

WEEK ONE

January 3rd - Happy New Year!

Something to look forward to

Every January is filled with the promise of a bountiful harvest, and this one is no exception. I took a quick stroll through the garden, ignoring the chilly drizzle that has been visiting for the last couple of days. It has been very warm so far, even on the day that usually brings the coldest temperatures of the year, the feast of St. John.

The wet dirt is dark and shiny, and it surprises me, used as I am to see yellow clay everywhere around the yard. It seems that my efforts to amend the soil during the last few years brought about lasting change.

Now, every time I see dark, shiny soil, that immediately translates into bloom and fruit inside my mind, so I set aside the fact that January is not a gardening month to figure out what to plant.

I'm sure that weather will remind us really soon that winter is for snowing, but tell that to the daffodils which are already half way to bloom by now. For now, it rains. So, back to planting.

This year's priority is going to be fall blooming perennials, there are never enough of them, especially for the shade. Monkshood, black cohosh and wind anemones are definitely on the list. I need to replant asters, Wonder of Staffa looked beautiful, with its lavender blue daisy like petals surrounding a bright yellow center, but it gave up the ghost a few winters ago to temperatures that were too cold to bear. Time to replant it.

Maybe a few more toad lilies, don't mind if I do. I never tried turtle head or heleniums, so this is the year to do it. For the non-fall bloomers, maybe I should try Solomon's Seal in another area of the garden, and maybe primroses.

After that, whatever inspires when the season starts at the plant nursery. Definitely roses and more herbs, there is an empty spot in the herb garden that hasn't found a resident yet.

Perennial garden

Two autumns ago I started a lot of perennials from divisions: irises, daisies, garden phlox, daylilies, and this is the year for them to start blooming. Of course, this fall I forgot to move the beautiful Pink Sorbet peony, which means it's going to spend another spring trying to dig itself out from under the rugosa rose, and let me tell you, that's not an easy feat.

The hellebore babies that sprouted around the mature plants like chicks around the mother hen seem to be very happy in their new locations, where they have lots of room to grow. And grow they did, although I think they're still too young to start blooming.

The thing with starting perennials from divisions and cuttings is that not all of them are quick to develop, but I know from experience that patience is always rewarded.

Way too much tick seed already! Those things would sprout in cement, I kid you not. I feel bad about pulling them, and not a single one survived transplanting, so, there's the conundrum.

Again, victim of fall procrastination, the part shade garden is still lopsided, with the resilient clumps of the day lilies all crowding one side. I was supposed to distribute them evenly through the garden, but it did not happen.

Not actually perennial, but judging by the amount of seeds they produced, forever in my garden, I'm sure to have a lot of giant purple cleomes in the garden.

Now if I could only find some room for the roses. Oh, well, I was planning to extend the flower beds anyway.

July border

This is the garden at its best, the beginning of July. It has everything: the roses, the late spring perennials, the early summer perennials and none of the tiredness of the late summer garden.

Of course the weeds are always out of control at this time, but who has time to mind the weeds when the flowers look like this? I so wish I could get more delphiniums! They are not easy plants, but once they take off, they're a garden's crowning glory.

Summer herbs

The lavender finally bloomed this summer. It grew into a large clump, so I'm guessing it's here to stay. I hope the new additions to the herb garden, the yarrow and the valerian, have made themselves at home, and that the wet, warm winter helped them build strong roots.

The peppermint is a little slow, and the chives skipped a year and showed up unexpectedly on top of the revised planting scheme. The weeds showed no respect for the medicinals, but I'm watching them, the fiends!

WEEK TWO

January 10th - Here comes the snow

Winter still

The snow showed up, as expected, covering the ground with thick blanket of snow. Snuggled inside the house with a hot cup of tea, I quietly looked out into the strange landscape, a blend of snow storm and wind driven fog, its milky atmosphere so thick it reduced visibility to only a few feet. From this eerie cloud that melted into the ground pulling and swirling like translucent taffy, snow kept sifting down, first icy and windswept, then thick, serene and fluffy, then windswept again.

The chill set the watery blanket into its surroundings and for a few days everything looked frozen in place, totally still.

It's warmer now, and most of the snow already melted, except a few shady patches on the north side, but I know snow will visit again, and thankfully so. There is good moisture and protection in it for the plants, who, even when asleep underground, are very much alive. Mother nature never lets us forget the natural order of the seasons, and winter is the season for cold weather, rest and renewal. So, I'm resting and renewing.

Of course with the predictions of Punxsutawney Phil only two short weeks away, I'm not going to question the inspired wisdom of the famous rodent on whether or not we're going to have six more weeks of winter, I just want to point out that if it's February, it's supposed to be cold, and, just looking back on the last ten years, when did we ever see spring before April, like, ever?

That being said, I engage, pleasantly if not enthusiastically, in "winter gardening activities", words I can never put together in a phrase without a chuckle. That usually means getting lost in daydreams about gardens in bloom and swooning over beautiful pictures in landscaping books.

It's too early for nursery catalog orders and the garden planning for spring was done in the fall, as was the cleaning and storing of tools and supplies. If I learned anything in twenty years of gardening, is the art of patience and the wisdom of waiting on activities until their time has come. The garden always does.

Under the snow

One of the best things about winter is that one doesn't feel guilty about indulging in a little pampering. After all, the weather is god-awful, there isn't a lot of activity in the garden, and dry winter skin gives one every justification for a well needed home spa session.

There is a lot said dry skin can enjoy at this time of year, right from the kitchen cupboards and pantry: a hydrating and nourishing oatmeal, clay and honey mask, warm herb infused oils to smooth out rough skin, just a little lemon juice to strengthen and brighten brittle nails, a blend of essential oils for fragrance.

Skin needs to be fed, hydrated and protected throughout the year, but at no time more than in the middle of winter, when a disciplined regimen of care is essential.

Here is a blend for a very nourishing cream that comes in handy when cold temperatures and biting wind chill stop by, it just skips the water based components and goes straight for the fats and oils. It also smells like a tropical island, which is great for shaking off the winter doldrums.

Add one tablespoon of almond oil to six tablespoons of coconut oil and one tablespoon of cocoa butter. Melt it all together in a double boiler, until completely blended, and add twelve drops of lemon or grapefruit essential oil. Pour it in jars and let it blend and solidify for twenty four hours. Not only will your skin thank you, but lemon oil draws out toxins from your system and stimulates the function of the lymphatic system to reduce puffiness.

If you want an extra dose of vitamins that skin especially loves, you can replace the almond oil with avocado oil, but the latter takes a little longer to be absorbed into the skin.

Weird wind effects

The wind works some strange effects sometimes, as you can see demonstrated in this footed planter. I took a stroll through the sleepy landscape, but quite frankly, that's what one expects to see in mid-January.

I just remembered that the hellebores will start out very soon, especially since the cold let out. They seemed to be in pretty good shape, so I'm guessing they're going to bloom early.

Heucheras

Again, a testimony to the warm winter, the coral bells didn't lose their foliage. This beauty is part of a new shade garden that is coming along nicely, especially since I planted a lot of new spring bulbs last fall. There will be daffodils, and crocuses, and even a few tulips to keep it company.

The thing is, I usually forget what I planted, which makes for pleasant surprises come spring. I can hardly contain my anticipation.

WEEK THREE

January 17th - Still cold

Eighteen and snowing

I woke up this morning to a wispy snow flurry, the thin and icy kind that comes about when temperatures drop too low. Eighteen degrees, to be precise. It settled, unsure, in a thin, powdery layer that still lets the ground show through.

I almost hesitated to disturb the pristine cover when I went out into the back yard to put seed in the bird feeder. It doesn't feel cold, though, I don't know why, just eerily quiet and still, like it is in winter sometimes, as if the thin layer of snow absorbed all the sounds.

As the temperatures slowly rose the flurry turned more substantial and kept churning steadily but didn't accumulate.

I don't like winter, just saying.

On a more cheerful note, it seems it's going to warm up even more over the next few days, whatever that means, considering it's still winter, and to celebrate this I gave the nursery catalogs a first glance.

Designing the garden is the most important step and a task that usually becomes an afterthought, a consequence of random impulse buys that happen as the endless rows of blooming beauties entice you at the plant nursery.

As it is with fashion, not everything that looks good in the display window is going to fit you or meet your needs. You need to know your garden well before you start dressing it up, so to speak. Here are three important characteristics that make or break your landscape design, and they are things you can't do much about, at least not without extreme effort: soil pH, sun levels, and climate zone. In theory, the soil chemistry can be altered to make it anything you want, but if that were easy, raised garden beds would have never been invented. One observation, soil is heavy and tends to revert to its natural state, because the conditions that made it acidic or alkaline in the first place are still there.

Garden enthusiasts usually pay attention to the last two characteristics when bringing plants home, but not the first one, even though the soil acidity makes all the difference to the plants, which have adapted to draw nourishment from a very specific combination of elements. So, before you even start thinking about what plants to add, do a quick soil test. I wish I'd thought of that before I brought those azaleas home; they would have been much better off left at the store.

About soil pH

So, since I brought it up, a little more information about soil pH.

The alkaline soil is quite easy to recognize, it's usually clay, heavy, and out in the open, away from any large trees and shrubs, whose annual leaf drop helps acidify the soil. It tends to dry out on the surface, but deep down it keeps moisture better than other soil types, and plants who had time to develop a good root system thrive in it. It is usually found in the open plains and arid areas.

The acidic soil usually goes hand in hand with woodland settings, it is loose and crumbly, smells like humus and would dry out very quickly if it weren't usually found in areas with heavy rainfall, which tends to wash out some of the elements in the soil and increase its acidity.

The ideal soil, the Holy Grail of gardening, seldom found in nature, is deep black, rich and buttery, holds on to its water, is not as heavy as clay, but still gives the roots some substance to sink into, and it is pH neutral. It is very fertile, and usually doesn't happen all by itself, but as a result of adding natural fertilizers, tilling nitrogen rich crops back into the soil and regular turning.

See, now I don't have to test my soil to know that it is alkaline: the hellebores, yarrows, lilacs, delphiniums, purple cone flowers, geraniums, sedums, magnolia and phlox are all proof of that. I just wish I did a soil test before I bothered planting astilbe, lupines and azaleas.

Who loves acidic soils, beside the three plants I just mentioned? Rhododendrons, holly, gardenias and camellias.

What grows in pH neutral soils? Mostly anything that doesn't require a very acidic or alkaline medium. That means almost all vegetables, except for the brassicas, which don't like sour soils, and herbs, although the latter tend to favor alkaline soils too, true to the conditions of their native habitat. As you may have guessed already, by their even distribution in acidic and alkaline gardens alike, tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers and squashes don't much care one way or another, as long as they are well fed.

Hydrangeas are the classic acid test for the plant world: as we know, they turn blue in acidic soils an pink in alkaline ones. This makes for an interesting gardening challenge, but unfortunately I never managed to keep mine alive. In neutral soil their flowers stay greenish white.

Most plants can tolerate a deviation from the soil acidity they are accustomed to, but if you have a really acidic soil, don't try lilacs or grapevine. They won't thrive, no matter what you do.

Big flowers

Peonies like neutral soil, very slightly on the acidic side. Mine don't seem to care that the pH needle veers off into the sweet zone a little, they love their sunny location where they bloom abundantly.

They are one of those plant it and forget it flowers that thrive on neglect, but you have to be patient, because they need three full years to mature.

Little drops of perfume

Speaking of acidic soil lovers, how about lily of the valley? It tends to become invasive under such conditions, but they will tolerate neutral to sweet soils, where they behave themselves.

They are slow growing in my garden, tucked as they are in the shade of a large evergreen shrub, but they are reliable bloomers and quite delightful.

WEEK FOUR

January 23rd - January bloom

Right on time

I wasn't sure if I should go out in the garden and attempt to take pictures, 'cause what are you gonna find in this climate in the middle of winter, and then I remembered the hellebores. What a glorious plant that is, evergreen and blooming in January as if weather is not one of its concerns!

I had them in the back yard for a few years and still can't adjust to the idea of winter bloom, especially since spring seems to make us wait longer and longer each year, or maybe it just feels like that to me, because I loathe the cold season.

Hellebores own the garden for almost two months, the only flowers in bloom until the early spring bulbs come along, then they share the garden with the other spring perennials for another two months, and boast of the fruitfulness of their very pregnant seed heads until the middle of June.

They bloom in the sunshine, they bloom in the shade. They like dry clay, poor soil, neglect and overcrowding. Are these for real?

Gardeners say hellebores don't like their roots disturbed. Before I learned this, I dug mine out in the middle of summer, unceremoniously chopped them up into small clumps and used them to populate an area of the garden that is as close to dry shade as it gets before it gets labeled impossible to plant. They loved it.

Now I have an entire garden of hellebores, and here is a picture of them, blooming faithfully at the end of January, right on schedule.

Hyacinth

I could never resist a hyacinth. I always plant some in the fall, of course, and am sure the squirrels and rabbits really appreciate my efforts, so every year I end up replenishing the fall bulb supply with full grown winter plants, which spend a few weeks of pampered bloom indoors and are then planted in the back yard as soon as the weather allows.

A few considerations about growing bulbs, and hyacinths in particular.

They need to be watered consistently, they are among the plants that really don't tolerate drought, and a good mulching and fertilizing will keep them coming back stronger year after year, because it allows them to replenish their nutrient stores, instead of exhausting them.

Planting depth for bulbs is a very important factor, and one of the reasons flower bulbs don't perform as well as expected. Daffodils, hyacinths and tulips for instance, need to be planted four and six inches deep, whereas Madonna lilies and irises like to lay right under the soil surface, their roots barely covered.

When hyacinths are planted in shallow beds, if they by some miracle happen to make it through the winter uneaten, they will emerge too soon and get hit by the frost before they have a chance to bloom.

Even though they are woodland plants, they like full sun and prefer neutral to alkaline soils, but they will tolerate slightly acidic conditions if the medium is well drained and nutrient rich.

Layering bulbs over late spring, summer and fall blooming perennials will allow their foliage to die down to the ground in its own time, without creating empty or unsightly spots in the flower bed. The plants will compete for nutrients and moisture in this setting, so remember to double down on watering and fertilizing. Did I mention bulbs really don't like dry soil?

People expect bulbs to exhaust themselves in a few years, and this is why some gardeners treat them like annuals and replant them every year, but that can't be the case, because if it were so whole plant species would have been extinguished a long time ago. Quite the opposite, under the right circumstances the bulbs split and the clumps expand quickly, as everybody who had the pleasure of growing irises can testify.

I'm sure somewhere on earth there is a place that exhibits the ideal growing conditions for hyacinths, a place where they thrive beyond their wildest dreams. Given that they originated in Turkey, I assume the aforementioned miracle soil must be around that area somewhere.

Just don't forget to water them.

Old faithful

Seven years old and still growing strong. The middle of winter used to be its peak blooming season, but my beautiful cyclamen seems to have figured out that it is an indoor plant, and therefore doesn't need to go dormant in the summer anymore, so it has flowers all year round, with no particular preference for a season.

It bloomed consistently all through the summer and fall, and now it looks like it's preparing for the big flush of flowers that comes around just in time for Valentine's Day. It's got the right colors and everything.

Flowers in winter

Every January reminds me how happy I am that I planted these faithful shade companions in my. It is a real luxury to have flowers in winter if you live in zone five, and hellebores never disappoint. These resilient January bloomers perform even better in years with lots of snow, when their flowers emerge from under the white blanket fully formed, like Venus from the sea foam.

It seems that the big snow didn't visit us this time, so their buds are developing out in the open. They seem slightly peeved about the exposure. I moved a lot of their offspring to the other shade areas, but I don't think they're not old enough to bloom.

WEEK FIVE

February 1st - Seeds

February sowing

If you thought February is when the gardener has nothing to do but wait for spring, that would not be correct: February is planting time.

Every year in the middle of winter my otherwise serene living room turns into a wild jungle, and for two blessed months I live inside a miniature greenhouse. It's not all fun and games, of course, and between the water and dirt spilling on the carpet on my side, and the lack of appropriate lighting and the mold promoted by the excessive humidity of the starting trays on the plants' side, come April I look forward to moving the little sprouts outdoors, and they do too. For now, however, their presence is nothing short of bliss.

Because the tomatoes tend to develop too fast and grow leggy and chlorotic if they get more than six weeks indoors, I always make the mistake to plant all the seeds late, and when the last frost passes I have to transplant outside small and wispy perennial seedlings that subsequently have trouble adjusting to the transition. Compared to the little cocoon of their starting tray, the vastness of the garden feels way too harsh for the little plants.

If you ever planted annuals and perennials together, no doubt you noticed that the perennials, programmed for longer life, are neither in a hurry to germinate, nor eager to sprout every one of their seeds. They take their sweet time to emerge, three weeks, four, even longer, during which the wise gardener keeps watering bare dirt, nervously chewing on his or her fingernails and feeling more and more inadequate as time progresses. At the end of this nail biting period, rarefied seedlings sprout. They are never vigorous and fast growing like the ones in the picture, and the gardener spends another couple of weeks wondering if they're going to grow big and strong or give up the ghost. The few triumphant plants that decided to grace the seed pods linger for a few days longer between growing leggy and forgoing the opportunity altogether.

When the fittest specimens finally start to develop, it's usually time to plant, and what looks like a strong, healthy start in the seed pod suddenly appears tiny and helpless in the barren dirt, still dry in the chilly spring, easily overtaken by any annual that sprouts in its vicinity, be it flower or weed, and looking for any excuse to check out.

And this is why this year I decided to give the perennial seedlings an extra month, which starts right now.

Warm sunshine

Maybe the groundhog is right after all, the temperatures have been in the fifties and sixties in the last five days, and last night, when it rained, I saw lightning and heard thunder.

After the rain cleared we're looking at periwinkle skies. The sun is shining, it's warm, and it suddenly makes you remember what spring is like, what summer is like, and the fact that they are going to be here soon. I'm giddy.

Maybe this year, if we're spared the traditional April hard freeze, the magnolia is going to bloom again, and the trees will keep their blossoms long enough for me to take some pictures.

The blades of spring bulbs are already out, and in a burst of enthusiasm I decided to trust them that winter is winding down. I miss daffodils!

There is a humid scent in the air, a smell of humus mixed with a delicate fragrance I can't identify, tree blossoms maybe, or primroses, a fragrance which, quite frankly, it is very unlikely at this time of year.

I haven't gone on the spring garden tour yet, the plants are still sleeping under their thin winter blanket of barren leaves, the ones that fell after the first snow.

The young hellebores I transplanted in barren areas of the shade garden have grown so big I can't believe it. Just in case you're wondering if hellebores grow from seed, the answer is try and stop them! The thing is, none of the young ones bloomed yet, so I don't know if they came true to the original breed. The mommy is a White Spotted Lady, it will be interesting to see what the offspring looks like.

What to plant outdoors

There are a few annuals that don't get any benefit from being sown early indoors, either because they don't take kindly to transplanting, or because they grow so fast they're not worth the fuss of setting up seed pods. All the cucurbits, beans and annual vines, especially those with hard, wooden seeds feature on the list.

Another group includes the cold season annuals, like calendulas, snapdragons, poppies and love-in-a-mist, whose seeds need to be sown in the fall and spend the winter in the ground in order to thrive. If planted in spring they won't have enough time to mature and bloom before the weather gets cold again.

What's in a name

Maples seeds are samaras, clematis inflorescences are diaspores, dandelions bear cypselae, cherries and plums seeds are pyrenes, and grass seeds are called grains.

Birches and willows bloom catkins or aments, dills and fennels carry umbels, hawthorns and rowans produce corymbs, a Calla lily or Jack in the pulpit flower is called a spadix.

Daisies and sunflowers bear capitula and they are not real flowers anyway, black cohosh blooms racemes, oats carry panicles, geranium flowers are cymes and dead nettles produce verticillasters.

Admiring a beautiful flower will never be the same again.

WEEK SIX

February 8th - Valentine's Day

Garden valentine

Valentine's Day brought with it the mandatory winter weather event, complete with sub-zero temperatures, snow showers, and light levels lower than those of the White Nights. Got to love February!

So, since nature banished me indoors, I grabbed a steaming cup of coffee and spent a couple of blissful hours shopping for seeds online. After getting all set for the spring planting, my renewed enthusiasm pushed me to organize the seed box, only to find out, to my surprise, that I already have a full vegetable garden inside it. I eagerly rummaged through the box, delighting in one seed packet after another, my lovely and colorful garden valentines.

The discovery gave me the motivation to get out, chancing frostbite, and grab the starting trays and the potting soil, in order to plant the seeds I found. Now I have to be patient and wait for the new ones to come in the mail.

The peppers, the hot peppers, the eggplants, the spider flowers and the delphiniums are in their pods, covered, watered and labeled. It's hard to describe the joy of seeing the first tiny sprouts emerge, and I have that to look forward to for the rest of the month.

The cat witnessed the unusual activity with her customary curiosity, stepping in the empty seed pods before and lifting the lid to sniff the wet potting medium after the planting.

Towards the evening it started snowing again, and the stingy light dimmed all the way down.

Tree blossom symbolism

I will continue with the love and romance theme, since it's Valentine's Day and all, a day when the meanings of cut flowers suddenly rise to prominence, fact made evident by the dire scarcity of red roses around this blessed date. On this day it is impossible to escape the knowledge that the flower of love represents, well, love and passion, but did you know that tree blossoms have symbolism associated with them too?

Citrus blossoms have been forever associated with weddings, and were traditionally used to make crowns and headpieces for the brides, because they represent chastity, fidelity, innocence and fruitfulness and are thought to express eternal love.

Cherry blossoms have different connotations, according to cultural customs. While held to represent both the beauty and the fragility of life in Japan, they are a symbol of feminine beauty and power in China.

Linden blossoms are said to inflame lust, but are also the purveyors of protection, luck and the essence of immortality.

Apple blossoms stand for love, hope, happiness and beauty. A flowering apple tree in the garden brings abundance, balance and peace to the household and encourages artistic endeavors.

Plum blossoms represent long life, strength, courage, fidelity and promises fulfilled. They are usually considered a symbol of steadfastness and wisdom. Not too far removed, the blossoms of their cousins, the peach trees, are another favorite of wedding decorators, because they are said to usher in long life and good fortune. To continue on the same theme, the pear tree blossoms honor motherhood, and embody its tender, hopeful love.

To compliment mature beauty, bring pomegranate blossoms, which suggest grace and elegance, or almond blossoms, whose silver white flowers seem to reflect the poise of old age and its contemplative, caring nature.

Bay flowers, as expected, are a symbol of victory, fame and glory, and the pure white magnolia flowers represent women's beauty.

Flower symbolism is not restricted to fruit trees, for instance the black locust flowers mean platonic love, the elderflowers humility and kindness, and the chestnut flowers a search for justice.

Last, but not least, the helicopter seeds are seen as messengers from above. I'm just bringing that up to put you in a better mood for when they are delivered abundantly over every square inch of your planted garden bed from where you'll have to subsequently clean them up by hand. Those things can get into any crevice, no matter how small, I swear! I had mini-maple trees grow out of the cracks in the concrete pavers, stick out of the gutters and grow sideways from the walls.

How to care for hyacinths

The potted bulbs are too tempting to resist, so blooming hyacinths always make their way to my window sill at the end of winter. After the delightfully fragrant indulgence had stopped blooming, cut the faded flower stalks and keep the soil moist until the weather is warm enough to plant the bulbs in the garden.

The foliage must be allowed to die down naturally, so the bulbs have a chance to replenish their food and energy reserves for the following spring. Don't let the soil dry out and they won't mind a bit of bone meal worked into the soil in the fall.

Love

Flowers in general are associated with love, but some more than others. Roses go without saying, but there is also jasmine for unconditional love, asters - the love talisman, balsam for ardent love, red carnation for romantic, passionate love, clove for undying love, tulips, but only if they are red or purple, primrose for eternal love.

I guess that brings the point across. Of course, pretty much every flower inspired to a folk tale, and most of them are about love too. Some are hopeful, some are sad, but then again, such is life.

WEEK SEVEN

February 15th - New page

Drops of sunshine

The cheerful blossoms of these early buttercups enjoyed a few days of seventy degree temperatures and now they are staring, confused, at the thick, fluffy snow that came out of nowhere. The caprices of weather bewilder plant life again, as they often do in February.

The first set of seedlings already emerged, most of the annual flowers and some very enthusiastic bell peppers, eager to enjoy the sunshine and a little taken aback by the meager light of an overcast sky. The perennials are, of course, taking their sweet time, some of them need weeks to sprout, but they're worth the wait.

Since the one gardening task I had planned for this month is already completed, I turned my attention to the gardener's calendar for February, where I learned the following facts.

If you plan on planting any trees or shrubs, this is the time, provided the ground is soft enough to be worked. Once the buds swell on the branches it's already too late.

It is not too early to plant tomatoes, but since mine always make it to the garden later rather than sooner, compliments of the unpredictable April weather, I'll wait another week or two.

Since the days are longer, the indoor plants will soon start growing again, so now would be a good time to resume feeding them. Oops! I should have learned this two months ago; they look no worse for the wear, though.

Spring bulbs

The bulbs I plant in the fall sometimes don't make it through the winter, but the potted bulbs I get from the grocery store in January always do. I finally figured out that happens because bulbs with fully grown foliage usually get planted at the required depth.

Most of the hyacinths that dress up the garden year after year have spent a few weeks on the window sill in the kitchen. Two days ago, deceived by the summer like weather, I took the opportunity to plant this year's batch of potted bulbs in the garden, and I don't think they are too happy to be there right now, but they'll be coming back next year. Who knows, with a little luck they might even bloom again before the end of spring.

Yesterday a thick rain washed the garden clean, wiped the skies clear and periwinkle blue and brought with it a rainbow. I took a walk through the garden after the rain and I could already see the tips of violets peeking through the ground, despite the fact that it's so early still. The drumming of the rain lulled me to sleep and was shocked to wake up to a snowy landscape, my heart still dreaming of summer.

I long for the rain, the morning sunshine in June, the song of the nightingale before dawn, the lightning, the thunder, the sound of the breeze ruffling the leaves, the scent of heated grass on sweltering afternoons. There is no saving grace to winter, what a pointless season!

Yesterday, for a few blessed hours, I remembered summer, and it was just as beautiful as I remembered, and I wished it lingered, but it seems one can't have June in February, no matter how much one might wish.

Rosy blush

One of the few hellebores that decided to bloom. They are very late this year, I don't know why but the plants usually do. None of the other spring flowers seem to be in a rush either.

The good news is that in the absence of a hard freeze the southern magnolia kept its leaves through the winter, so I hope this year it will have enough energy left to bloom again.

First bloom

The first spring blooms, the hepaticas and the buttercups, are not here yet. I'm waiting for that wonderful moment in spring when all the plants shoot out of the ground together, as if they all got the message that it's safe to sprout.

Over a few blessed days the garden comes back to life suddenly, and then all of a sudden, summer is there, and I am dreaming of those days while the latest February sleet rolls around. What else is a gardener to do to pass the time during this godawful season?

WEEK EIGHT

February 22nd - Flowers

Finally

Given that the hellebores finally decided to bloom, I think spring arrived, and by the look of it, we're going to experience it in a blink again. Temperatures have been consistently in the sixties and seventies and abundant rain brought the reluctant vegetation back to life.

Every March mother nature tries to trick me into planting early, but after more than a decade of gardening I know better than to plant anything frost tender before the third week of April. That rule doesn't apply to garden cleaning, however, and if the weather continues to be warm, this would be the perfect time to spruce up the garden in anticipation of the new growth.

To this end I took a stroll around the yard in order to assess the magnitude of the task, which always looks more daunting than it actually is. Of course, the hardy perennials don't abide by the "don't plant until April" rule, and they have already grown significantly underneath the yard debris, and the sight of their arrested growth usually guilts me into cleaning the flower beds.

There are crocuses and daffodils, and magnolias in bloom, and of course the Lenten roses, which are very late this year, but particularly enthusiastic.

My curiosity was finally satisfied: the baby hellebores that the Painted Lady volunteered two years ago have started blooming, and they are hybrids! The greenish white of the mother plant blended with the dull burgundy of the pollinator and yielded a delightful rose gradient and large flowers with yellow middles that look almost like Alba roses. I am a proud breeder, even though they did it all by themselves.

Otherwise, nothing much going on, at least nothing I can see until I scrape off the dried up yard waste to see what's underneath. Lots of work between now and next week.

Periwinkle

Periwinkle doesn't usually bloom this early, it's been a strange spring. I'm so glad to have had a milder, shorter winter for a change and I'm keeping my fingers crossed not to jinx its intention to leave us sooner than usual.

It was so quiet in the garden this morning, so peaceful under the crude sunshine of early spring, that for a second I set aside the activities that had brought me outside to listen to the silence and watch the perfect dance of the tree shadows on the ground, their contours still dappled and airy in the absence of foliage.

It feels strange to see a barren garden when the weather is so warm, March is a weird month no matter what the weather. Indoors the little seedlings that sprouted in the seed pods are coming along nicely, even those that came with the warning of erratic germination.

I started a lot of wildflowers this year, some medicinals, some meadow natives, and of course the vegetables, can't skip them! It is hard to imagine, when they emerge from their tiny cells, that some of the fragile sprouts which can barely hold the weight of two tiny seed leaves on their long sappy stems will grow six foot tall come July. Life is a miracle indeed.

Meanwhile their older, more resilient outdoor relatives have started leafing out vigorously under the windswept layer of dried up leaves and stems.

Under the rain

Because the weather is so warm, yesterday we had a storm with heavy skies, thick lightening and booming thunder. The clouds weighed dark and low over the land, the way they do in the heat of summer, as they dumped their excess water to the ground.

Washed clean after the rain, the hellebores flaunt a glut of flowers. I'm so looking forward to summer! There buds on the clematis are already swelling.

The last buttercups

I'm a little late with this photo. Unlike most of the vegetation, the buttercups bloomed and faded on time, but I didn't have the necessary enthusiasm to go out in the sullen garden and photograph them on time.

When the sun came out and the clouds cleared after a few days of rain, they had almost completed their flowering cycle for the year. Oh, well.

WEEK NINE

February 29th - Leap year

Crocus cheer

And here I thought that crocuses didn't like my garden! To be fair, I never tried the yellow ones before, but I also thought the lack of acidity in the soil didn't agree with them. Apparently I was wrong.

I'll take the opportunity to clear up a few misconceptions about spring bulbs.

Shade tolerance

Because they come from the forest, people assume they will tolerate a fair amount of shade. They will tolerate it, but they won't bloom. Remember that the trees are still bare when these beauties bloom, early in spring, and that makes the forest floor quite sunny and bright. They perform much better in the sunshine. As a general rule, the "shade tolerant" label basically means they won't die. Immediately.

No maintenance

Just because you don't see them for three quarters of the year, that doesn't mean the bulbs don't have needs. They really don't tolerate drought well, so remember to water them deep and often during the summer, and like all plants benefit from a good feeding every now and then. They should get a good helping of bone meal when they are planted, and a few handfuls for top dressing in the fall. They also need to keep their foliage until it dies down naturally, which creates a little bit of a challenge for the neat and tidy gardener.

Yearly planting

Bulbs are treated almost like annuals, because it is assumed that between the ones that get eaten over the fall and the ones that die down due to exhausting their food reserves, drought or being accidentally dug up, there will not be many of them left from one year to the next. If they find favorable conditions, they will live for many years and the clumps will grow larger, just like they do in the wild. I have a clump of white hyacinths that doubled in size since I planted it five years ago. I noticed it is much easier to plant at the right depth and keep alive the potted bulbs with foliage, and this was one of them. Also it is planted in full sunshine, in an area that is fed and watered regularly and has benefited from amending the soil.

Short blooming season

The tulips are exclusively responsible for this criticism, most spring bulbs stay in bloom for weeks, the grape hyacinths will don flowers for almost two months, and so will some of the summer bulbs, like liatris. Depending on the cultivar, lilies can have a reasonably long blooming time. Anyway, the bulbs that lack in range make it up in volume, so by all means, do plant irises.

Love and happiness

Ish. Still reluctant to bloom in my back yard, the daffodils presented the mandatory yearly flower and then called it quits. Maybe it's still early. Maybe they're just not that into me. Maybe they're just like shaking the ketchup bottle, you keep planting them and planting them and they all come out in one big glop when you least expect it. Who knows? I try not to take it personally and obsess over being dissed by the poet's favorites while the giant flowered clematis and the hellebores bend over backwards to make me happy.

Every garden has a personality, it has likes and dislikes that need to be respected if you want it to thrive, and mine is very peculiar about what it will allow to grow. In defiance of the classic advice my flower beds go by the motto "if at first you don't succeed quit wasting your time trying it again". Of course, there are some exceptions to this rule, like changes in sun exposure for instance, but they are few and far between. I have bleeding hearts that thrive in a patch of dirt so petrified even the weeds hesitate to challenge it, but daffodils? Not so much.

It's not that bulbs don't like that soil, see those spectacular crocuses above? There are also the prolific grape hyacinths, some quite happy and floriferous toad lilies, lush fragrant hostas and even hyacinths when the spirit moves them. I had a Casablanca lily towering over my head summer after summer for years, so tall and heavy with flowers that it needed staking.

So I'm going to respect the daffodils' wishes and stop trying to cultivate them. I'll just stare in disbelief at the ones in the front yard, the ones that came with the property and have been there forever. Every year their clumps grow larger and bloom masses and masses of flowers in full shade on the north side of the house, oblivious to the fact that they are literally smothered by ivy.

Almost March

If it weren't for the leap year, this would be a March article already, but it is leap year, isn't it? If you don't like the concept of a extended February, you can blame Julius Cesar for it. I wish he added the day to June instead, but nobody asked me. I looked up February 29 and a lot of interesting trivia popped up, of which I selected one.

The mascot of leap day is the leap frog. I guess the symbolism of this choice doesn't require explaining.

Hepatica in bloom

Hepatica sprung up finally, with the delicate but deceivingly resilient blossoms of a woodland native. The crocuses and daffodils out staged it this year, it gets a little bit lost in the exuberance of yellows in the garden.

I divided it a couple of years ago, but it looks like the new plant isn't ready to bloom yet. The fact that it is in a shadier location probably didn't help.

WEEK TEN

March 7th - Hyacinths

Spring garden activities

Two days after planting the tomato seeds I lifted the plastic lid off the starting tray to see if it needed watering and was startled by plants that had already grown one inch out of the ground. For those unfamiliar with starting tomatoes from seed, their germination rate is one hundred percent, so adding the few extras in order to ensure something will sprout is really unnecessary.

I decided to stick with Supersweet 100 and Brandywine and, lessons learned from experience, didn't plant the entire packet again. Just because there are so many seeds in the packet, it doesn't mean you have to use them all up. You'd be surprised how many years it took me to figure that one out.

Thus displaying restraint I ended up with a reasonable number of plants, nine of each variety to be specific, which will be more than enough for the needs of my tiny garden. I'm trying to make sure they don't crowd the bell peppers, cucumbers, eggplants and squashes and topple their supports again.

What does that have to do with hyacinths, you ask? Not much. The beautiful spring bulbs were in bloom and I wanted to show them off. I'm working up the enthusiasm to start spring cleaning, oh, dreary task, and have ran out of excuses to put it off: the weather is great, the perennials have already started coming out of the ground and the weeds are intruding upon the herb garden.

Today I found three violets in bloom.

This year's garden is going to have an interesting color scheme, it's all asters, goat's rue, vervain and bells of Ireland. I've never grown green flowers before.

I'm still waiting to see buds on the flowering trees, but there is no sign of them yet. I wonder why.

Bulb propagation

If you would like to try your hand at serious bulb propagation, a method often used by professional growers, especially for hyacinths, is called scooping, and it is known to produce up to thirty bulblets from a single bulb.

Clean and dry a large and healthy hyacinth bulb and scoop out the basal plate, together with the shoot and flower bud at the center. If possible, apply fungicide to discourage the development of mold. Stick the cored bulb upside down, buried about half way in coarse wet sand and keep the container in a warm, dark location, making sure the sand stays moist.

In about twelve weeks bulblets should have formed in the scooped out area, and at this time you should take the hatching bulb and plant it in the garden, bublets and all, right side up.

After a winter in the garden you can dig it up, remove the rotten matter around the bulbs and plant them individually in the desired locations. Keep in mind that it takes about five years for the bulblets to reach maturity, but this method presents the advantage of yielding large crops with very well controlled characteristics.

There are a few variations of this method, the bulb can be scored or cored, which are just different means of removing the basal plate and the center shoot, but the rest of the procedure is very similar. Cored bulbs produce larger flowers and take less time to mature.

Of course, you can just chip or twin-scale the bulbs, a process very similar to making a blooming onion, but without removing the basal plate and the filaments, and separating the pieces so that every chip or slice has a portion with roots attached. When placed in a constantly moist medium the chips will develop bulblets at their base in about three months, after which they can be planted. The method usually yields sixteen to thirty two bulblets, depending on the size of the mother bulb.

For scaly bulbs that are loosely packed together, like those of lilies, irises and amaryllis, the work is a lot easier, they can just be dug up, have their scales separated from the mother bulb and planted in a different location. This natural process of propagation is a lot slower and produces fewer bulbs, but the plants usually reach maturity in a couple of years. No new bulbs will bloom sooner than two years, so be patient with them. I'm still waiting on my amaryllis bulb, which has very healthy foliage, but hasn't bloomed in three years.

March calendar

Things to do in March:

Plant and graft trees and shrubs, plant bare root roses and prune the established ones, plant cold weather vegetables like peas, carrots, beets and cabbage, do the spring cleaning and treat against pests and diseases before the dormant plants leaf out, fertilize shrubs and trees, divide and transplant summer and fall perennials, weed, assess the condition of the lawn and seed bald patches, mend broken gates, fences and trellises and prepare the flower beds.

That was a mouthful.

Garden hygiene

Because March is a month that sees intensive usage of pruning shears it is worth bringing up the issue of basic gardening hygiene. Make sure to clean and disinfect all cutting implements with alcohol to make sure that you don't bring pathogens into the fresh cut, which to a plant is what a wound is to a person.

Remove all old foliage from under the trees and shrubs and burn anything that looks diseased or pest infested. Some fungi like to overwinter in the soil and return to damage the plants year after year, powdery mildew for example, so if you noticed a problem, treat the soil around the plant with a fungicide before the leaves appear.

favorite

WEEK ELEVEN

March 15th - One bright morning in the back yard

Little miracles

The amount of time I spend contemplating the fresh seedlings in the starting tray would probably irritate an action oriented person. I would likely have some difficulty explaining to that person the wonderment of seeing the first set of leaves emerge, or the excitement of watching the tiny shoots develop from delicate strands barely hanging on to life to healthy plants ready to withstand whatever circumstances bring.

Starting plants from seed is especially rewarding when you know what the plants will end up looking like, when you see, for instance, a proud six foot delphinium in that wispy and uncertain bit of greenery that at this point could be just about anything. When they first come out of the ground, most of the plants look exactly the same: two opposite leaves with no indentations on a gangly stem that can snap under its own weight.

So, I wait for the second set of leaves to emerge, and those are nothing like the first, and I'm excited to finally be able to tell the tomatoes from the peppers and the calendulas from the marigolds without having to read the labels, which have faded by now from the humidity under the lid of the starting tray.

I scan carefully for the little tell tale grains of dirt that look like they have been thrust up, and gently move them out of the way to find disappointment when they are covering nothing, or joy when they have been lifted out up by the rounded head of a sprout pushing through.

Days pass and the barely visible threads turn into straggly plants under my very eyes. A more action oriented person would, right about now, lose patience with all this navel gazing; after all they're just plants, as far as life is concerned it doesn't get any lower than that, what is there to look at?

Meanwhile life's little miracles keep going, undeterred by having been relegated to the status of lesser life forms, churning up new growth and stretching their necks towards the window to get their fair share of the sunlight.

The favorites of spring

Every summer I plan to thin the violets and every summer I change my mind at the last minute, and this picture is the reason why. How can I pull these delicate flowers that cover the earth in spring in every shade of blue between aqua and indigo?

Sweet violets are to the flower bed what Pac-Man is to the dots in the maze: they consume all the space available to them and then fly out to greener pastures in search for more. Their rapacious spreading habits are fed by two biological advantages: they are irrepressible seeders and they also spread by runners. I guess I have to add reason number three: who can look at their innocent heart shaped leaves and their equally heart melting flowers and pull them?

Come summer, however, they act tougher than bar bouncers, no plant can intrude upon their territory. I've seen them win in battle against day lilies and hostas, and those are tough cookies.

Don't judge a flower by its suave blossoms. No matter how determined you are to get rid of violets they will come back until you give up and let them run the show. I spread a few seeds a few years back on a bare patch of dirt in the shade. Nothing came out, so I forgot all about it, but a couple of years later they started sprouting stealthily here and there and now I have them in every corner of my yard.

There is one month of the year, the month of April, when none of this matters because then the world is covered in violets and you can only be happy about that.

Sunshine

More crocuses, they seem to be everywhere this year. I wonder if they'll bloom again in the fall. The grape hyacinths on the other hand don't seem to be too eager. In other years they would be ready to bloom by now.

The apple tree is still asleep but I can already see the rosy and white at the top of the crabapple. We've had so many hard winters I forgot when exactly are the trees supposed to bloom.

In the garden

I spent some time in the garden this morning, soaking up the sunshine. The clematis has sprung two new shoots and the old canes are leafing out already. The bleeding hearts and the delphiniums are already out, the early spring really suits them.

I'm so grateful that we had a mild winter for a change! The amount of effort vegetation has to put out in order to recover from a late hard freeze is simply exhausting.

WEEK TWELVE

March 22nd - Leafing out

Guacamole

Way to go spring foliage! It is another one of those springs that pass in a blink of an eye, I'm afraid. The landscape changed from winter to summer in two days. The grass is lush green and the trees will be full very soon.

The cherries are in bloom, so beautiful and fragrant, but the ground underneath is already covered in a blanket of petals. The hardy perennials are already almost a foot tall.

Forsythia is in bloom, which means that I have to prune the roses, those that need pruning anyway. The shrub variety already has leaves and unfortunately most of the roses that do need pruning died off, kind of.

I'm looking forward to the new one, which is supposed to arrive soon, if only I could remember what it was.

The weather is not going to fool me again this year. Every mid-March looks like this: periwinkle skies, beautiful green grass, perennials galore, and then I plant the annuals and freeze comes. No, thanks!

I will be waiting until the end of April and hope that the sneaky and deceitful weather doesn't put off said frost till May, like it did the last time. Besides, giving the tiny sprouts another month to grow protected isn't bad at all.

I finally got to see bluebells sprout, due to the inspiration to try another breeder, and even got blessed with a couple of delphiniums, even though the seeds were a little old.

The tomatoes are well on their way, and so are the peppers, eggplants and way more cleomes that I know what to do with. All the blue asters germinated. It's going to be a beautiful summer!

Early spring border

The area I'm really looking forward to this year is the herb garden. I must have just the perfect soil for herbs, because they're thriving, every one I planted doubled in size.

The herb patch concept started as a wheel, but the space allocated has the wrong shape, so it follows the wild and unruly personality of my garden instead and has no definite contours. It sometimes spills into the lawn, but more often than not grass grows into it, to my great chagrin. I'm very fastidious about keeping it free of intruders, nobody wants crabgrass in the turkey stuffing.

All of its inhabitants came out of winter with renewed enthusiasm, especially considering the fact that most of them are still donning their dried up winter wear. Suffice it to say the spring cleaning is not done yet. Oh, the shame!

When you plant herbs, remember that many of them will grow way beyond the space allocated to them and you will get a lot more plant material that you're able to use. Don't crowd them and go for variety, not quantity.

I was lazy and planted only perennial herbs in the herb patch. I keep the annual ones potted simply for convenience.

Yarrow

Speaking of a must have, here's to my three yarrow plants! Yarrow will root anywhere and doesn't need coddling either, I moved one of the plants in the fall, kind of in a hurry, and didn't bother to water it afterward. It looks just as happy and spry as the other two.

Yarrow comes bearing two great gifts: it stops bleeding almost instantly on small wounds and it has cell regenerative properties, which makes it great for face creams, lotions and toners.

And valerian

People say that valerian root has a horrid smell. I find it is more of an odor one needs to get accustomed to and very hard to mistake for something else, which for a medicinal plant is a quality. The flowers on the other hand are lightly fragrant, white and delicate, the perfect accessory for a well tended garden.

Like most herbs, valerian is not fussy, but it needs to be watered regularly during the first year, until it gets its legs. After that it can take care of itself. Mine just made it through the first winter, so, yey!

WEEK THIRTEEN

March 29th - Violets

Sweethearts

Since they went above and beyond this spring, let's talk about sweet violets.

These beautiful early spring bloomers love moist, rich soil and are quite sensitive to slug attacks in summer, when the bigger plants' foliage gives those pests a place to hide.

Some gardeners suggest feeding them in spring and fall, but in my experience the last thing you want to do for those prolific seeders is to give them additional reasons to spread out.

If you like violets, don't feel bad about picking bouquets to cheer up your home, they are among the flowers that will stop blooming once they went to seed. It will also help keep the violet population in check.

Violets are on the list of edible flowers, and they can be consumed in salads, syrups, vinegars, but most of all, the Provencal delicacy - candied violets.

Violet oil is a wonderful addition to creams, lotions and massage oils, especially for women. A massage with sweet violet oil helps improve hormonal balance and supports the lymphatic system while relieving dry skin and soothing inflammation. An infusion of sweet violets in goat's milk is a very old secret for flawless skin.

The scent is wonderfully old fashioned, a great choice for aromatherapy and a bonus feature for any skin care products containing sweet violet oil. Did you know that because of its salicylic acid content violets can hold their own with the willow bark and meadowsweet in the production of aspirin?

The sweet violets' potential anti-cancer effects have been researched, but with no conclusive results yet.

Now it's spring

It's not spring until the grape hyacinths bloom, so I guess this makes it official. Of course, after a week of balmy temperatures another stretch of cold weather descended upon us, mocking my gardening enthusiasm. The plants don't care. Once they decide spring has sprung, they'll keep going, no matter how many times April freezes over.

The little plants in the pods are still indoors, I wouldn't dream of endangering them in this fickle weather. I started them reasonably early, but they are perennials, which tend to develop more slowly. They have another month to be gradually hardened and grow large enough to plant.

The weekend was unsettled by strong winds that howled through the tormented trees with unusual strength. The quasi-chaos left behind a few fallen branches in my neatly cleaned up garden, as if nature has an inherent aversion to outdoor tidiness.

Because the temperature doesn't cooperate, I holed up indoors and now I'm watching the other residents of my yard, the rabbits, check out the flower beds for some fresh greenery to amuse their palates. Fortunately the garden perennials are established enough to keep growing despite the occasional all you can eat buffet.

So, it's cold again. How tedious!

Judging by the weather predictions for the week, by the time the weather goes back to warm and lovely I'll have a whole new crop of weeds to clean up. And so, the gardening year has started.

The garden

It looks like the ground covers are going to do splendidly this year; the bugle weed looks like it's going to start blooming sooner than usual, winter scare or no. As soon as the garden cleaning was finished (yes, I finally got to it, right before the cold front came back) the rabbits and cardinal birds came out of hiding to check it out.

Everything came out of this winter in good shape, one that I haven't seen in the last few years: the magnolia tree kept all of its foliage, the roses have no winter damage, and I can already see that the calendula reseeded itself. The garden looks good, actually!

In April

Speaking of ground covers, the vinca is in full bloom. A few changes to the garden configuration made it so that it gets a lot more sunshine, which explains the flowers. I'm looking forward to the departure of this cold front so that I can finally start planting.

Meanwhile the hardy perennials are doing the honors to keep the garden looking lush and green. As expected, there was a lot of growth under the winter debris, and since I cleaned it up and the plants got the full benefit of sunshine they are filling up very fast. There are flower buds on the bleeding hearts and the coral bells already.

WEEK FOURTEEN

April 4th - Again, with the cold!

Seedlings

This year spared us the usual unpleasantness: no hard freezes, no long stretches of unholy temperatures, no weird weather swings. As a result the spring planting is unfolding right on schedule to my great delight.

Usually after a seedling grown in a seed pod is transplanted into the garden, one of two things happen, and in my gardening practice I had my fair share of both: it either doubles its growth speed when exposed to the sunshine and the rich garden soil or collapses dramatically under your very eyes, making you feel like a horrible person. Who would do something like this to a little plant, you quietly ask yourself, as your heart sinks into a puddle of misery and self loathing.

The young plants grow tentatively through the summer and fall, and if they like their new home, sprout out of the ground the following spring with confidence and grit, determined to stay. They don't look like much for the first couple of years, but that's where the annual flats come in, to fill the gaps around the feature plants until they really take off.

When a plant thrives, it does so in a way that is very rewarding. Of course there are some that will do well by default, annuals mostly, like zinnias and marigolds, and I always start a few, for morale, but the goal of every spring seed starting is to bring a rare and special perennial into the flower border, a goal that, quite frankly, fails a lot more than it succeeds, but when it does succeed it's worth the wait and the hassle!

Among the plants that barely made it from seed to the garden and took some time to get established I can count giant sky blue delphiniums, Maltese cross, wild bleeding hearts, Siberian wallflowers, and a clump of larkspur sporting the deepest shade of purple.

This year the luck of the draw favored goat's rue, two varieties of blue asters, of which one is fragrant, and bluebells, finally, I've been trying to start them for years! Quite a good outcome for one spring, usually if I get even one new perennial established I call the season a success.

What dirt taught me

The vegetation came back to life abruptly, as it does almost every year, which signals we're getting close to planting time. I have my vegetable sprouts neatly stashed in their little pods next to the garden door, ready to be planted.

This year the micro farming project includes tomatoes, peppers, both sweet and hot, eggplants, pole beans, squashes, cucumbers, kitchen herbs and, for some reason, carrots, apparently I didn't learn my lesson the first two times. More or less the same spread as the previous years.

I enthusiastically set up the spreadsheet for this year's yield, even though there won't be anything to write down in it until the beginning of June. I'm placing bets on which of the veggies will yield first. Last year I had a glut of cucumbers and beans and significantly less tomatoes, I think it might have been the abundant rain.

Now that I gathered four years worth of data (may the statisticians forgive me the meager data set, but that's all I have so far) I put them all together and, to my dismay, I noticed a pattern emerge: the overall production, measured by weight, stayed more or less constant over the years, (there was a lower yield during the first year, on account of the learning curve), but what that means, and the produce specific chart showed that, is that I can only grow more of a specific vegetable at the detriment of the others.

This is an interesting find, considering that I used the same number of plants of each type every year, in more or less the same configuration, with equal amounts of food and water and the same level of sunlight, and they all lived and looked very healthy the entire summer. I guess that means I found the top range of what my 20 square feet of clay can yield, which is around seventeen pounds of produce. The year with the highest yield also happens to be the one with the most diverse range of veggies, whereas the lowest yield was from the following year, which produced almost a mono-culture, tomatoes to be specific.

The quantity was roughly constant by weight, not by volume. If this doesn't strike you as odd, let me point out that one pound of eggplant is one largish fruit, whereas one pound of beans is two months worth of constant yield, about a bushel full of pods. I don't know what to make of it yet; I was slightly disappointed to find out that soil has its limits, I guess it's time to find more room somehow.

In the meantime, the twenty feet of dirt of my micro-farming experiment are awaiting planting, same number of plants, same conditions, same configuration. I'll keep you posted on how things went at the end of fall.

Cold April showers

We didn't have a lot of those, just enough to kick start the garden into fresh growth. The weeds took to the lawn like ducks to water, I don't think I've seen them so out of control before. I had to give in and apply herbicide, to the agitation of the resident bees that looked indignant.

I hope no harm will come to them. Turns out herbicide really works, the lawn reverted to a more or less manageable state. So much for my organic gardening aspirations!

May flowers

There are already plenty of buds on the roses, peonies, lilacs and clematis, ready to take over from the daffodils as soon as May rolls around.

The sage will be in bloom too, very soon by the looks of it. I never thought of sage as a blooming plant. It grew gigantic over a couple of years, it takes up half of the herb border already, and it stayed green all winter long. Waiting for summer.

WEEK FIFTEEN

April 11th - Pampered Shade

Jack in the pulpit

I know that Jack in the Pulpit is not the only living thing that changes genders in order to adapt to its circumstances, but I still think it is a cool enough fact to mention. The plant starts out male and if in time it finds its location accommodating and its nutrient supply adequate, it becomes female and produces fruit, beautiful red berries that pepper the forest floor throughout the summer. If over its lifetime it stumbles upon a lean year it will turn male again until conditions improve.

I found the plant's ability to switch genders at will quite mind boggling, so I looked for pictures to learn how to tell the male and female flowers apart. The differences aren't really that obvious. It is easier to note that the female flowers sprout on plants with two sets of leaves than to draw the conclusion from looking at the exotic looking blossoms themselves.

My curiosity about this plant's unusual characteristic almost dulled my great excitement of seeing it in bloom in my back yard. For all those who say Jack in the Pulpit is easy to grow, I salute you and it's not nice to brag. As a side note, I don't think I ever read a how-to gardening guide that classified any plant as difficult to grow, so I'll offer up my gardening wisdom, here's one!

Like all woodland dwellers, it needs growing conditions that are near impossible to replicate in your average suburban garden: light and airy hummus soil that is both acidic and nutrient dense, loose but not quick draining because Jack in the Pulpit likes its feet wet. The location needs to receive a very precise mix of shade and sunlight to allow for flowers to develop but not scorch its foliage. The plants are slow growing but need lots of breathing room and if you're lucky enough to have them stick around, whatever you do, don't touch their roots!

This fortunate confluence of circumstances certainly didn't happen in my back yard, so I can't take credit for nature's miracle because I'm not sure how it happened.

Why did I go through the trouble of cultivating a plant I didn't think had a prayer to thrive? If I didn't try, we wouldn't be looking at this picture, right? After all these years of gardening I stopped trying to find reasons for my successes and failures, I just rejoice in the former, count my blessings and move on!

Solomon's seal

Here's another woodland native, but one that is a little easier to adapt. The gardening wisdom says that once it finds conditions it likes, Solomon's Seal is quick to spread, so I assume that is not the case with mine, which still sports the three plants I started with.

It doesn't look unhappy, it doesn't spread, it doesn't require care, it's frozen in time. Maybe that is because I planted it in a full shade border where nothing else would thrive.

Solomon's Seal is a must have for a shade garden, it is the plant that has everything, beautiful foliage, interesting flowers, decorative berries. Some varieties are even fragrant.

If you are wondering how did the plant get its unusual name, plant lore says that King Solomon himself pressed his seal into the stem of the plant as recognition for its protective qualities, and if you break the stem close to the rhizome you can really distinguish a six pointed star inside it.

Solomon's seal is a medicinal plant, quite effective in alleviating muscle pain, bruising and even said to help mend broken bones. Just like many other valuable medicinal herbs it is quite toxic unless dosed correctly, not a treatment regimen to attempt without the advice and supervision of an experienced herbalist.

This beautiful spring bloomer is very low maintenance once established, but needs additional watering during the first summer, until it develops a strong root system.

Sweet woodruff

I walked through the garden this morning and was welcomed by the subtle vanilla scent of sweet woodruff. This reminds me, I have to gather some to dry for linen closet sachets.

Not only does sweet woodruff have a pleasant scent in and of itself, but it is a good fixative for potpourri, where it helps stabilize the fragrance of other herbs and spices as well. Its aroma becomes more potent after it has been dried. Some people say it is a good replacement for vanilla in recipes. I tried to taste it once and my mouth went numb, I think I'll refrain. It did taste like vanilla, though, and I'm still here to tell the story.

Foam flowers

If I had to attach a single attribute to this plant it would be slow growing. I hope they live forever, at this rate of development they'd have to. Once they get established you can almost forget that you planted them, tucked as they are under the more enthusiastic growth of hostas and hellebores, summer after summer. Even the ground covers manage to push past them every now and then.

What do I think about this plant? I have absolutely no opinion, how could I, I'm still waiting to see what it looks like all grown up. I think that's going to be a while.

WEEK SIXTEEN

April 18th - Purple spring

Wild geraniums

After a streak of sunny days, mother nature decided to bring the gloom, and I never pass the opportunity gloom provides to indulge in relaxation and pampering, isn't this what rainy days were created for?

The flower buds are on the brink of opening, but it looks like they decided to wait for the sunshine before doing that.

Back to the pampering, what better plant to chose to represent all things indulgent for skin care than the geranium? Well, maybe not this specific variety.

Rose geranium essential oil has been a staple ingredient for perfumery and skin care for a very long time. Just like its regular counterpart, the rose oil, it is very useful for mature skin, because it moisturizes it and helps restore its elasticity. There are many benefits associated with the use of geranium oil, from reducing wrinkles to improving complexion color and texture, but its therapeutic properties go further than skin deep, quite literally, to revitalize muscle tone, improve hormonal balance and stimulate cell growth.

Geranium oil also provides relief for irritable or breakout prone skin. It acts as a gentle cleanser and mild antiseptic and its soothing fragrance calms both the body and the mind. Rose and rose geranium are frequently used together in skin care products to take advantage of their synergistic benefits.

The essential oil is, of course, obtained through steam distillation, which has the highest concentration of active ingredients and requires specialized equipment to extract. If you would still like to make your own but don't want to go to all that trouble, the infused oil is always an option, just pack the bruised leaves tightly in a jar, cover them with a good quality oil and leave them in a sunny window for a month, stirring and replacing the green matter every few days to get a higher concentration of active ingredients. Even so, the infused oil can't match the potency of the one obtained through distillation, but it is perfect for a massage or bath oil.

Very sage

I had to give the sage a serious hair cut so that the struggling rose could emerge from under it. When plants thrive, they thrive. I've had this clump of sage for two years, and it expanded through all the seasons, including winter, only it knows why!

I really don't know what to do with sage, really, but that is a question for later in the season, when I'll start harvesting it, for now I'm just looking forward to its bloom, which is about to start any moment now.

The scent sage exudes as it dries is surprisingly pleasant, considering the pungent smell of its fresh leaves.

I felt bad about chopping up almost half of the clump right when it was about to bloom, so I cleaned up all the stems that had buds and made a little "flower" arrangement. Sadly, sage is not one of the plants that make long lasting cut flowers, note to self. The one in the garden is still doing splendidly, as you can see.

If you happen to be a brunette, an infusion of sage and rosemary will do your tresses a world of good. Use it as a rinse to darken the gray, restore bounce and shine to your hair and make it grow thicker and healthier from the follicle down to the tip.

Hey, I just found a use for sage, it's just the smell is not exactly user friendly.

Lilac

Miss Kim, everybody! A reliable bloomer, its shrub grew very large over the years. The French lilac on the other hand shows no signs of flower buds, ugh, another year! Who knows, maybe it will bloom eventually.

Right now every flowering plant is biding its time waiting for the sunshine, so I checked out the weather predictions and it seems we'll have some sunshine over the weekend, followed by another week of rain. April showers...Not complaining. It looks like May and June will be warm and dry.

Clematis

A good choice for part shade, clematis doesn't mind poor soil and is reasonably drought tolerant. An old superstition holds that clematis won't grow in the garden of wicked or mean spirited people. Phew! That was a close one!

The skeptics will say that its fate is in fact determined by proper feeding, watering and choosing the right location, and to that I say very funny! Sixteen years of gardening and counting and I'm yet to find a reason why a plant thrives while another doesn't. It's nothing but nature's whims, luck and, apparently, not being a wicked person.

WEEK SEVENTEEN

April 25th - Gardening in the Rain

April Showers

It's been a whole week of rain, the grass is greener than it's ever been, the plants are bigger than they've ever been, still no flowers. Well, almost, the clematis bloomed, covering the whole trellis in giant purple flowers.

What is there to do in the garden at this time of the year? Well, if the big water from the sky permitted, I'd clean up the flower beds, the weeds are completely out of control again, that's one of the challenges of gardening: an abundant rain grows all sprouts. Anyway, as soon as the rain stops, they're gone!

The good news is that everything is thriving, the Great Southern magnolia is about to bloom for the first time in over five years, the roses are resplendent, the lilac is fragrant, the little plants I started from seed are all alive and well, for the most part, despite the lack of sunshine. I feel like I accidentally shifted to the land of the mists where vegetation doesn't even need to grow roots because it draws all the moisture it needs from the air itself.

There are cucumbers and squashes sprouting in the vegetable garden, and some tentative beans trying to free themselves from under a thicket of sweet violets. I love this time of year, the explosive growth of the garden finally released from winter's grasp.

People don't usually pay attention to the incredible speed of vegetal growth, just think about the fact that some annual plants go from seed to six foot woody clumps in just one season, during which they also bear flowers and fruit, eager to ensure their offspring before they die.

Of course the long lived perennials require a lot more patience, but they're coming along, they're coming along. The blue asters decided from the very beginning that they are going to love it here and thusly, they all flourished. Why, you ask? One could offer a standard gardening practice answer that they love sweet, heavy soils and just enough sunshine, or that they are unfussy plants that do well anywhere. No. If I really had to pick a reason, I would venture the guess that the weather conditions favor them this year, but I think the better explanation is that they just felt like it.

I was also blessed with a miraculous planting of blue bells, I have unsuccessfully tried to start these perennials for years!

I guess for everything there is a season, we're just never clear on what year.

Deep Purple

The giant purple allium bloomed ahead of its smaller relatives, the lavender alliums and the chives. Summer bulbs are almost always performing well in the garden, with virtually no care at all.

I've always found the fact that the big flower balls belong with the garlics and the onions disquieting, but if roses, raspberries and apple trees belong to the same family, I'm not going to fuss over alliums. Suffice it to say that their weedy relative, the wild garlic, is the bane of my existence every spring, so I get a little agitated any time I see anything even vaguely resembling it come out of the ground.

Every year I promise to get more giant alliums, but for some reason I always forget about it, so tis year will be the year when I remember to plant more summer bulbs. The Casablanca lilies have perished during one of the last gruesome winters and I miss them dearly, so there will be among the new bulbs I'm going to add to the garden this summer, which brings a bit of urgency to the task, I'm way behind the schedule on that one. I'd get them full grown in pots but for some reason growers don't offer them this way, probably because their growth habits don't blend well with container planting. The one I had, and dearly miss, used to grow over six feet tall, dangling clumps of bell shaped corollas above my head.

Back to the giant alliums, I think I'll get the blue ones, to go with the asters and the blue bells.

Perennial Bloom

A perennial salvia in a very dark purple. It looks very happy with its accommodations and benefited from having the flower bed all to itself for most of the early spring, so it decided to bloom early.

The flower garden is relatively large, but the best growing conditions seem to occur in that farthest south-eastern corner where it is lanted, a place that got a little crowded over the years, so the dark beauty has to compete with giant delphiniums and shrub roses, and those tend to get pretty big.

Little Flowers

Don't underestimate the impact dead nettles have in your garden, they bloom for a very long time, in part to full shade, and their foliage is a feature in and of itself.

Their flowers are usually purple, and that is no surprise, since most of the wild flowers come in purple, yellow or white. There is only one yellow dead nettle cultivar that I know of, it's called Archangel, and you'll probably see it featured in one of the next weeks' articles soon.

WEEK EIGHTEEN

May 2nd - Iris

Flowers of the Rainbow

Because they are so old, irises have become quite heavy with symbolism and legend, so much so that I almost got drowned in the downpour of information that carried me from the gods and goddesses of Antiquity to the budding medicine of the Middle Ages, to the royal house of France, and then back to perfumers and ancient chemists, bouncing about between Christianity and magic. Several hours later I abandoned the search that almost gave me a headache.

I emerged from the vast sea of the Internet confused and bewildered, dragging little bits and pieces of information behind me, and since I wouldn't want good effort to go to waste, I'll share them in as compact a form as I can.

First, irises are as old as the pyramids and strangely enough, they did grow in Egypt; the Greeks venerated them as the flower of Iris, the goddess of the rainbow. Because the latter was in charge of carrying the souls of departed women to the Elysian Fields, Greek men used to plant them on the graves of female loved ones, a tradition that lasted through centuries to this day and explains the abundance of irises in cemeteries. Of course, the fact that they come in every color of the rainbow, look fetching even when not in bloom and require absolutely no care didn't hurt.

In the Middle Ages the plants were used medicinally, they were believed to treat dropsy, asthma and venereal disease, but the real popularity of the flower came from its qualities for perfumery: orris root extract is a substitute for violet perfume. Its scent is very pleasant all by itself, but it also enhances other fragrances mixed with it, which is why it is valuable as a fixative for perfumes, powders and potpourris.

Some say that the juice of iris flowers soothes many skin afflictions from acne to dandruff, but I don't remember seeing irises in a medicinal plant compendium, so I'll take that under advisement. As far as superstition is concerned, chewing on iris root will make you stutter.

Apparently the fleur-de-lys was an iris, not a lily, and I can believe that because lily flowers don't have a second set of petals growing upwards, and as much as it was connected to pagan tradition via the ancient goddess of the rainbow, it still became the symbol of conversion to Christianity when the house of France adopted it to embellish its coat of arms.

Iris was a messenger of the gods, who traveled by wind and by rainbow to pass along their words to mortals, creatures of the sea, and even the underworld, and this is why in the language of flowers irises symbolize communication and wisdom. They also stand for faith and hope, especially the blue ones.

I'm sure I missed a bunch of stuff. Hours, I tell you!

Oh, yeah. Irises are the birth flowers of February.

Flowering Onions

If the spirit moves you towards a romanticized view of these lovely spring bulbs let me be the one to shatter your fairy tale: they are called flowering onions. You are growing onions. In the flower border. Onions.

I don't say that to be obnoxious, I'm sure onions are wonderful plants in their own intensely aromatic way, but just because their more refined relatives spring up giant flower balls, that doesn't mean their needs and growth habits are much different. I'm grateful that the giant allium doesn't smell, unlike the wild garlic and the chives. Silver lining - rodents don't like the taste of onion, ornamental or no, so they will leave them alone.

By the way, true onions and leeks have beautiful flowers too if you allow them to bloom, maybe not so large, but surprisingly similar to those of the giant alliums.

In keeping with the ancient deity theme, onions, garlics and leeks also date back to the time of the pyramids, and in Egypt leeks were so revered that people used to swear by them, like they would by the gods.

If the family history didn't dissuade you from proudly displaying them in your garden, plant allium bulbs mid-fall, with the daffodils and the tulips, in a well drained location with full sunshine. And that's pretty much it. The advice is to deadhead them before they go to seed, to prevent self-sowing. I wish mine ever did, besides the seed head is almost as pretty as the flower itself in its surreal alien vegetation beauty.

If you fertilize your flower beds they certainly won't need additional food, and even though they will be receiving an adequate amount of water by virtue of their proximity to more sensitive plants, they tend to be quite drought resistant in my experience.

Chives?

When I started the herb patch so close to the flower bed I figured I'd pick perennial herbs that have pretty flowers, at least for a portion of the summer, and I selected these chives specifically because their flowers were the fairest of them all.

Of course nature in its infinite randomness decided that I'd see flowers on sage and mint before the chives were graced with the gift of bloom. They didn't even come out of the ground the first year, which is why I planted over them and had to move the new tenants after the fact, when the original inhabitants finally decided to sprout. This is year three. The flowers are pretty, actually. I even got used to cooking with chives.

Garden Royalty

This is why I grow perennials from seed. I started those four years ago; from an entire tray of seed pods only a few tentative sprouts survived, and of those, after planting, just the one. It didn't bloom the first year, obviously.

The second year it sprung out from the ground with a vengeance before the roses even had a chance to leaf out, and ever since it's been gracing the front of the flower border with six foot tall flower columns. I wouldn't dare disturb it! That same year it self-sowed, but only one of the seeds germinated. I moved it to the middle of the flower bed, in a place with full sun and all the trimmings and it thrived. I hope it too blooms this year.

WEEK NINETEEN

May 9th - Buds

Sarah Bernhardt

The peonies would have bloomed by now, the buds have been ready to burst for more than a week, but it is so unseasonably cold, weird May weather! Temperatures in the fifties, I almost have to question the wisdom of moving the basil outside, it looks miserable.

Peonies are the object lesson for why gardeners benefit from being patient. You don't get this cascade of blooms from a plant that doesn't ask anything of you until you put a few years into it. Three, to be specific.

There is an old saying about peonies: "First year sleep, second year creep, third year leap," and it sure is true, and not only for these flowers, but for many other cottage garden favorites. No self respecting perennial will bloom the first year, it is just not done. Many of them won't even bother to come out of the ground before their second year, and if you don't have the patience to wait until then, well, your loss.

The three year rule applies to dividing peonies too, once you dig them up - three years to bloom, a wonderful incentive not to disturb their roots. I've been thinking about moving a delightful Raspberry Sorbet that was overtaken by the shrub roses for three years now, which makes the point that if I moved it, it would be thriving and in bloom somewhere else already. Not to confuse procrastination with patience.

The buds in the picture belong to Sarah Bernhardt, whose giant, fragrant, almost white blossoms are second only to Festiva Maxima. At least I think it's Sarah Bernhardt, the label said Sarah Bernhardt, so what if it's not pink? At all.

Peonies are lovely, fragrant and long lasting cut flowers, there is only one problem, ants love them. If you .want to bring some of their blooms indoors, cut them before they open and wash the buds thoroughly before you set them in a vase.

Peony foliage is susceptible to powdery mildew, a problem that makes itself manifest at the end of August and can make the plants' otherwise attractive clumps look rather dire. The good news is that during their flush of bloom they will look splendid and perfect in every way, the bad news is that powdery mildew is a stubborn and miserable pest that overwinters in the ground from one year to the next and is not easy to get rid of.

Soft Tones

I'm trying to concentrate on writing this article and I can't, because a crazy bird has been knocking on my window for over six hours now. I don't understand why it's doing it, I can hear it shuffle the branches of the magnolia tree and then it emerges from them to throw itself at the window, just when I least expect it.

I looked up an explanation for this and found out that it is probably a nesting bird who attacks its own reflection because it doesn't want the competition infringing upon its territory. I guess if you're a bird, that makes perfect sense.

So it is building a nest, how delightful!

The magnolia tree is covered in buds,what a thrill, I haven't seen flowers on this lovely tree in years! Nature is painting in soft tones, a little unsure about the cold, a little slighted by the delay, its contours softened in the humid air and looking like watercolor.

After the summer rains of last week the return of spring feels almost unnatural, and I resent it when it sends chills down my spine and makes me reach for a sweater.

Last year at this time the garden was flush with roses, and I have the pictures to prove it too. It looks like weather will go back to normal, with temperatures in the seventies and eighties, by the middle of next week. Until then, more rain and cold.

Now I have another excuse to put off weeding.

First Rose

I don't know why I bother to guess every year, I should already know by now that "Hansa" is going to bloom first. After a series of arctic winters most of my hybrid tea roses died, or so I thought. With sadness I dug up the dead plants and bought replacements, only to notice the old ones being reborn from their own ashes (a.k.a. roots), in the guise of delicate one year shoots shivering in the breeze.

I'm afraid that I will end up with a couple more Dr. Hueys to keep the older one company (it too reborn with all its nobility stripped many winters ago), but the other two were own root roses, so here's hoping.

Leda the Painted Damask

There are two things wrong with this picture. First, this rose is not actually red, but pale blush, almost white, and second, if you thought all Damasks are fragrant, well, not this one.

I've never seen a more enthusiastic bloomer, not of the rose variety, anyway. Too bad that it is a once bloomer, but it's definitely worth a place in your garden. It is sprawling and care free, don't expect it to behave and it will reward you with the most extraordinary flowers. It tends to be sensitive to cold, even though it is hardy to zone 4, and it loses quite a few canes during harsh winters, but the shrub grows large enough for this not to be a problem.

WEEK TWENTY

May 16th - Roses in Bloom

Leda the Painted Damask - Part Two

First of all, this is why the Leda rose is not red. It magically dilutes its ruby stain and pushes it further and further out towards the edges until it is no more. These roses spend most of their bloom time simply white.

Second, I was wrong, it is a little fragrant, if you really really want it to be.

I'm not sure if this rose was supposed to be trained on a trellis or a pole or something, it's plopped all over the flower bed, kind of shapeless and crushing everything under its hefty weight. I managed to pull it out of the delphiniums and found a full grown perennial I had forgotten about agonizing underneath.

How can you get mad at something that blooms like this, you ask? You're right, I shouldn't. I am spoiled, it is one of those roses you can't mess up, it doesn't need pruning, feeding, or winter protection, so, as far as it is concerned, I am superfluous. I guess this is why it insists on growing every each way it pleases, with absolutely no regard for landscape design.

The only thing that saddens me is that it is a once blooming rose, and May's the month!

If you are tempted to discipline its revolting growth patterns, wait until after it blooms and remember, its kin bears flowers on old wood, which means at least two year old canes. Also, the pruning is just so the gardener maintains his or her sanity, the rose certainly doesn't need it!

After almost two weeks of waiting all the flower buds opened at once, on all the roses, peonies, delphiniums and sages, the garden is a sight for sore eyes, I don't even want to go back inside anymore!

Gruss an Aachen

First year in the garden, and they arrived in bloom. I hope I can provide to allow them to maintain the lifestyle to which they have become accustomed. For now the shrubs are relatively small, or maybe they seem small to me because I'm used to the Land Before Time landscape (I tend to overdo the fertilizing a little, organic only, of course). I know it is just a matter of time until they grow over my head, every other rose bush did.

This perpetual blooming rose is believed to have started the Floribunda class, and it was bred in 1909, so by all means propagate it if you so wish. It is the daughter of the Hybrid Perpetual Frau Karl Druschki and its pollen parent, the Hybrid Tea, Franz Deegan. It looks nothing like its mother, a pure white semi-double with an open yellow center and I couldn't find any pictures of the dad to ascertain similarities.

From what I could gather, it isn't clear whether it's classification is Hybrid Perpetual or Floribunda, but you don't have to worry about how to properly prune it because it doesn't need it and won't grow bigger than three by three feet. I'll believe that when I see it. This feature, together with the perpetual bloom, makes Gruss an Aachen a perfect landscaping rose for hedges, it even tolerates a bit of shade.

The flowers are anywhere between butter yellow and light salmon pink, which reminds me of my dearly departed "Peace" rose and makes me a little sad, but such is life.

I can hardly wait to see how it behaves over the summer, especially when the temperature rises significantly.

The name of this rose is an homage to Medieval History, so when you see it in bloom, remember that the capital of the Carolingian Empire salutes you. In German.

Free Flowering Shrubs

If you are fond of the Sweet Briar rose but would like it to bloom all summer long, Ballerina is an acceptable substitute. It is lightly fragrant, its flowers look very much like it, and as far as I can tell it is healthy as a horse.

Ballerina has a compact growing habit and makes for a good neighbor in the garden, unlike other roses (I'm mad at Leda for sprawling all over the flower bed like a beached whale!). I think its leaves are fragrant too. Some people say it needs protection during the winter. I don't do that here in zone 5 and I didn't notice it being any worse for the wear.

Apple Scented Roses

A little known category of roses, those of fragrant foliage. Among them you can count the Sweet Briar Rose, the beautiful Blue Girl Hybrid Tea, the Apothecary Rose, Reine des Violettes and my apple scented miniature China, Gourmet Popcorn.

During sultry summer afternoons the entire garden smells like apple and citrus, whether it is in bloom or not. It is particularly susceptible to black spot, and I had years when the little bushes lost all of their leaves, but its roots are very strong and it always comes back healthy and strong the following year. Doesn't mind a little shade and blooms freely all summer long.

WEEK TWENTY-ONE

May 23rd - Beautiful Garden

Fine Art

It turns out flower gardening meets the criteria in the definition of art: it is a human activity dedicated to the creation of a physical item principally meant to be appreciated for its beauty and emotional impact.

How much of it is the gardener's input and how much of it is nature's mercy is debatable. I'm a humble gardener, and by that I mean I don't impose my will to maintain an absolute grip on the initial landscape design. The garden decides what to keep and what to toss, sometimes with bizarre effects. This year it seems it decided to spoil me, so here it is in its crowning glory at the beginning of June, simply covered in flowers, and the full blooming season hasn't even started yet.

Gardens are rewarders of patience, flourishing on the work of seasons past, the pigment on their canvas is many layers thick, many years in the making: delphiniums, four years ago, roses, three years ago, garden sage, last summer. None of them looked good during their first year, most didn't even look like they were going to make it at all. Some didn't.

And yet, here we all are, at the beginning of June, looking at an earthly depiction of vacation in paradise, painted in rosy-violet shades to boot.

Just to take me down a peg on the ladder of sinful pride, a rabbit decimated all the foliage on one of the new roses, every single leaf of it.

I can't stop looking at the flower beds, all glowing in the sunshine, heavy with roses, as I try to retrace my steps, to remember when I planted what, and if they turned out as I expected, only to realize that they didn't.

So, if your semi-finished painting looks nothing like what you originally envisioned, is the end result still art? I'm going to say it is.

Black Cohosh

Black Cohosh has everything a shade gardener can dream of. It grows six to eight feet tall and produces these almost surreal wand like rosy white fuzzy flowers that smell like honey and bloom abundantly against the background of its strikingly dark foliage in full shade from mid-summer to the end of fall.

If this is the miracle flower of them all, how come I didn't plant it sooner? I tried and failed twice, I'm thinking third time's a charm. It didn't grow from seed and didn't survive the winter as a small plant.

Black Cohosh is a slow growing plant, again, did I mention patience? No patience, no garden, I learned that the hard way. I'm not expecting it to bloom this summer either, it seems it follows the peonies' three year rule.

Interestingly enough, this beauty is better known for its medicinal uses, mostly related to women's health, than for its impact in the shade garden, where its presence is spectacular. It can make a stunning specimen planting all by itself or provide a beautiful dark lace background for a shaded foundation wall planting.

As its other name, bugbane, implies its scent keeps insects at bay, an added bonus if you have trouble with the mosquitoes that love to breed in lush foliage.

It is a woodland native, and as such, relatively high maintenance, because it does appreciate dapple shade and rich acidic soils that stay consistently moist. If these conditions don't occur, its growth will be stunted and it may not bloom at all. Some varieties bear flowers whose scent is unpleasant, so I keep my fingers crossed that the honey fragrance of my lovely won't peel paint off the walls.

Its foliage is usually dark green, but I decided to luxuriate in this chocolate leaved variety, I simply couldn't leave it behind when I left the plant nursery, it's as simple as that. We're all weak humans after all, and given to temptation.

Flowering Herbs

The sage is still going strong. The plants never cease to surprise me, I didn't expect the focal point of the May garden to be the blooming cooking sage.

There is lavender nearby which is in bloom too, but its delicate flowers are no competition for the sage. It turns out that medicinal herbs have beautiful flowers too, who knew! I saw some buds on the calendulas, they are quite slow this year, considering how warm the weather has been.

I can't Remember What This Is!

Oh, please let this be a foxtail lily, please! It's a foxtail lily! Talk about stunning specimen planting. I can't get over how long perennials take to mature! I weeded around this non-descript clump of onion-like leaves for years!

I always thought it was one of the daffodils or hyacinths that for some reason refused to bloom. The clump is quite big, so I felt bad about pulling it, fortunately. On an unrelated note, the inflorescences developed significantly since I took this picture. It's going to be a beautiful summer.

WEEK TWENTY-TWO

May 30th - Vegetable Border

Parsley, Dill, Eggplant and Squash

Proudly presenting part of this year's vegetable garden, with a gradual pattern of growth in relation to sun exposure, for comical effect.

Many of this year's vegetables that I started from seed didn't do well, if they made it at all, so I cheated and replaced them with plants from the nursery (thank you professional growers) which are big, healthy and strong, as you can see.

The cucumbers and squash, since they have a later planting time, were not affected by whatever it was that the early seedlings didn't like about the weather, and because now it's warm and it rained enough they are thriving.

This year I made a very shy attempt at crop rotation, although I'm not sure replacing eggplants with peppers is going to do a lot in terms of soil chemistry. I know what the seasoned gardener will say, that the spacing between the eggplants and the squashes is hardly conducing to the bountifulness of either, but remember that this vegetable garden is an experiment in maximizing output. The expectation is that they'll develop in layers with different elevations, or something. That, and a lot of organic fertilizer.

The squashes eventually end up crowding every other plant anyway, might as well do it on purpose, at least they won't cover the walkway again this year.

Not much to see yet.

From what I can tell so far, the peppers will set fruit well before the tomatoes even start blooming, both the sweet and the hot ones.

A thick cloud cover makes midday look like dusk. It is not unpleasant, though, the heavy, warm scent of the summer air, saturated with humidity, and as I was writing those words the rain started again. Even daylight itself looks green and wet.

Peppers in Bloom

Did I mention that the peppers are calling first dibs on flowers and fruit? I wish I could brag, but it's not my merit, considering that I got them as they are from the plant nursery.

They adapted well to their new home, which, this year, is a large container. The original crop of peppers, both sweet and hot, is still there somewhere in the landscape, their tiny plants overwhelmed by their stronger kin's mighty foliage, but they're still growing, I think, and I might get to see them mature yet, as the summer unfolds.

When I planted the "replacements" I switched the locations of the sweet and hot peppers, which means that they will all become hot peppers as soon as the original plants bloom and start pollinating the crop.

It's only five thirty but it is so dark outside, the clouds shook off a little water, leaving the rest of it densely packed in their increasingly heavy layers that grow closer and closer to the ground.

It feels like it's been raining for weeks and I know that's not true, only yesterday the sun was so bright I had to squint, but not now. Heavy downpours start and stop randomly and for no other reason than to relieve the very heavy clouds of some of their weight.

Back to the peppers, as far as companion plants are concerned, they make good neighbors to the other plants in the nightshade family, so they don't mind being planted together with tomatoes and eggplants. Basil and parsley's companionship will benefit any of the aforementioned, as it improves the flavor of their fruit and keeps away aphids and nematodes.

Peppers don't get along with beans, so don't plant them together, and marigolds are always welcome in the veggie patch. Marigolds are to kitchen gardens as chamomile is to herbal remedies: they soothe every affliction and look lovely in the process.

Doubling Up

The second I tied the tomatoes to their supports they started developing aggressively and they grew about foot and a half in a couple of days. There are no flowers on them yet, but I'm sure they'll follow in a week or so.

This year's display consists of SuperSweet 100 and Brandywine, an heirloom variety that earned much favor because its fruit is just right: not too large, not too meaty, and with a very pleasant and strong tomato flavor. As I was perusing the vegetable garden I thought I saw a volunteer sprout near last year's tomato patch. These plants can germinate in cement, I kid you not!

Growing Cucumbers

Cucumbers are not difficult plants, but one thing they really need to thrive is water. Even if you water them religiously, during dry summers they will grow stunted and bitter, if they decide to bear any fruit at all.

During rainy summers you won't know what to do with the vast quantities of produce they keep throwing at you. Cucumbers like full sun, sort of. They will be very unhappy if their feet are not in the shade and will wilt before you even stopped watering when they think they are too hot. A little bit of shade will do wonders for them, afternoon shade if possible.

WEEK TWENTY-THREE

June 6th - Herbs in Bloom

Growing Medicinals

Working with herbs is an art and small details in the practice of harvesting and preserving them makes the difference between success and failure.

Harvesting:

Always harvest herbs in the morning, right after the dew has dried up but before the heat makes the plants release their volatile oils. Harvest fresh young leaves free of blemishes from areas away from roads and traffic. If you grow herbs for their flowers, always pick the flowers before they fully open. Never harvest plants on rainy days.

Storage:

Set up the plants to dry immediately, unless you want to make infused oil from the fresh plants, in which case you should allow them to wilt for a few hours, to get a good part of the water out of them. The best way to dry herbs is to hang them in bunches upside down in a dry, warm location. The best way to dry flowers is to lay them flat on a window screen, or anything that will allow good air movement under and through, and leave them undisturbed until they are completely dry.

If you have the room, keep the leaves whole, they maintain their medicinal and aromatic properties that way. Store in dark glass containers or paper bags and never forget to label their contents and the date of harvest, you'd be surprised how much the herbs start to look alike when dried.

You can always make preparations, like infused oils, or tinctures (infusions in glycerin, vinegar or alcohol), for long term storage, but keep in mind that oils have a shelf life of six months at most before they go rancid.

To do so, tightly pack dried up plant material in a jar, cover it with your medium of choice, place the lid on the jar, making sure to place a sheet of plastic wrap to prevent the metal from reacting with the contents and keep it in a sunny window for a month, changing the green material with new one every three or four days in order to obtain a better concentration of active compounds. At the end of the month, strain the medium through a cheese cloth or a coffee filter and store it in a dark glass in a cool dry place. Again, don't forget to label the container.

Use:

Unless you have specialized equipment to extract the essential oils, the standard method to extract the active compounds from herbs is infusion: teas, tinctures and oils. Teas and tinctures are for internal use, and you should only avail yourself of them if you are a trained herbalist or in the care of one, and only after consulting your physician. Oils are for external use, and will form the base of cosmetic or healing creams and salves.

Some herbs cross over from the medicinal to the kitchen garden, lavender, mint and thyme immediately come to mind, and those are best consumed fresh or as food seasoning.

How to Grow Herbs

You decided to start an herb garden? Here are a few tips. Most herbs like full sun (except a few, like mint and lemon balm) and a sweet soil that keeps moist but drains properly. If your soil is acidic, improve it with lime.

If you decide to grow a perennial herb garden, it is easier to start it from seedlings rather than seed, for two reasons. First, some of the perennial herbs, like rosemary and tarragon need to be started from cuttings anyway, germination is not always reliable and very young sprouts are vulnerable to anything from a late frost to dry spells or unseasonably warm weather. Second, starting with fully developed plants gives more control over the overall design and the assessment of proper spacing requirements.

If you are keen on starting herbs from seed, the annuals and biennial herbs are a good choice and will germinate well. Also for the likes of parsley and dill you don't have to worry about thinning, since they don't mind growing in compact carpet style.

Herbs are usually grown for foliage and they will seriously cut back on leafing out in order to produce flowers (unlike the plants grown for flowers, which will do the exact opposite in order to annoy you), so if you want, say, your basil to grow fresh succulent leaves, pinch the flowers or it will grow tall and spindly.

Don't harvest the large leaves that grow around the base of the plant, they are essential to keeping it healthy, they are how the plant stores food and energy. Always harvest the fresh growth, it tastes much better anyway and harvesting new leaves will encourage the plant to make more.

Some herbs, like dill and mint, tend to be invasive, especially in boggy soils. If that is a concern, grow them in containers or restrict their spread by planting them inside buried chimney flutes.

Always grow basil, not only because it is a staple of the kitchen garden, but also because it is easy to start from seed and very sensitive to draught. It will wilt before all the other plants and signal that it's time to water, and in this way it acts like a home grown living water gauge. Also, tomatoes and peppers taste better if you grow basil next to them.

Herbs don't need fertilizer. Keep them properly trimmed at all time, otherwise they grow gangly and woody, crowd each other and develop all sorts of diseases, from mildew to black spot.

Still Blooming

I can't believe the sage is still in bloom. I'm reconsidering the advice of not letting herbs grow too big. The sage has become woody and tall, but since I don't like the flavor anyway, might as well grow it for the flowers.

If I didn't know what conditions sage loved, I would only have to look out the window to the herb patch: full sun, hard clay and infrequent but deep watering.

Yarrow Flowers

I have a hard time adjusting to yarrow as a component of a cultivated garden, mostly because I grew up watching it grow wild in fallow fields, but after I experienced its wonderful healing properties I am more than happy to give it a prominent location in the herbal arsenal.

Yarrow heals, almost miraculously, in two ways - it stops bleeding almost instantly and stimulates the body to produce new cells to repair the damage. I swear by it for any small cut and scrape and it works wonders.

WEEK TWENTY-FOUR

June 13th - Lilies and Such

The Fullness of Summer

Every morning now I go out in the garden with great anticipation - the summer perennials are just a few days away from full bloom. The daisies promise to spoil me, the cone flowers are already in bloom and last but not least, this dreamy lily.

As a reward for my devoted efforts with respect to weeding and dead-heading the garden decided to sprout a couple of nice surprises for the humble gardener, all arising from the plant-it-and-forget-it category, echoes and memories of summers past: the Canterbury Bells featured in the picture below, a very healthy and thriving false indigo and the very much alive Maltese Cross that didn't take kindly to being relocated last summer.

As a side note, the giant purple cleomes are the gift that keeps on giving, and it looks like we'll have many more this summer than there were last year, even after I significantly thinned their eager sprouts.

I couldn't help but notice that the hostas and the cone flowers are at least a month early and every single herb is bent on blooming, even the fussy lovage. I know I should snip off the flower head to make it leaf out more, but who am I kidding, I'm tickled pink to see it in bloom, that means it's thriving. Besides, the flower heads are very handsome and, much like those of anise and dill, are quite beloved by the Monarch butterfly.

From what I can tell so far it's going to be a wonderful year for the hostas, which developed spectacular foliage during the rainy spring and are currently covered by a mass of flower stalks.

The garden phlox is now officially taller than me and in full bloom, a lot sooner than usual, compared to its normal blooming habits. Summer came early this year.

June Tangerine or How to Care for Day Lilies

The day lilies came with the house and they were already established when we moved in, so I didn't pay much attention to their care. It showed. I used to take day lilies for granted because they are so ubiquitous in public and commercial outdoor spaces people see them as care free.

That they are to a certain degree, but very few plants thrive on total neglect. Day lilies will survive anywhere but if you want them to bloom you need to feed and water them, just like you would any other plant. Any all purpose fertilizer balanced for flower and fruit will encourage them to bloom. Also, despite the fact that they will survive in even the most arid of conditions, they really like their site boggy and only look their best if watered regularly.

As anybody who ever grew these lovely plants can attest, they are prolific propagators and will fill out all the space available to them in record time, but after that they don't appreciate the overcrowding and won't bloom anymore. Keep them thinned, that will provide you with a lot of new plants for some time, until you have populated your entire garden with day lilies. The beauty in the picture is actually a new planting, and an object lesson on the benefits of timely plant division.

Day lilies will do just fine in the shade but they bloom abundantly only in full sun. Mine are mostly in part shade and for this reason they like to pace themselves.

Mulching will keep their roots cool in summer and improve their performance in the garden. It will also inhibit weeds and make the plants behave themselves by stifling some of their over enthusiastic new growth, a blessing for the gardener who likes his or her flower bed neat and tidy.

As far as plant division is concerned, they must be about the easiest plants to propagate, they will root anywhere and pick up where they left off with nary a sign of transplant stress.

Because of their voracious spreading habit day lilies are not the most gracious of neighbors to the other plants in the flower bed, which explains why they are usually relegated to populating inhospitable corners or filling large empty spaces.

Surprise Gift

The joy of gardening: plants that come back after all hope is lost. This comes to prove that if your delicate seedling withered and died during a hot summer season, that doesn't mean it's gone for good.

Behold the Canterbury Bells I tried to cultivate for years, with no luck! If I didn't happen to notice them underneath the heavy weight of Leda the painted Damask they would probably be gone by now.

Perennial Garden Staples

Here it is, the garden phlox, six feet tall and a month early. I divided it last summer and now its fragrant clumps of purple flowers are dotting the back yard too. I could swear I also planted white phlox a while back, the "David" variety, which is extremely fragrant.

Maybe it will bloom later, there are quite a few plants that haven't started forming flower heads yet.

WEEK TWENTY-FIVE

June 20th - The Veggie Patch

Yes, This Is a Fully Grown Purple Bell Pepper

It is rare for the bell peppers to be so far ahead of everything else in the vegetable garden, so I decided to immortalize the moment. It seems to be a good year for peppers, even if on the second try. Here's my first veggie of the year.

Everything else is blooming, but far from bearing fruit yet. The purple beans are showing off their lovely blossoms, and lots of them, even though the plants haven't advanced more than half way up the supports. Quite frankly, it's getting hard to tell what is what anymore, the veggie border is a compact mass of overenthusiastic foliage. Again.

At least they're blooming.

Vegetables don't mind being grown in containers at all, as long as the containers are large enough, in fact the peppers in the picture are living in a large deep pot.

Given the state of the foliage and the size of the surrounding plants, I think the last thing the vegetable border needs is more fertilizer.

The hot peppers got swallowed whole by the surrounding ground cover and I'm doing my best to clear out enough space around them so I can at least tell where they are. I can't find the marigolds anymore, they'll probably emerge from the foliage later this summer.

Tonight it rained again.

Green Tomato

The temperatures heated up, the tomatoes started performing. Tomato plants don't mind hot weather and will keep their composure even when more heat sensitive vegetables wilt pitifully, but they will not set fruit if the temperatures are above 85 to 90 degrees during the day or 75 at night. Considering the climate we live in, that's most of the summer. It also explains why the extra leafy vines suddenly decide to become fruitful mid-September, when their fruit doesn't really have enough time left to ripen.

The reason for this is that at higher temperatures the pollen becomes non-viable, or too dry to stick to the pistil.

How to remedy the situation? Unless you are growing tomatoes in a temperature controlled greenhouse there is not much you can do about it, other than root for accommodating weather.

Here are a few varieties that perform better than average in hot weather, but if temperatures are consistently above ninety degrees they will not set fruit either: SuperSweet100, grape tomatoes, Florida 91, Sunmaster, Heat Wave, Sunbeam, well, you get the idea, if heat or sun is part of the name, they're it.

Temperatures behaved themselves so far, and therefore there are tiny green tomatoes to show. Naturally I mislabeled the varieties, and planted Brandywine, which needs more room, in the tighter spot. It hasn't bloomed yet, but developed spectacular foliage.

If the soil is too rich or has too much nitrogen the plants will grow leafy to the detriment of setting fruit. Tomatoes like soils with a pH between 5.5 and 7 and need about three gallons of water per plant per week to be at their best, but avoid overdoing it during the harvest season to prevent the fruit from becoming watery.

If you have the room, tomatoes will be quite happy to sprawl on the ground, but they yield more trained on vertical supports. Pruning will encourage larger fruit, though not necessarily more of it. Remove all the suckers (the small shoots that develop at the nodes between the stem and a main branch. Keep the number of main branches around four. When the tomato reaches the desired height, pinch the top to stop it from growing, otherwise the indeterminate varieties will grow indefinitely. The determinate varieties hardly require pruning.

Grow marigolds around tomato plants to keep pest insects at bay and basil to improve the flavor of their fruit.

Little Squash

The male squash blossoms made their appearance in the garden, bright and cheerful as always. I was about to comment that the female flowers are not going to show for another couple of weeks, and then I saw this.

Squashes grow very fast, sometimes even from one day to the next, so I'm waiting to see what happens to this one. So far the squash plants are being nice to the eggplants, but the summer is young.

Cucumber in Bloom

Because it rained enough the cucumbers look happy. If there is anything cucumbers absolutely hate is the drought. Otherwise they are not picky, they will do well in any soil and they don't take up a lot of room if you train them vertically.

During summers with abundant rain the plants will yield more fruit that you know what to do with. I couldn't believe it myself until I saw it with my own eyes.

WEEK TWENTY-SIX

June 27th - My Purple June Garden

The Prettiest Things

I mentioned it before, the garden decides every year what theme it wants to go with, and this year purple seems to dominate. Everything is purple: the garden phlox, the larkspur, the betony, the cone flowers, the bee balms, the hostas, and the bloom still to come - the cleomes, the liatris and the asters are, you guessed it, also purple.

You might think I planted only purple flowers on purpose. No. All the other colors just held off on the blooming, with the exception of a few brave bright orange daylilies, which look somewhat surprised to find themselves so different from the other plants around them.

To move along with the color theme, the purple beans decided to go above and beyond the call of duty, aren't these the prettiest flowers you have ever seen?

In my mind, I'm going through my spring activities, trying to remember if there is anything else I planted in this garden that doesn't come in purple and should be in bloom, maybe - daisies, marigolds, roses, anything? Apparently not, they are there alright, but in flower they are not. Purple it is, in every shade in the spectrum, from pale lavender to deep violet.

I'm going to extrapolate on the premise of purple absolute and venture a guess about what plants might feel inspired to bloom profusely later on, since they too come in the aforementioned shade: catmint, Russian sage, peppermint, balloon flowers, and if the false indigo is purple, it too.

I give up. I'll probably plant some lavender and mauve annuals later on, to accessorize and accent, and wait for the August yellows to pick up later in the season. Or not, you never know.

The Fullness of Summer

There is a lull in the gardening activity, it rained reliably, so there is no need for watering all that much, and for some miraculous reason the weeds are not their usual rapacious selves; fruit is setting but is not yet ready to harvest and I'm already done with the first round of dead heading.

I'm looking forward to the first entries in the yield table for this year, and I'm sure they will be in the pepper columns, both sweet and hot. The cucumbers and squashes are not far behind, encouraged by plentiful water supplies.

I'm so grateful this year spared us the five month winter with the April snow, the May freeze and the summer like temperatures in March, there may be some hope yet to see timely and seasonable harvest. Last year the eggplants started blooming at the end of August, which was basically wasted energy.

This year they bloomed right on schedule, and because I don't have the discipline to wait and see if the produce is satisfied with the amount of nutrients in the soil, I went ahead and added some organic fertilizer. The ground cover is already two feet tall.

The garden looks happy in anticipation of the Fourth of July, and when the garden is happy, the gardener is happy too. Or the other way around, I never could figure out which.

Medicinals

I have two varieties of bee balms, a hot pink and a purple one. The purple one bloomed first, naturally, to enhance the purple garden motif.

Bee balm decoct is a great disinfectant and smells great too, so if you are a fan of making your own natural house cleaning products, by all means add it to the mix. It won't work for glass because the plants are too rich in essential oil, but other than that...

The Elegant Eggplant

Tadaa! So, it's the end of June, I planted these at the beginning of May, add 95 to 105 days to harvest and subtract four weeks because I didn't start them from scratch, that would put the first eggplants around the middle of September. No, that's too late, judging by the look of the plants.

We'll just have to wait and see, eggplants grow slowly, but not that slowly. Well, at least they bloomed on time.

WEEK TWENTY-SEVEN

July 4th - The Wild Things

Bladder Campions

This is an edible plant, widely used around the Mediterranean Basin to flavor omelets, pasta and risotto. Its young greens make a tasty addition to meals when stewed in a little olive oil, just like chards and spinach. It can be eaten uncooked, but the raw leaves taste bitter because they contain small and harmless amounts of saponins.

In Cyprus it has become so popular that in recent years people took to purposefully cultivating and selling bunches of it with the other edible greens.

If you don't believe me that you are looking at food, here is a quick idea for bladder campion pasta sauce (click on this link for the actual recipe): saute pancetta with garlic and onion in a little olive oil, add white wine and wait until the sauce reduces, then, just before the pasta is ready to drain, stir in the bladder campion greens, some tomato sauce, salt and pepper to taste, stir it until the leaves soften a little and toss them with the pasta. Grate Parmesan on top and enjoy, it's supposed to be delicious.

If your enthusiasm for wild greens foraging gets the better of you, I'm afraid I have to curb it a little. It takes a lot of bladder campions to get enough for a stew, and picking the tiny leaves can be tedious and time consuming. In Spain there are people called collejeros who specialize in gathering the plant from the wild in large quantities and selling it. The good news is that if you happen to be in a country where bladder campions are popular as a food item, you might find bunches of them at the grocery store.

Lady's Bedstraw

This is so exciting! I have heard so many stories and legends about this flower, but I never actually saw it before. This is Galium Verum, Lady's Bedstraw, the flower of St. John, a plant so deeply associated with the summer solstice that some even believe it only blooms on the Eve of St. John's Feast. That part is obviously not true, as you can see from the attached evidence.

According to folklore, these pretty yellow flowers are in fact disguised benevolent fairies, who stroll and dance through the forests and fields on the eve of the holiday to bless people with good health and crops with strength, fertility and plenty. They are good fairies alright, but they get really upset if their favorite feast is not observed, and they promptly and severely punish people for working on this day. It is supposed to be particularly bad for males to walk out at night on the Eve of Saint John, because the flower fairies don't want to be seen or talked about, so they will curse the daring who defy them by taking away their ability to speak.

In the old days, women used to put Lady's Bedstraw in their babies' baths and wish that the flowers keep them happy and strong, help them grow faster, and protect them from getting sick, especially with malaria, but their wish was granted only if the plant was picked before the first rays of sun dried up the dew. Said dew was also surmised to treat eye and skin afflictions.

Lady's Bedstraw is inextricably bound to superstitions related to love and fertility, and even to this day young girls place its flowers under their pillows on the night between June 23rd and June 24th to dream up the face of their true love.

On the eve of the feast young maidens would go out into the fields to pick the flowers, which they would braid into crowns and wear upon their return to the village at nightfall, because the blossoms picked on this day were believed to be imbued with power for love charms. In fact folk tradition assigns magical properties to all things associated with this holiday, that grace to its timing evokes similarities to Midsummer night, and especially to the pretty meadow flowers whose bloom happens to synchronize with it.

What a wealth of symbolism and lore for a modest wild summer herb! On a more scientific note, Lady's Bedstraw contains coumarin, just like sweet woodruff, which means it smells like vanilla and fresh hay, so, by all means, go out, pick some, weave it into crowns, throw it on the roof, but make sure it doesn't fall off, 'cause that's really bad luck, and don't mess with the fairies, they'll get your tongue!

Fleabane

It is not hard to figure out how fleabane earned its name, but what is often left unsaid is that you need to burn the plant in order to repel the fleas, it's the fleabane smoke and not its scent that does the deed.

Believe it or not, it is on the list of edible plants, but I wouldn't try it. It does have some medicinal properties, like most of the plants of the wild: it helps with headaches when applied externally as a poultice and functions as a diuretic, antipyretic and anti-inflammatory when brewed into tea.

Bird's Foot Trefoil

What a beautiful meadow flower, I thought, and I looked it up, to find out more details. It turns out bird's foot trefoil is a distant relative of the sweet pea, whose flowers it resembles closely, if only in a different color, and like all of its relatives it releases nitrogen into the soil, which makes it a great cover crop.

Do you know what this delicate wonder's most common use is? Cow fodder. It's like cleaning windows with Channel. Apparently, it is also listed as an obnoxious weed, which comes to prove that obnoxiousness, just like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.

WEEK TWENTY-EIGHT

July 11th - Bloom

All Summer's Glory

There is a time around the middle of July when the garden looks absolutely resplendent. It feels like every flower is in bloom, competing for attention. The late spring blooms haven't faded yet and the some of the late summer ones decide to show up early, so there is a surreal mix of seasons that coexist in harmony before my very eyes: delphiniums, lilies, salvias, roses, daisies, bee balms, cone flowers, catmints, lavender, yarrow, spider flowers, black eyed Susans, day lilies, hostas, coral bells, and last, but not least, giant clumps of fragrant garden phlox.

The garden mellows out a little bit after this explosion of blossoms, settling into a tamer, more mature pattern, but for now the flower beds are tiny versions of a jungle, growing faster than they can be contained.

Later in the season the long blooming perennials will take over, have you noticed that the late summer and fall plants keep their flowers long after the first frost? The sedums are already displaying green flowers, just waiting to ripen. Speaking of long blooming plants, the hellebores are still in bloom and they started in March, so that would make it, what, six months now?

The vegetable patch is not too shabby either, I picked up a first batch of tomatoes, beans and squashes yesterday. The squash leaves sprawled all over the garden path again, as they do every summer, but I gave up fighting them.

There is a mass planting of pale lavender hostas in one of the part shade flower beds, and they all arch gracefully, as if bowing, over the front lawn, covered in raindrops and sparkling in the sunshine. They look like a poet's dream.

Yarrow in Bloom

I am surprised that yarrow is not used more often in skin care, because it can hold its own with calendula, lavender and chamomile. Yarrow has three qualities that make it useful for beauty regimens: it stimulates superficial circulation, it mends minor injuries and it is astringent.

This gentle cleanser is particularly useful for treating oily skin and hair, and yarrow tea makes an excellent toner or hair rinse. Way back in the day people even believed it to be a cure for baldness, but I wouldn't go that far.

Because yarrow is used to treat acneic, rash prone skin, it is never steamed when used for facials, the way chamomile is, for instance, because it would irritate the skin even more, but always applied lukewarm or cool, in a way that feels comfortable to the body's temperature.

The herb is prepared for use by the usual means, either by decocting it or infusing it in oil. The dried powdered herb can be used as is in bath salts, scrubs and facial masks.

Yarrow soothes and it is mildly antiseptic, just like chamomile, and it is often used in combination with the latter for compounded benefits.

Last but not least, yarrow improves circulation and gives the complexion a youthful, rosy glow, so if your skin has a bad day and it feels a little dull and sensitive, brew a cup of yarrow tea, let it cool down and apply it to your face as a poultice, both your skin and your spirit will be grateful for this simple indulgence.

Bells of Ireland

They bloomed, they bloomed! I started a whole packet of seeds indoors in February, they all sprouted, grew well and withered the moment I planted them in the sunny flower bed, because they couldn't adjust to the more rugged environment. I was kind of losing hope of having Bells of Ireland in my garden when one last little seed that was late to germinate got exposed to the sunshine and the rain and grew into a little sprout, which I transplanted immediately, again without holding much hope. This sprout grew into the handsome perennial is you are looking at right now, and it bloomed during its first year, too.

Sounds a bit like a fairy tale, doesn't it? I know quite a few that start just like that.

July Purple

Don't let the carrot like leaves confuse you, larkspur is an annual version of the delphinium, and one that is as finicky as it is lovely. Some years you can't hold them back and they would grow upside down if they had to, and other years they can't even be bothered to germinate. This year is a good larkspur year, all of them made it from seed to flower in a couple of months, and some of them grow beautifully in part shade.

Like its perennial relatives, the delphiniums, larkspurs don't mind poor soil, but they will not tolerate dry conditions, in other words don't feed, just water.

WEEK TWENTY-NINE

July 18th - Summer Yellows

About Herbs

Herbs have adapted to the conditions around the Mediterranean Basin, and those are the conditions they like best, wherever they happen to grow: limey soils, rather on the dry side, plenty of sunshine, windswept open spaces and mild, rainy, and forgiving winters.

How many of those conditions are satisfied in the average zone five garden? Not many. This is the reason why plants which thrived in the wild to the point where people didn't bother cultivating them, content to rely on foraging alone, need special care in my flower border. Some I couldn't convince to stick around at all (after three attempts at growing chamomile, I gave up).

Some perennial herbs need to be moved indoors for the winter, and are better off grown in pots: rosemary and lemon verbena are among them, and also French and Spanish lavender. I didn't even know that parsley was a perennial until it came back to life after an unusually mild winter. It is hardy to zone six.

Herbs will not mind drought, in fact they thrive on it, but they do hate overcrowding, which makes their stems prone to rot and mold. If yours is a particularly humid climate, you might not have much luck with the dry soil lovers, sage, rosemary, oregano and thyme. You also need to be more scrupulous than usual with the pruning and dead heading, because they tend to grow out of control and crowd each other, and some, like calendula and basil, will die after they've gone to seed.

Herbs with fleshy leaves, like basil, mint and lemon balm are more forgiving of wet soils and even shade, but they need regular watering to thrive, especially when planted in pots.

I was under the wrong impression that herbs don't do much in terms of bloom, and I was blown away by the spectacular flower show my herb patch displayed this year. The sage, lavender, chives and yarrow stole the show for the most part of the summer.

Growing Edibles

There are two factors that determine the success of growing vegetables: the weather and the growing medium and proper care. The first factor is effectively out of the gardener's control, unless he happens to grow everything in a greenhouse.

The second one is very much under the gardener's control, and requires discipline, hard work and abiding by good gardening practice.

Preparing the soil in spring is essential: the vegetable garden needs to be tilled at a spade's depth, and have well rotted manure and other organic material mixed in. Not only it improves the nutrient content of the soil, but the decomposition process, which continues long into the spring, warms up the vegetable beds and allows plants to be started sooner, thus giving them more time to mature and develop fruit.

Pruning, maintaining the proper spacing, training and tying trailing stems to supports, and picking the fruit at its optimal ripeness both benefits the plants and affords the gardener a higher yield.

Plan your garden in full sunshine and water it religiously. Vegetables won't take kindly to drought; unless the weather is particularly wet during the summer, daily waterings are a must. No vegetable, with the exception of asparagus, will thrive in the shade.

Start plants early and go through the extra effort of transferring them to bigger pots as they grow. Move them in and out of doors when weather warms up, to harden them. This will lessen the shock of transplant and improve your chances of success. I lost many a plant, even after the weather was warm enough for it to be moved permanently outdoors, because it couldn't adapt to the changes in soil, sun exposure, water content and wind stress.

Watch for pests and diseases and remove the afflicted plants or plant parts before they contaminate the healthy ones around them.

This sounds very straightforward, doesn't it? Now, between knowing the theory and applying it in practice stands the gap of procrastination. How many of these principles do I consistently apply? I'm going to refrain from commentary and go look for some ashes to put on my head.

Black Eyed Susans

I started these from seed two years ago, and they are faithful to their reputation of being low maintenance plants. They are very sensitive about having their roots disturbed. Since they were fruitful and multiplied, I tried to relocate some of them, but none survived.

A reliable August bloomer, perfect for the dog days of summer when nothing seems to agree with the garden.

Cucumbers in Bloom

I think this will be the extent of my cucumbers' performance this year. They don't like the weather, which is strange, considering there has been abundant rain. Maybe they are the wrong cultivar.

The crook neck squashes are performing well, and, as they do every year, they grew over the walkway again. This year's variety is knobby, the fruit looks more like a gourd than an edible variety.

WEEK THIRTY

July 25th - In Color

Color Schemes

Unless it was designed that way, it is kind of hard to impose a color scheme on an established garden, especially if you have the type of spontaneous personality which succumbs to the charms of that special-special plant seeming to speak to you and you alone at the plant nursery, and bring it home with no regard to the fact that it doesn't fit into your existing garden scheme.

If you do have the discipline and will power to stick to the plan, some color themes are easier to maintain than others, because nature itself designed them that way. For instance, a white, yellow and purple theme will last indefinitely, because those are the colors wild flowers come in, the most resilient and efficient color palette.

If your project is in the shade, go for all white. Most shade flowers tend to come in this color anyway. Purple is also common, but it doesn't stand out as well from the foliage.

Sunny areas are always happy to support yellow and orange flowers, especially the late summer ones, which will keep blooming way into the end of fall, often even after the first couple of frosts.

Purple flowers are the most resilient, and I find my garden shifting to purple every year, no matter what I do. They tend to last longer than the the other flowers they share their blooming time with, so if you decide on a no fuss monochrome design, this color scheme would be the easiest to maintain.

Growing Scent

The garden was delightfully fragrant this summer, and not from the usual sources, like roses and lilies, but from the faithful, easy to care plants, the hostas, the garden phlox and the petunias.

I always try to find new plants to add to the garden for scent; some thrive and some don't come back the following year, but even plants that are well known for their fragrance are sometimes reluctant to release it. I've been looking for ways to enhance the plants' scent, but I couldn't find any advice on gardening practices that would make it so, and therefore I'll have to rely on the garden to surprise me.

There are things that make flowers' scents stronger, just none in the gardener's control. Flowers release more of their fragrance in hot, humid weather, and to attract pollinators, which are the only reason they have it in the first place, and they do so at the time of day when the particular insects that are attracted to their flowers are most active.

Scent takes a lot of energy out of the plant, which is not something we often think about, and for some hybrids, the scent had been bred out of the variety to extend blooming time and vase life.

Some plants are said to increase the flavor of vegetables, and I'm going to go out on a limb and say that they probably enhance scents too. Onions, for instance, supposedly stimulate the plants around them to release more fragrance, and they are not such an outlandish idea for the flower bed, especially the flowering ones, which are very close relatives of the drumstick alliums and whose large white and purple ball flowers can look stunning in a mixed bed of perennials.

Scented foliage brings the fragrance with a lot less effort on the part of the plant, so don't forget to plant scented pelargoniums, lemon balm, mint and bee balm. Licorice hyssop is surprisingly fragrant.

This last summer staple reminded me there is one thing the gardener can do to enjoy more scent: place fragrant plants along the garden path, where they release their scent every time you brush against them.

Garden Enchanted

I can't get enough of this flower, and I sprinkled the garden with it over the years, in the hope of seeing more of its little candy hearts throughout the month of May. It definitely blooms better in part or very light shade than in full shade. It loves clay soil and it will fare best in an area with full sun in the morning and shade in the afternoon.

The foliage dies down to the ground towards the end of summer, which creates a little bit of the challenge for the August garden, when their large clumps disappear, leaving behind a bare spot.

Late Bloomers

You know how all but the once blooming roses' descriptions specify that the plants will bloom profusely in June and repeat sporadically throughout the summer? Sporadically usually means that you might, once in a blue moon, see another flower on the stems when the summer heat subsides.

The flower in the picture is the exact opposite: it is a once blooming rugosa which decided to rebloom at the height of July.

WEEK THIRTY-ONE

August 1st - The Best of the Shade

Jack in the Pulpit

I can't get over how beautiful these flowers are, and am so happy and proud to have them in my garden. Their eerie hooded flowers, decorated with elegant stripes that make them look like custom wrapping paper are, indeed, the packaging, called the spathe. The inflorescence, which contains male and/or female flowers, is the spadix inside it.

Jack in the Pulpit is an example of the surprisingly many living things on Earth that can change their gender at will, depending on their current circumstances. You wouldn't even be able to tell whether their flowers are male or female if it weren't for the number of leaf stems at the bottom of their inflorescence: if you see only one leaf stem, you are looking at a male plant, which means the weather wasn't particularly favorable to the plant that year and you will not see fruit on the plant later in the summer.

The fruit itself is beautiful, a cluster of tiny red berries brighting up the dark floor of the forest, almost glowing in the shade. Folk stories say that the size and configuration of the fruit will predict the harvest that year, a quite detailed account by crop and quantity. It kind of makes intuitive sense, if you think about it, considering the fact that the plant will only produce fruit if the conditions are favorable for all things green and leafy.

I haven't seen fruit on mine yet, but it bloomed two years in a row and I'm a proud mommy.

Don't fret over the fact that the plant wilts and perishes after blooming, it's supposed to go dormant in the summer and fall. It will come back the following year, and, if you are lucky, sprout two leaves.

Solomon's Seal

I've been planning to plant some Solomon's Seal in the back yard, in an area I considered particularly difficult until I started bringing in native plants and noticed how they thrived. The area is tiny and sheltered, in light and dappled shade, with a soil full of tree roots and slightly acidic from the evergreen needles, soil that stays dry for the most part of the year. I must confess that dragging the watering hose all the way back there doesn't always make it to the list of gardening tasks.

The area stays green for the most part of the summer, but doesn't go out of its way to bloom, with very few exceptions.

Spring, however, is a completely different story. Encouraged by the sheltered environment, watered abundantly by the snow and the rain and basking in the sunshine flowing freely through the still leafless branches, it turns into a little paradise of blue, purple and yellow flowers, so beautiful it makes you cry.

I have Solomon's Seal growing in very deep shade now, in a corner that is also mostly dry; the tiny plants are not enthusiastic, but they adjusted. I'm sure the conditions in the back yard will be better for it by comparison, and I hope it can grow to form larger clumps there, and bloom more.

Hellebores

There aren't many perennials that can boast an average of six months of continuous bloom, and that do that in full shade and poor soils. Did I mention their foliage is a superb shiny dark green, and they get to keep it through the winter?

These plants usually start blooming at the end of January, and I still have some in the garden that bear flowers right now.

Fragrant Hostas

I didn't appreciate hostas very much when we moved in, even though my garden was full of them, because I didn't know how to care for these lovely plants to make them thrive and bloom.

It turns out they do bloom. In full shade. A lot. And some varieties, like Plantain Lily, Stained Glass, Fragrant Bouquet or Aphrodite, are delightfully fragrant.

WEEK THIRTY-TWO

August 8th - Afte the Rain

Mushroom Circles

What an exciting find! I've heard about this phenomenon, but it is the first time I got to see it in person. It's called a fairy circle, or ring, and there is a very simple scientific explanation for why it occurs. The spores of a mushroom extend radially around it and even though the center eventually dies, the offspring propagates, forming a circle, or an arch.

That is not to say that the sight of a fairy ring is for the faint of heart, especially since, like most fungi, they have the tendency to pop out of the ground over night after the rain, fully grown and with no warning.

The rings usually grow up to about thirty feet in diameter and can become permanent if conditions favor them. The fact that disturbing a fairy ring is considered terrible luck doesn't help keep their weird occurrences from settling in, not that they are easy to get rid of, should you be so daring as to try to unravel them. Some myths forebode an untimely death or blindness for the foolish person who dares walk inside a fairies' circle, or at least his being hidden from sight, inability to exit it or being abducted to an unearthly realm.

Sometimes the mushrooms don't even grow above the ground, but their root system affects the grass that covers it, withering it or changing its color, as if unseen creatures had worn it out in a fiery dance.

The circle in the picture is not complete, but it does have two concentric layers.

There are two types of fairy rings: tethered, in which the fungi share a tree's nutrients without damaging it, and free, in which they grow alone, usually in the middle of the grass. This circle, obviously, is tethered to the evergreen.

The largest fairy ring, found in Belfort, France, is two thousand feet in diameter and over seven hundred years old.

I'm doing my very best to keep a detached, just the facts attitude, but this is waaay coool, dude!

Rain Perfume

The hostas are in bloom, and much like last year, they are a sight to behold. You don't know the true meaning of perfume until you experience the fragrance of hostas lingering in the humid evening air. They scent the rain.

The garden is full of them, it is their month, August, the time when they rule the flower universe. They rise, ghostly white, on slender stems, arching over the garden path here and there, asking for attention. As if there was any need for that!

The scent of hostas is very familiar, I feel like I've known it for a very long time, but I can't describe it, it escapes me every single time. A little more subtle than the lilies', but more enveloping, with gentle hints of honeysuckle, gardenia and green tea!

Every fall, after they are done blooming, I divide a clump or two and propagate their fragrant beauties around the garden, they grow very fast. Next year, after a well deserved winter rest, there will be three more "Stained Glass" specimens adorning the garden.

Oh, yes, indeed!

And keep in mind that as of now there are two of them! I pride myself in my eggplant growing, which has been a work in progress, shall we say. I don't know what it was about the weather or my gardening this year, it feels like the end times in the vegetable garden.

It's not that the plants don't yield, they just look wrong and everything is chaos. Meanwhile I grabbed another crop of tomatoes. I had to climb over the crookneck zucchini to get to them, their trailing stems grew over the walkway again.

Tiny gems

One good thing about the weather this summer, believe it or not, is that temperatures somehow stayed below ninety five degrees, and therefore all the tomato flowers set fruit.

On the other hand, the endless series of thunderstorms didn't allow them enough sunshine to ripen, so for now, they're hanging in there. Quite literally.

WEEK THIRTY-THREE

August 15th - New York, New York

Times Square at Night

It really doesn't matter what time of day it is, the city never sleeps. It was 12:30 am when I took this picture and there were about as many people in Times Square as a I saw six hours earlier, when I crossed it in the opposite direction.

Landmarks usually have a precise image associated with them, you always seem to experience the view from a particular perspective which, for this reason, becomes identified with them in your mind.

I don't know if it is its unusual configuration, or the fact that you can arrive at it from too many directions, but I could walk straight at Times Square again and again and not recognize it if it weren't for its iconic advertising screens.

This task gets even more difficult during the day, when the billboards don't get a lot of contrast against the brightness of daylight, and when their shapes and messages blend in the sea of store signs and billboards down the street.

This view, which I immortalized during the day as well, is the closest I ever got to creating an image of Times Square for myself.

Or maybe it isn't the same view...Is it?

Bryant Park

It is strange that I've been to New York so many times and never went to Bryant park. It is exactly like the picture shows it: cozy, friendly and laid back, just the respite you need during a hot summer day.

I spent some time there trying to sort out the intricate structure of the New York Library, which, like the Tardis, is bigger on the inside. I went inside this imposing edifice (granted, up a flight of stairs), through the second floor and came out of it on the first floor, and found myself at the same street level.

Once you're outside the building and inside the park, the warm afternoon sun tends to melt questions like these, and gives way to more leisurely interests, like taking a stroll around the water fountain, trying to see what's past the corner block, craving shaved ice and watching the pigeons.

Sometimes, just being able to sit and watch the world go by is a gift, because the world it is a lot more interesting than people give it credit for. I walked around the park a little bit, afterward, trying to take in as many details as I could, before I retreated to my air-conditioned room with my small treasure of memories.

Bird's Eye View

I don't often think of New York as a city on the water, a concept this bird's eye view makes abundantly clear. We flew over water more than land for the most part of the time we crossed it.

Staten Island, Randall Island, Rikers Island, Governors Island, Roosevelt Island, the island of Manhattan - it's an archipelago.

The Island of Manhattan

It was clear and sunny when we flew over the island of Manhattan, and I got to admire it for a long time, while the plane did almost a full circle above it to properly position itself for landing at LaGuardia.

I watched tiny boats leave long white wakes on the dark water of the bays, the graceful arches of the bridges, and the tall building spires with the long rectangle of Central Park nestled in their midst.

WEEK THIRTY-FOUR

August 22nd - The Approach of Fall

Maltese Cross

This plant in the photo earned its name due to of the unusual configuration of its flowers, whose petals are classically disposed in sets of four in the recognizable shape of the Cross of Malta.

What's wrong with the bloom in the picture? Absolutely nothing. Maltese, or Jerusalem Cross, comes with both four and five petaled flowers, often on the same plant.

I had given up on this plant after I moved it to what I considered to be better growing conditions and it faded away to nothing, so I didn't bother to check for it the next year, when it grew surreptitiously under, you guessed it, a large piece of fallen bark.

The plant likes to meander close to the ground and I always forget it is there, until the end of summer, when its intense coral red flowers jump at me from the background of their dark foliage. They are even more stunning in the shade, where the flowers stay small, but their visual impact is much stronger.

Some people insist that the four petaled and the five petaled flowers belong to two different species, one of which is a true Maltese Cross, while the other one is not. I can assure you the plant in the picture enjoyed many a four petal summer before it decided to diversify.

August Flowers

There is not much going on in the garden, after mother nature rained and stormed and puffed the flower beds away. I spent the most part of yesterday cleaning up broken branches as thick as my arm that were strewn about the lawn, blocking access to my favorite spot in the back yard and crushing the vegetable garden. A scene worthy of the end of days, which is now, mercifully gone.

Distraught as I was by the desolate sight, I removed myself for a short while from the disheveled garden scene, and this seemed to signal to the plants that it's time to grow completely out of control. I'm mad at plants, if you can believe it.

I don't know where anything is, anymore, it's all a compact block of something and weeds that I dare not sink my hands into. I found this here flower, if it's any consolation.

After all these years of gardening I learned to accept that there is no controlling an August garden, but it still gets my goat every single year!

My mood turned bleak after I figured out, after a whole day of hauling wood, that I barely scratched the surface of the work that needs done. I have at least a week's worth of weeding to do, and several shrubs of wild honeysuckle to dig out. Those suckers have roots to the center of the earth.

In short, aaaaa!!!

Green Tomatoes

Not going overboard, but a steady production of the other red fruit. They are sprawling through the end of August garden chaos, minding their own business.

The larger variety, Brandywine, has just now started setting fruit. The garden is an absolute mess, again. Weeds, stems crushed in the storm, fallen branches, scorched stems, I'm expecting locusts any time now.

Brag!

Did I mention the eggplant? I have two eggplants. This is one of them. My enthusiasm for this fruit is only equaled by my family's disdain for its culinary qualities, but I don't care, eggplants are simply beautiful.

Unlike tomatoes, which will grow anywhere, even upside down, eggplants have raised their standards in regards to where the medium they need in order to thrive. A gardener must respect that.

WEEK THIRTY-FIVE

August 29th - Endless Summer

Spider Flower

Cleome is a prolific self seeder. I gathered close to half a pound of seeds off of it last summer, and it still managed to populate the flower bed for the following year. It is beautiful, even though its flowers are a lot more subdued this year.

Here's the drawback: the original plants were hybrids.

Most of the plant seeds that come in packets from growers are hybrids, and even though the plants they produce may be incredibly eager to propagate, their offspring will not come true from seed.

Last year this plant sported gigantic magenta inflorescences, color of which you can still see a sample at the center of the flower, but for the most part their color now shifted to a muted lavender.

If you are keen on collecting and planting seeds from your own garden, which I find extremely rewarding in more ways than one, I recommend checking if the variety you chose is an heirloom.

Annuals are the least likely to come true from seed, and in my experience, some of them, like petunias and impatiens, are not worth the trouble, when they are so readily available from growers, in every shape and color. Love in a mist, larkspur, lunaria, calendula and French mallow will return with fierce determination and they will be true to variety, for the most part.

Biennials and perennials fare a little better, but here are a few you should not expect to come true from seed: all but purple cone flowers, hellebores, hollyhocks, and lupines. I'm sure the list is much longer than that, it is actually easier to list the plants that do. The garden phlox will turn up reasonably close, as are betony, tickseed, Maltese Cross, sedums, sweet violets, Blue Eyed Mary, and some delphiniums.

Purple Fields

Speaking of plants that come true from seed, this particular variety of garden phlox is very reliable in that respect.

Because I had it in my garden for such a long time, I tend to take this plant for granted, so I decided to bring up its wonderful qualities, for people who may not be so familiar with it.

Garden phlox makes a big impact in the garden, it grows over five foot tall and its clumps get larger as it becomes established. Even one or two of them can brighten up a garden, especially when nothing else is in bloom. This feature is particularly valuable towards the end of summer, when the other perennials tend to fade. Garden phlox starts blooming in early June and will stay in bloom until the first frost. Remember to remove the spent flowers to entice it into producing new ones.

If you ever browsed through the plant nursery and wondered what was that lovely fragrance, there is a very strong possibility that you passed a clump of phlox. Their fragrance is quite strong, with high notes of linden flowers and cloves. Plant them close to a sitting outdoor area to enjoy on warm summer afternoons, they never disappoint.

Garden Phlox is resilient and long lived, the plants in my garden have been there for decades, will bloom abundantly, does well in light shade, and even though established gardening practices recommend dividing its clumps every three to five years, it will do just fine with no interference at all. It self-sows, and the offspring tolerates transplanting very well and adapts to any soil type, which makes it a basic for areas with poor soil where other plants fail to thrive. It tolerates drought very well, but does so by seeming to wilt, which will send the soft hearted gardener rushing for the watering hose at the first time of 'distress'. By all means water it, its neighbors in the flower bed will thank you for it, but phlox itself will be just fine, either way.

I learned to read the floppy leaves of the ones in my garden like a very sensitive water gauge.

Beans

May they rest in peace! The cutworms chopped them off below ground and they disappeared, almost miraculously, over night.

I could plant new ones, there is still a lot of time left, I'm still pondering that. They were very pretty, but not the sprawling pole variety that I've gotten used to. They only made it half way up their supports before cruel fate befell them.

Less Common Annuals

Larkspur is a peculiar plant, some years it doesn't germinate at all, no matter the pampering, and other years you could plant it in a bucket of concrete and it will flourish. I haven't figured out what it is that they like yet.

This year has been a good one for them, which allowed me to experience all the shades their flowers come in: white, rose, lavender, blue, and my favorite, a deep, almost fluorescent purple.

WEEK THIRTY-SIX

September 5th - Green Spikes

The Memory Herb

Rosemary is the memory herb. This is both a fact and a metaphor: the smell of rosemary improves retention and concentration, and its stems were traditionally offered as tokens of devotion, especially between lovers who were driven apart.

I don't know if it works for memory and concentration, but I became fond of its fragrance, which is both sharp and soothing. For some reason it reminds me of rain, a strange memory association for an herb that thrives in dry soil, on sun baked cliffs.

According to plant lore you should always plant rosemary by the door for luck, and you should never buy the plant for yourself; it is supposed to be received as a gift, otherwise it will not thrive.

Rosemary tea makes a great leave-in rinse for dark hair, especially when combined with sage: it strengthens the hair's roots, makes it smooth and shiny and gives it rich highlights.

Romantic associations aside, rosemary's main utility is to flavor meat, fish and poultry.

The dried version, the one that comes in spice jars, doesn't do the plant justice, fresh rosemary is tender, fragrant, and soft to the touch, and its scent lingers, roused by any breath of air.

Herb Harvesting

For a good part of the summer the house is strewn with bunches of herbs hung up to dry. The children disapprove. The cat is reluctant to approach them. The surface below them gets messy.

I keep gathering the fragrant greens, excited by their fast growth in June, and tend to put off grinding and storing them in jars, a task which gets tedious after ten minutes.

By the time I finally resign myself to processing them, the bunches are crunchy and the herbs release their scent freely when crushed, as if trying to assert their flavors from a distance. The kitchen smells like mint, then thyme, then dill, then lovage, while, slowly, the jars get filled, labeled and stored neatly on the shelves in the pantry.

When this time consuming task ends, I forget about the tedium of crushing a table full of herbs by hand, and am again inspired to go out into the garden and gather more. Some, like bee-balms, are a bulk item, because I have to harvest all the stems at once, after the flowers have faded, to make room for the late summer flowers. Others, like marjoram and thyme, I gather in diminutive quantities, a few dainty stems at a time, over the length of the season.

I know I should store the dry leaves whole, in brown paper bags, to keep out the light and allow them to breathe, but then I wouldn't be able to see their cheerful colors, so, by the time temperatures start to cool, they're all packed neatly in glass jars, ready for winter.

The real reward comes later, when comforting soups and stews simmer in the pot, seasoned with the taste of summer.

Herb Groundcover

Between the sprawling sage and the wandering habits of the calendulas, the poor thyme doesn't have a lot of elbow room. It dies back after it blooms, a trait uncharacteristic to this plant, so I was pleasantly surprised to see it doubled in size when it came back last spring.

It is being recommended as a ground cover. I feel lucky to keep mine alive, never mind stepping on it on purpose on a regular basis.

Perennial Herbs

I planted yarrow for its medicinal properties, I didn't expect it to be the star of the flower bed for a good part of the summer. This particular variety has apricot flowers, and so many of them!

You have to love perennial herbs! They'll do well almost anywhere, as long as there is enough sunshine, without the constant pampering more high maintenance plants, like roses, require. The lemon balm is still in bloom.

WEEK THIRTY-SEVEN

September 12th - Would You Look at That!

Fall Blooming Perennials

I haven't had much luck with fall blooming perennials, other than the lovely sedums, of course, so, for years, I've been trying to acclimate more of them to my garden. The effort yielded one permanent resident, the goldenrod.

Of course, the prize was supposed to be the snakeroot, a plant which, under the right conditions, can make any gardener's heart leap for joy. It blooms late in August, producing long fuzzy wands of fragrant flowers. Their scent is very strong, with a hint of licorice and tuberose, and they grow tall above the landscape in clumps that get larger over time to become a focal point for the fall landscape.

That's the theory. In practice I already tried them three times in my garden, in various places, but none of them came back for more than a couple of years. I'm on lucky try number four.

The plant is still in a pot on the porch, I've been waiting for the rain to soak the ground, to give it the best chances this time.

Snakeroot is advertised as a shade plant, which is the reason why I haven't managed to grow it successfully until now. Very few plants that bloom really thrive in full shade, and it is probably not one of them. At least I hope so! One thing I know for sure is that it will absolutely not tolerate drought, which is why the last one died back to the ground. I'll move the roots to a place with some sun, water them religiously and hope for the best next spring.

Yarrow Reloaded

Believe it or not, it bloomed again. After it put out a large display of flowers mid-July, the yarrow died back, waiting for next year. Not all of it, apparently.

I think it's time for herb garden maintenance, the plants have grown very big and they really need pruning and cleaning. One would think that will provide me with lots of plant material to dry and store, but that is not the case; the woody stems and damaged leaves are not useful for medicinal or skin care purposes, this is the reason why regular maintenance is needed in the first place.

Lemon balm has grown completely out of control, which I thought was an exaggeration when I planted its shivering sprout, and it is now fighting over territory with the chocolate mint. The sage towers over the landscape and I can't find the marjoram or thyme anywhere.

The calendulas are very reluctant to bloom and didn't thrive this year. There is tall grass advancing into the herb garden.

By now I should know better than to worry the plants are growing too much, so I'll go clean up their sunny patch and stop complaining.

Fall Favorites

An absolute must in the fall garden, sedum suddenly seems to be everywhere come September. Gardeners routinely recommend dividing perennials every few years to keep the clumps young and vigorous. If there is one plant to which this advice applies, is the sedum.

The clumps grow very large relatively quickly, and their centers hollow out unless you divide them.

The Wild

Goldenrod is relentless. In its natural habitat it fills entire fields, and it brings this rapacious habit to the garden. It spreads aggressively, always in the wrong place, asserting itself seven foot tall at the front of the flower border, smothering everything in its path.

I managed to contain it to a couple of clumps, somewhere in the middle of the garden, where its cheerful yellow panaches bring a little fall flair.

WEEK THIRTY-EIGHT

September 19th - Equinox

September

Today was very dark. The sky let down one of those downpours one usually expects in the middle of the summer, complete with thunder and powerful rapping on the roof. The garden isn't ready to roll into fall just yet.

The recent rains encouraged everything out of the slow down which naturally happens at the end of summer: the grass is green and lush again and the perennial herbs, already dormant after bloom, came back for a second round.

For example, let's take this borage in the picture. Can you believe the mighty plant started from one seed that stuck to the envelope the year before and which I decided to plant on a whim?

It is a good thing that one cucumber flavored plant made it through this summer, since the cucumbers themselves did not produce one single fruit.

It's been a weird summer in the vegetable garden, very productive and very wasteful at the same time. As usual, the plants sped up fruit production just when the weather started cooling, but there is much more fuss than results.

Gardening years will be what they will be, no matter what you do, and I reached the wisdom to accept that.

Rolling into Fall

September arrived, bringing with it warm sunny days with blue cloudless skies, followed by cool cloudy days with thunderous rains. The garden is beautiful, happy to display the flowers of fall. Generous plumes of goldenrod and overflowing bunches of blushing sedum fill the voids left behind by the retiring summer flowers.

I can't get used to how dark it is today, it feels like someone dropped a huge weight on top of the sky and pressed it down to the ground. Even after hours of rain the weight of the clouds didn't lift, they're still bearing down on the horizon, waiting for another round.

I went to the plant nursery in search of the usual fall plantings, but it's still to early for bulbs, and I don't think I can fit another perennial anywhere anymore. There were mums everywhere, as one can expect at the beginning of fall, but mums don't fare too well in my garden, so I don't get too many of them, usually.

A little ahead of schedule, the toad lilies are getting ready to bloom, to keep company to the potted tuberoses and the cheerful plumbago.

Pretty much nothing new. Waiting for another month to plant spring bulbs. By the way, fall catalogs are here, just saying.

Purple

One thing I didn't know about common mallow: it has analgesic properties, especially when applied topically.

The list of plants that heal and soothe the skin is very long, but mallow earned its place on it for its emollient, anti-bacterial and anti-inflammatory qualities, not to mention pain relief, as I just learned.

And More Purple

The cleomes remembered what color they were supposed to be, I guess when it comes to the second generation of a hybrid it's the luck of the draw. I'm very curious what they're going to look like next year, as usual the plants produced plenty of seed guaranteed to sprout lots of volunteers next spring.

The flower beds need serious weeding. Yes, again.

WEEK THIRTY-NINE

September 26th - White

Fall Beauty

Just a little bit of decadence before the garden retires for winter: exotic flowers with heady perfume, pure blue skies, bright sunshine. I can't believe it's almost October.

Yesterday I noticed that some of the leaves have started to turn, not enough to make it look like fall, but enough to create an elegant accent in an otherwise deep green foliage.

I'm already thinking about pumpkins and candy, and the thought feels weird, since it's still summer outside. At least summer like.

We're only one week past the equinox and the days are already shorter, and it doesn't feel right to start your day while it's still dark outside.

After a short break to catch its bearings, the garden started its fall bloom display of sedums, hardy mums and toad lilies.

Things tend to quiet down too much in the garden as the cold season approaches, it makes me feel almost like I'm intruding on someone who's getting ready for bed.

Fairy Candles

While trying to figure out what unholy kind of vine literally attaches itself to glass, I discovered something very exciting, which prompted me to spend an entire afternoon researching new plants for the back yard.

Between the sheltered location with white walls and full sunshine, and the vent of the HVAC system, it seems that a diminutive, but nothing short of miraculous, zone eight micro-climate was created in my little corner of the world. How do I know that? Because I finally found out what that glorious vine that insists on attaching itself to glass is: it's creeping fig. Growing stronger than the tree of life, it is! Four years and counting.

I don't know how far this tiny micro-climate reaches, but I'm already planning to try some plants I didn't think I could grow here. Did I mention the area has the benefit of full sun exposure too?

Sadly that will cramp the style of my vegetable garden, which is the current resident of the spot, but what if I can grow tuberoses, for instance? Or gardenias. Now that's pushing one's luck.

This small discovery was so exciting I almost forgot we're approaching winter, the season of dreary and anxiously awaiting spring. Good thing it will give me plenty of time to decide which wonderful zone eight perennial to add to the garden next year.

Bridal

Does this look like a bridal flower arrangement or what? That's why I hesitate to trim the enthusiastic growth of the plant with the delicate white stems (I haven't figured out what it is yet. It came with the garden. Maybe it's a weed, I wouldn't know.)

It tends to be invasive. Between it and the clumps of bugleweed there is no room left to plant annuals. Something to ponder next spring.

Catmint

Here is one perennial that really loves fall! The catmints have been in bloom for over two months now. I'm not so sure what to make of them.

They look like medicinal plants, but they're not, which is kind of a bummer both for their looks and for their healing attributes. They're not exactly aromatic either. Oh, well!

WEEK FORTY

October 3rd - October Yellow

Fall Garden Tasks

Fall came early and suddenly this year, with temperatures in the low forties at night. It feels strange to be able to see your breath while the trees are still green, but that's this season's feature.

The frost on the grass reminded me that fall is in no way a relaxing season, considering all the work that needs to be done before the winter's rest. The first task on the list, and one of the enjoyable ones, is spring bulb planting.

I usually put this off until later in the fall, because October tends to be too warm, which encourages them to leaf out at the end of November, but this year might be a good idea to get them on schedule.

Of course, the list of gardening tasks is a little longer than that and it includes my absolute favorites: leaf raking and vegetable bed cleaning. I'm hurting as I write, just thinking about it, but no matter, what needs done, needs done.

I learned to appreciate the benefits of having a tidy garden to gaze upon during the winter months, even if most of it sports shades of brown and gray.

Soon the tender perennials will have to come indoors, the lawn needs to be fertilized and weed treated before the winter, the pots have to be put away; all this activity makes me sad, a little bit. It's always hard to part with summer, always hard.

Preparing for the Cold Season

In order to tone down the pity fest, come fall I like to add a few perennials to the flower beds for next spring. Over the last few years I was pampered to start three new areas from scratch, but since land is a finite resource, now I have to content myself with small additions to what's already planted.

I haven't had much luck with fall blooming perennials, although I tried quite a few over the years. Among the plants I started from seeds this spring is a wild variety of blue asters, which proved particularly eager to make itself at home in the garden, come shade or sunshine, so at least I know there'll be flowers next year, or the year after that.

The toad lilies anticipated an early cold season and are full of buds ready to burst open.

What's lacking in bloom is making up in fruitfulness. All the trees and shrubs are absolutely covered in berries. The crab apple tree will be a sight for sore eyes during snowy days.

Anyway, until leaf season is upon us, there is not much to do in the garden.

Produce

As usual, I'll get a good crop of green tomatoes. I guess I might as well pick them now, with temperatures dropping below seventy they are not going to ripen, anyway.

I just noticed that the cucumbers decided to make a symbolic gesture and produce one fruit. Just one. It's a gherkin.

Pretty

What's not to love about moss roses? They are free blooming, right at the beginning of fall, when the other flowers tend to slow down and they don't mind dry soil, quite the opposite, they thrive in it.

They are the best flowers to plant in containers for this reason. This and the cheerful array of colors that their pretty little blooms come in.

WEEK FORTY-ONE

October 10th - Fall fruit

Preserving Sunny Afternoons

This year has been very fruitful for the crab apple tree. Last year it took a sabbatical, it didn't bloom at all, and it seems it decided to make up for that by doubling up production this year.

I can't wait for all of this bountiful harvest to ripen, because it makes a lovely honey and cranberry scented base for potpourri.

If you ever cooked apples or quinces, you know there is no fragrance more delightful than that of fruit baking in the oven during a dreary fall afternoon. The little crab apples hold onto this aroma, even when they've completely dried up after a few hours in a two hundred degree oven, and their cranberry-apple spice complements the zing of cinnamon, vanilla and cloves, blending together perfectly to preserve the scent of fall.

I've made this mix several years ago and it still holds on to its aroma, I can't even describe it properly, but it reminds me of citrus, ripe fruit and honey.

They still have some time to go until they ripen, so I will wait patiently. Besides, the weather hasn't turned gloomy enough for a proper potpourri making session.

The birds will be very happy this winter, they tend to hang around the crab apple's branches during the coldest days of the year, happy to find food and shelter. The more fruit, the more birds. Between the two, sometimes you can barely see the branches.

Wrapping Up

I just finished picking the last of the tomatoes, and there were quite a few of them that I've forgotten on the vine through the last weeks. The garden is wrapping up too, even though it's still very warm. The temperatures are still in the eighties during the day and the nights are balmy and heavy with the scent of barren leaves.

Last night everything was bathed in silver light, compliments of a giant super-moon that cast so much light the garden looked almost unreal. We're at the height of the leaf season and everything is beautiful, like a fairy tale.

The golden shades of the maple trees glow their tiny flames against the crystal clear sky, and I can't help but think: how urgent or important can our daily tasks be to make us too busy, frazzled, or preoccupied to notice that we're strolling through heaven?

I'm enjoying it while it lasts, every hue, every scent, every warm breeze, every ray of sunshine. It's going to get cold towards the end of the week, it is almost November after all.

Goldenrod

Between the time I took this picture and now, the goldenrod panaches turned into itchy and easily dispersed blobs of fuzz.

Goldenrod has been mistaken for ragweed and blamed for the pollen allergy associated with the latter, but they are not the same, they are not even in the same family. That is not to say that the goldenrod fuzz is not irritating. If you are allergy prone, deadhead the flowers before they go to seed or don't plant it in your garden.

Orange Velvet

I went outside to pick the last of the tomatoes, and a surprise cucumber. The garden is so quiet in the unseasonably warm late afternoon, not a breeze whispers through the trees, not a bird sings, not a creature scurries through the brush.

Most of the perennials have gone dormant already, but this little marigold decided to provide a burnt orange accent while we're waiting for the pumpkins.

WEEK FORTY-TWO

October 17th - The Garden in October

Spring Planning

I really need to pick and plant spring bulbs, it's been so warm so late into the fall that I almost forgot about them. They can be planted any time before winter, as long as the ground is not frozen. I have some pretty daffodils that I planted in the middle of December as proof of that.

There are a few good gardening practice rules that ensure the success of bulbs, even though they're pretty forgiving plants and will do well anyway.

First, don't plant them until temperatures drop into the fifties, otherwise they will sprout foliage right before the winter.

Second, plant them in groups of six or more, solitary bulbs don't look all that pretty and they fare so much better in company. Make sure to respect the planting depth, or your bulbs won't bloom. If you plant them too deep, they won't be able to reach up through the dirt in time for their season, and some will choose not to emerge at all.

When you dig their planting beds, make them wide and shallow, and don't crowd them. Spread a good handful of bone meal before you place the bulbs and cover them.

If you have wildlife in your yard, and who of us doesn't, your spring bulbs will provide delightful treats for them in the cold season. If you'd rather keep the bulbs in the ground, try placing netting over them before you cover them.

Don't forget to water them, especially while they are dormant. People tend to forget about them after they die down to the ground, but their water needs don't change.

The Last Blooms of Fall

Toad lilies are the last flowers of the year, at least in the garden. They start blooming mid-October, to keep company to the already brown seed heads of the sedums, and they stay in bloom until November, braving the first frosts.

People tend to associate bulbs with spring, and ignore their potential in the garden during summer and fall. I really miss the Casablanca lilies, I don't even know if they reached the end of their natural life cycle or succumbed to the unforgiving winter, but they all vanished one year, for no apparent reason.

The tuberose just finished blooming, it is more of a September flower, really. It looks like the weather is finally turning cold, pretty soon I'll have to move the tender perennials indoors.

It rained really hard last night, at the end of almost a month of dry weather, and it kept raining throughout the day.

Time for pumpkins, candy, and fall planting. There is a thick blanket of colorful leaves laid down on the way to the front door.

Cheeses

If you're wondering why these flowers are also called "Cheeses", it means you've never seen their seed heads. They are tightly packed little wheels and they always remind me of the way dried figs are stored in rounds.

The plant holds on to them with a vengeance, until they are ripe, at which point they burst apart, filled with enthusiasm, to populate the earth with their offspring.

Fall Groundcovers

Usually these flowers would already have gone to seed by now, but this year they started really late, I don't have any explanation why.

There aren't too many flowers left in the garden, it's almost November; usually after the toad lilies bloom, the season is pretty much over.

WEEK FORTY-THREE

October 24th - Beautiful

Leaf Season

A little glimpse of what fall looks like up here, at the peak of the leaf season. I don't usually appreciate how beautiful nature is around here at this time, because I resent that it comes right before winter, but this picture is something else. You never see sky color like this during any other season. This slate gray makes an extraordinary backdrop for the brightness of the foliage.

The leaves are still in the trees for the most part, glowing bright orange, rust, yellow and lime green, which makes me wonder where did the ones that cover the walkway come from.

Waiting for Halloween, there is not much to do outdoors anymore, despite the fact that he temperatures have returned to the high sixties and I am constantly tempted to go back to the garden. It makes me sad that there is no reason for me to putter around in it, at least not until the bulbs arrive (yes, I finally got to ordering them). I don't want to clean up the vegetable beds just yet, because there is still a lot of fruit on the vine, but there is no chance for those tomatoes to ripen, so it's time for green tomato preserves, I guess.

Despite my misgivings, I couldn't help myself and did take a garden tour, during which I noticed that the weeds have not been informed about the coming of winter, because they seem to have made themselves comfortable in the spaces left behind by the spent perennials. I wonder if it would be unreasonable to get into a weeding spree right now, I can't stand the sight of them.

Waiting for the Bulbs

I can't wait for the bulbs to arrive. There is a good batch of Casabanca lilies, (yey!), daffodils (can never have enough of those), hyacinths and giant drumstick alliums.

I have no idea where I'm going to plant all of one hundred bulbs, the sun garden is packed to the brim as it is. Of course there are vast open spaces in the shaded areas, but spring bulbs don't take to the shade, even though they are forest natives, and lilies really take it personally, sun loving plants that they are.

I really missed the lilies, I'm so looking forward to seeing them in the garden next summer. Before the box arrives, I should clear up the flower border a bit, to see what's there, and maybe move some of the perennials around, while the weather still allows.

This year I will finally remember to move the poor Raspberry Sorbet peony out from under the rugosas and give it some room to breathe.

Speaking of bulbs, it is time for the tender ones to be either moved indoors, if they are in pots, or dug up and stored for winter. My tuberoses already look stressed, despite the fact that temperatures have been quite mild so far.

Fall Charm

Quite a bit of an enchanted forest scene, isn't it? The only thing missing are the pumpkins. It's strange, usually they would be ever present by now, decorating each and every doorway.

I have yet to pick some crab apples for potpourri, but the weather is still too nice for fruit baking. Maybe later. For now, sunshine, seventy degrees.

Earth Tones

Maybe I should have planted mums this fall. I feel bad about doing that because they never like it in my garden and by the time winter comes in full force they manage to make that abundantly clear.

Meanwhile I have to rely on the trees for the earth tones of fall, and, as you can see from the photo, they are happy to oblige.

WEEK FORTY-FOUR

October 31st - Very Late Bloomers

Blue Asters

This is why I like to start plants from seed. The blue asters were prolific, and they adapted beautifully to every area of the garden where I planted them, but only these, which were planted in full sun, have bloomed this year.

I didn't expect that to happen, since perennial plants take a year or two to mature before they start to bloom.

I can add them to the list of beautiful perennials that I started successfully from seed, and which now are gracing the front yard: Canterbury bells, Bells of Ireland, false indigo, Black Eyed Susans, Maltese Cross, delphiniums and larkspur. Some of these plants are not easy to find in the nursery, so I had to start them from seed, out of necessity.

After years of growing my own seedlings, I have to say that I still don't have the recipe for what makes them thrive or fail. It's half tender loving care, and half the whim of nature.

I have tried to grow some plants for years, and even though by any standards of soil type, sun exposure and climate zone they should be happy in my garden, they never made it past the first month. Sometimes one needs to have the wisdom to let the plants decide what conditions they like.

My soil is heavy clay, and as strange as it seems, it favors blue, yellow and purple flowers. I know, it doesn't make any sense. No carnations for me!

The delphiniums are glorious! At the peak of bloom, they shoot up to the sky six foot tall stalks of blue bells which stay in bloom for over a month. They were a little bit of a hit and miss in the beginning, but well worth the trouble.

I'm looking forward to the rest of the asters next fall. Not all of the varieties I started in spring have bloomed this year.

Spider Flowers

I started these annuals from seed two years ago, and they have earned a permanent place in my heart and in my garden. I don't often start annuals from seed; by the time they are big enough to bloom, it's too late in the season to enjoy them.

Not these plants, though. The first seedlings, which had volunteered so many sprouts the following year, I can't even keep up with them, were tender and easily bothered, and they grew very slowly through the spring, until some point at the beginning of June when they suddenly shot up and developed into the five foot tall plants that beautified the summer garden with giant magenta blooms for over two months.

Spider flowers are not picky about their growing conditions at all, they will make do with any spot in the garden, but they won't bloom unless they have full sun exposure.

I didn't actually plant this flower, it and its many siblings planted themselves last fall, and for this reason I didn't need to worry whether their seedlings would adjust to the outdoor conditions.

The flowers are still in bloom, even though we already had the first frost.

Sunshine

The fall garden seems to be very fond of yellow flowers: Black eyed Susans, calendulas, marigolds and goldenrods. Trying to capture a little sunshine before the weather turns dreary.

Of course the tomatoes and cucumbers are in bloom too, only they know why. Did I ever mention that tomatoes are particularly eager to sprout volunteers? They like to surprise me in the least acceptable places, like the main flower bed in the front garden for instance. I didn't even notice them until now, that's how crowded it is. I have to do something about that.

The Bulbs Have Arrived

Right after I took the picture of these flowers, the weather turned really cold, I'm looking at frost as we speak. Of course the bulbs finally arrived, and not a moment too soon, mind you. If I don't plant them right now, the ground is going to freeze.

One the other hand, the squirrels won't be able to get them if the dirt is frozen, so, more lilies and alliums for next year.

WEEK FORTY-FIVE

November 7th - The garden through the seasons

Things to Do in the Fall

If only a little late in the season, here are a few things for the fall gardener's schedule. I haven't even started most of mine yet, sadly.

Mid-fall is the best time to move, divide or plant spring and summer blooming perennials. Fall perennials can be moved and divided at this time too, if you really feel like you must, but as a rule, this is an activity best left for spring.

Trim off the stems and dried up foliage of the large perennials, to prevent development and overwintering of mold and fungi, some of which tend to be stubbornly persistent from year to year. Leave some of the more decorative seed heads, like those of cone flowers, for cold season interest and yummy snacks for the birds. The cardinals will appreciate them, come winter.

Rake leaves, clear up the vegetable garden and pick the last fruit of the harvest, if still on the vine. If you grew root vegetables, those are best left in the ground for as long as the ground is workable.

Plant spring and summer bulbs, and don't forget to add a good dressing of bone meal, to give them a good start.

Clean out and store the pots for winter. It does the new potted plants a world of good if you can start them out in fresh soil in spring: they get a healthy amount of nutrients from soil that hasn't been already depleted, and any disease that tends to overwinter in the dirt will not be a problem.

Place the clay pots in a place where the temperatures don't drop much below freezing, they tend to crack from the freeze thaw cycle.

Clean and store the gardening tools until spring and give the lawn one last good feeding before winter.

Cold Season Care for Roses

Whether rose pruning is best done in the fall or spring is a matter of preference. I usually leave it for spring, for some reason I feel the plants will fare better over the winter if they keep the growth from the previous year. If you do choose to prune before winter, do so, keeping in mind that you'll have to go back to them in spring and clean out any canes that had suffered winter damage.

For the roses which need regular pruning, which do not include most of the once blooming roses and the climbers, keep three or four canes, that are sturdy enough but steel green and not woody, and trim them down to one third of their length. Leave enough room between the canes so that there is good air movement and the canes don't rub against each other.

Trim once blooming roses and climbers only to keep them looking healthy and help their growth habit. Remember that these roses bloom on old wood and by pruning them you will remove all the flower buds for the following year.

If you want to try your hand at rose propagation, fall is a good time to start. Trim a healthy green cane, about the thickness of a pencil, cut it diagonally to a length of five to six inches, and make sure it has a stem with five leaves. Bruise or slit one end, dip it in growth hormone (which can be found at most plant nurseries) and plant it firmly into the ground, making sure it does not move. Place a glass jar on top of it, in such a way that the leaves don't touch the glass, to prevent mold, and don't disturb it until spring. Don't judge the success by the way the cane looks, some keep their leaves green forever but don't develop any roots, and others look past help while they are doing all their work underneath the soil. Come spring, lift the jar and tug gently at the stem. If it offers resistance, that's a good sign that its roots have begun developing. Be patient with the young rose, and you will be rewarded with a beautiful own root rose.

If you have an established rose that needs winter protection, trim it in the fall and cover it with a cone, or mound dirt as high up as you can around it, being particularly careful to bury the graft bud, if the rose is grafted, otherwise, come spring you'll end up with Dr. Huey. I have quite a few myself, not that they are not lovely.

If you have tree roses, all of which need winter protection, you have to dig them up and bury them sideways in a trench until spring, when you have to dig them up again and replant them vertically. Personally, I find that to be way too much work.

To Trim or Not to Trim?

As far as pampas grasses are concerned, gardening wisdom recommends not to trim them until spring, to provide interest for the winter garden. Depending on what your plants actually look like, you may decide whether this is a good idea or a bad idea.

I find that mine tend to get a soggy and depressing look by the time March rolls around, and trimming them in spring is among my least favorite activities. If the clump is a specimen planting and it looks particularly attractive, it is a well defined color and it keeps its shape, it might be a good feature for the winter garden.

Winter Blooming Perennials

Don't leave your winter tender perennials for dead if they are planted in containers. They will live a long life and give you much joy if you find it in your heart to bring them indoors for the winter. Not only do they grow over the years, and produce more flowers during the warm seasons, but some of them alter their vegetative cycle and bloom in the middle of winter, when gardening joy is running rather scarce.

I have tuberose pictures from February to prove this point. Also, some of the perennials imported from the southern hemisphere are winter blooming anyway, so if you don't bring them inside you'll never see their flowers.

WEEK FORTY-SIX

November 14th - The Gardener's Year

The Month of May

Spring is the most beautiful season, even though it is usually very short. A burst of flowers, mostly blue and yellow, covers the nicely manicured flowerbeds and everything is fresh and bright green.

Spring in this area is usually so short you can almost miss it, for instance I don't remember the trees blooming two years ago. The winter dragged on all the way to the end of April, ending up with a hard freeze past the customary day of the last frost, to be followed half a month later by full blown summer temperatures.

Under normal circumstances, however, spring is mild and lovely, with daffodils, whose numbers have increased significantly over the years, and endless carpets of sweet violets.

The month of May is the peak of spring bloom, and probably the only time of the year when the tiny shade garden behind the house is bursting with flowers. I confess to some level of slacking that doesn't help encourage its productivity, but even with regular feeding and watering, it doesn't do much in the way of flowers once the leaves are on the trees. It is a sight to behold in May, when the clematis, the bugleweed, the hellebores and all the spring bulbs are in bloom.

Last but not least, I forgot to mention this garden princess. I can never get enough of it, fortunately it is a very long blooming spring perennial, so I get to enjoy it for over a month in spring.

Summer Bounty

The vegetable garden kind of fell by the wayside this year. Between the weather conditions, a little bit of neglect on my part and some pest that damaged all the peppers, both sweet and hot, I didn't have much luck with it this year. The tomatoes weren't bothered too much, although even those, in comparison, didn't fare as well as they did in other years.

There must have been something about the weather, because all the veggies bloomed abundantly, but didn't set fruit. I looked up the reasons for this and I have my pick between too hot, too cold, lack of pollination and water stress. The beans hung around for a while, and then died overnight, no doubt victims of cutworms.

The tomatoes made it to some degree, although not nearly as well as in other years, so I'm going to talk about them.

Tomatoes germination rate is as close to 100% as it gets. If you start them indoors four to six weeks before the date of last frost, they will be large enough to plant in the garden and suffer minimum transplant stress. Once in the garden they grow very fast, and after another week or two there is really no difference between the plants you start from seed and those you buy fully grown. Not many veggies are like that, but the tomatoes are.

Tomatoes are temperature sensitive. They will not set fruit if temperatures are lower than 75 degrees or higher than 90. This is a rule that doesn't always apply, but it errs on the side of higher temperatures. Cold and rainy summer weather doesn't suit them at all.

Tomatoes are very healthy plants, which tend to grow excessive foliage to the detriment of fruit if left to their own devices. Good gardening practice requires removing the suckers (the sprouts that grow in the joint between the main chord and the stems), and keeping the latter to a maximum of four or five per plant, to allow it to put its energy into growing larger fruit. I tested this and it works, with two caveats: larger fruit means significantly less fruit, and a two pound tomato is not exactly user friendly.

Moments in Time

I took this picture as an afterthought, on one of those days we all have, when everything seems to conspire against you. I'm sure everyone can attest that these kinds of days do, in fact, happen. The only reason I was out walking and admiring nature was because my car broke down.

This comes to prove what wonders we miss in our quest to fulfill whatever it is that we think takes priority at the time. My point is, why wait for the car to break down?

Winter Landscape

The crab apple tree was very fruitful this year, which means that the feathered friends will probably come back to visit. Its berries are very popular in the middle of winter, gathering an entire host of colorful birds - cardinals, chickadees, robins, black birds, bluejays.

There is a little yellow fluff ball I couldn't identify, it is smaller than a child's fist and completely round, except for its tail. I think it's a singing bird.

WEEK FORTY-SEVEN

November 21st - Aah, summer...

Basking in the Light

Ok, so it's the exact opposite of that, but in anticipation of next summer, a few comments.

The perennial garden leaves absolutely no room for annuals. Everything is packed to capacity and very crowded. The only areas that still could benefit from them are the ones in the shade. It's hard to match the consistent bloom of impatiens and begonias with shade perennials. Also, a couple of the northern areas need a little help, which will also come in the guise of annuals, I think.

There summer bulbs will take a more prominent role, especially in the summer border, if they manage to rise over the established perennials, that is. As I said, the sun border is packed to capacity and ready to burst.

Perennials never cease to surprise, I can't figure out why the new part-shade garden is blooming so enthusiastically, but I'm not going to complain about it. I hope also that the perennials I divided and relocated two summers ago finally come into their own next year.

The hybrid roses never made it. I don't know if it's the crowding, or the soil, or my care, but they won't give me the time of day, not to mention blooms. I'm open for a positive surprise, but I'm not holding my breath. The floribundas and species are doing great, and by that I mean they completely took over an entire flower border. They are lovely, of only for a month.

I've got to figure out a way to keep the weeds in check, they are driving me to distraction. No herbicides, though!

End of Season Garden

I checked my email to find out with surprise, that bulbs are still coming in the mail. I can only hope for a couple of warm days in the middle of December, so I can plant them before the dirt freezes.

The fall cleaning took a back seat to other activities this year, so I didn't finish the back yard, and I think the glut of leaves will have to wait and get worked into the soil next spring.

This summer I added a few perennials to the little garden, and now I need to wait a couple of years for them to mature. Most perennials take their time to develop a strong root system before they get to the flower production. I remember that, again, I forgot to dig out the Raspberry Sorbet peony from under the roses and move it to a location where it would actually thrive. Maybe I can still manage that before the first snow.

After a bout of very warm and humid weather, the temperature dropped suddenly, accompanied by wild gusts of wind and, this morning, freezing rain. I'm looking out the window at some very enthusiastic wild honeysuckle shrubs that are trying to assert themselves through the crab apple tree. I really have to dig those out in spring, before they decide to take over the universe, but for now it's too late for gardening activities. It seems that next week it's going to snow.

The wild gusts of wind shook off half the leaves from a tree that usually keeps them, stubbornly, until February. They are scattered all over the front lawn, and need to be cleaned up, weather permitting. Not much luck regarding that so far.

Green Flowers

Despite their name, Bells of Ireland are in fact Mediterranean flowers, who like dry hot summers and volunteer readily when they find soil that drains well and lots of sunshine. They are good plants for poor soil, and provide a beautiful vertical accent, especially in a green themed flower border.

Sadly, they are annual flowers, but if I am to believe the more optimistic opinions, once you plant them, they reseed and show up again, year after year. I'm really looking forward to that.

Dreaming of June

In all fairness, all I do after the cold season arrives is to wait for it to be over. In the meantime, the little indoor greenhouse does its best to make up for the barren landscape, and many of its potted perennials don flowers in the middle of winter, but that's still a long way off.

Even the amaryllis, which normally blooms for Christmas, will probably be late this year, because it bloomed in September, while it was outdoors. For now, all the plants are green and look healthy, and that's all that matters.

WEEK FORTY-EIGHT

November 28th - Like the Lilies of the Field

Lilies

These lilies bloom for only a few days at the height of summer, and I often miss their splendid flowers altogether, busy with other things, but not on the day I took these pictures, a day when the morning garden got blessed with a light that was simply surreal.

That being said, the most common lily varieties are almost as different among themselves as they are from the day lilies and Belladona lilies, and it is important to evaluate your expectations before planting a particular breed.

The Asiatic lilies bloom early, are very cold hardy, and have a compact, well behaved growth with upward facing flowers of almost any color imaginable. Their flowers don't last very long, but, just like the daylilies, this particular variety is very prolific. Sadly, the flowers are not fragrant.

The Easter lily is a variety in and of itself. Its familiar long, trumpet shaped flowers, dangle gracefully from a sturdy stem; its flowers are very fragrant. It won't survive winter in the colder regions, which is why it's mostly grown commercially and, for this reason, more of a florist than a gardener's flower.

The Oriental lilies are the patricians of the garden. Their flowers are very large, upward facing and fragrant. They come in an array of colors and will do well in colder climates.

The Madonna lilies are my favorites. They have the wild, sinewy growth of the wild species and are blessed with the classic lily blooms you see in old fashioned flower prints. The flowers are not very large but they grow in heavy clusters, and are so fragrant that they turn the whole garden into summer heaven. Of course the hybrid varieties have much larger flowers, but they still maintain a lot of the original intense perfume. Their blooms are usually pure white, with their middles stained yellow with the abundant pollen the plant produces. They bloom late in summer and are reasonably cold hardy, although they will not survive extreme winters. If you are blessed to have one in your garden, they are a true prize; not as easy-going as one would think for a wild species.

The beauty in the picture is "Triumphator", a hybrid of the Easter and Oriental lilies, and it inherited the better qualities of both parents. It will overwinter in the garden and it is fragrant, but, as I said, doesn't stay in bloom very long.

The Gift of a Summer Garden

Speaking of Oriental lilies, here is one that graced my garden for several years, and then died off. I'm not sure if it has a rather short lifespan, or if it was a very harsh winter that did them in, but they all disappeared a couple of years ago. I was very sad when they died, because for years, towards the end of summer, I looked forward to their beautiful flowers, whose intense fragrance has notes of vanilla. I finally planted a new lot this fall.

The Casablanca lily, which, despite the fact that it is an Oriental hybrid, has many of the traits of the wild lilies, is a staple for any perennial garden. Its long, slender stems wander, or stand tall and upright, depending on their growing conditions, and produce a wealth of white flowers with dark brown stamens. The flowers are very fragrant.

The problem with lilies in general is that their bulbs are delicious. You have to plant them deep, at least six or seven inches below the surface, otherwise they'll either be squirrel food or freeze during the winter. If they make it through the first year, they usually get well established in their location, and will grow from year to year.

Some gardeners say that lilies have a relatively short blooming life, and their flowers start tapering off after the third or fourth year, after which they don't have a lot to show in the garden anymore. I wouldn't know. Mine died after five or six years, when they were at the peak of their splendor. I can only hope that I gave the new ones the best start possible, so that their lives expand beyond that range.

If there is any flower that I would regard as a gift from the garden, it would be the lily. You can care for them and give them the best growing conditions, it's really not that hard, they are bulbs after all, they don't need much, but whether they bloom for you or not, that's up to them and mother nature, and I am so very grateful for mine.

Winter Lilies

My annual winter treat, the amaryllis, the most dramatic indoor blooming bulb. During a good season it will sport a crown of flowers that look very much like those of its relative, the Belladona lily, which is, in fact, the true amaryllis.

My dear "Picotee" spends the warm season outdoors, where it can get more sunshine for its bulb to grow and replenish its food reserves for winter bloom. Unfortunately, nobody told the amaryllis what it was supposed to do, so it decided to burst into flowers in September and is now resting. If it does bloom indoors, it will probably be very late this winter, in February or March.

Earth Energies

Sometimes in the middle of July, the entire garden is blazing with the bright orange, lemon yellows, and burgundies of day lilies.

It feels like the earth itself springs forth this burst of colorful energy, to match the warmth of the sun. Of course, said energy needs a lot of feeding to happen. I am a great believer in organic gardening and I noticed in my own experience that the garden finds its own balance and thrives that way, but it will definitely not bloom without fertilizer. It's just as simple as that. Go for an organic one, if you must, but do feed it.

WEEK FORTY-NINE

December 5th - Gardening Naturally

The Garden that Keeps on Giving

If you have established perennials, they are a readily available source of new plants for your garden.

Most herbaceous perennials can be propagated by division. In spring, for fall blooming perennials, and fall, for spring blooming perennials, dig up the clump, break it up into smaller sections, making sure that every section has a good amount of roots attached, and replant them immediately in their new locations. Perennials can be divided at any time during the growing season, if you really want to do it, just keep in mind that extreme temperatures will add to the stress the new plants are already subjected to, due to transplantation.

Woody perennials, like rosemary, roses, butterfly bush, sage, and hydrangeas, are easily propagated by stem cuttings. Cut a four to six inch piece of cane with growing nodes, from the midsection of a young, sturdy stem. Bruise the bottom end, dip it in root hormone, if you have any (it is available at plant nurseries), and plant it in a good growing medium, remembering to keep the soil and the plant evenly moist, so that it doesn't dry out.

Some plants, like African violets, cacti and sedums, are easily propagated by leaf cuttings. This means exactly what it sounds like: take a leaf and stick its petiole into the ground. It will grow roots.

Most of the plants in the mint family will root in water, if you give them a week or two.

Raspberries and blackberries can be propagated by layering: bend a long, flexible cane and bury its midsection. After roots develop, you can cut it off from the mother plant. Strawberries, violets and mint and bugleweed propagate by runners. If you want to plant their offspring in other areas of the garden, all you have to do is dig them up and cut the string that connects them to the rest of the clump.

Keep in mind that many plants can be propagated by several different methods, not one, and many will do all the work themselves, very enthusiastically, if they like their spot.

Check your garden in spring for baby plants and colonies that have grown over the previous year, you'll be sure to find enough material to populate a new flower bed.

Last, but not least, the obvious way to propagate plants - by seed. Every plant can be propagated by seed, why else would they expend energy to produce it? Some require very specific growing conditions, chilling, a particular type of medium, but all plants can be grown from seed. The rest of the methods are shortcuts for the gardener.

Naturally good soil

Although I am an enthusiastic advocate of natural gardening, I wasn't much of a fan of composting until I procrastinated one fall and left a sizable pile of leaves and stems out on a concrete slab, thinking that I would clean it up in spring. When spring arrived, to my surprise, everything but the very top layer had turned to humus. It even smelled like woodland soil and was crawling with earthworms. It is one thing to know things in theory, and another to see them happen under your very eyes. Usually, all of the yard debris goes to the recycling center, where this process happens out of my sight.

I still take most of the yard waste there, because my garden is not large enough to accommodate a composting pile, and the smell is not endearing, but I feel a lot better now about spreading some of the green matter that I end up with after weeding, in inconspicuous spots around the garden.

One of the many things that are great about nature is that it cleans up after itself. Nature has no garbage, only matter in the process of transformation. That being said, good compost needs to include more than leaves and stems, it needs to have food scraps, well rotten manure, and wood chips mixed in in order to achieve a well balanced level of nutrients for the soil.

Evidently, that is not going to happen in the front yard, but even if you compost green matter exclusively, keep in mind that some plants are better for this task. Pod bearing plants like beans, peas, and lupines, improve the nitrogen content of the soil whether they grow in it, due to their symbiotic relationship with the bacteria in their roots, or are plowed under.

Coffee grounds are rich in nutrients, even though not the complete range a plant will need. They acidify the soil, a quality which won't bother you much if your soil is too sweet to begin with, like mine is, but this can create problems on already sour soils. Also, keep in mind that the coffee grounds start out sterile, after all you've just boiled them, so it will take them some time to cultivate the beneficial bacteria that work the magic of making the soil fertile.

One last thing. Some people say that clay is terrible for gardening and try to get rid of it, an assessment that is both wrong and totally undeserved. While it's true that some plants simply won't thrive in this heavy, alkaline medium, the picture above is the only proof I need that it is one of the most fertile soils naturally available. Its most significant problem is density. You can try to alter it by adding sand, peat, humus, whatever you choose, just keep in mind that the clay particles will sink to the bottom eventually, no matter what.

Pest Control

As far as pests and diseases are concerned, with plants, like with every living thing, prevention is better than the cure. Maintaining adequate spacing, keeping the flowerbeds clear of debris and removing the affected leaves, stems, or even plants, at the first sight of disease goes a long way towards keeping the garden healthy and thriving.

Picking out the insects by hand and trying a tobacco or pepper tea spray before reaching for the insecticides will benefit both you and your garden in the long run. Some plants naturally repel pests. People have planted marigolds around their kitchen gardens for a long time, because their pungent smell deters critters and the substances they release in the soil are toxic to nematodes.

Water Capturing and Conservation

There are two aspects to water conservation. The first is that, unless your site is already boggy, you want to keep the water on it and not let it run off. The second is that when water runs off, it washes away the good topsoil, a problem for sites with heavy clay, which tends to stratify in time, no matter how well you mixed in lighter growing medium.

Give the water a place to accumulate, by adding small trenches and retention basins, and keep as much of the area planted. Grass and ground covers will create a natural barrier to the loose soil that tries to get away from your flower and vegetable beds.

WEEK FIFTY

December 12th - The Climate and the Weather

Hardiness Zones

If you've been gardening for a while, no doubt you know what hardiness zone your pride and joy grows in. You know what plants need winter protection, what plants need to be moved indoors for winter, and what plants won't be bothered even by arctic winters.

A few amendments to the general hardiness zone information. Strange as it may seem, the latter is not set in stone. The trend in recent years has been for the zones to shift towards getting warmer. Don't get excited about it, whether or not your 5B zone has now officially become a zone 6, winter will still be gruesome.

One of the most important reasons for knowing your hardiness zone is the expected date of the last frost, which, I learned the hard way, is approximate and orientative. Have contingency plans to protect those tender shoots you just planted, just in case another frost visits in May.

The hardiness zone refers to the larger area you live in, but your site specifics will modify it significantly: a sheltered position, southern exposure, surfaces that reflect heat can offset the development of plants in different areas of your garden by almost a month. If winter tender perennials manage to make it through winter after winter, you should believe them, not their hardiness guidelines, no matter what zone is listed on their label.

The hardiness zone of a plant is based on temperature expectations for an average year. Even the most resilient and cold hardy plants will die during extreme winters.

As far as planting and harvesting are concerned, if you must err, err on the side of a long warm fall, not an early spring. The earth takes a long time to warm and cool, and it is very likely that summer temperatures will linger way past mid-October, but I don't ever remember spring coming early. Of course, there is always a first time for everything.

Weather Variations

According to long range weather predictions, (see Farmers' Almanac), we're looking at mild weather patterns for next year, a warmer than normal winter, a long, dry spring, and a cool summer with less than average rain, at least for this area.

My garden isn't much fazed by weather variations, as long as they are not extreme. I guess I can try sweet peas again. Of all the weather patterns, it fares worst during rainy summers. Everything grows out of control and gets overcrowded, and there is no keeping up with the blackspot, the mold, and the weeds. Any other weather, the plants will take in stride, even drought conditions.

I hope relatively tame weather next year will give the young perennials good conditions to get established, free from the stress of deep freezes, heat or drought.

Cooler temperatures will probably favor the cucumbers, which tend to wilt at the first sign of heat or dry weather.

With any luck, the tree bloom will last more than a few days, and maybe the little apple tree will decide to set fruit again. A long spring would be nice, to give the bulbs and the woodland flowers some time to shine. Despite the fact that the weather predictions suggest it, I have my doubts that it's going to happen. Lately, spring almost ceased to exist: one random day in April, the season decides to switch from winter to summer and that is that.

Other Winter Gardening Activities

Truth be told, once the snow is in all activity in the garden stops, unless you enjoy mending fences and building arbors in the dead of winter. I don't.

Winter gardening activities? Armchair daydreaming, keeping the bird and animal feeders well stocked, tending to the potted plants on the window sill, counting the days until winter is over, poring over nursery catalogs, ordering plants for much, much later in the year and drinking lots of hot beverages to chase away the chill. Did I mention I really don't like winter? I'm just glad that I managed to finished cleaning the fall debris before the first freeze. I hate it when I have to clean piles of slimy, moldy, half rotten leaves in spring. I did it one year. Never again.

Winter Plantings, Well, Sort of

The cold season is the best time to plant bare root deciduous trees. Whether you plant them before the dirt freezes or as soon as the dirt thaws, it is important to do so while the trees are still dormant.

Besides the obvious advantage, which is the fact that bare root trees are significantly less expensive, there are other reasons to choose them over root balled trees: the saplings get established better when they only have one type of soil to adapt to, and there is usually a broader selection. Planting rules are the same as they would be for any tree: dig the planting hole three times as wide as the tree roots, and don't plant them any deeper than they were in the location from which they were harvested. If the roots are dry, soak them for 8 to 12 hours before planting.

WEEK FIFTY-ONE

December 19th - Pacific Northwest

Northern Light

As we left the shore and I looked back at the beautiful, surreal landscape of Horseshoe Bay, it felt like all the worries and the cares of the world were also left behind to fade into the distance. The vast, placid waters worked their magic on me too, as they did on so many travelers throughout the centuries.

The Pacific draws you in with the irresistible pull of its enormous mass, and makes you feel small and irreplaceable at the same time; its essence breathes peace into your very soul.

I have heard stories from people who have braved the waters of this big ocean, and they all talk about its peaceful vastness, almost as if they were describing an enormous creature whose movements and intentions they could not understand, but a benign and contemplative one, most of the time.

I watched the puffy clouds play games of light and shadow with the tree tops of the northern rain forest, and I watched the afternoon light lend sparkle to the snow covered mountain peaks.

I watched the glimmer of the waters and the movements of the sun, spellbound by the sudden shifting of perspective from transient concerns to permanence.

All living things are drawn to water, because we instinctively understand that our existence depends on it and for this reason its proximity makes us feel safe. When water presents in this quantity it can be overwhelming, exhilarating, and a bit disorienting too. I don't know how to describe it, sometimes words are not enough.

The Rainforest

It is not called a rainforest for nothing. It rained when we visited it, but I didn't care. Wispy clouds of fog weaved through the trees, giving the quiet forest an almost ghostly appearance.

Some of the trees in Capilano Park are hundreds of years old, if that doesn't give one pause, nothing will. I paid my respects to Grandma Capilano, the dean, flaunting the respectable age of approximately eight hundred years old. He, she, it is a Douglas Fir, and just to put things in perspective about what this age represents, a contemporary of the Magna Carta. If only we were trees!

Capilano Park hosts three of the most common species of trees in the Pacific temperate rainforest: the Douglas fir, the red cedar and the western hemlock.

Here and there thick and luxurious moss covers bare branches in apple green velvet.

The rain fell steadily, the kind of rain that lasts for days, not hours, but when you are under the dense tree canopy, very little of it manages to push through all the way to the ground, so we walked around the park in diffuse, surprisingly warm mist, that coated everything - the trees, the ferns, the rocks around the pond, the gravely path and us.

The Land of the Mists

I can tell you that the trip to Vancouver Island and the trip back were like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. You are looking at the good one here, which was the trip to. The trip back was swallowed by a fog so thick you couldn't see your own hands in front of your face.

It felt strangely similar to a plane trip through dense cloud cover, so it didn't phase me much, such is the nature of habit. I guess things are only weird if you've never seen anything like them before.

Vancouver Island

The sunset alone is worth a trip to Vancouver Island. Nanaimo is a fishing and boating paradise, neatly tucked away in a little sheltered harbor.

It is so quiet there, nothing but the cries of the seagulls and the soft whoosh of the wind. For a true nature lover, the area has numerous hiking trails where one can go experience the wilderness, but we only stayed for one night, so we contented ourselves to visit the charming city harbor to see the fishing boats and the shops along its edge.

WEEK FIFTY-TWO

December 26th - Vancouver in Winter

The Steam Clock

I didn't get a picture of this city feature last year, so here it is, the Steam Clock on Water Street. I read the explanation about how a steam boiler operates something as delicate and precise as a clock mechanism and I will leave it to people more familiar with the intricacies of clockwork to shed light on it.

It puffs and whistles every fifteen minutes, certainly more delicately than a steam engine, attracting the interest of locals and visitors alike.

The Steam Clock boasts an old fashioned Victorian design, but it is a lot younger than it looks: it was built in 1977 by horologist Raymond Saunders and metalworker Doug Smith. (Am I the only person to think that writing horologist under 'your occupation' is way cool?) I wonder how many of them there are in the world.

By definition, horology is the scientific study of time, a broader category that includes the measurement of time and the making of clocks. Add to this steam powering intricate mechanisms and you'll understand my fascination with the subject.

I went down that Internet rabbit hole and learned more fascinating details, which I will share with you. For instance, I learned that any feature of a mechanical time piece that goes beyond a simple movement, which is just the hour and minute arms, is called a complication. A grand complication is a watch that has several complications, conventionally at least three. The most complicated watch has 57.

What could possibly add up to 57 complications? An astrolabe, the phases of th moon, the signs of the zodiac, and last, but not least, a tourbillon.

What does a tourbillon do, you ask? It mitigates the effects of gravity. Enough said.

The Bay at Sunset

A view of Vancouver at sunset from Lonsdale Quay. Even as you see it, the picture doesn't really do it justice. The sky was ablaze with colors you hardly ever see, even in the middle of winter.

The white sail structure in the forefront is Canada Place, which will host the second largest celebration of Canada Day, for Canada's 150th anniversary this year.

You wouldn't believe it, when you look at this picture, that rain poured uninterrupted the entire day, from a leaden blanket of storm clouds as thick as the atmosphere itself.

On our bus trip back from Capilano we watched it lift and dissipate suddenly, to display this beautiful spectacle of light and color which was hidden behind it.

We got to admire the sunset at leisure, while the ferry took us back downtown, past the northern Vancouver shipyards and the Lions Gate Bridge, and the Stanley Park seawall.

The night and us arrived at the ferry terminal at the same time.

Water Street

The buildings on Water Street in Gastown are probably the most representative for the old architecture of Vancouver. Gastown is the oldest part of the historic city, with its lovely citiscape of brick paved sidewalks and Victorian buildings, wrought iron street lamps and small cafes.

When weather is nice, people sit outside, to watch the world go by and enjoy a few minutes of respite. All that and a steam clock to boot.

False Creek Harbor

If you are up for a leisurely stroll, follow the promenade that starts at the Science Museum and leads all the way to Granville Island. On this forty minute walk you'll get great views of downtown Vancouver and False Creek, which is the pleasure boat harbor.

There is a bridge connecting Granville Island to Downtown Vancouver, but you have to reach street level first, which is about forty feet over head.
