Plant By Plant

Summery. Blue sky, 80s, some clouds, some breeze, some humidity.

This past weekend we went to a Garden Conservancy event here in town, to see the garden of some local friends.

It's a beautiful and well designed place, with deep, layered gardens full of interesting plants and wonderful structures -- a rustic pergola, a big barn, huge rocks, stone paths and patios, a bridge. It's a busy space, but the hardscape and structures help tame it.

They built it all themselves and it evolved over 15 years. It's a very personal garden.

We actually visited twice, once in the middle of the day during the tour hours, and then again for the after party in the early evening when the tour was over. Seeing it in two completely different lights was a great contrast. Touring it at first trying to see everything was very different than wandering around in it with a glass of wine at the end of the day, chatting with people.

It got me thinking about how we experience a garden and how we typically tour a garden.

"Come see my garden" usually means I take you around my yard to look at each plant.

I garden that way -- plant by plant, tending each, noting how each one does, and it is natural that I want to show you each one. Each has a story, each one was chosen, planted, moved, moved again, and admired by me. I'll even point out where the problem plants are and where all the ones I killed were.

I do step back when I am in my own garden to see how the whole effect works, and I love to sit on the patio and view it all, but mostly I spend time looking at plants individually or how they are grouped.

The tendency is to tour another garden that way too, looking down, checking out each plant sequentially, making sure to get to all the areas to see each growing thing. It takes some discipline to stop doing that and just sit on a bench while other visitors walk by, or stand on a path in the middle for a long time and look around while everyone else squeezes past.

A garden is made plant by plant, but it is really enjoyed as a whole experience of sounds, the heat of the air, the feel of the breeze, often the fragrances, the sight of forms and colors all meshed together, the punctuation of structures, and the surprise of an odd bit here and there.

When I visit anyone's garden I have to remember to see and feel and smell and hear it that way, and not look at it as a curated list of individual things that grow or bloom. And when you come to my garden I have to stand back and let you do the same, rather than guide you around to see each plant.

Just follow the path, wander away, and enjoy.

Yes Persimmons

I may have persimmons this fall.

There are three persimmon trees planted on the back hill, all species Diospyros virginiana, not the heavy fruiting Japanese cultivars.

Apparently the species is variable, because all three look different.

The oldest, the one planted on the left side of the hill, was planted in 2007.  It is becoming a nicely shaped tree with pretty leaves and gorgeous fall color.

For the first time in seven years I can see two clusters of three little buds on one of the branches. Will there be fruit?

The newest persimmon tree was planted in 2012, but moved the following year and is now in the middle of the sunny meadow. It's small, and it was set back by the move, and needs a while to settle in. It has very small leaves. I have yet to see any flowering on that tree.

The one planted in 2011 is in some shade amid the taller maples along the middle of the hill. It has grown rampantly, bending over from the weight of its leaves, and those leaves are huge. Way different than the tidier small leaves and stiffer structure of the other two trees. It almost looks tropical.

And after only three years, the middle persimmon is covered in blossoms this year! Many are opening and there are tiny little flowers and tight little buds lining the branches.

Yes, I may get persimmon fruits this year. Wouldn't that be cool. I'll be out there checking every day till I see orange globes forming.

Here is a full view of the shaggy, droopy shape of the big-leaved middle persimmon. You can't see all the little flower buds unless you are up close.

A Soapy Scent

Overcast and damp today, in the low 60s. After I came in for lunch it started to drizzle.

Before lunch, I went outside and did what I love most: I puttered. No plan, no list of chores, I just wandered around pulling weeds, pruning a bit, stomping on some weeds in the meadow.

As I contemplated what to do with the brown sticks of clethra on the spruce berm, I was vaguely aware of a soapy scent. It smelled like some guy nearby taking a shower, you know, a men's bodywash scent. Sharp, spicy, soapy.

I didn't really pay attention, but there it was again. Had I washed my gardening clothes in Jim's bath soap by mistake?

I wandered off, then came back to the berm and once again it stopped me. I could smell a very tangy soap smell.

It turns out it was the spicebush shrubs behind the berm. Lindera benzoin. I have known that you can crush the leaves and produce a spicy smell, but I had never smelled it so strong and compelling on the air. I had never before experienced it wafting about. That was a surprise.

Spicebush is not much to look at in summer, when it is just a large, rangy shrub with medium green leaves. In fall it drips with lemon lime color.

There are a couple other shrubs I grow that have a soapy smell.

Comptonia peregrina is a woody shrub with leaves that look like ferns. It's called sweetfern. If you just brush the leaves you get a fresh sudsy smell, and on a hot summer day it does fill the air. It's a sweeter smell than the spicebushes, not as sharp, with a hint of detergent.

Fragrant aster, Aster oblongifolius (symphyotrichon now) 'Raydon's Favorite' also has a soapy scent when you crush the leaves. It's a heavier smell, a fragrance that reminds me of something old fashioned. Here it is blooming in fall, but it's the foliage, not the flowers that smell.

They all smell like soap, but the spicebush is tangy and masculine, the sweetfern smells like kids scrubbed clean in the bath, and the fragrant aster smells like washed antique linens in an old lady's attic.

No Snowbell

Cool and damp today. It hasn't gotten out of the 70s, but the high humidity feels oppressive. Rain has threatened all day, and we could really use it, but instead humid sunshine broke out. The weather is all over the place, very unsettled.

This was unsettling too: I had to remove the new snowbell, Styrax japonica, from the border around the gravel garden. It did not make it -- all the new leaves shriveled and died this spring and it never flowered.

This is what I had in mind -- a beautiful flowering snowbell I saw at Wave Hill Garden in mid May a few years ago. So very pretty.

This is what the flowers look like close up. I planted my little snowbell where I could look up into it and see those bell like flowers. It did bloom last year just after I planted it, but not this year.

Should I replace it? I do need a small tree for afternoon shade on that side of the gravel garden. I don't know what to do with that spot now.

On to less unsettling things.

'Blue Ice' amsonia is so different from the pale blue billowy amsonia hubrichtii or tabernaemontana. 'Blue Ice' is almost purple, stays very low and blooms when the big amsonias are finishing their brief flowering. (By the way, all my worry about the wine colored 'Forest Pansy' redbud was for naught.)

I divided my original 'Blue Ice' plant and put it in several places, and the repetition is great now. When I sit in the rockers on the patio I see waves of royal blue, first under the birdbath, then in the middle distance under the blueberries, and then in the far distance under the doublefile viburnum. This totally works.

Rosa glauca seems happy in its new home by the dry creek bed, if you can say such a gray, moody plant looks happy.

It's spindly, and the pink blooms are sparse, but this very odd rose has a calming effect. Its dark foliage, open habit and cool restrained color is a contrast with the riot of meadow behind and everything going on around it. I don't know why, but I like this strange rose.

But if you want a more classic, pretty, fragrant and flowery rose, Knockout Blushing Pink by the front steps is all of that. Boom.

By the way, I like the dark red Shaker bench placed along the brick wall near the door. I wasn't sure it fit the style of the house, but there it is.

I can not believe how neon yellow the Japanese forest grass Hakonechloa 'Aurea' is. And it has stayed bright yellow for weeks now. I like it with the gray stones, the cool blue dwarf spruce and the pretty white flowering dwarf deutzias on the opposite side of the walk. Whoever designed this (it was me, it was me!!) did a great job.

Sweetness

Beautiful June day today, sunny and in the low 80s.

A perfect day for a tour of 5 wonderful Collinsville, CT gardens with some good gardening friends. A little antiques shopping and a great deli lunch too!

The upper white garden at Riverbend - photo by Judy Butler

My beautiful strawberries, which are coming in bounteously every day now, have no taste. Last year they were intensely sweet with a little tang.

This year they are just as pretty, firm, and juicy, but the taste is watery and bland. Consensus of the gardening group today is that they need more warmth than this cold spring has provided.

Nights have been consistently chilly, and there have only been a few really warm days. Do strawberries need some hot weather or warmer nights to sweeten up?

Here's something good in my garden: for the first time in years the Aruncus dioicus (goatsbeard) looks great. It's at the back of the Birch Garden, under the Orange Dream Japanese maple, and it is big and leafy and sporting big white plumes.

This goatsbeard (great name) was moved multiple times, looking for a spot that it could tolerate without throwing a hissy fit. Every year it shriveled, refused to grow and looked awful. A year ago I moved it here and finally it is happy.

We saw several nice Aruncus plants today on the garden tours, but mine is just as nice now. That's sweet.

On the garden tour we saw places with way too much grass and places that had absolutely no lawn, only sitting areas surrounded by plants and stonework. My garden has both grass and garden, but it's a fine balance between having too much lawn and none.

But in certain lights early in the day or late in the afternoon, the interplay between flat open lawn and garden is absolutely right, completely in balance.

In fact, it's the light at either end of a June day that has all the intensity and sweetness my strawberries lack this year. I can almost taste the light.

Breakfast

We got a quarter inch of light rain yesterday, enough to wet things well, but we could use a soaking. Today the sun is out, it's refreshing, and guess what's for breakfast ----

Strawberries! More than I can eat in one sitting.

It's a good thing there are so many, because I found about half a dozen nibbled on the vine. But that still leaves me with plenty so I won't argue with whoever is raiding my strawberry patch.

No Coffee

There was no coffee this morning. I got up, went through the usual morning rituals and opened the cupboard to get the ground coffee out to fill the drip machine. Gasp. The cupboard WAS BARE.

How does this happen? Who controls the inventory here?

There was no coffee to be had. Jim doesn't drink Starbucks, we both dislike Dunkin Donuts, and there is no bistro type coffee shop in town that we could go to in our jammies at 7 in the morning.

I went outside and cried.

But look.

The red peony still shimmers. I planted a bubblegum pink lupine in the empty spot at the center of the Birch Garden and it welcomed me brightly.

The strawberries are starting to come in, there were about four or five little red jewels, some half eaten by an as yet undiscovered critter, but most are full and plump and waiting for me.

White clover has started to pop up in the lawn.

The groundcover Weihenstephaner Gold sedums are putting up rich golden yellow flowers now.

The Birch Garden is lovely with purple columbines and catmint and pretty forms and colors.

If I walk around to the other side of the house, empty handed because I have no coffee cup, I see pretty white dwarf deutzia and giant dappled willows looking like they are blooming all white and frothy, but it's just their amazing spring foliage.

It's all good, but without coffee the morning was off.  Jim went to the store and bought more. The day got quite hot and humid, and storms are approaching this evening. It feels very summery.

Tomorrow, with coffee ready to brew, will be a better day. My garden disagrees, and says today was perfect just as it was.

Poppies and Peonies

There are poppies.

California poppies in a pot on the deck. Paper thin, translucent, pale yellow.

They are in my pot garden, a collection of flowers, herbs and vegetables in containers on the deck.

And there are peonies.

'Blaze', a shimmering red peony that reflects and radiates light.

It's at the side of the Birch Garden, with deep purple 'May Night' salvia and white 'Immortality' irises.

Poppies and peonies turn the calendar from May to June.

As we turn the corner into June, the clear blue forget me nots are beginning to fade and the rich purple ajuga is too. But both are still colorful and pretty.

As they go by, others take over and open their blooms. Besides the poppies and peonies, there are clematis flowers, at least the big white stars of 'Henryi' along the front walk at this point. It's the first of the clematis vines I have to open.

And dwarf deutzia 'Nikko' is beautiful. I have planted it everywhere since it is such a great ground cover plant for me. It's easy to propagate, covers ground and completely shades out weeds, mounds in a nice arching form, has pretty flowers, neutral summer color and deep mahogany fall leaves. I like this plant.

There is more red. Dianthus has spread around among a gold leaved caryopteris and purple columbines. It's kind of small and shy, but calls attention with its bright red color.

More red -- it isn't very showy yet, but the buckeye, Aesculus pavia, has firecracker red candles. It's such a small tree, skinny and little, but it has three or four deep red flowers and promises more as it grows. Chives in a pot below the buckeye are blooming.

It's not all fire reds and pure whites punctuated with deep purple, though. There is pink too.

The dwarf weigela 'My Monet' continues to bloom and bloom in a way it never did when it was on the other side of the house. I'd only get a few of the vivid pink flowers, and grew this for its variegated foliage. This year it has bloomed profusely.

It's still an odd shape, from having been crowded where it was before, but it will fill out. Best thing I did for this little plant was move it out into the open.

June has opened with a spectacular sunny day, full of poppies, peonies and other pretties everywhere!

My Noisy Oasis

Since Memorial Day we have had a hot humid day in the 80s, a cold overcast gloomy day well below 60 degrees, and some pleasant sparkling sun. How's that for changeable weather?

This morning is pleasant and I like nothing better than a cup of coffee in the early morning in my garden. It's cool, the sun is warm and everything looks so nice.

But the noise!

We live in a suburban development of 60+ homes. There are lawns. They need to be mowed. The landscapers come with their giant machines and they roar.  The weedwhackers and blowers have a high whine that drones.

I truly cannot sit out in the garden while this goes on.

(This is not passing any judgement on lawns . . . a fraught topic . . . Jim mows our lawn and that makes noise too, although nothing like the roar of the commercial behemoths.)

Add to the lawnmower noise the busy road behind us, with school buses, garbage trucks, cars on the way to work, landscaping trailers, delivery trucks.

It's a narrow country road, twisty and hilly, but it carries a lot of neighborhood traffic and a lot of through traffic going to other neighborhoods. I had no idea when we moved in it would be so busy.

My reforestation plan to screen the back of our property with trees has worked really well, and now, going on 10 years later, when the leaves are out I can't see the road. But I hear it.

I really love the green, enclosed oasis of my garden. Although we are in a neighborhood, our house is situated so we don't have houses directly to either side, and with the trees becoming forest behind us, we have no houses in back.

But the noise!

A few updates:
> no strawberries yet. Last year at this time I was bringing in bowls of them. This cold spring they are late. There are lots of white berries ripening, none ready yet.

> the red peony has opened, the white Henryi clematis has a big bloom (and puckered leaves, not good), and the morning glory vine has a couple flowers although it is still small. The flowers are pink! Pink morning glories --- I wanted clear blue, but oh well.

> the new styrax looks terrible. Limp leaves, bare branches. I am despairing.

> in contrast with the styrax, the Forest Pansy redbud looks okay after my initial despair. It leafed out and there is some branch dieback but nothing too bad.

> planted mixed jewel color nasturtium seeds in some empty spots around the garden on Memorial Day. Not sure the ones I planted around the gravel garden are going to play well with pink morning glories.

> the lettuce in the herb bowl is not doing much. It's a cool weather crop, but doesn't seem to like so much cold. It's fine, just not bulking up at all. One plant keeled over, roots in the air, but the rest of the lettuce is just sitting there not growing much.

> amsonias are blooming, and the flowering dwarf deautzias are the prettiest ever.

> and the Kintzley's Ghost honeysuckle is blooming. What an interesting one this is. Later the round bracts will turn silver. A little focus trouble, but these blooms were down at the bottom, on the ground and hard to see, much less photograph.

> the Orange Dream Japanese maple has never stayed this bright orange this far into the season. The color has stayed intense with the cold nights all spring.

So much is happening, this is only a partial update of things I observe as I cruise the garden in the morning, coffee cup in hand, cursing the noise all around me.