Flowers in the Snow

Although I seldom remember my nightly dreams upon waking, there was a period a few years back where I had a series of recurring, vivid dreams about gardens.

One such dream featured an overgrown, neglected rose garden that I would discover in the yard of a house that, in my dream, I was considering purchasing. The house was always different. Sometimes it was an eerie Victorian mansion, damp and ornate, but long-unoccupied--on the verge of collapse. Other times it was a suburban modular, plain and unappealing, also long-unoccupied but otherwise habitable. Several times it was one of the two houses I grew up in as a child.

In all cases, the thing that really piqued my interest was the garden. Dazzling, unusual flowers grew in an untamed tangle all around the house. Roses grew with wild abandon, canes rocketing out of the soil to reach dizzying heights. I always had to reach up and pull the opulent blooms down to smell them. I couldn't wait to lose myself in the garden, trimming and pruning and restoring order and the lost beauty of the original garden. In every dream, I had misgivings about the houses, but felt irresistably drawn to the mysterious, old, neglected gardens.

In another series of recurring dreams, I find myself walking in the snow. Suddenly, I come across a garden in full bloom. I'm stunned and marvel at the beautiful red tomatoes hanging on lush green vines and at scarlet poppies waving on prickly stems above a drift of white snow.

How does this happen? I wonder. What kind of gardener can make flowers bloom in the snow?

I wake feeling happy after these dreams, but I have no idea what they indicate about my psyche. Who dreams of flowers in the snow? What does it mean?

I carried a bouquet of dried flowers and seed pods outdoors for a photo today. I'm looking forward to planting lots of everlastings this spring. I like the idea of flowers that last all winter. I need flowers in the snow. Photo by JulenaJo.

Garden Update

The blog has taken back seat to other pursuits recently, including the actual work in the garden, as well as tatting and trying to come up with things for the Farmer's Market. I am not particularly pleased with this year's flower bed. Weeds, especially thistle, are winning the war I wage against them. Lack of rain is taking a toll, stressing everything--except the thistles--in spite of frequent watering with a hose. The lawn is riddled with bald patches and is more weeds than grass. Today I squashed the first Japanese beetle, munching away on my Rose of Sharon. The Rose of Sharon opened its first blossom today, too, coincidentally.

Gourdo is concerned about the lack of rainfall, especially now that the gourd vines are starting to scramble up the sides of Gourdhenge. We've seen a few gourd blossoms unfurl each evening, attracting night-flying moths, which pollinate the creamy white flowers. No sign of baby gourds yet, though, much to Gourdo's consternation.

Another concern of Gourdo's and mine is the yellowing of our pin oak trees. They look chlorotic and we fear their eventual demise. I haven't taken a soil sample in to the county extension office for testing, but that's what various garden web sites recommend, as the wrong amendment to the soil could make the matter worse.

We've had many years of relatively easy gardening: now we're up against some challenges. I'll let you know how it goes! Garden 2009 photos by JulenaJo.

Variegated Iris

Often gardeners are thought of as being frugal individuals. After all, gardeners recycle kitchen waste into compost, grow and put up their own food, and share and swap plants and seeds with each other--all frugal activities.

But there is another side to gardeners. For, while we will happily scour the discount bins post-season in hopes of scoring cheap seeds and plants past their prime, we will also spend rather recklessly if we find something unusual and rare. How frugal is that?

Case in point: the variegated iris. I had to have it. I don't recall what I spent for it when I bought it a couple years ago--maybe $30 or so, but I do recall it was a large-sized container and I cringed inwardly. It seemed like a lot of money at the time, and it's not THAT exotic or rare. However, since I knew I wanted it, I squelched those second thoughts as quickly and mercilessly as I do Japanese beetles on my roses. I have not regretted it.

In fact, if I wanted to, I could justify the expense and consider it money well-spent. The foliage on this plant is a spot of sunshine in early spring, and it lasts well into summer. The cheerful purple flowers are a mid-spring delight. Like other irises, the variegated sort multiplies freely. I expect to be dividing them in another year or so. Frugal!

Right now, this is the only variety of iris in my garden. I longingly peruse catalogs and the offerings of fellow gardeners, but I hesitate to indulge. While nothing can beat the form and splashy color of irises in the spring garden, they tend to have a relatively short bloom period. And the foliage, especially on bearded irises, gets ragged after a while. Because of this, I haven't quite figured out how to work irises into my mixed flower bed.

While visiting in southeast Ohio last weekend I was invited to tour a private garden which featured long rows of heirloom irises in a rainbow of colors. It was stunning, to say the least. I didn't ask what was in the beds the rest of the year, and I wish I had. I might have learned how to better work this old-fashioned beauty into my own garden. Variegated Iris photo 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.

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.

Garden in Progress

Like the angel above, I've been thinking. What direction should the garden take this year?
Other blogs that I follow talk about "gardens in progress," and aren't they all? The above is my garden in progress. It's a haphazard collection of plants that works for me on many levels, but is far from what I would like to see here. We live on 5 acres, about half of which is yard. The remainder is incorporated into the neighbor's farm fields and is planted in a rotation of corn, soybeans and winter wheat. My yard and garden is an oasis in the midst of a desert of flat, fertile farm fields. There are woodlots dotting the horizon, breaking up the view. Often, these have sprung up where the land is too wet to be worth troubling with.
When we built the new house we lost some of the rich topsoil, I think, leaving behind a hard, uncompromising pan. Organic matter needs to be worked in near the house now. Fortunately, we have access to well-rotted horse manure, thanks to our daughter's horse. We also compost green materials and kitchen waste, and we bought a load of sand to dig in, too.
Although many of the plants that I love require full sun, and we have that aplenty, the wind here can be devastating. We've been planting trees--smaller ornamentals near the house and larger hardwoods as well as evergreens elsewhere in the yard. I'm hoping to create a windbreak as well as a "window" or a "frame" for the view beyond.
Originally, I tucked perennials randomly into the lawn as I accepted them from friends and came into them unexpectedly. This upset Gourdo to no end as he does most of the mowing. To organize things, he installed an irregularly shaped bed outlined in vintage brick around my collection. We increase the bed each year as the collection grows. We also create new beds. I planted a trio of red-flowering crabapples underplanted with nanking cherry. I think that should look fantastic in coming years--if they bloom in sync, as I hope, I'll have photos this spring.
At any rate, the garden is in progress (in my mind) even as another snow squall passes through the state. Garden Photos by JulenaJo.

Carefree Delight

One cannot help but love the name of this rose: Carefree Delight. I first discovered this rose at the Whetstone Park of Roses in Columbus, Ohio. There they grow in partial shade that does not seem to hinder bloom one whit. Huge hedges of them are covered with masses of small, carmine pink blooms. There is zero fragrance, but there are plentiful small hips in the fall. The attractive foliage is glossy and deep green, reminiscent of holly leaves.
In my more open garden, Carefree Delight performs well, but not with the astounding vigor of the ones growing in the protected park garden. Even so, it makes a nice spreading shrub that provides great cover for rabbits and birds. When it's in its first flush of bloom the foliage is barely visible behind the masses of flowers, and it blooms in continual flushes right through the season until hard frost.
Although Carefree Delight is listed as a shrub rose, it performs like a ground cover in my wild, open garden. The winner of numerous awards, Carefree Delight is a hard-working, tough plant that requires minimal pruning or care to look great as a hedge or in a small grouping in the yard or garden. Carefree Delight photo by JulenaJo.

Nice Ice?

Santa brought me a present: a new camera (Canon Powershot A590). Thank you, Santa!
I'd been taking pictures with my cell phone or eschewing photos altogether ever since my beloved Nikon froze up on me. I'm not much of a photographer, but digital cameras are so easy. An ice storm last night gave me time (the Library was closed till noon) and opportunity to try out the new camera. Ice shots from the garden. Nice. Ice photos by JulenaJo.

Autumn Joy

This is Autumn Joy, another sedum in my garden. Autumn Joy is a gardening cliche. Perhaps the most commonly planted sedum in Midwestern landscapes, she is often planted alongside Stella D'Oro daylilies and Knock Out roses. The Three Stooges--the Larry, Curly and Moe of horticulture! I balked at adding them to my garden because I wanted to be special. To stand out from the rest. To be unique.
It didn't take long before I caved. First came Autumn Joy, a gift from a friend who was dividing her perennials. I took it to be kind, I thought. But now look what I'm doing. Shamelessly promoting it in my blog. Autumn Joy became a gardening cliche because it WORKS. From the tender, succulent growth in spring and summer, to the fizzy pink umbels that drive bees to distraction in late summer, to the lovely brown caps in fall and winter, Autumn Joy delivers.
Later I added Knock Out roses to the mix. I know I'll be writing about Knock Out roses in a future post. They will revolutionize rose gardening with their imperviousness to disease and nonstop blooming. I can spot a Knock Out rose a mile away--it's just that singular.
I haven't succombed to the "charms" of Stella D'Oro daylily yet, but I have added two others: an unnamed double orange from my godmother's garden and Pardon Me, a gorgeous redhead who blooms for quite a long time in late summer. I put the word charms in quotes because I really dislike the cheesy yellow of Stella. I feel like apologizing because she makes up for it by blooming so prolifically. It's my own failing somehow, that I cannot love that particular shade of yellow. I'm sorry, Stella, but you're one cliche that won't be found in my Midwestern garden any time soon. Autumn Joy photo by JulenaJo.

The Frost is on the...Sedum

I woke to find we'd had a light freeze during the night. Most everything left in the garden remained unfazed, and I was struck by how amazing the Dragon's Blood sedum looked edged in rime (see above). I haven't noticed frost any morning prior to this. One year I remember a killing frost on the night of September 25. To my mind that was early, but October 19 is rather late. I was up late enough to know it was the wee hours of this morning when the world took on its lace of frost. It's sunny and clear again today. Champagne skies: crisp, intoxicating, beautiful. Dragon's Blood sedum photo by JulenaJo.

Garden Fanfare

"Fanfare" is the name of this blanket flower. Appropriate, don't you think? The tubular petals look like little golden trumpets, and they continue to feed butterflies and honeybees late in the season, so they are a welcome addition to the summer and autumn garden. The spiky center of the flower turns to a puffball of downy seed after the flowers are spent, and although they are not supposed to reproduce true from seed, the seedlings I've seen have been much like their parent.
I've spent the past few days planting bulbs of Dutch Master daffodil, Purple Sensation allium, and purple-blue muscari that I picked up at Kmart. Every year I want to plant bulbs, and this year I finally did so. I'm already looking forward to seeing them come spring. I don't really have a plan for my garden. I just want to see some color at the end of a long, dreary winter--and the sooner the better. I suppose there are earlier blooming spring flowers that I could order from a catalog, but who can decide what to order when everything is so beautifully described? I'll settle for what turns up at the discount stores. 'Fanfare' photo by JulenaJo.

End-of-Season Musings

Every evening I try to take a brief walk in the garden before dinner. The days are still warm--70s and low 80s--but our nights cool quickly when the sun sets. Much of the garden is spent. I've been making mental notes about what still looks good. Nasturtiums look fantastic now, so I've decided to edge some of the flower bed with them next year--maybe around the roses and to cover the yellowing foliage of spring daffodils and tulips (assuming I get any of those planted this fall). Above is pictured Empress of India, a small nasturtium with a startling, deep, burnt-orange bloom that looks like velvet against the flat, cool, blue-green leaves. Everyone comments on her.
I've been taking note of other area gardens. Those who have dahlias and celosia have lots of color now. I will think about incorporating them in next year's flower bed. In my garden there remain a few snapdragons, alyssum, blanket flower, and roses. A few rose hips can be found, as I have not been deadheading the roses. I am leaving them for the birds. This signals to the rose bush to slow down and get ready for a winter nap.
I'm ready for a nap, too. The stress of last week has left me tired. As the good weather is expected to continue for the next several days, I can put off end-of-season garden chores until I'm feeling more up to it. Nasturtium photo by JulenaJo.

Goodbye Justin

There are times in everyone's life when we walk by faith. All gardeners, whether they are religious or not, do so. They kiss goodbye to this year's garden, and before it's even gone, they are planning for next spring. They KNOW it will come, eventually, and they know the garden, put to bed in winter, will rise again in spring.
I have my little notebook, haphazardly kept, it's true, but there are jottings of things to try next year, as well as notations of what looked especially good this year. I'll dream with it all winter, and next spring something beautiful will rise from the soil.
As I begin saying goodbye to this year's garden, I find myself in the painful situation of also having to say goodbye to a friend, Justin, who died this past weekend. He belonged to our card club, hence the photo above, but we saw him at sports events and around town, too. He was an active member of our community. Only 30 years old, with a beautiful family of three young children and a loving wife, he found life unbearable and ended it. He leaves us with so many questions and pain. In my faith, however, I do believe he will rise again, into an Eternal Spring. Justin, you walked this earthly garden with us. Goodbye, our friend! We will meet with you again one day in Heaven's garden paradise. As a gardener, I KNOW it. "Blues" photo by JulenaJo.

Bye, bye 'Flutterbye.'

Bye, bye 'Flutterbye.' (Pictured above.) And goodbye to everyone else in the garden, too. Temperatures remain warm during the day, but cool dramatically at night. The shorter days are signaling summer's end to the growing things in the yard and garden. Wyatt, my daughter's quarter horse, is starting to look a little rough and fuzzy, too. Winter is coming soon, even if it doesn't feel like it most days. I'm trying to mentally ready myself for it. "Flutterbye" photo by JulenaJo.