Voting Day

Sometimes, when we get caught up in the challenges and stresses of daily living, it's difficult to count one's blessings. On our election days we're reminded of a huge blessing that we mostly take for granted: freedom. Our national freedom comes with a price, it's true, but every Election Day you have the right to vote for people and issues you believe in. Don't want to vote? That's your right, too. No one's going to make you--you're free here. I am going to vote today, though; it's a small price to pay for freedom.

Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween!
I'll be visiting my sister in Tennessee for a few days, so my wishes for a fun holiday come to you early. Sending me off on my journey is a group of scary gourd heads, crafted by Gourdo, his mother, and our oldest daughter. The gourd in front and center looks diabolical, with the gleam from the camera flash in his eyes. I'm sure they'll ward away evil in my absence. BooooOOOOoooo!

Stars, Sparkles, Seeds and Snaps

Stars: The sepals of spent roses look like stars in my autumn garden. Some roses may form hips, red or orange, vitamin C-rich fruits good for tea, jelly or jam--and a superb food source for winter birds.

Sparkles: Frost rims nepeta leaves and sedum blossoms. On sunny autumn mornings there are a few minutes where the garden sparkles like it has been scattered with diamonds before the frost melts away. I found it impossible to capture on film, but those fleeting moments are breathtaking.

Seeds: Rudbeckia nitida seedheads add interest to the autumn garden and provide food for the finches. Viewed closely, the intricate pattern is a marvel.

Snaps: Old-fashioned snapdragons retain bloom until the bitterest frost finally brings them down. These pink beauties seem to glow in the morning sun, apparently unfazed by the frost that blackened flowers all around them. Garden photos by JulenaJo.

A Break in the Dry Spell

It's been one month since I've made a blog entry. Writer's block!
Everything seems to be in transition these days: the garden, my handcrafting, my reading and writing.
Everything seems to have gone dry for me. It's like the drought that plagued the county all summer sucked my creativity dry, too.
What finally snapped my month-long wordless spell was a trip to Hocking County to visit my mother-in-law. At her gentle insistence, I sat down to paint with her. It was good to dabble with watercolors again. I've been wanting to do so for a while, but I seem to procrastinate even doing the fun things these days. The little painting above, which I hastily and poorly photographed just so I could get something, anything posted tonight, was the result of an hour or so of putting brush to paper. Although it isn't a masterpiece, it accomplished something within me: a break in the dry spell, a creative renewal. Viewed from that perspective, I think it's beautiful.

Sweet Autumn Clematis

Sweet autumn clematis (Clematis terniflora) is the star of my September garden. I planted it on the east side of the pergola that covers our brick patio, and it's taken a couple of years to attain enough height to provide shade. By next year I expect it will reach the pergola top. When the vine explodes into bloom in late summer and early autumn, it is entirely covered in small, fragrant stars. Heavenly.

A perusal of literature about sweet autumn clematis reveals mostly accolades about this extremely hardy, healthy vine. That being said, there are some negative reports. According to my favorite online source for plant info, www.davesgarden.com, all parts of sweet autumn clematis are poisonous if ingested, and some people experience allergic skin reactions to it. Others experience hay fever from its pollen. I've not had any trouble with it, and I tie wayward vines to the trellis without gloves. No sneezing either.

Apparently, the vine is considered a non-native invasive, as well. I might not have planted it had I known that fact. However, I have never seen seedlings in my yard, garden or flower beds. And while I am sure it would be happy to ramble over a nearby redbud tree, I simply train those tendrils to their arbor.

As far as care goes, I let nature take its course. I never watered or fertilized it during this entire season of drought, and it survived unscathed. I have not pruned it. Some recommend pruning back hard in early spring, but I let it go, and new growth eventually sprouts from the previous year's vines--all the way out to the very tips. I think it's best to simply consider the size and scope of this vine, and let it grow as it will. It will reach 20-30 feet in height, which is perfect for a big pergola or privacy fence, but not for a wee arbor. You'll want to make sure whatever structure you train it to is sturdy enough to support it.

Although the reviews of the sweet autumn clematis are mixed, for me it is a gem worth growing. Sweet Autumn Clematis photos by JulenaJo.

Grasshopper

I fear and loathe grasshoppers. In my mind's eye, grasshoppers are the size of the one in the photo above. They are like military helicopters: armored, khaki colored, and slightly scary in the way they hover over the garden this time of year, waiting to descend and devour. Townies never see the huge 'hoppers that we get out here in the country. I've been laughed at and ridiculed many times, but no one can shame me out of my fear, even if it is admittedly unreasonable.

Fortunately, this year was not bad, insect-wise. I had only a handful of Japanese beetles, and almost no other pests to speak of--not even mosquitoes. Still, the risk of running into a grasshopper limits my time outdoors. Crazy, isn't it?

Many people seem to have a fondness for grasshoppers that I simply cannot fathom. They are destructive creatures that will eat anything. Plagues of locusts destroyed the grasslands in the mid-1930s. I'm sure that during those years of drought and dust and grasshoppers, people thought the end of the world was coming. Obviously, it wasn't.

In my own yard, I've seen grasshoppers consume ornamental grasses, roses, and window screens. Yes, window screens. They are seemingly impervious to chemical controls, but praying mantises will catch and eat them, as will birds.

One year I planted a pot of rosemary in my garden. As rosemary is not hardy here, I put it in a clay pot and sank the whole pot into the herb bed. When September rolled around, I dug up the pot and brought the rosemary indoors to overwinter. I placed it on a sunny corner of my work desk, so I could enjoy the invigorating scent all winter.

Imagine my surprise when, on a warm day in mid-February, I discovered the tiniest of grasshopper nymphs hopping over my paperwork. They'd hatched from the soil in my rosemary pot. I was raising grasshoppers! They were kind of cute, I guess, but after a couple of days I didn't see them anymore, and I was hugely relieved. This house isn't big enough for me and a military helicopter. I mean, grasshopper.

Signs of Trouble

Relatives from Columbus commented on the dry conditions here this weekend. Although they live less than a 2-hr. drive from us, they have not experienced the drought we have this summer. Even people living on the other side of the county haven't. It's as though there is a pocket of hurt, and we are smack in the middle of it. Copy and paste the link below into another browser window to read about it in a local paper (with apologies if the article is no longer there--I have no idea how long they keep articles in their archives):

http://www.dailystandard.com/archive/story_single.php?rec_id=9702

In fact, we have had several years of drier than normal conditions, and it's taking a toll on things. The first signs of trouble came to my 'Wildberry Breeze' rose, a rugosa that should shrug off most challenges, and to the 2 youngest oak trees on our property. I fear we may lose all three plants. Most of my roses are showing degrees of chlorosis. I believe minerals are present in the soil, but without adequate moisture, nutrients aren't getting into the plants. I watered all summer, but there's no keeping up when there is a desert all around. My flower bed and the gourd patch are oases, but they still suffer. I had been trying to plant things all along that can take drought because I do not like to spend my mornings watering, so not all is lost: it is still mostly beauty and joy. There will be changes in the look of my garden next year, though, because some of the trees and roses will undoubtedly be lost.

My flowers are for our pleasure, though. It's the farming community I am most concerned about. The corn is producing small ears that are not fully developed. The bean fields look beautiful, especially now as they turn dazzling yellow, but the pods are apparently not as full as usual. People will be taking a hard hit--just what we need in this time of economic woe.

Last night I heard rain, but it merely spit. I never had to get up from bed to close the windows. It's too late for the crops, but if autumn could bring some rain, maybe, just maybe, it would revive some of the young trees and roses enough to see them through the winter. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

The Gift Book from God

I want to share a little story with you about a spiritual classic that I first read in my early twenties: The Seven Storey Mountain by Thomas Merton, a monk at Gethsemane in Kentucky, who died in 1968. At the time I discovered this book, I was struggling (as ever!) with my Catholicism. Merton's autobiography chronicles his upbringing as the son of a non-Catholic, nonreligious artist; his self-absorbed youth; and his restless young adulthood. Eventually, his hunger for more led him to find God in the Roman Catholic Church, and he entered the monastery.

Merton's descriptions of encountering Christ in the Eucharist flooded my heart with love for God and for the Church who draws Him so near to us. It was profoundly moving, and as a result, I have read several books by and about Merton.

This, in turn, led me to discover another great spiritual writer, Henri Nouwen. Nouwen's writings are so full of love for God and his people that they filled my own heart with even greater desire to know God. Nouwen, too, was a restless seeker, and went from post to post, including teaching stints at Notre Dame, Harvard, and Yale. Eventually, he found his vocation at the L'Arche community of Daybreak in Toronto, Canada, where he lived with and served the mentally handicapped.

Although I love all of Nouwen's work, I was particularly delighted to read his Encounters with Merton: Spiritual Reflections which seemed to bring both of my brilliant spiritual mentors into clearer focus.

Alas, as time passes, the fire from these readings fades. So, when a friend of mine who loves to browse used bookstores asked me if there was any book I'd like her to scout for me, I immediately requested The Seven Storey Mountain, as my original copy was long gone and I wished to re-read it.

I never believed she'd find a copy, but when my birthday rolled around, she happily presented me with the book. I accepted her gift, turning it over in my hands. It was a hardbound copy with a plain dark cover, and in great condition. Wondering if perhaps she'd found a first edition, I opened it.

Copyright, 1948. A first-year edition, but with no "First Edition" mark. What gave me goosebumps was the signature of the previous owner, H. Nouwen. Below that was an inked stamp: HENRI J. M. NOUWEN Dept. of Psychology University of Notre Dame. The book came from my friend; the gift, though, came from God.

BOO 5/17/2002-8/26/2009

Tuesday night I made the difficult decision to have our dog, Boo, euthanized.

Although she was only 7 years old, for the past half a year or more, a tumor was growing in her abdomen. It caused her no pain and did not slow her noticeably until Sunday morning. Gourdo and I took the dogs for a walk, and she started out running ahead of us with her usual zest, nosing into every groundhog hole and checking every tree for squirrels. The return was a different story. She lagged behind us for the first time ever. Monday she seemed fine, but by Tuesday night she was in misery. It was a sorry night for both of us. Wednesday morning I brought her to the vet. She was completely absorbed in her pain by then, and I was completely absorbed in her. It was horrible.

I'll spare you the details of all this, and instead, I'll share with you a few of the good things about my dear Boo.

Boo was a miserable puppy, born in a barn to people who didn't coddle or interact with the litter. She was peppered with fleas, had runny eyes and nose, and a wispy, brittle coat. Her tail was bald and bent where a steer stepped on it. It was her pathetic-ness rather than her white coat that earned her the name Boo-boo. She was wary of humans in general, and men in particular. She was terrified of the broom and of the vacuum cleaner.

Oddly, though, she loved fireworks. Everything from bottle rockets to smoke bombs were cause for delight. Even sparks from a fire circle excited Boo. Once she broke free of our hold and snatched up a lit roman candle. She ran all around the yard with it, firing colorful balls of fire at anyone who tried to get it away from her.

As she matured, she finally mellowed a little in her attitude toward men, but she always remained a vigilant guard dog whose bark would deter any but the most intrepid individuals. She loved my dad, though. When he came for Sunday visits, she greeted him with cries of joy and she stayed near him till he left to return home.

She loved to visit grandma in Hocking County. As soon as we'd turn off Route 33 and onto the road my mother-in-law lived on, Boo would sit up in the van and stick her nose out the window, deeply inhaling the scent of the forest.

She slept beside my bed, and every night she'd give a long, exaggerated sigh as she settled. It was so comical! Don't dogs sleep almost all day? Why the big sigh as if to say, "Man, I am SO ready for bed!" It always made me smile.

If anyone left a dirty dish sitting in the kitchen sink she'd pull it out and clean it off, breaking the dish more often than not. She shedded prolifically. Although she was not permitted on the furniture, and we never caught her there, patches of white fur indicated exactly where she spent the day while we were at work.

She figured out how to open the cabinet to get into the trash. She ate garbage. She tangled with skunks. She chased cars. She growled at men. She growled at children.

But she loved her family, and we loved her. We'll miss her. And I believe, as many animal lovers do, that we'll see our pets in heaven. Until then, Boo.

PSALM 36:6 Your righteousness is like the mighty mountains, your judgments are like the great deep; you save humans and animals alike, O LORD. (NRS)

1CORINTHIANS 15:38 But God gives it a body as he has determined, and to each kind of seed he gives its own body. 39 All flesh is not the same: Men have one kind of flesh, animals have another, birds another and fish another. 40 There are also heavenly bodies and there are earthly bodies; but the splendor of the heavenly bodies is one kind, and the splendor of the earthly bodies is another. 41 The sun has one kind of splendor, the moon another and the stars another; and star differs from star in splendor. 42 So will it be with the resurrection of the dead. The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable; 43 it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; 44 it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body.

Rogue's Gallery

Feast your eyes on the mug shots of five garden rogues: thistle, bindweed, purslane, lambs quarters and black medic. I'm sure there are some places where these devils are welcome. I know purslane and lambs quarters are edible. Some people probably even welcome them. But I don't.

Thistle is the worst, I suppose, as this rogue is armed with spiny leaves that make pulling a literal pain. Not only that, it has a taproot that reaches to China, as well as a penchant for colonizing. The only good thing about thistle is the goldfinches seem to love the seed. I wish they'd eat every bit of it so it didn't self-sow so rambunctiously.

Bindweed and its kin are morning glories that take over wherever they happen to grow. I've seen lawns and flower beds completely choked out by bindweed. They aren't difficult to pull, but supposedly every bit of root left in the soil regenerates into a new plant. Nasty habit, that.

Purslane has succulent leaves and fleshy stems. It has a habit of spreading wide and low over the ground. It produces zillions of seeds that sprout in every nook and cranny of our patio. Quite nutritious, I'm told. Maybe someday I'll gather up the nerve to try it. Of course, should I find I like it, it will undoubtedly quit growing in my patio and walkways and garden as prolifically as it does. Alas.

The last mug shot is of black medic. The trefoil leaves remind one of another spreading, weedy groundcover, white clover. Black medic has small yellow flower heads and it spreads out in a tangled mat all over my flower bed. When I go to pull it up its little black seeds scatter everywhere. I'm tempted to vacuum my flower beds.

All summer I pull and hoe, but by August it's impossible. The rogues have the upper hand. I quit. Weed photos by JulenaJo.

Hints of Autumn

Ok, it's still really early, but to me it feels like autumn is definitely on the horizon. There was fog this morning. Dew on the spiderwebs. Darkness barely lifting at 6 a.m. I took a few photos to show how it looked outside my back door. I even included a photo of my "creative potting" technique! LOL There is a story there, but that's for another day.

I so dread seeing summer's end that maybe I get a little jumpy at the first inkling of autumn. Now, granted, I enjoy all the seasons for their various blessings, but winter is harder and harder to bear the older I get.

This summer has been odd in so many ways. Cooler than ever, for one thing. No bugs, for another. That is probably because it's been too dry for insects. I've seen more honeybees though--they've been swarming to my birdbath and the Russian sage--and I'm happy for that. But I've not seen more than a few beetles on the Rose of Sharon and the roses. There are no mosquitoes.

Evenings on the patio are a delight without insect pests to bother us. The only concerns this year are lack of water and the rampant weeds, especially thistle and black medic. August Fog photos by JulenaJo.

Busy Week, Fun Week

We have just completed county fair week and another Saturday at Farmer's Market. Talk about busy!

Our daughter brought her horse to the fair as a 4-H project, and she entered showmanship, pleasure, and contesting classes with him. In one short year she's learned how to care for a horse and how to ride well enough to enter these classes and enjoy it. Even though she didn't place, she rode as well or better than some who've been riding from little on. Watching her perform at the fair was the most fun I've had in years. Fair week was also the most exhausting week we've had in years.

Meanwhile, the cutting garden that I've been tending all summer has yielded gorgeous armloads of sunflowers, cosmos, larkspur and zinnia for the Farmer's Market. But guess what? They don't sell! Imagine that! People kept commenting on them and touching the Velvet Queen sunflowers. "Are these real? Oh my gosh! They ARE! Beautiful!" Not one stem sold. I gave my bouquets away to another vendor rather than take them home. I told her I might just skip the flowers next weekend but she pointed out that they did make our booth space the most attractive at the Market, and that drew people to it. What did sell was my tatting and crochet work and the dried gourds my husband has been dying and crafting into birdhouses. We're running out of gourds and there are 3 more weeks of Market to go. I will be busy crocheting and tatting this week.

Our weather continues to be extraordinarily dry and, for the most part, cooler than usual. Today, however, we'll see temps in the 90s with a desiccating wind. It feels as though a storm could blow up, but Gourdo says there is nothing in the forecast. Our lawn is non-existent, but at least we are saving money on the mowing. Some of the young oak trees and roses look extremely chlorotic. I'm sure the dry conditions have a lot to do with it. Even though I've been watering the roses, it's a very stressful situation for them. On the other hand, Gourdhenge, as you can see in the first photo above, looks marvelous, simply marvelous! 2009 Garden Photos by JulenaJo.

Home, Sweet Home

For weeks I've been hearing a male house wren singing all around the yard. I assumed he was trying to convince his wife to take up housekeeping in one of the bluebird houses on our property. Yesterday, though, I saw him fly to this old can that someone left to rust over a metal fencepost. Soon his wife appeared, too. Both of them took turns entering it, bringing food to their babies.

When I drew near to photograph the can I noticed twigs hanging down. Here it is: Home, Sweet Home.

For me, this is cause for celebration. I don't know why the little wren is so dear to me. It is drab and brown, and it is very small. You'd never notice a wren at all if it weren't for its song, a persistent, cheerful trill that is the very sound of summer. You can hear it and see photos of the wren here: http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/House_wren/id.

Perhaps one reason I so enjoy having the wrens nesting in our yard is because when I was a child my grandparents used to hang wren houses in their trees, and my grandmother, whose name I've taken as my online name, was always so happy if a wren took up residence in one of them. She and I would sit on her porch and watch the wren family all summer.

Grandpa built the wren houses, carefully making sure that the opening was exactly the size of a quarter. Anything larger and the horrible "spotsie"--what my grandmother called the non-native and invasive House Sparrow--would take over the house.

"Spotsies" have been my own enemy here, as they've ruthlessly driven out the native and desirable Eastern Bluebirds from my next boxes. The story of broken eggs and killed adult and baby bluebirds is heartbreaking fodder for an entry some other day.

At any rate, the cute little wren houses were always painted white with green roofs. Grandma dictated where they should hang--it was important that we could easily observe the house from the comfort of her porch. And we spent many pleasant hours watching those birds, from the hopeful attempts of Mr. Wren to lure his spouse to a chosen site to the clumsy first flight of newly fledged babies. One of the cutest things about wrens, I think, is how Mr. Wren, during his initial courtship, will earnestly begin to build a nest in a box. When he finally convinces Mrs. Wren to move in, she scolds angrily and tosses his pitiful attempt at setting up housekeeping out the front door! Then she begins anew to build a nest, this time to her satisfaction. Honestly, how can one not anthropomorphize that kind of behavior?

The coffee can abode is well out of sight from my patio, so I won't be able to watch it, but I still enjoy the summer song of my little wrens. I'm happy to have them in my garden. Wren Nest photo by JulenaJo.

Note: See how brown the grass is in the above photo? While we are not technically in a drought, we have had a very dry summer and it's taking a toll on many of my trees and plants.

Thank you, Sunflower!

"Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadow." Helen Keller.

The above quote by Helen Keller seems perfectly suited to both my frame of mind as well as the sunflowers harvested recently from my new cutting garden. I planted a variety of them and they are beginning to bloom now, just in time for the busy month of August at the Farmer's Market.

Colorful zinnias, snapdragons, and cosmos are also coming into bloom. All of these flowers can be directly sown into the garden in early spring, are not bothered by insects, and produce reliably even when the weather is less than cooperative, making them an ideal choice for growing in a cutting garden. And who can resist the charm of a bouquet that includes sunflowers? Not me!

Sunflowers appeal to me on many levels. Their cheerful, open faces delight--no mysteries or secrets are hidden there. Bees and birds feast on them. And their habit of following the sun intrigues me. That is why the inspirational quote by Helen Keller springs to mind as I admire my garden of sunflowers.

As I cut the sunflowers for my bouquet I was reminded to keep my face turned to the sunshine. I needed a gentle reminder of this lesson today, and isn't it serendipitous how a few minutes in the garden provided it? Thank you, Sunflower! Sunflower photos 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.

Farmer's Market

Our community puts on a Farmer's Market on Saturday mornings in the summer and early fall. It's held on a covered bridge that crosses between a community parking lot and a lovely park. This is the first year for us to participate. Our table of goodies is shown here, featuring mostly gourds and some cut flowers and tatting/knitting that I crafted to sell. The rest of the bridge filled up with vendors as the morning progressed but by noon it was all over. We made a modest haul, but it was a lot of fun and we're looking forward to our next scheduled weekend.

Oddly, the fresh-cut flowers weren't the big seller for us, but they did draw a lot of comments--as did the tatting. Everyone's grandmother tatted and the sight of me sitting there with my lace and shuttle in my hands drew comments from many passersby. The biggest draw by far was the gourds. A lot of people commented and several were delighted to spend $5 or $10 on a dried, hard-shell gourd. The ones stained red in the photo are apple shaped and sold immediately. Gourdo was pleased.

I heard from other vendors that the day was slow. If that's the case, I can't wait to see what a busy Saturday looks like.

The cutting garden and gourd patch have been keeping us busy, but this first, tentative foray into selling at the Farmer's Market has renewed our faith in what we're doing. That sitting there at the market watching the world go by is fun is the proverbial frosting on the cake.

Oh, and speaking of cake--there were so many delicious baked goods at the market! It was hard to keep from spending every dollar we made on the cakes, fry pies, rolls and jams from the neighboring vendors.

Do yourself a favor and pay a visit to a local Farmer's Market soon. It's a great way to spend a morning and the fresh produce, crafts and baked goods are amazing. Farmer's Market photos by JulenaJo.

Meet 'New Dawn'

If you haven't already met 'New Dawn' you are in for a treat. I planted her early last year along with two other roses on the west side of our pergola in a narrow, six-foot long bed. It quickly became apparent that I'll be moving the other two roses. 'New Dawn' is taking up every bit of room, and she's still a baby. The first year she just "settled in." Now she's about to go wild, sending out thick, healthy canes in every direction.

I had been trying to train the canes up, but finally decided it was not going to work. The vigorous growth demanded space. I fanned the canes out and re-tied them. You could practically hear the plant sigh with happiness. Ahhh.

Dozens of fragrant blooms have already opened from head to toe along the length of the canes, with scads of fat buds in the wings, waiting their turn to burst into bloom. Each blossom has that old fashioned character that I so love in a rose. The petals unfurl like fresh linens billowing on a summer breeze. They are a soft, delicate pink, and the foliage is a dark, glossy green that is the perfect background for the blooms.

Hardy to zone 4, 'New Dawn' does fine in my Ohio garden with minimal winterizing. This spring I had to trim off a few dead ends, but nothing more. The foliage doesn't seem to mind the wind that whips around my yard more often than not.

Friends of ours who live in town have two 'New Dawn' roses growing up and over an arbor. Granted, townies have more protection from the elements than we do here in the country, but their roses scrambled up and over the arbor in short order, and the canes reach to the heavens as though seeking foothold there. Although our friends attack their plants with loppers each year, trying to keep the rampant growth from burying their arbor, I think our rustic pergola can withstand whatever 'New Dawn' dishes out. Twenty-foot canes would be welcome here as I want some shade for my patio.

This is the first year for me to experience the spring flush of bloom for 'New Dawn' in my garden; I am interested to see what the rest of the summer holds. It seems to me that our friends have little bloom after the first flush. An internet search leads me to believe that this is a common occurrence. I'm hoping that the great amount of sunshine here, plus diligent deadheading, will encourage quick and plentiful rebloom.

Notes: 'New Dawn' was introduced in 1930, a sport of 'Dr. W. Van Fleet'. It was the first ever patented plant in the U.S. In 1997, 'New Dawn' was named as one of the world's favorite roses and was inducted into the Rose Hall of Fame by the World Federation of Rose Societies (www.worldrose.org). New Dawn Photos by JulenaJo.

'Black Lace'--A Sizzler

Black Lace. What a sizzling name for one hottie of a plant.

Here in my Ohio garden one of the star performers is the Sambucus nigra 'Black Lace', a dazzling, dark-leaved elderberry. It's in the back of the flower bed, where the dark, finely cut foliage sets off everything sited in front of it. Right now it's covered with pink flowers similar to Queen Anne's Lace. Sterile berries will follow. The fruit is edible, but I leave it for the birds.

I added this gem to my garden several seasons ago, and as it grows taller I find myself wishing I had two or three more of them. The graceful shrub will attain a size of approximately 6-8 feet tall and wide. It's perfectly hardy in zone 5, and it is reputed to be hardy to zone 4. It withstands the wind, the heat, the cold--everything Mother Nature has to offer. I see no signs of any kind of disease or pests.

'Black Lace' Sambucus may be used as a substitute for Japanese maples in gardens and yards like mine where conditions wreak havoc on tender trees. That's a stellar idea for this sizzler. Black Lace Photos by JulenaJo.

A Rose By Any Name

Some books are irresistible. So, for me, is A Rose by Any Name: The Little-Known Lore and Deep-Rooted History of Rose Names. This book is a charmer on many levels. Most obvious to the casual peruser of books is the eye-catching cover and glorious selection of artwork throughout the book. This is not a straightforward encyclopedia of roses with glossy photos and descriptive text for each entry. No, this is something more--the artwork is culled from heirloom rose catalogs, paintings, rare books, and magazines. The thick, creamy pages are edged in soft green. Each chapter features a rose in text and in art, as well as others of its class or relation. Yet, for all its beauty, the book is not a mere gift book (although it would make a great gift for any lover of art, antiquities or roses). The text is delicious, too: informative and fact-filled, the authors' love of roses permeates every line. It's a delightful and chatty ramble through the history of roses and the people who love(d) them. Want a small taste? Below are the first lines from the entry on 'Dr. Huey', the sturdy rose on whose rootstock many modern roses are grafted.

" 'Dr. Huey' really gets around. In Brooklyn, New York, for instance, this local denizen is often seen lounging against stoops, crowding doorways, and leaning over concrete grottos that house statues of the Virgin Mary. Ninety miles east of there, upscale Hamptons nurseries sometimes tag the same plant "Long Island Red," claiming to have found it on old estates, and price it at $350 a pop. From the rush of buyers you'd have thought they were hawking heirloom Tiffany sterling. Sure, this rose is beautiful--but only for a day or two. Then heat and humidity leave the velvety flowers hanging like rags, their limp petals the color of dried blood. This is 'Dr. Huey', undercover agent of the rose world."

Don't you love it? Check it out from the Library. You, like me, might find you have to get a copy of your own!