the garden

Where am i?

Have i been transported
to another land?
Perhaps southern England
or northern France.

It is very mild in these parts.
As a British friend says,
"We're having a proper English winter."

At Greenwood last weekend
there were snowdrops!

wintersweet was in flower
and filling the soft breeze with its heady perfume



(Don't let those diminutive
blooms fool you. Their perfume fills the air!)
However
it usually doesn't flower around here
until March.

And, then...
at home
in the chilly front room
where potted plants spend the winter
a viola!

Hearts take flight

it was only 75F this morning. at 5am.

i do apologize, dear visitor
and issue this alert:
this post contains a rather lengthy moan and groan about the unforgivable weather
However, after i vent i do share some more positive thoughts
and a pleasant photo or two. If you don't wish to indulge my rant
you can jump down to the photo for a few, more positive thoughts.
And now, the rant:

Yesterday, it was 109F in the parking lot of the movie theater when we came out at 2pm

it was 102F in the garden.

Outside, away from the unnatural "conditioned" air
it is difficult to breathe
shade offers no respite.
Nights are long and restless

This is simply not natural for our region.
It feels as though Hades has come, uninvited
plopped down with a greedy grin
and is refusing to leave until it has sucked all of the life out of
every living thing.

Standing in line at the deli i overheard a man say
"I'd take a week of snow and ice over this awful stuff."
i wanted to hug him.
Given that he was a total stranger
i resisted the urge and just gave him a grin and a nod instead.

i confess that i feel not one iota of sympathy for those who moan only
in rain or snow--and thereby reveal their utter ignorance for the needs
of the natural world around them.
Yes, of course i empathize with those who feel trapped, or threatened living in a climate they dislike.
But, i confess i find it difficult to voice my understanding when most are silent
during heat and drought.

i find the rote, endlessly chanted-from-every-outlet
"sunshine = happiness" to be utterly foolish and distasteful.
Those in this seemingly vast chorus are obviously blind and
do not see the large tracts of dead maples, oaks, ash and
other important native trees across the hillsides, fields
and mountains of the entire northeast.
Worse, if they do see them, they fail to comprehend the disaster those
skeletons warn us of.
News outlets never notice until conditions are desperate.
This widely accepted blindness, or ignorance--or just plain silence while the sun shines relentlessly--hurts me. i try hard not to, but i'm afraid i take it personally.

i write a garden column for our local daily
and i do my best to learn what i need to know about all of this
and to share it. i've written frequently
too frequently over the past decade
about my case of RSAD, "reverse seasonal affective disorder"
and i posted this public service announcement/warning on Facebook for
all those who live in my vicinity:
DO NOT utter the words "isn't this gorgeous weather".
We just might learn that looks can kill or maim.
It was my attempt at a sour joke after i'd come in from the smothering heat.

Writing publically about my distaste for hot weather
has given others permission to acknowledge their distaste for blistering summer heat.
Last spring, when it rained and rained and rained some more
nearly every week, for two months
we smiled, knowingly when we ran into each other.
A postal clerk whispered
"I know most people walk around miserable, but I love this."
When individuals stopped me to exclaim, "I can't believe how fabulous the roses were this year!"
i explained, "It was the good snow pack over the past 2 winters--and all that rain."
Most just stared back
slack-jaw
incredulous. "You can't be serious" in their eyes.

It's bad enough that my body revolts in temperatures above 80F
(i've experience one too many bouts of heat exhaustion in my attempts to "tough it out"
when i was hired to design, install and maintain gardens)
Even so, i could cope with being trapped indoors with the ac and fans running 24/7
i could read, play in PhotoShop, and haul the hoses around in the early morning hours
while Hades reigns
if it weren't for the fact that this type of heat destroys so much of what i love
out there (including wildlife)
where no one can irrigate.

Leaves from the beloved birch rain down as it attempts to protect itself from further loss of moisture. The running joke is that weather forecasters are always wrong, right??
i surely hope so, because--contrary to popular assumptions
i've lost more trees, shrubs and "hardy" perennials to summer
than any of the "harsh winters" that have come our way over the past 30+ years.

My heart leaped up when the dawn revealed an overcast sky
to shield us, if only a few short hours from the harsh sun.

OK. ,nuf of that. For today.
Thank you, dear visitor
(if you are still with me)
for listening and indulging me.
i do feel better for having expressed these feelings...even if you left.
Now...onto other things.

There are cheery blue chicory flowers
in a sea of lovely grass ignored by the men with their terrible mowing machines


 
and tropical plants in pots
like this Plumbago auriculata









The other very bright spot, The Movie
the final installment of the Harry Potter saga
was a very wonderful surprise
definitely not the disappointment i had expected after seeing the
very poor HP &DH part one.

i had determined that i would see the films
even tho the previous 3 had been disappointing.
It was my duty to sweet Jon
the nephew who is/was my best friend
and who got me hooked on the books.
An avid reader, the HP books were the only ones in the
fantasy genre he ever liked.
He had read them and listened to the audio versions several times
and was my source when i forgot details in books 4-6.
He laughed in a scolding manner when, at first, i mixed up
the names Dumbledore and Gandalf.
(Neither he nor i enjoy Tolkein. Sorry!)

While watching the boring HP & DH part 1
i could hear him saying what i was thinking, too
"that part of the book can only be read"
and
"Wow. They blew it at the end of the film. Hollow.
Devoid of the wrenching feelings of awe at the loss of Dobby."

Part 2. Completely different experience.
i was enthralled.
It was a satisfying conclusion to Harry's saga.
It's as if the filmmakers saved all of their heart for last.
i was especially moved with the marvelous artistry in the rendering of
that magnificent, tortured white dragon crawling up, up, up to his freedom,
Snape's petronus, and the revelation of his true character, and, of course, Harry's final battle.

It was simply a heart-full.
My sister, my nephew, my niece were all with me.
Just like when i read the book.

Even tho the heat from Hades slapped us in the face as
we opened the doors and left the theater to step out into blazing sunshine
(me, my sister and friend)
our full hearts carried us up and above
all the rest of the day.

So often, people get things so very, very wrong.
It felt so good to sit for 2.5 hours
carried away with people who got it right.

You know me
i don't need sunshine they way most people seem to.
In fact, i can become out of sorts and downright grouchy if we go too many days
without some nice clouds, fog, drizzle, rain or snow.
But i confess that this weekend, while at Greenwood
with chilly temps and a stiff breeze
i was grateful for the clear blue skies
and sunshine on a bench out of the wind.
And
buds swelling on the trees


these are glistening, fattening buds on a really, really tall oak:



and huge, glossy with sap chestnut buds:


And!
on a south facing slope
in the cracks of sun-soaking stone and concrete steps
there are flowers!
i call them Siberian blues
(which sounds so much nicer than Siberian squill, don't you think?)




And the perfectly named wintersweet:


And for good company
a cat named Buddy
who has very fine whiskers and eyebrows

August 12th

Where has the time gone?

i do believe it's called: "putting one's head down to get thru this horrific summer"
and hardly being conscious of the passing of hours, or days

Some nice things do continue to happen in the garden
in this case
Greenwood, not mine
A lace-cap hydrangea, opens:



 
this is as far as it got
before another bloody blast of heat parked upon us
stunting all attempts to flourish

If we get a break and some rain, soon enough
perhaps the buds left on the shrubs will have a chance to
fully open later this month or early September

March 24th

The shining gold cups of winter aconite may be small, but you cannot miss them.

Crocus appear next. The small species are the first (the deer do not go after these) then come the larger ones (which the deer and wood chucks do like).

 

The miniature iris are close on the heels of the crocus.
In this picture, I'm holding, left to right, 'Harmony', 'Katharine Hodgkin', and 'Gordon'

Sorry i've been remiss in posting over the past weeks...we had our big, annual "Springfest" here a couple of weeks ago and i'm just now emerging from the work backlog my participation created...right along with my little irises!

September 5th

they are one of my all time favorites
and there are loads of new blooms every morning.
The only morning glory disappointment of this year is
that the guy i've depended upon for spring surprises
the one who grew half a dozen different colors and varieties each year
sold his nursery last winter without warning!
i did not learn of his decision until i went shopping in May
when it was too late to sow my own seeds.

That's what i get for not buying a poinsettia from him last December.
If i had, i'm sure he would have alerted me.
So, i will order an assortment of glory seeds this fall
but i will miss the ritual of wondering what he has sown
and what i'll find on his benches next spring.
The folks who now own the nursery will
no doubt
offer up their own surprises and delights
nonetheless
i'm feeling wistful
as yet another long-time acquaintance packs up
and moves far, far away.

April 7th

Ms. Katharine Hodgkin
of the Iris histiroides clan
has graciously remained with us for Easter Sunday.
Most of her cousins arrived earlier
and have already taken their leave for the year
all but George, in his glowing purple robes.

September 15th

i was driving down the road
and had to stop and take a photo
of this morning glory house
i think because
it's that point in the season
when the first autumn color appears
and i am trying to drink in all of the
fresh flowers still flourishing
for change is in the air and as much as i
love the coming season
it comes quickly
and i'm never quite ready to let go

later this same day:

August 5th

yesterday afternoon, sitting here at the computer
i finally pulled back the curtain from the window directly behind the screen
and saw that the top of the morning glory vines were crowned with nearly a dozen buds.
sure enough
pulling back the curtain
after rolling out of bed
this morning
they are all in flower.
and
Hallelujah!
the weather readers [how many of them are actually meteorologists?]
got it right
the heat and humidity have been swept away!

Some notes from this first (it feels like months, not days)
return to morning rituals:

the air is cool and fresh against the skin while
sitting  with the first cup of tea
in the shadows
while the sun remains behind the neighbor's pines.

the wrens are busy
in and out
in and out of the nesting box
feeding the second brood.

a flock of black birds
uncharacteristically quiet
suddenly filters down from the hillside into
the maples and Russian olive making the leaves dance.
what are they doing?
will they descend on the feeders?
the catbirds leave the Russian olive
and visit the bird bath
the wren has had enough and begins to scold.

surely his small self is not the reason the blackbirds retreat to the hillside?
the catbirds return to the olive fly off to the feeders then come back again.
the wrens return to feeding.

a pair of chickadees and a pair of goldfinches
keep checking the newest sunflowers
and snacking on the nearly nude ones.

bees and other bee-like winged things
glowing against the early light
visit, well, everything
salvias, cosmos, clematis, lilies, sunflowers, phlox, oregano flowers
verbascum, fuschia, larkspur, verbena, daylilies, even the coleus
and on and on

mourning doves are somewhere
i can hear them

a squirrel keeps climbing the deutzia near the bird feeder
looking for a limb that won't bend back down to the ground
under his weight.
yesterday, out of the corner of my eye
i saw his furry body fly toward the feeder and thump to the ground.
Ha!  i've outsmarted him.
for the moment.
i marvel at his problem-solving skills and
enjoy the game he and i are currently playing
and do not begrudge him a meal or two once he figures out
once again
how to get up there.
while he dines i puzzle out another way to repositon the feeder.

9:14
the morning glories are still open.
the sun finds me
blinds me
is still low enough
to reach under the brim of my hat.

so now i type
and feel it would be enough (i'm tired. all that heat equals little sleep for two weeks)
if all i did this morning
was keep watch
and report
what hour it is the morning glories
still Heavenly Blue at 9:50
curl into their magenta and white
spent selves.

oh yes
the single regally purple 'Grandpa Ott'
is still full faced too.

11:06
still "in the blue"

Oh!
just turned back again
leaves are limp in the sun
crumpled, limp blue petals
it's 11:35

12: 04
the once limp, crumpled petals have
now rolled themselves up into
little purple-blue fists atop white wrists
and seem to turn more purple by the minute
[and a gorgeous Tiger swallowtail butterfly is
perched just in front of me on the Clematis heracleifolia]

'Grandpa Ott' by the way
is still open
if not so fresh-faced as a few hours ago

another morning passes
beautifully