Doug Green, a Canadian gardener whose blog I follow, recently wrote: "I am more myself in a garden than anywhere else on earth." Yes. Gardens are magical places. The peace of the early-morning garden and a cup of tea start my day. That might be my favorite time. Or perhaps the end of the day, sitting in utter tranquility amid all that eager green dotted with little splatters of color as the night falls and the colors deepen for one brief moment before the last of the light is drained away . . . I think you have something, Doug!
Showing posts with label gardening. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gardening. Show all posts
Saturday, June 6, 2015
Garden, early June 2015
Doug Green, a Canadian gardener whose blog I follow, recently wrote: "I am more myself in a garden than anywhere else on earth." Yes. Gardens are magical places. The peace of the early-morning garden and a cup of tea start my day. That might be my favorite time. Or perhaps the end of the day, sitting in utter tranquility amid all that eager green dotted with little splatters of color as the night falls and the colors deepen for one brief moment before the last of the light is drained away . . . I think you have something, Doug!
Saturday, May 3, 2014
May 2014
Container Gardening this year: Vegetables.
Why? Just to see what it's like to grow and eat my dinner.
Will I miss the flowers I usually grow here? Yes.
Regrets? Not yet.
Why? Just to see what it's like to grow and eat my dinner.
Will I miss the flowers I usually grow here? Yes.
Regrets? Not yet.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
End of Spring Gardening, 2012
It is time to put the shovel away, to let poor hubby rest in the shade for a bit. We have spent sooooo many mornings and even some early afternoons digging that the day we are not in the garden is the rare one. I have two last small jobs to do, transplanting three variegated Jacob's Ladder ferns to the hill above the fountain, where they will get more water, and to plant the "Cast Iron Plants" I found when out wandering and checking out nurseries far afield. I cannot resist looking at plants, no matter where we might have set out to go, no matter the weather! But, for now, we shall stop the dirty part of gardening and simply enjoy our handiwork. Although I garden with great zest, Charles only gardens to please me. That is an admirable quality, and I try not to abuse it.
Some pictures of new acquisitions follow.
This Fuji Waterfall bush is tiny, but look at the size of the blossoms compared to the leaves. Neither Mophead nor Lacecap, it promises to be a show-stopper in a couple of years.
And Charles' Wave Petunias in the upper terrace are the comedians of the garden this year. They are just beginning to grow to the edge of the wall, and in this photo, they seem to be lined up, waiting to see who will be the first to "jump!"
The Veronica in the upper terrace is outshining the White Salvia, which is about to open. The Balloon plant, also, is quite pregnant with buds. It will be a light shade of blue, a compliment to he deeper Veronica.
My dear sister, Michelle, gave me the loveliest little table-top container filled with succulents and mosses. The cobalt blue container is the perfect foil to the mix of colors— but, then, I am a collector of cobalt blue pottery for the garden, and this could be a bit of bias on my part! Many thanks to her for her thoughtfulness.
The pink Begonias that looked so small and lonesome at the beginning of the spring have filled out, now. They make a rich show of color as they line the walk leading to the Studio. I am not a great fan of planting annuals, I think they can be a waste of resources when perennials will return for years, once established. But there is something to be said for the look of these old-fashioned flowers, and I may use them here every year (or for as many years as Charles is willing to plant them for me).
The Asters are new this year. They are such happy-seeming flowers, and I hope the plant receives enough light in this upper terrace plot to return next year. If an annual makes it through a full season and returns that next year, I always want to have a little thank-you party for it and present it with an award for perseverance!
Along with the Asters, Snapdragons are new. The two yellows lost their blossoms but the plants are struggling along. The whites seem to be settling in, though. Encouraging thoughts for them are appreciated! The new Oxalise are doing well. I planted Oxalise bulbs last year, but the chipmunks ate them. They burrowed, made a meal of my struggling sprouts and threw the less tasty parts to one side, and devoured the bulbs. This year I bought plants, trying to confuse them. So far, so good . . .
There is more, so much more than I realized when I started out the door with the camera! It all happened over weeks and weeks, and, quite suddenly, we have a spring garden! A cup of tea is in order here!
Friday, April 13, 2012
The Garden, Thus Far
Oh, my goodness, but there is so much color in the back yard! Too early, though, the azaleas have come and gone, and the Dogwood was confused and put only a handful of blossoms out for our admiration. We have dug, moved, planted, re-planted, and every time I think it's almost done, I see another beautiful plant that must, somehow, be squeezed in. It never ends— which is a good thing. Gardens should never be "done," just as a home is never "finished," because all things that are alive or that provide a home for active people, should change with the seasons of our lives.
So, grab your mug of tea and let's take a quick trip through the garden! Many things have been put in new, and they must wait for their time to bloom. Others have bloomed quite out of their normal time. It was the crazy winter-less past few months that set everything out of kilter.
The Irises are blooming now, and these are in need of staking. For the first time, I planted annuals in the upper terraces. Here you can see Marigolds and Cosmos. Enjoy the little corner of Lamb's Ear (right lower) while you can. I think it will be going to a new home in the far, far back of the yard where we put plants that have not played well with others.
Here is one of several re-blooming Irises. It is always a bit of a shock to see Irises blooming at the end of summer, but they brighten up the fading garden:
The delightfully light and branching Euphorbia, whose blooms surprised us by showing up in early March! Can you see the strawberry plant creeping through the thyme below it?
And as well as the Euphorbia, the red Dianthus has been bright much too early! I love gardening here, as the bed is behind a terrace wall and is raised enough to make weeding a pleasure.
This was the big shocker of the spring garden, though. Both of these peonies came from the same bush, and not only that, the tag said it would produce deeply pink blossoms! Someone forgot to tell the plant, I suppose.
Below is an example of things gone amuck. My impression of Verbena was that of a polite, very Southern plant who did not put a toe over the line. Perennial Verbena, however, is hot to trot, and trotted itself right into the Lavender. In response, the Lavender moved a foot to the right this year. I was unaware that anything could invade Lavender!
On the subject of things getting out of hand, I have other examples to share with you. On the upper terrace, I discovered a small mound of Dianthus between the Ice Plant and this lovely Thug:
The Wave Petunias, however, we want to get out of hand. Oddly enough, the last one on right survived the winter in a concrete container, blooming the entire time! Kudos to Alpha Petunia! I will post her progress this summer. The other four plants need to put the gleep on it and start spilling over the wall!
These last flowers, identified by nursery staff as different things, depending on where I take a sample, made the sad mistake of moving forward a little too quickly, and Charles and I dug dozens of these and planted them in the back of the mass. When they bloom, a small quite brilliant magenta blossom appears at the top of the stalks, and they are beautiful, en masse. I often have the feeling that I am watering and fertilizing a weed, but it is a beautiful weed. In fact, I would like to plant Queen Anne's Lace to complement it, but I don't have the wide, sunny area it demands. So many plants, so little garden!
Tea is cold, and we have navigated only part of the garden. Maybe we should make a tour on another day? Thank you for dropping in on me. I love sharing our garden!
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Rainy February Morning
This morning is an amazing one, rain first, and now bird song. With great strength of purpose, Charles has kept his back yard feeder filled through the fall and winter, but migrating birds did not flock to feast here as he had hoped. In Knoxville we had ten or more families of cardinals who lived year-round with us, but I think we are in an area where more people provide feeders, and the birds have feeding habits that don't include us, as yet. Or maybe we should provide more gourmet seed . . .? Hmmm . . .
In thinking about the spring to come (some say it is here already, but I can't give February away to Spring just yet), I am eager to see the flowers returning, to see which plants needs replacing, and what must be moved to a more compatible location. Poor Charles is my gardener-in-training, so I'm glad he has kept himself limber by his labors in the gym all fall and winter!
One of the greatest gifts of the garden last year was sitting and crocheting or embroidering on the patio. There is no way to sit in a garden in bloom and not be inspired by the color and texture there— creeping jenny dripping over the lip of a cobalt-glazed pot, zinnia, marigold, and miniature buttercups crowding together, while the foliage plants in all their gentle curves and sharp angles form a lively backdrop for the dianthus, coreopsis, echinacea, and salvias. The grey stone I used to build the terrace walls is beginning to darken and streak, now, and Charles' thyme is flourishing between cracks in the flagged terrace. In a few more years, the garden will look as if has been here forever.
The bulbs, of course, are pushing aside the soil and elbowing their way into the light. Every day we see some new little scrap of color emerging from the pine straw mulch. I saved dozens of bulbs for the planters last fall, thinking that once the bulbs were up in the spring, I could survey the yard and move them from pots to places that need more early color. A garden is always changing as it is a living thing—and a very needy one!
So, I am thinking in soft spring colors as I sort thread in the studio and think about pale linen for stitching. The road maps that I am so interested in have given way to thinking of maps as a way of moving through gardens, and of the different levels and perimeter plantings as outdoor rooms.
It is when Charles uncovers the fountain, however, that the spring will have truly come to the yard. Birds who are too impatient to wait their turn at the bird bath will settle here to bathe or drink, and the squirrels will climb up for a sip of water toward the end of the day. I have even seen the rabbits come to the herb garden beside the fountain and watch the moving water with large, darting eyes as they eat my lovely greens (I am a Beatrix Potter devotee, believing rabbits can be forgiven anything simply for the pleasure of their company).
Such are the garden dreams of a rainy February morning in Zone 7b. Hope your February is a good one!
In thinking about the spring to come (some say it is here already, but I can't give February away to Spring just yet), I am eager to see the flowers returning, to see which plants needs replacing, and what must be moved to a more compatible location. Poor Charles is my gardener-in-training, so I'm glad he has kept himself limber by his labors in the gym all fall and winter!
One of the greatest gifts of the garden last year was sitting and crocheting or embroidering on the patio. There is no way to sit in a garden in bloom and not be inspired by the color and texture there— creeping jenny dripping over the lip of a cobalt-glazed pot, zinnia, marigold, and miniature buttercups crowding together, while the foliage plants in all their gentle curves and sharp angles form a lively backdrop for the dianthus, coreopsis, echinacea, and salvias. The grey stone I used to build the terrace walls is beginning to darken and streak, now, and Charles' thyme is flourishing between cracks in the flagged terrace. In a few more years, the garden will look as if has been here forever.
The bulbs, of course, are pushing aside the soil and elbowing their way into the light. Every day we see some new little scrap of color emerging from the pine straw mulch. I saved dozens of bulbs for the planters last fall, thinking that once the bulbs were up in the spring, I could survey the yard and move them from pots to places that need more early color. A garden is always changing as it is a living thing—and a very needy one!
So, I am thinking in soft spring colors as I sort thread in the studio and think about pale linen for stitching. The road maps that I am so interested in have given way to thinking of maps as a way of moving through gardens, and of the different levels and perimeter plantings as outdoor rooms.
It is when Charles uncovers the fountain, however, that the spring will have truly come to the yard. Birds who are too impatient to wait their turn at the bird bath will settle here to bathe or drink, and the squirrels will climb up for a sip of water toward the end of the day. I have even seen the rabbits come to the herb garden beside the fountain and watch the moving water with large, darting eyes as they eat my lovely greens (I am a Beatrix Potter devotee, believing rabbits can be forgiven anything simply for the pleasure of their company).
Such are the garden dreams of a rainy February morning in Zone 7b. Hope your February is a good one!
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Spring Bulbs In Bloom
They would not listen to me. I tried. In the unseasonably warm spell (and that is a mild way of describing our winter temperature ups and downs and rains), the spring bulbs began to emerge. I thought the green might be the end of it and the buds could be spared for March. Not so. Despite all my talk and pleading, those silly bulbs not only poked through the earth, but they bloomed last month. Now, thanks to the return of more seasonable weather, they are brown and withered and pretty much past photographing. They just wouldn't listen. This photo records their brief heyday.
And, thousands more are just like this-- spring gone woefully wrong. I wonder what all those hundreds of bulbs whose leaves came up but didn't bloom will do in early March? Should I be fertilizing in January? What sort of gardening year is taking shape?
Aaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuggggggggghhhhhhhh!!!!
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Aaah, Early Morning . . .
. . . and the possibility of rain. What more could we ask for, in this water-deprived, Deep South piedmont?
Yesterday (this is an older post, some two or more weeks ago) my faithful gardener, a.k.a. "hubby," and I began the struggle with the Lamb's Ear that has bullied its gentle neighboring plants for months. There were originally three plants (what, oh what was I thinking?) in a corner of the upper terrace, so I poked at it with a deep spade, trying to pry loose the roots so the jumble of plants could be divided and moved to the new area below the bird bath. What a job! Aided by the loose compost in the bed, those plants had sunk iron determination into the soil with its roots. This was one of those times when moving a plant became a personal struggle between Nature and myself. When Charles rescued the situation with his shovel, I was amazed at the roots and the linking runners between the new plants. No wonder I couldn't manage it with a spade!
We decided to put the Lamb's Ear in a contained space of its own at the base of Charles' bird bath. If it escapes the surrounding stone, it will have to duke it out with the other beautiful garden thug, a mullien that will bloom as long as you give it a sip of water. As both the mulliens and the Lamb's Ear are nearly indestructible, I will sit on the patio and sip tea and watch the battle from afar.
There are two Lamb's Ear plantings (which translates to a blue million plants) left in the corner of the raised bed. One I will leave there, the other will be lifted (somehow that word does not adequately convey the struggle) for my niece, Nahum, who is an avid gardener.
Meanwhile, Breck's has shipped the hundreds of bulbs I ordered in the spring. I am having a Bulb Planting Party the last weekend in October, and those who participate may share the bulbs. Nahum's motto is "Have trowel, will travel!" Charles is getting antsy, however, wants to plant them now, in small amounts. I prefer the One Big Bash method, where everything is laid out in its place and the digging goes from there. Now we must lay in a large supply of bulb food (do they put this up in four cubit foot bags?) and polish up our shovels in preparation for The Event.
We did have a little moment of practice, though, with the Adorables this morning. We planted about twenty-five or so bulbs beside the tool shed in the side yard. The children were interested for a longer time than we thought possible. But, it is obvious that Bethy is not a gardener. Ethan works eagerly, slopping dirt, plant food, water-- but enjoying himself. He is very fond of his tiny gloves!
Then there will be a little re-locating of shrubs and plants to more hospitable environments. My back spasmed as I typed that sentence. Eventually, though, I keep telling myself that the garden will be in order, everything will grow undisturbed, and life on Penny Lane will be an unbroken cycle of bloom, feeding, and the long winter sleep.
Take a look, in passing, at how well the nasturtium have done, after that slow, floundering start:
The sedum are moving toward a bright autumn display:
Now, if we might have a bit of rain to soften up the earth a bit . . .
Yesterday (this is an older post, some two or more weeks ago) my faithful gardener, a.k.a. "hubby," and I began the struggle with the Lamb's Ear that has bullied its gentle neighboring plants for months. There were originally three plants (what, oh what was I thinking?) in a corner of the upper terrace, so I poked at it with a deep spade, trying to pry loose the roots so the jumble of plants could be divided and moved to the new area below the bird bath. What a job! Aided by the loose compost in the bed, those plants had sunk iron determination into the soil with its roots. This was one of those times when moving a plant became a personal struggle between Nature and myself. When Charles rescued the situation with his shovel, I was amazed at the roots and the linking runners between the new plants. No wonder I couldn't manage it with a spade!
We decided to put the Lamb's Ear in a contained space of its own at the base of Charles' bird bath. If it escapes the surrounding stone, it will have to duke it out with the other beautiful garden thug, a mullien that will bloom as long as you give it a sip of water. As both the mulliens and the Lamb's Ear are nearly indestructible, I will sit on the patio and sip tea and watch the battle from afar.
There are two Lamb's Ear plantings (which translates to a blue million plants) left in the corner of the raised bed. One I will leave there, the other will be lifted (somehow that word does not adequately convey the struggle) for my niece, Nahum, who is an avid gardener.
Meanwhile, Breck's has shipped the hundreds of bulbs I ordered in the spring. I am having a Bulb Planting Party the last weekend in October, and those who participate may share the bulbs. Nahum's motto is "Have trowel, will travel!" Charles is getting antsy, however, wants to plant them now, in small amounts. I prefer the One Big Bash method, where everything is laid out in its place and the digging goes from there. Now we must lay in a large supply of bulb food (do they put this up in four cubit foot bags?) and polish up our shovels in preparation for The Event.
We did have a little moment of practice, though, with the Adorables this morning. We planted about twenty-five or so bulbs beside the tool shed in the side yard. The children were interested for a longer time than we thought possible. But, it is obvious that Bethy is not a gardener. Ethan works eagerly, slopping dirt, plant food, water-- but enjoying himself. He is very fond of his tiny gloves!
Then there will be a little re-locating of shrubs and plants to more hospitable environments. My back spasmed as I typed that sentence. Eventually, though, I keep telling myself that the garden will be in order, everything will grow undisturbed, and life on Penny Lane will be an unbroken cycle of bloom, feeding, and the long winter sleep.
Take a look, in passing, at how well the nasturtium have done, after that slow, floundering start:
The sedum are moving toward a bright autumn display:
Now, if we might have a bit of rain to soften up the earth a bit . . .
Re-blooming Iris
My re-blooming Iris has outdone itself. This is the third exhibit, the last one in September. And there are still three buds to unfurl. I believe the bone meal we used to fertilize the Daffs planted in front of the Iris must have gtiven it the stimulus to grow again and be so beautifully showy!
Enjoy!
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Look at how things have grown!
I am always amazed when things that I have planted actually grow to be mature plants. My green thumb can sometimes have some darker overtones to it. This is the May-June photo of part of the upper right terrace:
And this is yesterday's photo:
The red plant in the center is a new color of Rudbeckia, much nicer (to me) than the orange-yellow. And the chartreuse dangling plant is Creeping Jenny. It is not called "creeping" for no reason— it has the growth habit of a small, simpering kudzu vine.
But taken together, it's a sort of magic, isn't it?
And in the fountain, there is a little visitor:
He looks quite happy here, doesn't he?
And this is yesterday's photo:
The red plant in the center is a new color of Rudbeckia, much nicer (to me) than the orange-yellow. And the chartreuse dangling plant is Creeping Jenny. It is not called "creeping" for no reason— it has the growth habit of a small, simpering kudzu vine.
But taken together, it's a sort of magic, isn't it?
And in the fountain, there is a little visitor:
He looks quite happy here, doesn't he?
First Fruits
The blueberries, tomatoes, and strawberries have been ripening, and Charles harvested them for us.
Snacks a-plenty!
The asparagus have passed their season, and we now see only the occasional fern coming up. Next spring they should begin to show themselves just before the perennials make an entrance. This should make an interesting texture. And good food, too!
Snacks a-plenty!
The asparagus have passed their season, and we now see only the occasional fern coming up. Next spring they should begin to show themselves just before the perennials make an entrance. This should make an interesting texture. And good food, too!
Charles' Swing
Charles wanted a swing, has wanted a swing for a long time. We found a builder at a market in Woodstock, one who offered a six-foot wide seat-- big enough for two grandparents and two Adorables! Last week we were able to pick up the pieces to be assembled. Jordan was called into duty for the assembly job.
And eventually a somewhat level place was made for it. We may have to pour footings for it, one end is a bit high off the ground and while I don't plan to look at the sky through my toes while swinging, I always fear the worst with the children, who test everything!
So, now we can sit quietly in this very over-sized swing and enjoy the garden from the upper level. Hmmm . . . . still looks nice!
And eventually a somewhat level place was made for it. We may have to pour footings for it, one end is a bit high off the ground and while I don't plan to look at the sky through my toes while swinging, I always fear the worst with the children, who test everything!
So, now we can sit quietly in this very over-sized swing and enjoy the garden from the upper level. Hmmm . . . . still looks nice!
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Asparagus Fern
Charles was weeding the garden after the heavy rains of a couple of days ago (everything grew three inches overnight!), when I saw that he had cut away all the Asparagus Fern. I was able to stop him on his way up the hill to the compost bin, and filled a large pottery pitcher with the feathery wands. They are too soft for words!
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Help In The Garden
It's been a long time since I saw flowers taller than I. I wonder what Ethan was thinking? Look at the calculating way he is studying the stalks. When his dad saw the photograph, he suggested Ethan was thinking of "climbing the beanstalk." Unfortunately, he might be spot on!
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
The Before and After Garden
It has finally happened: the heavy work in the garden has ended for the spring, to be picked up again in the fall. The temperature and humidity are too high to work past about 10:00 a.m., which gives us only enough time to do maintenance, not to do proper digging and building. Here is the Before and After Story.
When we bought the house in September of 2008, it was easy to see the potential of the back yard, but difficult to pour money or sweat into it because the Knoxville house had to be sold first, and something had to be done about my hip, back, and leg so I could actually do the work. We were living between the two places, visiting Penny Lane and then back to Pedigo Road, where we stayed the majority of the time, moving in small increments the furniture and boxes and things too messy to allow the public to see (I thought of my studio as a working environment; the realtors saw it as clutter— could I please clean it up or pack it all away?). I spent the winter months staring out the windows of the Penny Lane sun room dreaming of the garden and studio that should be there one day. This pre-sale photo by the previous owner was my view from the upper back of lot:
The building on the left eventually became my studio (here it is still in its detached-garage-state), and the odd assortment of angles on right is the house, U-shaped around the patio. I have tried to take photos standing in the same (approximate) location so you can see the changes we have made. Today the view is this:
Phase one: Stacked Stone Walls. The first thing that HAD to go was the black retaining wall. The previous owners had the lower terrace carved out of a hill that came right to the house, taking down trees and making room for the addition of the detached garage. Because I am a sane woman, I never thought of pulling down the wall, only of covering it up. The wall is built of recycled rubber (tire) timbers that will never rot. But, an ugly black wall that will not rot is still an ugly black wall, and a black wall in a garden is somewhat less than inspiring. I found pre-cast stone at Lowe's and began to bring home small loads of it, deciding to build a small wall on the north-west side of the sun room where I would plant one of my favorite shrubs, hydrangeas. This would be my "test" wall, the one that would decide the future of my masonry explorations. Once accomplished, I would have the hands-on experience to begin the rather large wall-sheathing project—or to drop the idea and think of something else to dream over. I read everything I could get my hands on about building stacked stone walls. I had done some small, raised beds in previous homes, so I knew just enough to be optimistic about the large-scale process, but optimistically cautious.
This is the hydrangea bed, soaking up the little sliver of morning sun it can get in a day:
A single little mophead is making a valiant effort to bloom this summer:
After this minor success, I found my father's four-foot long level and began to work on disguising the black walls with heavy pre-cast stone, using a snow shovel with a flat blade to get a level bed for the stone. The stones, by the way, weigh 23 pounds each. I didn't weigh them, but a friend of ours built a retaining wall beside his driveway of the same stone, and he weighed them before he started. I am glad I didn't know how much they weighed until deep into the project— each stone is equal in weight to a small child. This is an instance of that classic adage, ignorance is bliss.
I have still not worked out how to finish the stairs to the upper terrace. As they are now, they rise steeply and have very, very narrow treads so there needs to be some re-engineering of the space, perhaps even cutting out the rubber timbers and starting over. As I sit here thinking about it, I have made the command decision that the lower stairs will be next year's project.
Phase two: upper terrace walls left and right. This entire landscape was conceived as an attempt to level up the slope of the yard. This is the right side, originally (notice the day lilies that dwarf the bushes behind):
It was here I learned most of what I know about building a wall on uneven ground. That bottom row, which drops as the hill slides downward, was such a pickle to level! You can just see the second raised bed built behind this one (which was actually a phase four project):
Phase three: lower terrace flagstone floor where the two large mulched areas originally were. There was a terrific amount of litter from the mulch that was tracked in, and there seemed no way to keep a clean house but to put in stone patio extensions on each side of the lower level. The work, however, was beyond me. Charles called in the pros and had it put in after the Knoxville house was sold.
On the right side (above, in the circle of stone), in front of the studio, there was originally a small fountain that Charles hated. Charles hates any water feature as he had a bad experience with a swimming pool in the back yard of a house we owned earlier in our marriage (the bad experience was that it had to be kept clean).
On the right side (above, in the circle of stone), in front of the studio, there was originally a small fountain that Charles hated. Charles hates any water feature as he had a bad experience with a swimming pool in the back yard of a house we owned earlier in our marriage (the bad experience was that it had to be kept clean).
The past winter abetted him by heaving the fountain out of the ground. He would not re-seat it, but began to make rather gleeful plans to beat it into pieces with a sledge hammer before carrying it off to the landfill. I was able to find a home for it with Jill and Joe in Knoxville where it has an unthreatened existence outside the bedroom window. And against all his complaining, I began to think of the fountain's replacement.
The idea of replacing the fountain with yet another water-thingee horrified Charles. But I found one I liked that was above ground, with a wide bowl. The Adorables could play there without slipping into the in-ground bowl of the original fountain, I decided, and Autumn Hill delivered and set it up for us at the end of last summer on the left patio extension. We had debated this issue until the end of last spring, when we had to either plant something in the right-side hole or fill it in. A lovely dogwood tree was the choice to live in the spot once occupied by the green, in-ground fountain. This spring we moved hosta from a too-sunny location on the side of the house to grow in front of the sun room and down one side of the new fountain area. The plants are thriving, as you can see here:
Phase four: upper terrace second set of beds and stairs (incomplete). Once we removed the huge beds of day lilies, the upper beds were very uneven and had more slope than I'd originally thought, so Charles and I put in two small raised beds, with irises on the left, and a larger bed of mixed plantings on the right. The tall plants with the small magenta flowers are in the mulliens (or mullens) family and are quite aggressive. But the rabbits use that to move through the yard to nibble at the small herb garden near the house. Please also notice Charles' bird bath. There are an awfully lot of dirty birds here. They line up and take turns in the bird bath, and when that is backed up, the big ones come to the fountain!
Then the steps to this area had to be addressed. They are laid with huge bricks rather than the stone I used everywhere else because the narrower brick could be adjusted for the large roots of trees that seem to have chosen that particular spot to converge. With the drought of the past summers, I am reluctant to further damage the trees by cutting into their root system. The stairs are incomplete because they require my getting on hands and knees to do the work, which I am not supposed to do. In small doses, I was able to finish what we have. Extending the stairs will wait for next year. I did lay them so that the rise is shallow and the tread is wide enough to accommodate my foot without half of it hanging off. Charles' wave petunias grace the upper level.
Phase five: mammoth planting. Before we started planting the beds, Autumn Hill planted the perimeter of the yard for us, moving some shrubs and setting up boundaries for the shrub backdrop to the beds. They put in hydrangea, a snowball virburnum, cherry laurel, forsythia, camilla, and formosa azalea. After this we began to plant the beds but have paused now to wait for the summer and fall shrubs and flowers to come on the market. I left spaces for mixing the seasons in planting so there is some color in the garden throughout the year. I really look forward to finding perennial mums later in the season.
These are some photos of the flower beds. The lamb's ear seems determined to take the prize for fastest-growing:
Here is oak leaf hydrangea, a gift from my sister:
Euphorbia by the walk way to the studio (to bloom later, but lovely foliage in the meanwhile):
One of several mosses, this is the ice plant:
A tiny bird bath balances on the edge of a wall, in the shadow of the lamb's ear:
Parsley and lemon balm:
Lavender, which languished for two years in a large pot. Once in the ground, though, it must have taken a liking to its new home, because it has grown, bloomed, and started spreading the way children uncurl from sleep and stretch arms and legs in all directions:
Cone Flower, which was labeled "compact," but doesn't seem to realize it should stay small:
A sun-loving fern, Jacob's Ladder, has great textural appeal:
These are some photos of the flower beds. The lamb's ear seems determined to take the prize for fastest-growing:
Here is oak leaf hydrangea, a gift from my sister:
Euphorbia by the walk way to the studio (to bloom later, but lovely foliage in the meanwhile):
One of several mosses, this is the ice plant:
A tiny bird bath balances on the edge of a wall, in the shadow of the lamb's ear:
Parsley and lemon balm:
Lavender, which languished for two years in a large pot. Once in the ground, though, it must have taken a liking to its new home, because it has grown, bloomed, and started spreading the way children uncurl from sleep and stretch arms and legs in all directions:
Cone Flower, which was labeled "compact," but doesn't seem to realize it should stay small:
A sun-loving fern, Jacob's Ladder, has great textural appeal:
The containers are also planted. They are bunched on the patio and sprinkled through the beds, as well. Marigolds, which are the essence of the summer sun:
Creeping Jenny, restrained in a pot with summer hyacinth to keep it from gobbling up the garden (garden journals call it a "thug," but it is so appealing, thug or not!):
A pot of mint, without which a Southern garden cannot be complete. How would we have iced tea without mint and a wedge of lemon?
Strawberries— the pot is a mass of little green and becoming-pink berries. And to make things even sweeter, my niece, Nahum, brought me a second pot of strawberries yesterday, so we will be snacking all summer!
Geranium, this one kept for its beautiful foliage and not its wimpy little blossoms:
Coleus, a miniature variety called "Indian Frills":
Creeping Jenny, restrained in a pot with summer hyacinth to keep it from gobbling up the garden (garden journals call it a "thug," but it is so appealing, thug or not!):
A pot of mint, without which a Southern garden cannot be complete. How would we have iced tea without mint and a wedge of lemon?
Strawberries— the pot is a mass of little green and becoming-pink berries. And to make things even sweeter, my niece, Nahum, brought me a second pot of strawberries yesterday, so we will be snacking all summer!
Geranium, this one kept for its beautiful foliage and not its wimpy little blossoms:
Coleus, a miniature variety called "Indian Frills":
Phase six: For the fall. This depends upon how we feel, if digging and hauling stone fits into our plans and if our bones will agree to that much labor the last month or so before Thanksgiving. We've ordered hundreds of spring bulbs from Breck's, so there will be great excitement here in October when they arrive. And I remember beautiful button-sized mums from my mom-in-law's garden that I would like to find in the fall perennials section of the nursery.
And that is the story of the Penny Lane garden, to date. As a garden is never static, it will evolve over time into something more stable than what we have now. The plants that are unhappy in their present positions will want other light or water locations and will need moving or replacing next spring. There will be mistakes to correct. But for all the work, it is a real pleasure to sit on the patio and look up the hill at the garden Charles and I worked so hard to put in. The birds eating and bathing, the lizards lounging on the warm stone (and keeping an eye out for the larger, protein-hungry birds), butterflies amongst the patio containers and every-present squirrels and chipmunks are a source of never-ending delight.
And there is the "help" the Adorables give us with the watering. Yesterday we had to come inside and change into dry clothes. Ethan has learned to sneak around behind me and suddenly divert the stream of water from the hose with his hand on the nozzle. He was squirted back for his efforts. Poor Bethany, standing beside us, horribly wetted and complaining of our behavior . . . . It is hard to act one's age in a garden when there are children about!
And there is the "help" the Adorables give us with the watering. Yesterday we had to come inside and change into dry clothes. Ethan has learned to sneak around behind me and suddenly divert the stream of water from the hose with his hand on the nozzle. He was squirted back for his efforts. Poor Bethany, standing beside us, horribly wetted and complaining of our behavior . . . . It is hard to act one's age in a garden when there are children about!
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