Gray Day

The fire that was our fall has burnt itself out, but for a few embers here and there.  Those embers are largely the heat that is generated by passionate gardeners.  The plans to plant bulbs.  How to store the cannas.  What they feel they must try-next season.  A new house requiring some semblance of a landscape before the snow flies.  But the fact remains that the leaves from our shop wall of boston ivy fell in unison overnight, making a crispy heap all along the base of the wall. The skies have been rainy and gray all day-the wind brisk and cold.  The color in the garden this late-muted, and dry.     

My small rose garden is but a shadow of its summer self.  The last few flowers on the Sally Holmes roses are droopy, the petals punctuated by rose pink markings from the cold rain.  The asparagus, weighted down by the cold rain, is grudgingly turning yellow.  Along with my Parrotias, it is the last plant in garden to succumb to the fall, and turn color. Once the asparagus turns, I know the gray days are soon to come.

Buck shut the fountain down a week ago.  Dry maple leaves floated on the still surface.  Many more maple leaves have sunk to the bottom,  turning the water brown.  The decomposing leaves stain the stone.  He drained the pool yesterday.  I am in no hurry to go see it-empty.  Closing the fountain is every bit as emotional day as that day when we open it in the spring.  The opening and closing-part and parcel of gardening in a zone that has four seasons.

What plant could possibly be more dramatic about about the close of the gardening season than the hostas?  Once the cold infiltrates their stems and leaves, they collapse in a mushy heap on the ground.  Flattened-that is exactly how the late fall makes me feel.  It’s too late to garden, beyond the planting of the fall bulbs.  It’s too early for winter. It’s too early for a down coat, but its too late for a sweater.  It is way too early to wring my hands, and wish the season had been better.  It is too late to plant a few more anemones.       

We did redo a landscape on a small property last week; this renovation included a sizeable perennial garden.  If I plant perennials this late in the fall, I am sure to tromp down the rootballs firmly.  No rooting will take place now, and the frost coming out of the ground in the spring will want to heave those rootballs out of the ground.  We stamp every plant down firmly.  At the end of winter, when the frost starts coming out of the ground, we will check to be sure no plants have heaved up. 

Though we are still actively involved in the installation of landscapes, several of which are for newly constructed homes, the close of the gardening season is tough to take. Amazingly, we have not had a hard frost yet.  Down the street from me, a marigold border is flat out gorgeous.  Maybe it’s just my gray-colored glasses, but most of the landscape looks like it is grieving.

Astonishing how the leaves of the Boston ivy fall all at once, leaving their stalwart pink stems still attached.  These rosy stems defying gravity made me smile- in spite of that  cloud of gloom following me around.

The coming of the dark-I do not welcome it.  But there will be moments, experiences to come that I will enjoy.  The winter season in Michigan-who knows what nature has in store for this year.  Putting the shovel and the pruners away means there will be time for the holidays, the winter containers, the books – and the planning for the new season to come.  This was a very hard season-I am not so sorry to see it gone.  The April frosts that killed every flower on my magnolias, and the extreme heat and drought that challenged all of my summer gardening efforts-I am relieved to see that come to a closeIn spite of this griping about my summer season, I am sorry to see it gone.

 

 

100 Boxwood

 Concerning my schematic plan from yesterday-my clients one comment was that I needed to add 100 boxwood.  All of said 100 boxwood will be in pots.  The placement and configuration of 100 pots of boxwood every spring will be the first work of their gardening season.  They will haul them out of storage on a huge dolly (which they have already purchased), and discuss and decide where to place them.  Boxwood in all different sizes, some of which are topiary plants with distinctive forms,  in a collection of gorgeous pots.  They are both adamant, and thrilled about the idea of 100 boxwood in pots.  Far be it for me to deter their enthusiasm.   I did amend the schematic plan with a lot of green dots-although I think all of my dots only add up to 72.  I have no doubt they will be able to place their 100 pots-and have a good bit of fun doing it.

topiary boxwood

They already own a pair of these handmade French terra cotta pots planted with these boxwood.  The boxwood-buxus microphylla-was 52 inches in diameter when they acquired them.  They have been in these pots for 5 years.  I am not sure how many other boxwood they own, but they do have a substantial collection of plain handmade Italian terra cotta pots.

topiary boxwood

I will admit to a love for boxwood.  This plant speaks to no end of beautifully designed landscapes world wide.  This broadleafed evergreen graces landscapes all over this planet.  I love them pruned, wild, hedged, and in pots.  In my zone, they provide great shape, form, and color-year round.   

Growers all across the US grow boxwood in every form imaginable.  They are available 12 inches tall.  They are available 36 inches tall.  They are grown by some growers as a uniform crop.  Other growers grow them on, and trim them into spectacularly beautiful shapes. 

Clients who indicate they need to have 100 boxwood planted in  pots are clients of an unusual sort.  These are clients for whom the garden is all about romance.  What does their request mean to me?  A really good day. And a lot of thought about what a garden means.  Long after the end of the business day today, I am considering planting all of my pots next year with boxwood. Though I am unlikely to follow suit, their committment to such an extraordinary level of  romance has me thinking.  The story of a landscape dramatically colored by romance-love this.         

 

 

At A Glance: Home On Sunday Morning

planting containers

The last two weeks have been incredibly busy and demanding.  Multiple plans needing  tuneups sufficient to submit to planning boards for permit review.  A drawing for a fence for permit review.  Landscape plans for a new house just about finished.  A detailed proposal for a large garden sculpture.  Big problems with drainage needing a big plan of attack, and small problems with the garden needing individual and very focused attention.  The shop is on the brink of a change of seasons-this means new things coming in needing a place to be.       

 In the mix-Buck’s 65th birthday.  We had friends from out of town.  A party for 30 that included dinner.  The flowers for those tables and a birthday cake.     

My life is no different than anyone else’s.  Everyone has much to much to attend to, and a time frame which is short.  In the garden, the demands can be endless, and the work hard.  It seemed like a good morning to just dawdle.

The morning light was so beautiful.  And after all,  I did need to water the pots.  I dialed all the demands down, and took my time.  The Corgis were impatient-they are used to leaving for work at 6am. I ignored them.  The morning light, the peace and the quiet, was too beautiful to ignore. The pots have grown so much since May.  That subtle color scheme that seemed so sleepy in the beginning has grown on me. 

Light can wash over a landscape in a very soft and forgiving way.  This Sunday morning was all about what looked good.  What managed to be inviting.  What seemed fine.  I was not about to make a list, and rush to get through it.    

The garden is a great place to putter.  Meaning that I had no tools, no mission, and no task in mind, other than a little water.  I had work to do in the afternoon for a Monday deadline, but that could wait a little while.   

I am rarely home in the morning, so this was a treat.  The days getting shorter means that soon enough I will be leaving the house in the dark. 

I have been watching this pot develop over the past few months.  The lemon grass is taking a leading role here.  I had no idea it would grow this large, and grow so fast.  Several weeks ago its spread was threatening to overwhelm its neighbors-I cut some out.  That did not seem to slow it down one bit.  It’s time to quit tinkering, and just enjoy the show.  It has a very gracefully droopy look that I like.   

My roses were terrible in June, and more than terrible in July.  Given our cooler August nights and some rain, they have had the idea to grow and bloom some.     

The driveway garden gets the lion’s share of my visual attention, given the daily coming and going.  Everything looks remarkably happy, given how tough the summer weather has been.  Plants are amazingly resilient.  They show little sign of what they endured.   

Out the front door, all seems well.  The boxwood are flushing a second time-this a sure sign of how long we have had hot weather.  The hydrangeas are loaded with flowers.   

 What a beautiful morning.

Monday Opinion: Disappointment

If you garden, disappointment comes calling on a regular basis.  Plants fail to perform as advertised. Violent rains flatten the delphiniums just as they are about to come into bloom. Japanese beetles are poised to devour every rose-and I mean every rose.  An old and treasured lavender inexplicably gives up, and dies.  A stone pot cracks, and goes over.  Driven by some incomprehensible impulse, the child of neighbor picks all the buds off the lillies.  A lawn service obliterates the ground level bark all around from a treasured  paperbark maple with a weedwacker.  A painter dumps his paint soaked turpentine all over a favorite hellebore.  Slugs chew their way through an entire bed of hosta, one plant at a time.  Overnight, mildew blankets the monarda.  The tomatoes rot, or crack-or both.

The concrete aggregate terrace installed at great expense settles, and sinks.  An old grape dies before you notice the bore holes riddling the trunk.  An unexpectedly early frost kills an old lantana topiary you forget to take in.  An irrigation valve springs a leak, all but drowning an old rhododendron.  A pampered hydrangea refuses to bloom.  Does not all of this sound familiar?  Disappointment – I do not know any gardener who has managed to avoid it.

Our current gardening season has piled insult on top of the ordinary disappointment.  A warm winter was a boon to the survival of insect and fungal spore populations.  My roses rarely suffer from blackspot; I had a full blown text book case of it in April.  A late April frost ruined every flower bud on 12 magnolia trees, and damaged some of the leaves and stems.  Other gardeners lost Japanese maples, and young dogwoods altogether over that frost.  The Michigan fruit industry suffered terrible losses on trees in bud and bloom too early.  The heat and the drought in July-it is impossible to know which was worse.  This is not my garden’s best year.   

Other bad news of note.  The virulent and deadly water mold, plasopara obducens, which has plagued impatiens plantings in Europe and Florida, is showing up all over the northeast and midwest.  The downy mildew appears on the undersides of the leaves.  The leaves of affected plants curl down and under.  Eventually the stems collapse, and the plants die.  I almost never plant impatiens, but I have plenty of clients who do. Plants can be sprayed with a fungicide as a preventative measure, but I have seen the disease this week on plants that had been sprayed.  If you do have diseased plants, take them out, bag them, and put them in the trash.  The spores of the fungus can live in the soil up to five years-do not compost these infected plants.  And do not plant impatiens in that spot next year.  What a disappointment this is to the many people who grow impatiens in their summer planting beds and enjoy them so. 

No matter the disappointment, there is a flip side.  I feel certain that the bedding plant industry will work very hard to eradicate this disease.  Bedding plant breeders will study what makes New Guinea impatiens, and Sun patiens immune to it.  There will be a number of competent and intelligent people putting their skills to work.  There is an entire winter ahead for gardeners to learn about what other kinds of annual plants can provide color and interest in shady areas.  There are ingenious people out there ready to do what it takes to circumvent adversity-you could be one of them. 

Buck and I have been watching every day of the Olympic games, but for different reasons.  He is interested in any and every sport.  I am interested in any person with passion who determines a goal, and gives it their all.  So, we watch.  The effort of every athlete, and the families of those athletes, no matter their sport or their country, is extraordinary.  Jordynn Wieber, the 17 year old captain of the US gymnastics team, the world champion gymnast, wobbled in the qualifying events for the overall Olympic medal in gymnastics.  Only two US gymnasts can compete in this category.  She was eliminated from this particular competition-she came in 4th, on the American team.  She is a 17 years old, a young person who no doubt has devoted every moment of every waking hour for many years to that moment when she would compete in England.  Her disappointment?  I am sure it was utterly devastating.  I felt so terrible for her.  Under no circumstances could I have handled this level of demand and pressure when I was 17.  I am heartbroken, for her.  

That heartbreak expressed, I so admire her effort.  Her years of effort.  I equally regret how a person this young comes face to face with a disappointment most adults would struggle to deal with.  I admire how she has handled her disappointment.  First up, she cried.  A good cry over any disappointment is probably healthy.   My point here?  My disappointment with my garden this year-nothing like Jordynn’s.  Adversity?  I have the feeling that after her tears,  she will rise to the occasion.  She is so like a gardener, don’t you think?  The future for her, and for Michigan gardeners, is bright.

From Shakespeare, 

Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

These lines written by Shakespeare in his play As You Like It - appropriate.  The original meaning is not in any way directed to the disappointments gardeners face this moment, but I still take comfort in them.   The good in everything part-timeless. Godspeed, Jordynn.