. Anonymous, unrefined, pushy: "Rarely do great beauty and great virtue dwell together."

First harvest

2009-07-16T17:00:00.002-04:00

"Sungold" cherry tomatoes just picked, sweet and summery, from the vine!

Revitalization movements, spirea style

2009-07-13T20:00:00.002-04:00

Back in June, the spirea hedge was rambunctious with bloom. Now that that excitment is over, it's time to start pruning, so that next spring's blossoms can set on this year's wood.

All the authorities say to clear out deadwood and cut back about 1/3 of the branches each year to spur new growth. I usually have time to don a long-sleeve shirt and wield my loppers against a mere fraction before the weather turns too hot for pruning in protective gear. This year, the cool weather has extended the season.

Earlier this spring, I clipped off some dead spirea twigs to serve as supports for a few sweet pea plants. How very eco-friendly, I thought: recycling the old to benefit the new.

However, with our recent cool, rainy weather, those spirea twigs have stirred from the dead and suddenly burst into leaf and bloom. Are they flowering on last year's wood, I wonder, or on this year's? Ahead of the game, or just catching up?

100 days of spring

2009-07-11T14:53:00.007-04:00

Usually, spring in this part of New England flashes by between a lengthy frozen winter and a blast of summer heat. This year, however, we've had raw April showers in June and soft May breezes into July. Some plants--I'm thinking tomatoes and roses--have had difficulty with the chill and damp, but cool-weather plants like sweet peas and this purple-flecked larkspur seem to welcome a longer, slower season. Me, too!

The long spring has also smoothed late-season planting, such as the three Ilex crenata "Sky Pencil" hollies that were slipped in to screen a wooden fence.

The established summersweet Clethra alnifolia "September Beauty" bushes in front of these new hollies will now have to be repositioned to smooth the line. But that will have to wait until early fall, before we're hit with the usual 200 days of winter.

Astilbes

2009-07-05T22:25:00.009-04:00

Stands of astilbes are scattered around corners of the garden--a patch of white here, glimpse of pink there--so it's nice to see the flowers gathered together in an old-fashioned bouquet. The cultivars represented are Astilbe x arendsii "Bridal Veil" (white), Astilbe x arendsii "Rheinland" (deep pink), and pale pink Astilbe x rosea "Peach Blossom" (thanks to a gift from my favorite Texas peach, RPL).

"New Dawn" rose care

2009-06-28T14:43:00.018-04:00

Folks searching for information about "New Dawn" rose care are among the most frequent visitors around here. So, for those who are interested, my rosarian regimen is as follows.

The subject of this attention is a vigorous eight-year old "New Dawn" bush trained to a trellis that arches over my back door.

Fertilizing

May 1: Apply 1/2 cup of Epsom salts dissolved in 2 cups warm water to the roots of the bush. Epsom salts (MgSo4) are a good source of magnesium and sulfur. Without an extra shot of magnesium, this particular rose can show the signs of magnesium deficiency--yellowing of the leaves between the veins and leaf curling--due either to its poor soil or leaching from the nearby concrete house foundation.

June 1, July 1, August 1: Scratch a 1 1/4 cup of RoseTone around roots monthly. Up here in Zone 6, fertilizing later than August 15 risks promoting new growth that will not have sufficient time to harden off before killing frosts. Resist the temptation.

Pruning

Early spring, prune out winter-killed stems and other deadwood. Climbers bloom on the previous year's wood, so limit the trimming to just tidying up.

While in flower, deadhead spent blooms for appearance.

After flowering, the bush can be shaped.

At this time, do:
*Prune severely as soon as possible in order to direct energy towards the development of new canes and to support flowering for next year.
*Remove deadwood and spindly, ill-shaped, or old canes.
*Cut back laterals, the smaller branches growing from the upright canes, on the diagonal at 1/4 inch above the first group of five true leaves. Cut so that new growth will be directed away from the center of the plant.
*Train vertical canes to the trellis by tying with garden twine.
*In order to prevent abrasion against the stem surface, form the twine tie as a figure-eight looping between the stem and the support.
*In order to avoid crushing the stems, use by-pass rather anvil clippers.

But don't:
*Position canes to overlap or rub against each other, say the experts. And good luck with that thorny throw down!
*Leave rose hips to ripen.

For me, pruning requires several afternoons teetering on a ladder--never pleasant under a hot summer sun--so I don't generally get around to this task until the weather starts to cool. By late fall, the plant is no longer throwing out new growth, and laterals have been trimmed to project 3"-5" from the vertical canes.

Mulching and watering

Rosarians say that plants require about an inch of water each week during the growing season. For me, the easiest way to meet this requirement is just a a few hours with a dripping hose.

Since this rose isn't sprayed with fungicides or pesticides, good hygiene is critical to maintaining its foliage and flowers. To avoid mildews, I don't spray the leaves. Before putting down any summer mulch, I clean up old leaves and other potentially disease-harboring debris. Also helps to be willing to accept a limited amount of black spot, aphid activity, and Japanese beetle damage.

Since I lost another "New Dawn" to a particularly dry, cold winter, I am careful to winter mulch after the ground has frozen in early January. I snug up evergreen boughs from discarded Christmas trees over the base of the plant to the height of about a foot. They come off slowly in the spring as the weather warms.

And then there's the reason that this variety has been going strong since it was introduced in 1930: it's plain and simple beautiful.

The well-nibbled perennial garden

2009-06-23T12:29:00.008-04:00

Earlier this month, my super-gardener sister-in-law paid a visit to the back quarter acre. I always learn so much from her--like the best local cultivars, organic gardening practices, and good garden hygiene--and best of all, my sister-in-law has a gentle zen-like way of leading you to knowledge. She definitely has that enlightenment thing going on.

After checking out a happy bed of bearded irises, she cast an eye on some rampant plantings of Joe Pye weed "Gateway" (Eupatorium maculatum), shasta daisies (Chrysanthemum maximum), and garden phlox "David" (Phlox paniculata). "Are you familiar with "The Well-Tended Perennial Garden" by Tracy DiSabato-Aust?" she asked. "It's full of information about shaping plants and extending bloom period by pinching back and pruning your plants." Message received! And the book itself arrived a few days after.

Pruning! Pinching back! Pure genius! Initially, I was disappointed to discover that I had already missed so many opportunities this season. Then I realized that in fact I had been well-tending my garden, by proxy. This year's bumper crop of bunnies have been hungrily pinching back and pruning for me.

The rabbits have been nibbling away at sweet peas, anemones, dahlias, larkspur, and rudbeckia. Just before some of those plants disappeared entirely, my sister-in-law told me about an organic pest repellent. These "Purple Dome" asters (Aster novae-angliaeaster) received a dusting just in time.

Three weeks later and lots of new growth!

That nibbling, pinching, pruning thing really does work.

Yellow flowers in containers

2009-05-31T23:17:00.008-04:00

This year, I replaced the succulents in my outdoor table centerpiece with a slew of yellow flowering annuals-- Osteospermum "Lemon Symphony," Calibrachoa hybrid "Yellow Chiffon"--accented with blue flecks of Ageratum "Hawaii Blue" and Nemesia fruticans "Bluebird."

Another container boasts a host of yellow flowers that will soon ripen into vegetables. These summer-promising "Sungold" cherry tomatoes were transplanted just a couple of weeks ago.

Preventive care, the garden variety

2009-05-19T08:00:00.002-04:00

Maybe I'm bringing my work home too much. I just submitted my chapter on "Preventive Care" for publication in The New Museum Registration Methods, 5th edition, so preservation is on my mind.

Last night, temperatures down into the 30s were forecast. So I applied some garden-variety preventive care to my newly-planted tomatoes in order to protect them from the cold: "Micro-environments can be produced to maintain desired temperature and RH levels within small areas . . . a quantity of cellulosic materials may be incorporated into the object’s container in order to buffer fluctuations in RH and temperature."

Works for museum collections and works for tomato plants--particularly when, by chance, your newspaper wrapping celebrates "A Night at the Museum"!

Raised vegetable gardening

2009-05-17T23:32:00.006-04:00

Last year, thanks to a tomato volunteer that sprouted in my compost pile, I found myself to be an accidental vegetable gardener. And I have to admit that for several weeks, it was pretty darned nice to be able to pack a handful of just-picked tomatoes into my brown bag lunch every morning.

So this year, I decided to be a bit more intentional in my vegetable gardening. Rather than simply be grateful that a tomato plant had squeezed its way out of my compost pile, I decided that I would shoehorn a few plants into a sunny spot in the garden. First, though, I had to make a little space, which I did by resting a bluestone slab over a window well. This sort-of raised bed supports two large pots of "Sungold" cherry tomatoes; a third pot of "Sugary" grape tomatoes rests on the curb of an adjacent window well.

The arched bamboo supports are a whimsy, playing off of the rounded rose arbor and trellis. Maybe I'm still having just a little difficulty acknowledging that these plants are functional rather than merely decorative. I'm sure that I'll come around by harvest in 60 days!

Glenn Dale azaleas

2009-05-11T23:26:00.010-04:00

This past week, I was fortunate to enjoy azalea season down in our nation's capital. Living in New England, I don't see many azaleas that compare well with their southern cousins. Northern azaleas seem to tend towards the leggy, distorted, and small. And way too many are sheared into unnatural geometric shapes and shoved into a line of foundation plantings.

So it was a delight to have some attitude adjustment at the National Arboretum. The woodland banks of Mount Hamilton were swept with mid-season bloomers.

Even the gaudiest varieties were in shameless company among a sea of other gaudy azaleas. The eye adjusted to all that fuschia, scarlet, and Pepto-Bismol pink within a few minutes. Below, "Chanticleer" crowed out loud and clear.

Between 1946 and 1948, the Mount Hamilton hillside was planted with 10,000 Glenn Dale azaleas hybridized by the Arboretum director, Benjamin Morrison.

This lovely specimen, "Ben Morrison," is his namesake.

In addition to all these gloriously rambunctious Glenn Dale azaleas, the National Arboretum also holds a collection for which pruning is a positive thing: the azalea bonsai, like this exquisitely shaped kurume example, made you forget just how unnatural they actually are. Super-natural, perhaps!

The tulip royals

2009-05-08T09:38:00.005-04:00

As a twist on my usual color fixation, I added a lilac and orange early tulip pairing this year: "Purple Prince" and "Princess Irene."

They make a perfect royal couple.