Bulbs!

Ah, I forgot what today was: the day I really needed to order bulbs before it got ridiculously too late. So I did.

When you create a new bed, as I did in the spring (curving between the mock orange and the pagoda tree, along the edge of the driveway), you're supposed to put in shrubs and trees first (three viburnums went in, check) and then (because they have to be dug in deep) bulbs, and then perennials after that. Because I'm getting organized so late, that's the only place I plan to plant bulbs this fall ("plan" being the operative word; I may find other spaces that require bulbs, but I'll likely be shopping locally for those).

I'd thought I'd be searching through the John Scheepers website and settling for what was left, but actually a lot is left, so I had to make choices. I got 50 Valerie Finnis muscari (the pale blue ones) for the inner edge, where I won't be able to dig deep because there's so much gravel, and 60 assorted narcissi for the rest. And that was as far as I got; I guess I'll fill in the summer bloom with low-growing perennials.

Jonquilla narcissus 'Curlew' from John Scheepers

Also I quickly solved the "so many daffodils how can I ever decide" problem by (some people who know why will laugh here) choosing the ones named after birds, so I have ten each of Quail, Curlew, Jack Snipe, Dickcissel, Falconet, and Pheasant's Eye. I hope they go well together, because that's it and I am moving on to the next thing.

*dusts hands*

Unnecessary things

So today, true to form, what you get is a Henry Mitchell quote:

In brief, I am no stranger to the anxieties or disappointments of a garden. A fine gardener once said his garden had a certain origin: "This garden is the result of doing unnecessary things which we could not afford at the wrong time of the year," he used to say, and the garden was quite beautiful. Of my own garden I might add, in addition to all that, "and furthermore nothing is doing all that well and it looks utterly hopeless."

He does give the essay an optimistic turn after that, and so do I hope to, with regard mostly to the dreadful jungle mentioned here yesterday. But I do have a lovely and growing pile of weeds of which something may be made: compost, I hope.

More tomorrow, probably about the demo garden, or possibly leek spoonbread.

A celebration of stonecrop sedums

Well, so much for posting regularly, but I'm going to amend that: I'm setting a goal of posting something every day for the next month, even if it's just a bit of whimsy or a photograph or a quote. (Warning: I am rereading Henry Mitchell.)

Anyway, it's the 15th again and that means Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day. I was going to post a selection of what's blooming in my yard, but what I ended up doing was taking a zillion photos of my tall sedums (stonecrop) which Carol at May Dreams informs me is now known as Hylotelephium telephium, which sounds like someone stuttering on the phone, but never mind. It's certainly the most impressive thing I have right now, aside from the incredibly gaudy magenta aster right on the street edge which people are probably judging me for though I don't care. Okay, I'll throw in a picture of that at the end.

But, the sedums. I don't have the variety names (half of them are probably Autumn Joy and the other half... not) because I've lost the tags and/or I got them as hand-me-downs.

 















And here is the aster, in all its eye-popping glory:

And there we are: September. See you tomorrow; I swear I'm going to make this happen.

August blooms

I have been terrible about posting here.  I plan to remedy that soon.   And you know what they say about plans.

Anyway, it is the 15th and hence Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day, and since I've failed to participate in this event in recent months it seemed like a good time to jump back in.  It's been a rainy, relatively cool summer full of rampant growth (mostly where I don't want it, but so it goes), and a lot of my flowering plants are blooming earlier and more vigorously than usual, and surprisingly few of them are dying of fungal diseases, so all in all, not bad.

Let's start out with a closeup of a nice bright blue platycodon (balloon flower). I have tons of these; I started the first ones from seed ages ago, and they have proliferated, and nearly all of them open facing my neighbor's yard like everything else in that bed.  Oh well.

Autumn Joy sedum is starting to flush pink for the fall.

 Oh, look, it's a buddleia, not where I planted it.  Huh.

The hardy begonias are HUGE this year, and (I think?) blooming somewhat early.

 Cardinal flower, looking dramatic.

 This is a gladiolus, blooming rather later than its fellows, flopping onto the lawn like a drunk at a party and bellowing for a stake.

 Mountain mint, Pycnanthemum muticum, in the controlled wilderness under the maple tree.  (As opposed to the totally uncontrolled wilderness elsewhere, oh dear.)

And a closeup of one of the Limelight hydrangeas.  Which were planted in the wrong place and have to be aggressively pruned every year to fit there, alas.  We must have done a number on them this winter, because for once they're not growing huge and floppy (I thought, with all the rain, they would), but the flowers still look way too big for the plants, like huge white mittens on a skinny four-year-old kid.  Someday I will chop these out and plant the dwarf version instead.

This isn't from my yard (though it's from the part of the MG demo garden that I planted), and it's not a good picture, but the combo worked out well: Moulin Rouge sunflowers, Jester and Purple Majesty millet, and Bishop's Children dahlias.  All semi-edible, but really just there to ornament the vegetable garden further.

And that's what I have to offer on this gorgeous, cool August morning.  Enjoy your blooms!

Scary purple things

We're traveling in northern California this week, and keep seeing these:

Which are, if the scale isn't evident, tall spikes of flowers about ten feet tall, which we dubbed "scary purple things" until I finally got decent internet today and (since I am the sort of person who Googles rather than, say, calling up the Master Gardeners or grabbing random people on the street and asking) found out that it's Echium pininana or giant viper's bugloss.  Those of us who are familiar with normal viper's bugloss are all going ooh, ah, while those who live in climates similar to the Canary Islands (where it hails from) are probably saying, "what, that old thing?" as you, annoyingly, do.  Though really I challenge anyone to dismiss this plant cavalierly, even when it's overplanted to the degree that northern Californians seem to do.  Because it's scary.  And just because something is common doesn't make it less terrifying.

Ack.

I took this photo in Mendocino, which is a lovely New England-style town that stood in for Cabot Cove, Maine, in the Murder She Wrote series.  It would do that fine as long as you avoided shooting the giant viper's bugloss.  (And any number of other less obvious plant species that don't belong in Maine.)  In the foreground of the photo is some kind of wild radish which I ate the seedpods of, because cruciferous plants are one thing I do recognize in this wonderland of vegetation.

I'll post more wonders later, but just couldn't wait on this.  Ooh, ah.

Never was a story of more woe

I told the sad tale of the death of my Juliet tomato and Romeo pepper over on Grow It Eat It earlier today.  (Plus several of their friends, perhaps named Mercutio and Tybalt.)  Hello, my name is Erica, and I kill plants.  Although I suppose I can blame climate change or locally odd weather patterns for these particular late-frost-related deaths.  (Gardeners don't kill plants; weather kills plants.)  But if I hadn't decided to plant tender vegetables at... an entirely reasonable time, this wouldn't have happened.

I've also concluded that I've lost my Franklinia tree that spent the winter in a pot on the deck.  Probably too small a pot, and/or it didn't get watered enough.  I purposely killed off the Vigna caracalla by leaving its pot outside - three years and it hadn't flowered once, which is kind of the point of it, and two winters inside in which it climbed all over everything and got in the way.  Someday I will try again.  When I get my greenhouse.  (Which is a little like "next year in Jerusalem" but maybe will actually happen.)  I haven't checked on the pomegranate that was still alive last year though not producing, but I doubt it survived since the winter was much harder this year and it's in the way of rampaging black raspberry canes.  The chaste tree is dead (I don't know why), and so is the fig (rabbits).

This is not to mention the things that are dying in various places because they are being smothered by weeds that I'm not managing to keep under control.  You should see what is definitely my former vegetable garden (since I now have the Allotment), or again maybe you shouldn't.  I do have a plan to deal with the mess, but when that will happen is another matter.  Maybe I actually need an elderberry thicket and large quantities of dock, morning glories, cranesbill and mint.

There was a moment last week when, mowing the Way Back, I thought I saw the resurrection of the male winterberry, but when I went to look it turned out to be a baby locust tree.  The females are hanging on, but I really need to clear more space around them (and get them a new friend).

I did get the Winterthur viburnums in the ground, at least, and they look happy.  The rest will come.  I am oddly not depressed about all the plants dying, though I do not approve and I am not resigned and all that.  Much has been done and I'm getting my energy back to do more.

Totally missed GBBD this week; have the white-flowered shrubs that apparently bloom in May now:

Mock orange, oh heavenly smell

Maple-leaf viburnum

Where are the headlines of yesteryear?

It's not every day you spend a couple of hours starting a new garden bed with newspapers from the Bush administration.

(Neighbors' cat is bonus cat.)  And yes, I am a packrat, but finally I am at the bottom of the pile!  There were athletes from the Beijing Olympics, there was "Lost" speculation, there was "Clinton wins Pennsylvania," there was trouble at Bear Sterns.  Lots of it was good to bury.

Here's another shot, from down below:

I wasn't quite finished there; the shape was originally supposed to be a gentle arc and ended up more like a triangle, because I decided to incorporate a patch of daffodils that's been there since at least the Clinton administration (when we used to have a fence; since the fence went away it's been sitting in the middle of the lawn making itself difficult).  The purpose of the bed (besides making room to put plants in) is to connect up the pagoda tree space with the mock orange space.  It will require stepping stones.

The theory here (which I have successfully applied before) is that you mow the grass short, then layer newspaper or cardboard in the desired shape, then put down compost and/or materials that will compost, and eventually get something you can plant in.  For now I've plopped down some fresh wood chips (more than in these photos) from another neighbor's tree removal, mostly just to weigh down the paper so it doesn't all blow away.  I'll add materials as I acquire them, and edge the bed so we can mow around it.  For right now all I'm going to plant are three Winterthur viburnums that have been in pots for a year and a half (big pots; they actually look great) and that I have been flailing about because I couldn't remember where I meant to put them, really, but this is as good a place as any.  I'll move the newspapers and chips out of the way to dig those holes.  In the fall, some bulbs, and then small shrubs or perennials as I acquire them.

It will be fun, but right now my back hurts and my knee hurts and I wish the chip pile wasn't way at the bottom of the hill, but so it goes.  At least I have free chips.

I had a Brandywine viburnum too, which has gone into the bed by the driveway:

Said bed is (like most of mine, unfortunately) solidly in the Evolving stage.  I need another evergreen shrub to form a screen, since the viburnum is deciduous.

Bonus photo of Japanese painted fern in the middle of sweet woodruff, an accidentally stunning combination:

We have a hell of a lot of sweet woodruff now.  I suppose we had better make May wine.