Oh, Happy May!

Happy May Day!

Let me share one of the most wonderful and miraculous things about spring: new life.

This little fellow was born a bit over a week ago on a Sunday evening at the farm where my daughter works and boards her horse. We were responsible for watching over mama over that weekend as the owners had to be out of town for a family wedding. Mama was one restless and uncomfortable gal. We were so nervous for her!

I think she waited for her people to get home, though, because they weren't there very long on Sunday night before little "Jeff" made his appearance. We received a phone call, and my daughter and I were there within half an hour of his birth. We stayed for about two hours. I could not tear myself away before he learned two things: legs and milk.

Never have I seen anything so miraculous before, nor so incredibly cute. He staggered around the barn on rubbery legs, completely unable to control where he went. After the first half hour or so, he began to suck whenever his muzzle encountered Mama, nuzzling her belly, legs, and flanks. It was blindly, instinctively, knowing there was something wonderful near, but not quite knowing how to attain it. Mama watched proudly and protectively. She didn't seem to mind if he stumbled near a human, but let him get too close to another horse (even though they were all locked in their stalls and could only watch through barred openings) and the surprised onlooker was given a show of heels. Finally, he found nourishment, and at that moment everyone breathed a sigh of relief--even mama, I think! And I felt silly, but there were tears of joy in my eyes.

That was then. Now, of course, he has complete mastery of his knobby-kneed legs. He bucks and twists and cavorts just for the thrill of it. "Look at me!" "Watch this!" "See what I can do!" Then he prances over to gaze at visitors, and his shy, innocent eyes are fringed with the most incredibly long eyelashes. It takes my breath away just to look at him.

Oh, Happy May!

"Jeff" photos by Gourdo.

Framing a Dream

This is the beginning of a gourd man's vision. Old timbers. Nails. Sweat.

Gourdhenge: It must be sturdy enough to withstand high winds, lashing rainstorms, and the unbelievable weight of many gourds. It must be tall enough so that long-handled dipper gourds can stretch to lengths of over six feet.

We aren't talking about any old gourds here. We're talking prize winners.

Gourdhenge and Prizewinners photos by JulenaJo.

Musings, Mystery, and Gourdhenge

Today, at last, we had warm weather. I saw the thermometer on the bank sign in town read 80 degrees Fahrenheit. A brisk breeze kept things comfortable. Tomorrow is supposed to be similar, I think. About time!

I managed to get into the yard a bit after work to assess the pruning I did last weekend and to see what is new. Although I am pleased to see the fragrant pink viburnum blossoms are opening (Viburnum carlesii 'Juddii') and the grape hyacinth, wild violets, and 'Thunderchild' crabapple, too, I was disappointed to see the forsythia won't have any more flowers. The plant bloomed at the very bottom, but nowhere else. It looks as though there will be no blooms on the Cleveland pear or on the dogwood, either. What gives? It's a mystery.

I wonder if it was the colder than usual spring? I noticed it didn't seem to affect weeds any. I'll have a bumper crop of dandelions and thistle to tangle with this year.

Gourdo took advantage of the good weather this afternoon to harvest old timbers from a fallen barn next door. (With the owner's permission, of course.) He's happily sawing and pounding out nails tonight, planning a "Gourdhenge." Gourdhenge is his term of endearment for a huge, rough timber arbor covered in gourd vines. He created one several years go, and has always longed for another. Gourd vines grow so rambunctiously it won't be long before the monstrosity is covered in a tangle of green. A galaxy of nightblooming blossoms will cover the arbor and, eventually, gourds of all sizes and shapes will garland the structure. It's really something to see--even if gourds aren't your cup of tea. Above you see little Roxy, bravely sitting in the gourd patch of two years ago. Ok. Not so bravely. You'd never catch me sitting out there like that. Those gourds'll getcha if you sit still too long. I'll stick with roses. Gourd photo by Gourdo.

Pruning Day

"I think I killed my rose bush."
This was an unsolicited comment from a woman in the Kmart nursery section. We were standing, side-by-side, perusing the selection of roses for sale.
"What did you do to it?" I asked.
"I pruned it," she said.
"Well, I don't think you killed it by pruning it," I assured her. Then I asked her what kind of rose it was. She had no idea; it was there when she bought the house.
After a brief discussion, I deduced that perhaps her rose was a hybrid tea that had died down to its rootstock. I suggested the possibility to her and her bewildered look spoke volumes. She had no idea there were things like hybrid tea, floribunda and grandiflora roses, much less grafted, budded and own-root roses. I tried to explain about grafting and I sensed it was all too much.
"Could you help me pick out another rose to replace it?" she asked.
I could and did. All she wanted was a rose that bloomed a lot and didn't need any care. Well, to my mind that ruled out all but the Knock Outs and perhaps a 'Nearly Wild.' She left very happy with a Double Pink Knock Out and a jug of systemic "2-in-1" rose food, another suggestion of mine. It is a granular fertilizer that also keeps aphids and thrips at bay. They even have "3-in-1" now, that keeps black spot and other rose diseases under control. You never have to spray!
After I sold her on the product I added, "It's a great product, but you can't eat your roses if you use it!" Another bewildered look.
Sometimes I can't help myself.

There are a number of good books and web sites that cover pruning roses. I have read them and am still somewhat bewildered myself! It all seems like too much work. Basically, what I do is let roses go until spring. On a nice day in March, I go out and shorten any really long stems by about one third, trying to cut above an outward facing "eye." At this time of year, it's hard to tell for sure, so I don't worry too much about it.
Then, once leaves break out, I get more serious. I cut out any branches that show no signs of life and I ruthlessly thin out the bush, eliminating crossing branches, any that are too low or misshapen or that grow to the inside of the shrub. I aim for an up and out look. I then shorten the branches another third or so, and here I am more careful to cut 45 degrees down and inside and just above a bit of new growth that is pointed in the direction I want the rose to grow--generally out and up.
The three new roses that I planted last year all get just a light trimming of the dead ends with a hedge clippers. No worry about individual branches and growth direction. I just want any and all healthy growth this year.
All that being said, if a rose dies, it wasn't meant to be. My best advice is to buy healthy and hardy roses and let nature run its course. And a little "3-in-1" doesn't hurt, either. Pruning Photos by JulenaJo.

Easter Bounty

Our Easter weekend was spent in Hocking Hills--a good 3-hour drive southeast of us. Everything is a good two weeks ahead of us there, and it's never more apparent than in the early spring. Most obvious was the Bradford pear trees which made a stunning show everywhere. They aren't blooming here yet. My kids commented that we should have them in our yard, too, but beautiful as they are, I won't. I do have a Cleveland pear, however. It's supposed to be less prone to breakage. We will see!

But that wasn't the best part of our weekend. Read on...

The rain on Good Friday, followed by sunshine on Saturday and Sunday prompted wild morel mushrooms to pop from the forest floor. My three kids range from 16 to nearly 22--far too old for Easter egg hunts. They hunted morels instead, and what an exciting hunt it was! There seems to be no rhyme or reason as to where morels decide to make an appearance. The only thing is, if you find one, you will undoubtedly find others nearby. Finding the first one is the hardest. You scour the leaf litter for a wrinkled grayish brown nugget, feeling that it's hopeless. Then suddenly, there one is, just before you! My sister-in-law said she thinks they pop up behind her when she's walking along. "I don't see any at all, then I turn to walk back and there they are, right where I passed only a moment before."

Our bounty was washed, patted dry, sliced in half, then dredged lightly in seasoned flour. After sauteeing in butter they were enjoyed by one and all. Yummy!

Easter Sermon--Fool for Christ

Roses for Easter. Of course. Now, allow me a moment of preachiness. Pass this post by if you aren't interested in Good News. I won't be offended.

May your holiday fill you with the "peace of God, which passes all understanding." (Phil. 4:7.) That is my new/old catchphrase, having recently read a small book by Joyce Meyer, called "Peace: Cast All Your Cares Upon Him." It came to my attention at the Library at a time when I needed it, as I've been worrying about family and the dire economy. Who isn't these days? It's had me in knots.

However, maybe, just maybe, wringing hands and wailing will accomplish nothing. Maybe we can "wait upon the Lord" (Is. 40:31.) with an attitude of happiness instead. Would that be foolish? I don't think so, but if it is, I don't care. I choose happiness. I choose Christ.

Yes, Christians are fools. Fools for Christ. (1 Cor. 4:10.) I know it sounds crazy to believe in Jesus and His divinity. While we can easily believe that He was brutalized and put to death, we sometimes have trouble with the idea of Him being raised in glory. And yet, in spite of the spin the media puts on Christianity, even today Christian churches everywhere will be filled with joyous followers. What kept the first disciples, who faced ridicule at the least and brutal death at the most, true to their story? What keeps us going today? It's an age-old question. It's one you won't see the media touching.

Christians are happy fools. We know there is One who has power over death. Once you wrap your heart and mind around that fact, it is totally liberating. Yes, we can be happy, no matter what. Wow. How amazing is that?

Happy Easter!

Kaleidoscopic Colorplay

Kaleidoscopic colorplay is what I seek in my garden, and few plants deliver this as beautifully as Flutterbye, above. Red buds open to fragrant, single yellow roses that turn orangey red as they age. All colors can be found in a single spray. I love the hot colors and the cheerful countenance of this reblooming rose. A vigorous shrub, Flutterbye will attain a height and width of 6 to 8 feet, and can be trained as a climber. Flutterbye is hardy in my zone 5 garden and shows resistance to black spot, mildew and rust. Flutterbye Rose photo by JulenaJo.

Easy Edging

Shown above is a trio of tatted edgings that I've recently been working on. Busywork, really. The upper left bit was supposed to be a tatted heart, but I completed one half and realized I'd made a mistake and had to abort the project. I may use the resultant 3 inches or so on a card or collage. Tatbits are too pretty and precious to waste.

The light orange edging, composed of split rings, I started simply because a friend gave me a ball of pretty thread and I wanted to practice split rings. It's delicate and would be a lovely collar trim.

It's the center edging that most intrigues me. It's one of the simplest edgings I've ever done, and it is also one of the most attractive. To me it looks like an Arts & Crafts motif of leaves. In fact, my 19-year-old daughter, who teasingly refers to tatting as "twiddling," made the comment that she would like a necklace made of this lace. Maybe I'll work it up in color and present it to her on her birthday. It's all rings, so I'm using up several bobbins and Clover shuttles worth of white thread remnants. I want to free up those shuttles and bobbins for other projects. A bonus is I can carry the single shuttle required for this edging in a small plastic bag with me to pull out whenever I have a few minutes to work on it. The pattern couldn't be simpler, a repeat of four rings performed thusly:

Ring A: 4 ds, p, 4 ds, p, 8 ds, rw.
Ring B: 4 ds, p, 4 ds.
*Ring C: 4 ds, p, 4 ds, p, 8 ds, rw.
Ring D: 4 ds, join to last picot of previous ring A, 4 ds.
Ring A: as above.
Ring B: 4 ds, join to last picot of previous ring C, 4 ds.
Repeat from * for desired length.

Easy!
Tatted Edgings photo by JulenaJo.

Fickle is Typical

It's hard to believe that in a few short weeks the ornamental peach tree in the front yard will look like this. Pleasant weather over the last week or so teased leaf buds out along the branches, but so far they remain tightly closed. The dismal forecast for next week: cloudy, windy, and possibility of snow. I hope the hidden blossoms aren't lost to the cold.
This spring seems atypical to me. However, I'm not sure there even is such a thing as typical April weather--unless fickle can be considered typical.The hyacinths and daffodils seem shorter and later than usual, but at least they're making an appearance. The forsythia is blooming at the bottom of the shrub, where the branches are protected by grass, but the buds on the upper branches remain tightly closed so I don't see color unless I'm standing right next to it, looking down. Any day now all of these first flowers should open. It will be interesting to see what they do in the cold. Will the flowers be unfazed by snow showers? How do such fragile-looking blossoms withstand the cold? I wish roses could bloom in the snow. But each flower blooms in its season, and I appreciate them all the more for the wait. Peach Tree photo by JulenaJo.

And The World Thinks Go

"April prepares her green traffic light and the world thinks Go."
- Christopher Morley, John Mistletoe

"April hath put a spirit of youth in everything."
- William Shakespeare

April is a promise that May is bound to keep, and we know it."
- Hal Borland

"Hark, I hear a robin calling!
List, the wind is from the south!
And the orchard-bloom is falling
Sweet as kisses on the mouth.

In the dreamy vale of beeches
Fair and faint is woven mist,
And the river's orient reaches
Are the palest amethyst.

Every limpid brook is singing
Of the lure of April days;
Every piney glen is ringing
With the maddest roundelays.

Come and let us seek together
Springtime lore of daffodils,
Giving to the golden weather
Greeting on the sun-warm hills."
- Lucy Maud Montgomery, Spring Song

Oh, and April is National Poetry Month, to boot.
Enjoy! Happy April, everyone! Fuchsia photo by JulenaJo.

The Day Awaits

I'm giving myself--and you, friends--a pick-me-up nosegay. The fickle spring weather has brought me a little low. Last week was sunny and fairly mild, but today the temperature outside is dropping. Early morning sunshine has disappeared under a ragged layer of cloud that holds promise of raindrops and maybe even a few flakes of snow.

It's tempting to give in to a full-blown sulk, but before crawling back into bed and pulling the blankets over my head, I think I'll do something creative. I have a tatting work-in-progress. Art supplies beckon. I've two or three books at hand that I could delve into, including: Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese and Laughter on the Stairs, the Beverley Nichols sequel to Merry Hall, which I wrote about on March 12.

As I peruse these options, the day doesn't seem quite so lost. Instead, it looks more like a gift. Of course, as I wrote this I sipped a large, energizing cup of coffee. I must be off. The remainder of the day awaits! Nosegay clipart from Dover.

Golden Wings

I don't remember when I first met the lovely rose, Golden Wings, but I do remember doing a double-take and saying, "Wow!" A large shrub or low climber covered with 5-inch, single blossoms of pale yellow, Golden Wings makes a beautiful statement in the garden. Each blossom is sweetly fragrant and sports a silky knot of stamens in its heart. Hardy in zones 4-9 and easy to grow, with attractive, medium green foliage, Golden Wings might be just what you need in your garden--especially if you want a bold shot of soft yellow there--and in your floral bouquets.

Golden Wings may be trained attractively up a trellis or sprawled over a fence, as I first saw it, but in my own garden I grew it openly as a shrub, allowing it ample room to gracefully spread to its full 4- to 6-foot height and equal width. The sunny yellow flowers complemented all the pinks and reds in my garden. Blue or purple flowers would be electric beside it.

Although Golden Wings received the America Rose Society Gold Medal in 1958, and the Royal Horticultural Society Award of Garden Merit in 1993, an online search provided few links to nurseries supplying it. I did find it at www.davidaustinroses.com. A quick tour of the David Austin online catalog is dizzying, with each offering more gorgeous than the last. Check it out! Golden Wings photo by JulenaJo.

Pussy Willow

A friend gave us a bouquet of pussy willow branches. The soft catkins really do look and feel like soft kitten toes. I don't have one of these trees in our yard, so I'm hoping they take root. As members of the willow family, they should do so quite easily.
This is a lovely sign of spring and it reminds me of first grade. A classmate brought in huge bundles of branches -- enough for every child in the class to take a few home. Mom put them in a vase. When my little sister saw them she was delighted. "What ARE they?" We told her, "Pussy willow." And then, wickedly, we both told her that kittens would grow from each fuzzy bud. As her excitement grew, so did our guilt. We had to fess up rather quickly. I'll never forget her mournful, "So kittens WON'T grow from them?" When we apologized and said no, there would be no kittens, she quickly lost interest in the pussy willows and in us. Amazing how much indignation she could muster up at that tender age. I smile, remembering.
Happy Spring! Pussy Willow photos by JulenaJo.

Unsolved Mystery

Speaking of the mysterious squill of two posts ago reminded me of another mystery that occurred in my garden. Years ago an acquaintance asked me if I would like to have some of her barnyard roses. She did not know what kind they were as they came with the property when they bought it. All she knew was they were the most beautiful white roses she'd ever seen. They were spring blooming only, she said, but they had an exquisite fragrance. I went to her house and was delighted to see the most gorgeous white roses--very large and blowsy. She was right: the fragrance was divine. I happily accepted her kind offer, and she dug up a nice clump of them for me.
I planted them in my rose garden among the pedigreed and named heirloom roses and the David Austins, and I looked forward to seeing them bloom the following spring. And bloom they did, with fragrant abandon. However, they were not white at all, but a sensuous clear pink. I was delighted as I prefer pink roses to white, generally.
When I told my benefactor that the roses were pink at my house, she looked baffled and said, "No, they are pure white." I believe she thought I'd lost my mind. It's an unsolved mystery. The only hypothesis I have is that the soil in my yard somehow affected the flowers, perhaps much in the way soil pH affects the color of hydrangeas. The mysteries of gardening are all part of the appeal, for me. Who knows what surprises the Garden of 2009 will bring? I can't wait to find out! Pink Bud photo by JulenaJo.

Think Green

I'm thinking spring-green thoughts this week in honor of St. Patrick's Day, March 17. The vintage postcard above caught my eye because it has roses, of course. Its verse is more St. Valentine than St. Pat, but I like it anyway. Hope your week is a green one!

Solitary Squill

I have in my garden a solitary squill. That's not the name of it. It's Scilla siberica by name. I mean there is only one. I originally obtained it from an elderly neighbor, Alice, who lived in a farmhouse half a mile down the road. The clump of squill never had a chance to proliferate in my garden before the Great Relandscaping Disaster of 2002, and after, a solitary squill would show up in the new lawn every spring, but eventually it petered out.
Two years ago, however, I noticed a few blades of "grass" growing where I had the dog run. As the grass hadn't really broken dormancy, I investigated more closely, and decided it was a bulb of some sort. I moved the dog so she wouldn't crush it and kept close tabs on it. When the clump finally bloomed, I was thrilled to see it was a solitary squill. How did it get from under the locust trees in front of the old house, where I originally planted it, to the side of the old barn, where the dogs run? I had no idea. Rodents, maybe? Seed? It is a mystery.
Before the plant could die off into oblivion, I transplanted it into my flower bed. It bloomed last spring, weakly, but it's coming up strong this year. I'm so happy! The photo above doesn't quite capture the true shade of electric blue of it. I hope it spreads wildly.
I saw a grassy field of them blooming at St. Charles Seminary near the cemetery and it seemed such an appropriate final resting place for saints. Fragrant, sighing conifers above, and a heavenly blue carpet of scilla below--very serene and peaceful. I'm sure there's scilla in heaven, and I could have a bit of heaven on earth in my garden if I could just get this solitary squill to be fruitful and multiply. I'll let you know how it goes. Scilla Siberica photo by John Crellin.

Merry Hall

Here in northwest Ohio, capricious March weather will afford at least a few weeks more before yard and garden work begins in earnest. I'm spending the time reading about gardens, and there is no more delightful garden writer to read than Englishman Beverley Nichols (1898-1983). I first discovered him years ago when I spied his Down the Garden Path (1932) on the library gardening shelves. The book told about Nichols' first garden. His love and delight in flowers is infectious--what he wrote about winter-blooming flowers, in particular, thrilled me. However, it's the razor-sharp wit that keeps the pages turning. He's a blend of Gertrude Jekyll and Oscar Wilde, if you can imagine that. Now I'm reading yet another Nichols treasure, Merry Hall, the first in a trilogy.

Originally published in 1951, Merry Hall describes the author's purchase and renovation of a derelict house and garden in post-war England. The sure way Nichols expresses his opinions on all things horticultural and human is delightful and informative. Nichols' account of the home buying process is blisteringly funny--especially hilarious is the description of his friend who rattles his keys with condemnation every step of the way. I laughed aloud at the antics of his gardener, the indomitable Oldfield, who turns a blind eye to anything and anyone meeting his disapproval. And who hasn't known a "Miss Emily," whose warm letter of welcome to the neighborhood reveals a shockingly bold attempt to manipulate. His telling of an offending hedge, and the champagne-soaked plan to eradicate it had me howling. I'll tell you one thing: I won't be drinking and gardening any time soon. I will be reading the rest of Nichols' garden books, however. Timber Press has reissued many of them recently. Check out the following website: www.beverleynichols.com.

Then hie thee to a library! Nichols books await!

Frog-Song in the Air

On the way home from work today I spied a lawn scattered throughout with purple crocus blossoms. A boy about 12-years-old had abandoned his bicycle on the sidewalk and was picking a few of them. He'd obviously been stopped on his ride to wherever he was going by the amazing sight of that beautiful lawn. The expression on his face was one of wonderment--quickly followed by a look of guilt when he saw me watching him. I had to flash a smile his way. I thought it was cute that he couldn't resist them, and I hoped the homeowner wouldn't be too angry.

I also saw buzzards (Cathartes aura) circling in the sky over the south side of town. It gave my heart a lift to see them--it's another sure sign of spring's return. As if that weren't enough, the spring peepers aka tree frogs (Pseudacris crucifer, see photo, above) were singing from the vernal pond in the woods behind our house when I arrived home. I know they'll be silenced in chilly days and nights ahead yet, but we are really on the last leg of our race to spring.

The bulbs are continuing to show green tips in my flower bed. I walk out and look at least once a day, marveling. It's amazing how they appear out of the cold, dank mud--you'd think nothing could thrive there. Although the new shoots seem to grow quickly, it will be weeks before anything actually blooms. I don't care. After months of silent cold we have bird- and frog-song in the air and a hint of green on the gently warming earth.

I have a lot of garden clean-up and pruning to do. Perhaps I'll tackle some of it tomorrow as I have taken a vacation day. Although it will be chilly, I think there will be a break in the rain, and I'm rarin' to go! Spring Peeper photo from the United States Geological Survey, an agency of the U. S. Dept. of the Interior.

Cheeky Checker

I believe this little fellow is the white checkered skipper. All I know is he gave me a good chase around the garden last summer as I attempted a photo. I felt the entire time that he was laughing gaily at me. This was suggested by the jaunty angle of his wing, the cheeky way he darted off every time I drew near. He's tiny, and not very colorful, being mostly gray and white, but the bold checkering of his wing is attractive. He must have been drunk on lavender nectar when he finally relaxed enough to let me snap his portrait.

Off-the-cuff observations of the day: many of the migratory field birds are back. I've seen kildeer and assorted varieties of blackbirds. I've not yet heard red-winged blackbirds or the spring peepers call from the woods, but yesterday temperatures soared, so it won't be long. Today is cooler, and it's raining. It's funny how quickly we went from single digits to an unnaturally warm 75 degrees Fahrenheit. I'm glad it is more seasonal today. I noticed a few of the bulbs I planted last fall are breaking the soil. I'd forgotten where I put them so it is exciting to note where the green tips are showing up. I am not a planter of "drifts," much as I love to see flowers blooming so, because I hate to disturb what I already have in my garden in order to dig them in. Instead, I tucked a few things in here and there in hopes that they'd naturalize. This year's odd daffodil or muscari will be the lovely cluster in a few years. Sadly, I also see tender young dandelion leaves sprouting in the flower bed, along with other perennial weeds. And so, another season is about to begin. Checker Butterfly photo by JulenaJo.

And God Said, "Let's Color!"

What I know about orchids you could put on the head of a pin. I've stated in the past that I am not much of an indoor gardener--these lovelies do not live with me. They were on display at Ft. Wayne. Aren't the fantastic form, colors and markings on these beauties incredible? I can't help but believe in God when I look at these. Yes, I have science training. I know about Big Bang and "evolutionary development necessary for procreation of the species." It all makes remarkable sense. But. LOOK! This is starstuff, wonderfully made, and in my heart I just know that after He made it, God took out Divine Magic Markers and colored on it. Orchid photos by JulenaJo.