Willow Crafting

Willow Sculpture Garden from Brian Birch on Vimeo.

Hat tip: Greencraft blog

My Rural Garden

Or How I Got To Be Here

...it all begins somewhere.

I had been gardening in the city for some years. I don't remember ever wishing to move into a country place, particularly, but my city neighborhood was deteriorating and my family size was increasing. My interest in history, and then gardening, began to branch towards homesteading. It was the seventies that developed that trend, and so by 1980 I found myself here on a plain that was so flat that it looks as though God took a plasterer's knife and scraped it hard across the land. The farmers took things further in the '60's and began felling all the trees in sight. All for endless acres of corn and soybean. Until I began planting there was very little between me and the far horizon westward. One can see storms coming from a long way off, their anvil-piled wrath thundering in from the west. Long pale gray strips of slanting rainfall give sight to storms across the landscape far away. In the aftermath are visions of light rays that step forth from the masses of breaking clouds.

Sunsets, too, are bright and unhindered, now only trimmed at their horizon line by my trees and bushes. But there are places, still, where one can see the sun melt into earths crust, sherbert colors left too long upon the sky's table, inking dark the night with its liquefied rays. Twilight is a Parrish painting of silhouette against an oddly transparent blue, like looking long into a darkly clear ocean. This is the best part of being on the cusp of a visually endless plain.

As a gardener I was impressed by the soil, and knew nothing yet of the domineering winds which cut through this garden at all times of the year. The soil is what was left from the wet prairie which kept this area unpopulated and uncultivated until relatively lately... when after the cattle barons of Ohio (oh, yes, there were some, once) gave way to inventive farmers who laboriously dug deep ditches to carry off the ponded water which had disallowed cultivation until too late in the growing season. My property lays at the head of one of those deeply dug ditches, the only elevation difference in the land, unseen until nearly upon them. The Midwestern Haha.

I know my little acres were once very different than when I arrived here, as I had met and talked with a former occupant of the house whose father had purchased this place in 1915, when she was a young girl of 16 years. But by my time, the oaks were gone, the orchard no more, and only the silver maples were the trees that hugged the house incongruently with a misshapen Norway spruce, whose own story was one of tornado force winds tearing out its upper parts leaving opened arms reaching out for mercy.

Two of the largest arborvitae I had ever seen stood marking a long, longgone, front path which she told me was the place she and her brothers rode bikes straight into what was then a ditch her depression era father paid to have covered... for fear of his children's wellbeing. I realized then that arborvitae are not shrubs for foundations or in proximity to a house... they are full fledged trees when mature. From signs at the corners of the house it seems some were once planted there as well- remaining long past the time they could be tolerated, or should have been.

The house had the unwelcoming hodgepodge of partly planted, partly weed grown things around a deeply listing front porch, I pulled out a number of weedy silver maple tree saplings and gave them to a neighbor. Helped her plant them, actually. The crowded mailorder (I'm pretty sure!) combination of forsythia, weigela, and bridal spirea were all cramped into the area under the front window. I dug each one out and moved them to far reaches of the property. a large rangy growth of lilac with an empty center remains in the front. It embraces my garden bench and presents offerings of common lilac each spring. It has too much history to cut down, and I am too old now to attempt it, anyway. It will likely outlive me.

Most of the yard was mown grass. Something in me does not love a lawn, though I appreciate it in its place. So to the disgruntlement of the children, and sometimes the husband, I have ever enlarged the garden beds and sometimes surrendered some of them back to the prairie grass beginnings, grudgingly, but of necessity. But grass is my form of nefarious weed. I still plot to take back my front border from its greedy grasp.

The ruined pig barn had a trimming of elderberry bushes, and the back acres were farmed... and that is what I found here when first beginning my garden. And that is where I leave us until I write about the garden's development.

Earliest Inkling: Garden Plants of My Childhood

I have gardened in some way or another for most of my 56+ years now, but I also came from gardening stock -at least as far back as my grandparents. I suppose that is why plants and trees often stand out in my memory from quite early.

The streets I lived on were city streets, but tree-lined and shady, with parks close by. By far the majority of those city streets held sentries of maple trees in the berm between sidewalk and street, in what many now call the "hellstrip". In those days they were simply a place to plant the trees in ordered measurements along the thoroughfare, giving canopy to passersby in days when walking was much more common a means of getting from one place to another.

Maples were easy to grow and colorful in fall, occasionally they might be relieved by the odd sycamore or sweet gum, but the maple tree in all her variations was queen of the avenues in my old neighborhoods.

It was the fifties and the homes were uniform in their foundation plantings: taxus, juniper, and privet hedges to separate the small lots. Sometimes old fashioned remnants of bridal spirea, and often clumps of forsythia were given their place. My earliest neighborhood also had its fair share of concord grape vines. Trained upon back porch trellis, or in one case a cover over the entire back yard. I loved the sweet grape smell of ripening concord clusters, and would help my elderly neighbor seed her grapes for summer jam. She paid in penny candy:)

When I had my first home, it was not far from that old neighborhood, and that was the place which held a remnant of a white garden. It held onto its 'Dr. W. Van Fleet' rose, its 'Annabelle' hydrangea, and 'Festiva Maxima' peonies from which I branched out into my version of an English garden. All foundation plantings had been removed by the time I arrived, and many of the street trees had been removed....

The forsythia was probably one of the most commonly planted flowering bushes of that time. Its cheerful yellow blooms were rarely blasted by frosts in the protection of closely built houses, and a welcome sign of spring. I have written before of Joanne's old backyard forsythia, huge in proportion, and of my own homes side planting. It was trained up a trellis on the north side of the porch to cascade over and create a little hideaway; the place where one of my late hamsters had made escape back to nature when once giving him "summer air" on the porch.

I was the garden helper who hedged the privet hedges into little 2.5 foot rows down either side of the front yard: requisite middle class neatness struggling in the shadow of the old maples to maintain some form of respectable show.

I also was keeper of the taxus media bush, with its red little urn berries and tight quarters between porch steps and the sidewalk path to the back yard. I clipped it to within an inch of its life twice a year. Nondescript junipers were placed in front of the porch, shaded by one of those old fashioned green awnings that made the front porches of yesteryear such pleasant places to idle time away in the summer. Those junipers, too, struggled in far too shady conditions for their health. My mother liked to line the front house pathway with crocus...lighting the way from porch steps to public sidewalk each spring. The rest of the small yard consisted of mediocre grass lawns, mowed with the human powered reel mower.

The shady portion between the side path and the next door neighbors was filled with Japanese spirea,S. x bumalda, whose heirs I grow now, in 'Little Princess' and 'Goldflame' varieties. But then it was the common type, with dull fucshia flowers that I found fascinating for some reason, all sparkly spikey, like tiny ballerina tutus. The back yard began with a burst of honeysuckle vine on the dividing chain link fence. I loved sucking nectar out of those each summertime.

There were some various garden perennials along that fence until the very back of the yard where my mother grew her prize raspberries. We were the ones who prized them. Hollyhocks helped block the view of the alley and turning back along the straight cement sidewalk was a narrow band of wild looking blackeyed Susans and Chinese lantern plants, Physalis alkekengi. In front of that garage was a very old, twisted staghorn sumac tree- my favorite climbing and sitting in and reading tree! It had those crimson spikes of seed fruits, drupes, every late summer through winter with a fall color of golden fern-type leaves. The newer branches were very velvety I recall. Perhaps that is where the common name comes from.

The little vegetable garden was back there, with Swiss chard, okra, tomatoes, peppers, parsley, and chives. Sometimes eggplant. Sometimes it struggled from the black walnut whose roots reached under the garage and thrust its fingers of death to that plot located furthest away without being in the garden proper (vegetables were unseemingly common for the public parts of a garden, then.) The entire north side of the bordering fence was taken by a perennial bed of blooming flowers ending in a clove bush by the house. There were the daisies and this is where the tulips and daffodils of spring were planted, there were some phlox, some monarda, and usually zinnias each year. Big, bright zinnias with stripes and garish color. The hybrid tea roses grew here, but never with the vigor that my mother coaxed out of them in her garden in Northern Ohio when she moved there.

The center of that back yard was lawn, sectioned across its middle by the clothesline that also served as a badminton divide and occasional dog leash line.

That was my garden world in the early years. With one additional old type of tree that is not often found nowadays: the white mulberry. There were two white mulberries in my memory, one I loved and one I passed on the way to school each day.

White mulberries grow quite tall with riven dark gray bark, in a good year they are laden with white mulberries that taste sweet and are much more refined than the dark messy, and staining ones that grow in most places. The one I loved was next door to my maternal grandparents house, in a now rased Hungarian neighborhood. On an old truck farm lot which retained the back field in sweet corn while the city grew up around it, this tree was immensely tall in my child sized memory. Long, long ropes held a swing on which I spent many summer hours, and I have never found any other mulberries to taste with the sweetness that my tongue seemed to recall from that tree. It was the most welcome place, with shade and green coolness, next to the gravel church/funeral home parking lot that was my grandfather's parsonage front yard.

The other tree Joanne might remember, it was in the garden next door to her old Arcadia house. That was sort of a secret garden to my mind in that time. And I remember the person living there had a very old fashioned phone! But that digresses the story to old neighbors, and the way they provided neighbor children board games and hot chocolate, cookies and candy. That white mulberry tree in the back yard was noticeable to me because of the one I had grown so familiar with- and its pale soft fruits of summer.

The last plant, or tree, is that of the Osage Orange, hedge apples. Each fall my mother would take us to the neighborhood park to gather those huge inedible green fruits; we put them into a basket to give seasonal display in the dining room. Now, I understand they are supposedly good for repelling spiders. Even now, when I can make the time, I like to go and gather some of the chartreuse hedge apples for their good fragrance in the fall. Filling a trug I keep them in my own dining room during the autumn months.

What are the plants of your childhood?

haiku

wrote this to ilona this AM on twitter.
i write a haiku daily under the name ndawnis ("daughter" in ojibwe language)

- finis! -

too many words on

my house, my yard, my landscape.

descriptions over.


vty, j-lea

Winter Hazel, Bee Balm, and pesky Privet

This will be the last post of my stroll around my yard, and the many so-called
"problem" plants in the old landscaping around the house. it seems that nuisance
and problem are words applied primarily to a plant with agressively spreading habits.
most people generally prefer gardens without this type of intruder. i have found,
over and over, that these are quite welcome used massed in a single bed, where
their beauty or fragrance can be appreciated, and mowing can curtail their spread.
again, it is a matter of getting used to some unruly habits, to enjoy growing them.

The entire north side of my house is shaded by huge privet trees. although that
side of the porch has been removed by some past owner, they line up, 4' out,
defining the original lines of the old house. like the althea, i believe they were
originally put in as a hedge to shade, as well as to provide privacy
( hence the name privet!) along the wide porch. Coming originally from china,
privet (ligustrum) made its way to england's formal gardens. it makes a lovely
pruned hedge, or topiary in those cooler climes. very docile.

in this southern zone, it has made itself at home, copiously! the birds spread the
bluish berries everywhere, and privet sprouts are abundant. it is probably the
most cursed weed-plant in the south. mowing, or yearly attention to
pulling the seedling plants are best defense, extreme vigilance is called for!!
a neglected old homestead can quickly become lost in privet overgrowth.
i live with it along the fencerows here as an inevitable presence. the majestic
20' trees alongside the house could possibly be removed with a backhoe,
but each root or cutback stem left will sprout many new branches. i have reached
a truce with it out of necessity.

in the eastern light, between two dug-from-the-woods old dogwoods, i have a
bed of Bee-balm, or monarda. the beautiful ruby red flowers make a nice show
in the half- shade, but like its cousins--the mints-- it will soon overtake a bed of
even the toughest perennials. its rhizomes creep just like the mints', and the patch
gets bigger and bigger. it is much better used in a woodsy massed bed, where
you will find hummingbirds and butterflies galore. Bee-balm is also a medicinal
wildflower; native americans used it for both fevers and sore throats and another
common name is "Oswego tea". one more colorful plant that provides an explosion of
growth from a small start!

at the corner of the old heartpine structure that serves as the garage and catch-all
storehouse, i planted another gift from a friend's grandmother's garden.
i have always called it winter hazel, as its flowers resemble the wild witch hazel
in the north Ga. mountains. however, it is related to the honeysuckle, the south's
favorite perfumed summer plant. its habit is upright, the arching branches form a
shape much like a forsythia shrub. the small creamy flowers appear in january.
nothing smells better than its sweet lemony perfume in the air, in mid-winter.
winter or Christmas honeysuckle ( lonicera fragrantissima) is another invader.
like a specimen forsythia left to itself, the long arcs of its branches form
a large,beautifully shaped plant, if given its own place.
mine has grown to about a 8x6' shrub that is now moving down along the entire garage.
one must not be a die-hard pruner, for the winter buds are whacked away with the
cut-back branches, and its fragrance will be lost for the next season.
it is one of the first things i put in after moving here, and
i have NO regrets at all!

so i have come to the end of my observation of the old-timers and spreaders, the
perfumed and the beautiful, the elegant and the "common"-
the original landscape plants that have lived ( and spread) here for generations...
i have added a few things here and there to this mix, but this typical southern
landscaping came long before i was here and will remain for many many more years.
i like to think that the next occupant will be a good steward to these stalwart
shrubs and flowers, and have the patience to work with their unique beauty.

that's it from patagonia farm-- hope you enjoyed it..... vty j-lea

Summer Calls

I meant to do my work today But a brown bird sang in the apple tree, And a butterfly flitted across the field, And all the leaves were calling me. And the wind went sighing over the land, Tossing the grasses to and fro, And a rainbow held out its shining hand... So what could I do but laugh and go? -Richard le Gallienne-

Something In Summer

Part Two: Nature


A something in a summer’s day,
As slow her flambeaux burn away,
Which solemnizes me.

A something in a summer’s noon,—
An azure depth, a wordless tune,
Transcending ecstasy.

~ Emily Dickinson

the South-side Pariahs

first, i must explain that i don't have a digital camera. i use my
old minolta 35mm with complete satisfaction, and have been
photographing my farm,
and its many residents of all kinds for years. i don't have have a
scanner either, nor the inclination to go through the many
dusty boxes of photos, looking for that perfect picture...
i guess this is somewhat of an apologia. most garden blogs i look at
are filled with beautiful pictures; ilona has a great photographic eye,
and she inspires me...
however, i must paint my pictures with words, as that is all i
have to work with. my posts would be less long-winded if i had
a good picture to be worth these "thousand words."

this early AM i was out foliar- feeding the bonsai, after a good hard
stormy rain yesterday.
much needed, as we can easily slip into a drought this time of year.
although i began this piece of writing thinking of 'problem' plants,
i have realized that the point is more that these enduring
old-timers were the foundation plants ages back, and still ARE!
they have persisted into these modern times with grace and beauty.
as i said last post, we have the luxury of many new, improved varieties
to work with in our gardens these days: new flower forms and colors,
disease-resistance etc.
as i watered the little trees, i realized that the many 'common' cultivars
[ ancestors to these new hybrids] around this old house were already here,
and will remain long after i am gone.
under all my small and fanciful additions, and improvements, these flowers,
trees and shrubs remain the backbone of the landscape.
they are not really nuisances at all-- if you can reach a truce with their
willful habits.

I have only one shrub, and one "nuisance" bed of wildish flowers on the
south-facing side that best fit this narrative....a large rock terrace runs
around the front, along the south side, and curves around the huge
trunk of a post oak that was growing before the small cabin [first here]
vanished into the county doctor's remodel, in 1901. this terrace helps to
level the foundation slope and sets the house up from the dirt drive. the entire
wall along the driveway is covered with a dense thicket of 'chinese' or winter
jasmine. it is a short running shrub with fine foliage, arching
branches and yellow jasmine-type flowers in january. it is often mistaken
for unseasonal forsythia blooms, but it is a bright spot in deepest wintertime
it is not a true jasmine, but is named for the flower shape...it is evergreen and
has no fragrance to speak of. it needs no care, or clipping-unless desired-
and stays pretty much within bounds, as long as no other plants are desired near it.
they will be quickly submerged by the intertwined branches. my dogs have made
a long cool summer "cave" underneath it ; no light penetrates its thickness.
i suppose that would be called "invasive" but just like mint or lemon balm[melissa]
if boundaries are made, it stays put within them. chinese jasmine is excellent
for holding an sloping bank in place , once it has settled in well. my rock wall is
entirely bound together with it, and will never crumble or fall down.

my other south-side wild-child arrived unexpected in what used to be an large
oval bed i dug out of the yard, next to the vegetable garden. i planted taller
things, to be seen from a distance: double orange day lilies, echinacea, both
pink and white, deep pink cleome, white phlox, rose hollyhocks and
the giant cobalt-blue salvia [guarantica]. along with some scattered-in
annuals seeds, i had a great bed of butterfly and hummingbird
flowers that was beautiful to behold.

a year or two after, i was given a pot of swamp sunflowers by an elderly gardener
at the Garden club plant sale. she had been cleaned out of most all her other plants,
but had several pots of this left. i should have noticed that point. nobody else wanted
them. the gift of a plant for sale should have been another heads-up.
there are several swamp sunflowers, all wildflowers, i believe, classified mostly by
height, as they look very similar. their botanical names [helenium, or heliopsos]
both"sun-lover" words. all are spreading and VERY invasive, and gorgeously gold in
the october sun.

within a season, one gallon pot had overtaken a third of my flowerbed. over
summer they grew to 6-8 feet and were so glorious a fall flower show that i didnt
really mind. by next summer they had pretty much over-run the entire bed, and
shaded out the other perennial stragglers. year to year now, i enjoy a huge oval full
of tall brilliantly shining sunflowers, with neighbors driving by and commenting on
their beauty.
starts are gladly given, with dire warnings....
but now, i am glad to have such a massed large bed of fall color in the lawn,
and the bees and butterflies love them too. this is a classic example of a plant
flourishing when it finds "its place". although i suspect this wild-child nuisance
could make itself at home anywhere it's planted.
even as aggressive as it can be, i highly recommend it--- BY ITSELF!

vty, j-lea

There's Something Brewing

A revolt in the garden.

Flowering Trees For Spring

The GGW project had a number of entries for the Redbud tree. I had made one, but decided that there were more than enough competing pictures for it; but I thought you, my blog friends, would enjoy seeing the picture of my young tree from this spring and read the Redbud tree plant profile.

I also have a number of Prairiefire crabapples, which this year suffered from a touch of the fungal diseases that Malus spp. are so prone to, although most years it escapes (which is why I planted that particular variety). The odd thing I find I have done over the years is incorporate so many purple leaf plants, for one who doesn't particularly care for them on the whole. I think it is my collector side, and the fact that I love things close up that I may not like from a distance. Purple leaves with the sunshine glowing through them are often quite beautiful. Prairiefire Crabapple has spring foliage of a deep burgundy, which lightens to a dull green antiqued with the remnants of the purple tints soon in the season.
Technorati Tags: Flowering Trees,

GGW Blog Photo Contest, Flowering Tree

The deadline is midnight tonight... and I decided at the last minute to enter this entry for "Flowering Trees". Just for fun, because I already picked the winners in my head, and I would not be among them. Two favs were one colorful closeup and one atmospheric longshot. I would choose emotionally, not being a photographer. Such beautiful pictures- I highly recommend that you spend some time viewing really pretty pictures of many different types of trees in various parts of the country. I also was awed by some of the magnolia photos- the beautiful blooms and creative compositions.

I really think that garden blogging is coming into its own.

Thanks to GGW for hosting these themed photo contests.

The entry photo is of the elusive silverbell tree, Halesia carolina.

Technorati Tags: silverbell, Halesia carolina

Thrift, Daffs and the Three sisters

i cannot continue this 'heirloom plant' saga without mentioning a classic southern
spring combination... the very-pink spreader creeping along walls and red-dirt banks
is called"Thrift"( i believe it is a creeping phlox). so rugged and egalitarian, it appears
along the roadsides frequently, at an old cabin or around a high-dollar iron gate; along
with the host of common daffodils, it it the first spring color we see. people often find
thrift's color garish and bright, but after the evergreens of winter, my hungry eyes seek
out the blast of color. it is the harbinger of spring in the piedmont region here in upper-
middle GA. also the lemon yellow "ordinary" daffodils appear, yet another flower you
can usually find planted off in the woods defining an old homesite foundation.
the old folks knew that these two planted together, with simultaneous blooming
periods, would raise the spirits of the most winter-jaded soul.
this combination is so very common...i remember riding to see my grandparents
when i was little ( eons ago). i have a clear color memory of seeing the pair along
the banks and ditches and front yards of houses along the way.

the other southern classic combination planting, i call the "Three sisters"
( this term "classic"does not necessarily imply greatness, but frequency of use)
these heirloom shrubs, in bloom at the same time in middle- march, are spirea,
forsythia and quince, all 'common' varieties. this is another plant combination of
many an old homestead, mine included. i find it a good landscaping rule to grow
same-time blooming plants together, color harmonies can be very pleasing.
however, the sight of these alternating shrubs of yellow, white and deep rose-pink
does not really do it for me. there is no visual harmony here...more an annoying discord;
although not quite a clash, it seems obvious they are grouped by bloom timing, more
than true color considerations. on the other hand, these were the available landscaping
plants of the time, easily rooted or divided and passed on. our present sophisticated
color groupings and exotic cultivars are the result of years of plant improvements and hybridization.

at any rate, i wanted to give a picture that is repeated all over the south. hot pink
and clear yellow flowers; alternating white, rose and bright yellow flowering shrubs
in endless repetition.
although i speak of them as 'old-timey' combinations, i still see the Three sisters newly
planted in front of many recently built homes. old habits seem to die hard, and i suppose
that is what makes a classic....

next time: the side porch and the Southside pariahs...

"Old-Fashioned Nuisance Plants"

magnolia, althea, yarrow and money-plant....i decided to take
a walk around the old house today observing my world.
i live in a typical old, sprawling, one-story
southern farmhouse, with wide porches to the south and west.
when i moved here, the landscaping told me someone once lived here who loved flowers and shrubbery. a hundred years ago, these plants were not considered"old-fashioned" nor a nuisance. they still thrive around many old homesteads down every country road in the South.

at the n/western corner of the yard is a tall handsome magnolia, still
blooming in the late july heat. after blooming, the pods ripen with bright
lipstick-red seeds, food for the pileated woodpeckers that are still here in
the rural woodlands. i have heard magnolia roots spread out to
more than double the dripline, a good adaption for a moisture- loving
tree, but some gardeners claim they "grab" the water away from other
plants. they scatter their huge dry leaves all over; this self-mulching is
another water preserving habit. above all, this is most bothersome to those
who prefer a tidy raked yard..... such a messy tree!

in wintertime, the glossy evergreen leaves are popular christmas
greenery for the mantle. this afternoon, as i stand on the porch, their strong
sweet lemony scent floats in the hot breeze.
one blossom will refresh an entire room.

across my front porch there is an old althea hedge, also called "rose of sharon."their large trunks and many branches make me think they were all planted at the same time when the house was built, to soften the sharp lines of the porch.

they are the common form, flowering in rose and paler pink, and make a lovely
privacy hedge with and generous shade. they are now 10' tall and although the porch faces the west, i enjoy their shade sitting on the swing, both for their privacy screen and lovely summer blooms. complaints about them are almost silly:
their unattractive seed pods stay on into the winter, and they produce like
rampant weeds with seedlings everywhere. althea is a non-native from india,
and like another invasive foreigner, english privet, it has made itself comfy in the sunny south. uncontrollable, unless rigorously pulled up yearly. problem solved.

the wild white yarrow (millefolium) lives around the sandy soil along the
driveway and on the rock wall terrace. it is rugged, takes to poor soil and hot sun. the airy ferny leaves are quite attractive, although the common yarrow's flowers are an unimpressive dull white.
its aggressive rhizome-spreading habit seems to be daunting to some gardeners,
but i have found that selective mowing a few times over the summer
usually takes care of it. yarrow was not brought here for its beauty by
early settlers. it is a well known medicinal herb -used crushed fresh for wounds and dried into tea for fevers and respiratory sickness.
this "old-timey" herb is welcome here.

money-plant (lunaria) is along the woodsy edge opposite the magnolia, as well as wherever it decides to live. they are biennial, the first year plants with their scalloped heart-shaped leaves are scattered among the mature bloomers with their spikes of purple pink flowers. there are always many blooming plants coming along.
their abundant re-seeding habit, migrating all over the semi-shady parts of the yard, and showing up trespassing in formal beds seem to be the nuisance factor.
on the other hand, the dried branches of their translucent seedpods are
popular with flower arrangers everywhere. the green discs ripen to
papery white rounds, certainly resembling a full moon, or coins....
but another common name is "honesty" and i fail to see that connection
to a plant called money.

i have just walked the west side of my house, and found the landscaping
very pleasant and complementary to the lines of the old place.
these trees, shrubs and flowers are hardy, longlasting, attractive, and
require little maintenance.
their commonality as landscape plants shows that they weren't always
avoided as problem plants. maybe it is time to reconsider them.

my plan is to write about the common old-timey or native plants and shrubs
as i walk around each side of the house. although i planted many flowerbeds
and gardens here, and keep a butterfly/hummingbird cottage-type garden
around the tiny greenhouse, it seems many plants come and go - over time -
while the "pariah" plants thrive.

until next time...vty johanna-lea

Time passes, blogs move on....

Well, friends, I've been blogging...but mostly in my head, several have been completed in my imagination; but time passes on, so today I thought I would put a medley of no certain association together here. Think of it as a stream of consciousness.

During the full moon most recently past, I drove home at twilight. On my right was a rosy hazed skyline with the sun just having dropped below the horizon as I was heading South. In the deepening blackberry jam twilight sky was a glowing butterpat of the risen moon in the east, on my left hand. In the distance ahead the farmers were gathering in the sheaves, but in today's world it was the bright lights of the harvester taking down the wheat. They left little behind except the shaven beard stubble of the field, still golden, but bereft of it's fruitfulness.

The air was freshened in that way that a summer evening brings a coolness and wipes away even the dust rising off a field being mowed. The horses in the pastures moved far off to the edges, as if to be beckoned by the call towards their ancestral freedoms, calling them to gallop into the west...far, far way from their fences and bridles. As I arrived home, the alfalfa field had had it's second mowing and was left to dry. It was later that the farmers were gathering it into long piles striping the field in giant designs that only God and airplanes can see. My eye followed the lines of saged green and my nose sniffed that sweet greened smell.

The peacefulness pervaded my soul like honey sinking into warm toast, melting within me mellowly. I savor such times, they seem so rare. At this time of my life I drink them, I roll them about within, like something sweet in the mouth and smooth on the tongue.

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The rains came while I was gone for the weekend, having returned home the garden reminded me of my obligations to weeding and cultivation, and I slipped easily back into the yoke. An old ox used to the labor, trained to the cycle of the seasons.

I'm happy with my containers of flowers and turn a blind eye to the front garden which never did get the renovation work planned for this year... it will get it's attention later, I tell myself. I don't yet know if this is truth or blind hope on my part. I have pictures galore and imagined articles written, only needing the time and effort to put it all into a place of virtual reality. I am moving through my life like through a Medieval garden, in sections with perceived purposes that are carved like blocks of the apothecary's plantings. Some coming to fruit and harvest, some still growing to fullness, some done and cut for another day, preserved, but placed into the attic of my mind.

Technorati Tags: time, rural

Seeing with a fresh eye

The human brain has mechanisms that help it work more efficiently, but those same things also create certain ruts in our thinking and perceptions. It would be very inefficient to approach all experiences as if they were new every time. Yet, that is what we must do if we are to be creative. What to do? That is where our interdependency steps in. What one has experienced is not at all the very same in all respects to what another has experienced. The difference between the two creates a fresh perspective. This became evident today when I garnered a new idea for a plant combination while visiting other blogs.

Reading through, and studying the photos, (yes I do that!) @A Study in Contrasts by Blackswamp girl, Kim, I found a new way to look at a pair of plants, variegated sedum and lady's mantle.

Here's is her picture


Kim is a color artist with plants. Her blog is full of detailed descriptions of plants grown together for visual effect, and like her blog name suggests she favors contrast. But in this case, she has a subtle range of color with more of the contrast contained within form and texture than in color. This is perhaps why I like it so well. I have both of these plants growing in my garden, and love both of them. They are in proximity, but my eye -grown used to my own garden- did not pick up how well they look in close combination. I made up my mind to give this pair a try in a number of places. It took someone else's view to give me a new perspective on visualizing how plants that do well in my own garden might be placed to better effect.

Now. Why might I have overlooked these two as potential partners? For the same reason someone might want to take care in their growing conditions. The two overlap in what they will tolerate, but are not precisely the same in their favored culture. (I suppose you can take that for an allegory, too).

Lady's Mantle, Alchemilla mollis prefers part shade location, while Sedums of all types thrive in full sun. This one, Sedum alboroseum 'Mediovariegatum' (at least that is the type growing in my garden), does do a bit better in less sun to keep from bleaching out; the part sun intensifies the variegation to more closely match the chartreuse of the Lady Mantle flowers. The Alchemilla also prefers more moisture than the Sedum, which will tend to grow lush and then flop if given too much moisture. The A.mollis, however tolerates a bit of dryness, and that is where these two overlap and are happy: part sun, well drained soil with normal fertility and moisture. The A. mollis is said to be hardy to USDA zone 4, and the BBG says that the Sedum is only hardy to zone 6, but I beg to differ. Mine is quite hardy to what is sometimes a dip to zone 4 temperatures, but clearly in zone 5a. I think what is likely the difference for me is the dryness of our late summer. It creates a toughness for the dessicating winds of winter, and I tend to leave the stalks in place to catch the winter's snow- perhaps that gives the plants a bit more cover.

However it is, both grow well in my garden, although the sedum is my all round champ when it comes to giving a good show in demanding conditions, the Alchemilla has also done well. Kim is farther north than me, but her area is moister and more moderate; she is also a city gardener, that might mean more smog, but less extremes in temperature. (Those city sidewalks and houses that act as windbreak to hold the temperatures in check).

Technorati Tags: Alchemilla mollis, Sedum

More From My Town

There were a large number of ideas in that one "High Victorian" garden...so let me focus on a few of those as well as a few others of different style....



I liked this quietly landscaped sideyard for a couple reasons. One is the inclusion of a fringe tree, which is not a widely used ornamental tree, but very choice in my opinion. It also uses grasses effectively. And everyone likes to see a city yard kept well trimmed, so it is pretty on all three counts. Not to say I don't like messy and overflowing ( which is how I garden) but I like the small city gardens that have both personality AND neatness, instead of trading off one for the other, as is often the case.



This one is also very tightly mown and trimmed... but it was the combination of fence and gate styles along with that inviting little Anderondack type chair that I liked.



Now we are back in the court of the cottage style. A sweet garden ornament with a lantern and lots of flowers.



City sidewalks in a small town are nothing like big cities, all is still open and friendly. This is the entry to the big High Victorian place, and the next picture is (one) of the porch(es)facing the main street. You get bunting and flowers, garden seats, wall stars... urns.... well, you can see for yourself.



Technorati Tags: small town, landscapes

So Many Pictures, So Little Space

I've taken bunches of photos of all sorts of garden related things. I think I need to give you all a peek.

This post is dedicated to my little town in Ohio. I walked around one evening a few weeks ago and snapped some things of interest to me. Hope you like them as well.



This particular side yard was interesting because of its comfortable little porch tucked in off the driveway. Although I'm not sure about the parking guides, it seems like a perfect place for morning coffee and evening people watching.




Now this High Victorian home has enough features for ten houses, but that is the way Victorians liked it. The above and next two pictures are from this home which gets more intense as you move back into the cottage home at the rear.





The two following pictures are a city display (I think, or it could belong to the home across the alleyway) of a moss horse structure and four vegetable beds. Perhaps the horse with its hitching post is a nod to the Amish who used live here in large numbers.

I immediately thought,"I've got to get a photo of that!" The veggie beds were very nicely done.







I have so many more pictures ...

Color Harmony: July Pink

I usually attach a color idea of orange and yellow to July, maybe because of the bright light, or the fact that many flowers in those hues are in full bloom in this month. But pink is still a garden color that while warming towards salmon in many of July's bloom choices helps to cool things down a bit. Even "hot" pinks when combined with blue fescue grass or the white of lilies or baby's breath is as refreshing as peppermint ice cream.

A Candy Cane color border, with red white and pink, may be just the color palette for hot summer days (and evenings). There are plenty of choices in lilies, garden phlox- some of the more luscious whites, pinks, and bi-colors, zinnias whirly-gigged in red and white, pinks and whites in allysums, echinaceas, and gypsophilias. Dahlias have quite a few named flowers with this color range, so a summer bed filled with these harmonies would be easy to grow.

Have you ever tried this color combination? What colors do you most enjoy on hot summer days in your garden?



Technorati Tags: Pink,

Arrange the July garden around lilies

Every month has it's supreme leading lady flower of the garden; June has the Rose, but July has the Lily. Especially now that the "Orienpets" have been created. They were the belle of several beds at the Inniswood Gardens Metro Park, and I would love to have some in my garden next year. "Orania" was the one I was most taken with because of her blonde and blush coloring, but there were others that were just as lovely.

You know, in gardening you sort of run out of superlatives when you see a stand of flowers that overflows with color, form and fragrance. I suppose you can just stand there without words, but that doesn't work so well when trying to describe an impression of the senses to others. Not even the photos do justice to the way the eye is glutted with such delicious blooms, not to mention soft cotton candy scent- it is that sweet!


I've written about other lilies previously, and I really think you could build garden pictures around many of these perennial bulbs with their tall vertical lines, large flowers and delightfully harmonious colors- they manage to combine oranges, purples and pinks equally well. I think it is their subtleties that do it. Softened like ice cream sherberts and sorbets or sparkling with deep and intense hues, they hold your attention in the bright sunshine and colorfully clad neighbors vying with each other in the height of the bloom season.



Be sure to see Gardens in Ohio.

Fourth of July, High Point of Summer

For me, the Fourth is the watershed of summer....everything builds to this place of heat, picnics, and fireworks, and is downhill from there on through to the last gasp of summer, Labor Day. Maybe because the mystery is gone by the fourth of July. I know whether my seedlings thrived, what the insect populations are likely to be, I've already harvested the cool crops and the tomatoes are at their marker point: I can see when the first wave of ripening is likely to occur.

If you want to see what tasks are scheduled in July for the Ohio Valley region:
July Garden tips

This past week my garden was blowzy with the drifts of feverfew that sprouted throughout the garden. The Shirley poppies are past their prime, but the bronze fennel which has self-seeded here is justt coming into it's own. Fennel is one of those hazy plants that melds things in a soft focus sort of way.

I think the Annabelle hydrangea holds sway here by sheer ostentatiousness. Although I did notice how very effective it is for evenings and misty, cloudy days. The huge orbs of bloom seem to hold the light in the luminescent way that is so enchanting in that magic time between dusk and nightfall. It really is a moon garden entry, with white roses, and the impossibly large white Marie Boisselot clematis. I haven't combined these in proximity, but it would work for those who want a 'White Garden'




Today, after writing the previous paragraphs, I took out a giant stand of overly healthy poison ivy. Then had to take a shower plus wash my hair to get rid of any oils that might create a reaction; 'cause I got it in my hair, on my arms, on my face, my feet, in fact I don't know where it didn't touch on my clothing, etc.
Now I need to rake it all up. Can't burn it- because people can get allergic reaction from breathing in the smoke of poison ivy.

Well, now off to cook up some things on the grill in honor of the Fourth of July. Shish-ka-bob with a side of couscous is not exactly all-American fare, but tastes yummy. Just a fresh salad on the side with the grilled veggies from the Shish-ka-bobs. Lemon cake with fresh fruit and a dollop of ice cream,lemonade and tea to drink. Looking forward to it.
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Summer Poem

Looking for Gold

A flavor like wild honey begins
when you cross the river. On a sandbar
sunlight stretches out its limbs, or is it
a sycamore, so brazen, so clean and so bold?
You forget about gold. You stare—and a flavor
is rising all the time from the trees.
Back from the river, over by a thick
forest, you feel the tide of wild honey
flooding your plans, flooding the hours
till they waver forward looking back. They can’t
return; that river divides more than
two sides of your life. The only way
is farther, breathing that country, becoming
wise in its flavor, a native of the sun

William Stafford,
from The Way it Is: New and Selected Poems

Fairy House

Since writing about fairy gardens everything in that garden genre catches my attention. I can't help myself!

clipped from gardenfaerie.blogspot.com The glass is used in the walls and pathway of this fairy house, and in the tiny blue Chihulyesque sculptures that pop up in the fairy garden.