Baby Steps

I was chatting with my friend, Louise, who said she had meandered on over to Black Swamp Girl for a look see. She came away saying that after looking at Black Swamp Girl's and my gardens she just felt like such a beginner, amateur, stinking good for nothing gardening baby.

Tut, Tut, chin up. Lots of mistakes to be made between 0 and 60.

It is about the fun of it and the learning of it and the enjoyment of it. I tried to cheer Louise up by relaying the fact that just yesterday morning I realized I have been calling Snow in Summer, Taurus Cerastium instead of Cerastium Tomentosum. Beats the heck out of me where I came up with that whopper. But I repeated it many times in my blog for the whole world (all three of you) to see.

Here is an image of my PROBLEM GARDEN, just to show how little I know. I just keep throwing more lamb's ear in it because everyone knows that silver is always right- no? The only thing I have done right in this garden is to buy that stunning Purple Smokebush. I need to make more mistakes like that!

My motto is to always say it, and do it with authority.... then no one will question you. (Mostly because those who know better, know that there is no point in telling a gardening fool anything.)

It Is Easy to Overlook Quiet Friends

I spend so much time thinking and working on my long border garden that I frequently overlook my true blue stand of white birches. They take minimal care- occasionally whacking out the suckers at their base. They always look good, but no flashy colors or display of lavish foliage. They just offer up their luminous white trunks every year and every season.

They are the state tree in NH so they are easy to dismiss as an obvious choice for our yards and somehow unworthy of a serious gardener's attention. I also happen to have them springing up all over the place. But these facts don't mitigate that this particular clump of trees is really quite elegant. They lack the height and girth of a long established clump, but I am hoping this means I will have them a good while longer. They don't freeze solid like many trees so are very susceptible to the weight of wet snow and ice. The bigger and taller they are, the more likely they will to be felled by the late spring snows.

As I sat on my bench this evening these birches whispered my name while the border garden was hooting and hollering. I turned my full attention to them this evening and gave them a little "hello, friend" back.

Islands Are Good, Peninsulas are Better

I was checking through Renegade Gardner's website and I realized he had the solution to my border garden problem.

When I moved to this house 3 summers ago I inherited a lot of the previous owners taste (read problems). She had plunked down shrubs all over the lawn so it looked like a miniature golf course. I spent the first summer digging them up and either replanting them or giving them away. Clearly someone had told her that island gardens are the new "in" thing. She put in a couple that were the size of a coffee table. That is fine if you garden on 1/8 acre. But my property is, quite literally, a golf course.... a huge flat expanse. It was a golf course for the Inn across the street until the late 60's.

I had enlarged the island garden thinking that scale was the problem. It helped a lot, but still not right. I had added a few curves to the border garden to soften the unrelenting straightness of it. Still not quite right. Renegade Gardener suggested attaching the lone island to the rest of the garden with large sweeping curves... invite the island "to the party."

So that is what I did. I have discovered that cheap garden hose doesn't work as well to "draw" a line. It crimps and doesn't curve gracefully. I somehow muddled through and cut the lines. Yesterday and today I have spent digging up the sod to make that connection. You can see the clumps of sod drying in the sun- almost.

I plan on keeping the new planting low so you can still get the straight shot up the garden to the bench. I need to move that veronica before it is swallowed by the Bath's Pinks. They will be nice in this new peninsula. I am really pleased by this development.

I took a break as thunderstorms were rolling in, showered, and grabbed an early glass of celebratory wine. I went out with Henry to survey the day's work. Le boyfriend sneaked this shot through a screened window of me "contemplating." I think the peninsula is thin. I will need to widen it as the curve is too tight for the riding mower and it somehow looks skimpy.

Nevertheless- a good day's work.

Why I Do It

Sometimes I think about how much time and money I put into my garden and wonder why I do it. It can be back breaking labor and I live someplace where hardly anyone ever gets to see the results. It is mostly just for myself. Why do I get so absorbed in my latest purchase (black lace elderberry. Wonderful- no?) Why do I think so hard about where to put it? And what will it look like in 10 years? Will I still be in this house? Will the next owner just let everything go back to grass?

My hands are a lost cause. Nails are short and beat. The edges are stained. Another gardener gave me the tip of bleaching your hands before a big social event but you want to save that for very special events as it makes your nails even more brittle. It is much better to stand with your arms folded and hands tucked neatly underneath. I keep my toenails painted a dark color to lessen the effect of dirt stained edges. My hairdresser comments on how bleached out my hair is- despite almost constantly wearing a hat. I am a mess.

But I look up at Bald Sunapee in the distance through my cheesy arbor and it makes me smile. My whole body relaxes ever so slightly... even with my fingers cramped up from pulling sod all day. I look around and see more work to be done, but it doesn't seem a burden. Just working towards that goal of perfection and probably never reaching it.

My garden is full of stories- mistakes, successes, projects not yet started. Sometimes those things are all rolled into one. This little white edged hosta is my orphan hosta. Two years ago NH experienced devastating flooding. Small rivers over flowed, people drowned, houses and roads were lost, rivers cut new paths. My mother was walking along the Piscataquog River in Goffstown looking at the swollen stream. She found a sprig of hosta, clearly washed down from a home upstream. She gave it to me. Like some forlorn puppy or kitten I put it in my garden even though I didn't really need it or want it. I have moved it a few times as it has never really flourished, but I can't bring myself to rip it up and throw it away. I keep it because I like it and I like its story.

I like gardening too. I can't help it. It is primal. I want to make something out of nothing. Something of beauty and pleasure. At least to me.

The Birds and the Bees, and Other Critters

The invasion of the Rose Chafer Beetles continues, unabated. I have considered applying for a FEMA grant, but it somehow feels as if it would belittle the actual devastation in Iowa. Here they are attacking an unopened bud.

And this is what the blossoms look like mid-attack. It is so dis- heartening. They have started in on my roses and le boyfriend's potatoes. Next they will be eating the birch trees.

I take heart that the King Birds are picking a few off, but like Henry, their appetites do not exceed the supply. We also have an influx of Cedar Waxwings, one of my personal favorites, to take advantage of the fruiting trees in the yard. Le boyfriend had to rescue one tangled up in the netting that protects the strawberries. It was quite calm as he cut the netting from his neck and wings.

The Sphinx Moths have also made their appearance. Here is one supping from a pink. His wings are beating so quickly that they disappear. I remember the first time I saw one I was confused that a hummingbird had 6 legs. I have gotten a little smarter since then.

Here is a Swallowtail having a grand old time in the Bath's Pinks. I saw five at once on this stand of flowers. They were also humming with bees.... pardon the pun, or not.

Life is, Indeed, Rich

HERE'S LOOKING AT YOU KID....

Despite the fiasco of the 2008 invasion of Rose Chafer Beetles, I needed to go out and take a look after dinner. My garden was still there and from a distance the peonies are still lovely. I have a large double white which is stunning.. and right as I had decided that my garden didn't have enough white, there it was.

But I took the long inspection route around, so I could postpone the up-close look at the devastation. Henry followed along snurfling at the plants. I approached my Scarlett O'Hara and lingered to look at my new "Blue Carpet" sedum. Henry snurfled at the passing irises. He was very intent- snurfling the leaves, then vacuuming the ground. Hey! He is eating something!

It took a second to sink in but my dog was vacuuming the Rose Chafer Beetles off the plants and eating them. So I tried picking a few off and dropping them on the ground for him.... gone! Then I bowed down the heads of a few daisies loaded with beetles, and ppphhhttt.... gone! I could practically hear Mick Jagger in the distance ... "you can't always get what you want."

Ahhh.... sweet revenge. While I don't think Henry will really check these beetles, it is somehow very satisfying that he likes to eat them. I know I have a true partner in the garden.

And, perhaps somewhere out there, God does exist...

In Defiance, And Of Henry Mitchell

I got home late tonight, chatted with le boyfriend, ate and then headed to the garden for a second glass of wine and an opportunity to unwind. I found that some new golden oregano plants were looking a little wilty. This is a amazing as yesterday was overcast and the night was off and on rain. Today was a little spotty. How could something need MORE water? Nevertheless, facts are facts and I grabbed my watering can and started lifting and toting.

That is when I spotted the Rose Chafer Beetles in my peonies. This is the first year that I have had peonies blossom and not be defiled by this vile insect. My Scarlett O'Hara was spectacular, the Seashell glorious, but then things fell apart. The other unnamed peonies now look flea bitten. I know what comes next-mushy brown blossoms full of bugs taking a drag off a shared Pall Mall while asking each other if "it was good for you?"

Just that morning, despite my rush to get out the door, I picked up the book I was reading and finished the chapter while standing up. It is Henry Mitchell's "The Essential Earthman." He died 15 years ago and this will be the third time I have read this book, but he is one of my favorite garden writers. The chapter is called On The Defiance of Gardeners and ended thusly:
Gardeners are the ones who ruin after ruin get on with the high defiance of Nature herself, creating, in the very face of her chaos and tornado, the bower of roses and the pride of irises. It sounds very well to garden a "natural way." You may see the natural way in any desert, any swamp, any leech-filled laurel hell. Defiance, on the other hand, is what makes gardeners.

I know it is fruitless, but I start the process of rooting through the blossoms and crushing the beetles till my fingers are sticky and stained and their jointed legs are stuck under my nails. I can't stop them... at best I might slow them. But I need to try to save my beautiful peonies.

And I will do it all over again next year.....defiantly.