Bulbs and More

This fall I planted lots of bulbs and a few other things too. Here's what I put in:

In October I finally got all 100 daffodil bulbs planted on the back hill and among the spruces on the berm.

I added more Gladiator, Mt. Everest and Stratos big globe alliums to the driveway garden. There should be a decent display of these dramatic onions marching in a big line up the side of the driveway next spring.

I planted Star of Bethlehem (Ornithogalum) bulbs randomly in the Birch Garden, Meadow's Edge and the Blueberry Garden. I loved the way they looked in mid June at Katherine's, popping up all over her gardens. I hope I get the same effect.

They are listed as aggressive / invasive spreaders and MoBot warns about them taking over in garden beds. Will I have a problem? (Evening primrose was also an aggressive spreader and mine did nothing and have now disappeared.) Meadow's Edge has such competition from the maple that I don't think Ornithogalums will spread, but the other two gardens are wetter and richer.

I put drumstick alliums in all along the patio wall. None of mine around the gravel garden or in Meadow's Edge did anything last summer. They sprouted and then laid down in piles of dry hay. Too little water at the wrong time I think. But in prior years I loved these little pom poms, so I had to have more and try again.

I planted a small (dwarf?) Styrax japonicus under the guest room window. This snowbell is called 'Evening Light' and is advertised to grow to about 8 feet, much smaller than the species. It has dark foliage, green tinged purple, which should be interesting when the little white bells bloom against it in spring.

My original styrax, planted last year by the gravel garden, was pretty its first spring but gone the next. It did not survive the winter. Hoping for better with this one.

I put in a 'Lemon Candy' physocarpus where one of the panicle hydrangeas had been removed along the driveway.  It too is much smaller than the usual big ninebarks are. It has bright foliage that I think will light up the middle of this long bed between the massively dark Norway maple and the darkly purple full size 'Summer Wine' ninebark.

There is a great article about UConn's research on ninebarks here. Most cultivars are susceptible to deforming powdery mildew. Summer Wine is not much affected, and Lemon Candy was too new to evaluate but holds promise. I'll have to watch it and check for mildew susceptibility.

Two new little dwarf 'Northcountry' blueberries were added to the existing one in the Blueberry Garden where I had expanded it under the clematis tower. These are not for fruit, but rather to repeat the look (and red fall foliage) of the taller ones in the middle. But almost immediately something snapped off one -- a rabbit? It is now just a toothpick twig with no branches. It may not survive.

I expanded the area under the flowering dogwood again, moving it down the edge of the driveway a little more (small adjustment but it involved hauling away two cartloads of removed sod strips). I then added more 'Frohnleitien' epimediums to spread out there.

I got more iris reticulata bulbs to plant by the front walk. These are 'Gordon'. It's hard to tell from online photos, but I think these are more purple than blue. I like the lighter, bluer ones I originally planted better, but the ones I put in last year were dark purple, and now these will likely be a deeper color too, so there will be a mix of darker and lighter little irises.

But I can't put them in until we remove the cotoneaster shrubs. They must go -- they are crowding the walk and the spruce tree, and they are weed magnets. The congested arching branches harbor grass and weeds that I can't get to.

Jim and I tried cutting back the woody cotoneaster branches and then prying the rootball up one by one, but the job is too much. So we asked Peter to come with his tools and strong men and he agreed to stop by between other jobs in the neighborhood. But . . . we won't see him for a long time, I'm sure. Meanwhile the bulbs need to go in. Might not happen.

Why is fall so short? Why didn't I get more done? When will Peter come to take the cotoneasters out?

Oy

We got snow, a coating, but it came with bitter temperatures and wind. The rest of the country is under frigid polar weather too, and low temperature records are being smashed in the midwest.

It is very cold here but not record breaking. In my preparations to get ready for this cold snap I forgot one plant that needed to be cut back: the baptisia pendula alba.

Baptisias have clean looking foliage all season that goes completely black when a freeze hits. This baptisia is an arching, big shrub-like mound of foliage all year. Today it is a large scary looking black mass, with the characteristic black seedpods rattling in the wind.

I forgot to take care of this one last week. I'm not going out there now to cut it back.

First, it's too cold. Second, I am hurting pretty bad.

The cataract surgery earlier this week was a success -- perfect lens, clear sight now. But unlike the recovery last time, which was easy and painless, this time it's an ordeal. I have a headache that would kill a buffalo, and discomfort that keeps me sitting still in a dark room or half submerged in a hot bathtub for hours.

Oy.

For several reasons this surgery was more complicated and although the outcome is fine, the healing is difficult. Despite the pain I am already able to see better -- my computer screen looks awesome now. But mostly I keep my eyes closed and count the hours until I can take the next dose of Advil.

Not even thinking of going out in that cold wind. The blackened baptisia will remain standing a while longer.

The problem is that I can see its ugly frozen form from the window so clearly now. Every blackened leaf. Oy.

Lawnmower Red

I love how the Viburnum prunifolium looks limbed up. I think I've done a good job turning a shrubby, densely twiggy plant into a graceful small tree. It gratifies me to see the form emerge more and more each year.

I love how the witch hazel, Hamamelis 'Diane' is such a cheerful yellow next to the darkly brooding purple ninebark 'Summer Wine'. I limbed this shrubby plant up too, and gave it a chandelier effect that I like.

I love how the stately red maple in the middle of the lawn has nothing but fiery red leaves all over, but drops a pool of yellow leaves at its base. This puzzles me.

And Jim loves the fact that his lawnmower is exactly the same color as the fothergillas in fall. He took a picture to show me, and is pretty pleased with this.

Tucked In

We are ready for winter now. The hoses are disconnected, emptied and stored. The furniture is all in the basement or garage. The annuals are uprooted and tossed. All the pots have been removed from the deck, and the ones I need to overwinter are on the porch.

The porch screens are off, the glassed storm door is on and the porch windows are all closed.

Some, but not all of the perennials are cut back. Some I will leave standing for winter. The mums are still colorful, so they'll get cut down later.

I'll leave the grasses for a while yet too, since this is their season, but I won't leave them standing over winter. There is no such thing as winter interest when panicums or miscanthus or even hakonechloas are matted down with heavy snow. Grasses are not winter worthy in this climate.

It seems early. We haven't had a hard freeze yet and taking out the annuals seemed premature -- they still looked good, especially the nasturtiums (I actually left the biggest leafy one by the gravel garden.)

Taking in all the chairs makes everything look so barren, and I have no place to sit now when the sun is out and there is a nice moment to enjoy all the fall color that still dazzles.

But very cold weather is on its way next week, and I have eye surgery next week too. It is routine and the recovery is quick but I will have to take it easy for a few days. So rather than risk frozen hoses and rather than wait for my doctor's ok to wrestle furniture inside on a cold day, we took care of everything now, in early November.

We're all snugged up and ready for winter.

Wave Goodbye

We've had some nights below freezing lately, and the plants right at the foot of the hill behind us have been affected as the cold air sinks just a few feet and collects at the bottom.

The oak trees out there suddenly turned completely brown, although they always hold on to their leaves.

Other plants away from the foot of the hill were not affected. It always intrigues me how the colder, denser air sinks and the effect is so visible at the bottom of even the smallest slope.

It's been cold but we haven't really had a hard frost. And that has contributed to a long and glorious fall this year.

Even the tender nasturtiums are still going strong in their protected spot under the inkberry hollies.

They're even still blooming and catching the sun's rays on cool afternoons.

But despite the lingering fall, it's getting time to say goodbye to the growing season.

This is the time of year I actually like the miscanthus grass by the garage door. Its flowers look like they are waving goodbye. Both of the fothergillas along the walk are bright red now.

The river birches have lost their leaves but the white paper birches are glowing yellow. Ever since we started treating them with a fungicide each summer, they have held on to their leaves long enough to make a lovely show in fall. I hate having to do that, but they were completely defoliating in August previously. Now they look wonderful, well into November. I'm conflicted.

The bark is their best feature, but having green leaves still on the tree in September, and glowing color in November makes the three paper birches a lovely and healthy looking part of the whole garden. So we spray.

The dapper little star magnolia has fall color this year, and it is gold tipped with caramel. That's nice.

Despite the wind taking down so many leaves and baring branches all over, I am surprised each time I round the corner of the walk and see how full and sparkling red the stewartia monadelpha still is.

The black gums have all lost their leaves now -- except for the newest one planted by the mailbox. This little tupelo is the only one still holding on to its leaves.

So many trees are bare now and nights are cold, but there are still beautiful, colorful, leafy things to be seen. It's still a lovely fall.

But as I watch the grasses wave goodbye to the season, I know it won't be long now.

Blown Down

November arrived with half an inch of rain and then a wild, cold, and windy day. Leaves were torn from many trees and my blue pyramid blew down. It's a light and flimsy thing, not anchored to the ground. I'll bring it in for winter.

Before the wind, on Halloween morning, the black gum at the bridge was spectacular. Today it has only a few leaves barely hanging on. What a difference a windy day makes at this time of year.

That's how fall behaves. It gets all duded up in fancy finery and then has fun blowing everything down.

Scudding Clouds

It's been in the 50s and low 60s, still and nice enough. The skies have been sunny, then scudding dark clouds move in, and a little rain spits, and then it clears up again. Then heavy clouds roll back in.

This has been one of the best fall color displays in years, whether in full sun or under blackening skies.

Both of the stewartias are amazing this year. The little Stewartia monadelpha is complemented by pink Sheffield mums in the gravel garden, and the Stewartia pseudocamellia by the front door shines.

Bottlebrush buckeyes, Aesculus parviflora, have formed a big hedge finally, and the whole line of them has turned bright yellow. Their big floppy leaves and bright color give them a wild look.

Most black gums, Nyssa sylvatica, turn scarlet or wine colored, and the ones I have in the back of the house certainly do, but the one in front always turns more orange.

This is the first year I have noticed any fall color on the linden in the cul de sac. It's a soft yellow, very nice. And all of a sudden this planting of two white pines and a linden, installed by the builder in 2006, has become a lovely grouping.

Here is what it looked like the first summer it was planted, and of course the white pines that flank the skinny linden were just little blobs then. The poor linden was volcano-mulched.

I love how well formed the linden has become. It is a really beautiful tree now, despite a severe case of antler rub on the trunk one year, breakage from an early snowstorm a few years ago, and living inside a mulch pyramid (I removed as much as I could by hand over the years.)

Fragrant sumac, Rhus aromatica Gro Low, is a river of red. It runs down the edge of the driveway, and I repeated a couple clumps under two of the birch trees just beyond.

It all looks so great this year, The whole yard, all my gardens, the hills beyond, all of it shining under black clouds and broken sunshine. I don't even know where to point the camera.

I'll stop now. There are more colors, more sights, and beautiful autumn light at this time of year. But I'm getting overwhelmed!

Forest Fire

Sometimes in October, the woods around us looks like it is burning.

It's morning, the yard is in deep shadow from the house, and rays of sun only hit the tops of the trees, setting them afire. Thick, smoky looking clouds hang above.

I expect to smell smoke and hear sirens, but a walk down the driveway is made in calm, still, chilly air. It only lasts about 20 minutes, and then the sun rises higher and lights up everything, not just the treeline, and then the forest fire is under control.

Go Slow, October

OCTOBER 
by ROBERT FROST
1913

O hushed October morning mild
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
To-morrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.

The crows above the forest call;
To-morrow they may form and go.

O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow,
Make the day seem to us less brief.

Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know;
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.

Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.

Slow, slow!

For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’s sake along the wall.

Waiting for the Rain to Stop

The day our solar panel installation was finished we got a nor'easter -- a rainy, windy bit of weather circulating over us spinning counterclockwise for days. Not much sunshine to christen our panels.

We got an inch of rain from it over the past few days.

It remains cloudy and wet today as the storm moves off, and the 100 daffodil bulbs I need to plant are still in a bag on the porch, unplanted.

To amuse myself during days of raininess, I pulled up some photos I took a few days ago just before the storm moved in. These are of the driveway garden, which looks so much cleaner now with all three of the 'Tardiva' hydrangeas removed. It was getting dark and it was threatening rain when I took these pictures, but the garden looked good.

The Rhus aromatica is doing what I envisioned when I planted this bed. It is spreading at ground level and filling in along the whole area. This fragrant sumac is at its best in fall, when the fiery red color and shiny leaves make it light up the long strip.

The doublefile viburnum in the near foreground will get large and add weight, the light colored variegated sweetgum in the middle will add height, and the big witch hazels and corneliancherry dogwood at the end are already bushy screening plants. In between the doublefile shrub and the sweetgum tree there is a tiny Parrotia persica, which can't really be seen yet. It will become a tall, narrow, beautiful tree, adding more height to the line of this garden.

A little bare patch of dirt at the edge of the driveway is seeded with grass and waiting for the rain.

It is interesting how the Rhus aromatica under the Norway maple is staying green, while all along the rest of the garden it has turned flaming colors. Is it because it is in more shade, or because of drier conditions from the root competition?

The black-purple of the 'Summer Wine' ninebark is a color I'm not sure about. It has shiny leaves like the fragrant sumac, but the inky color seems odd with any other combination of plants, even with the lighter sweetgum next to it.

I like it better from the backside of this garden, where a stand of silvery colored mountain mint next to the ominously dark ninebark tames it.

To the right of the purple ninebark is a tiny silver blue blob that is a Korean fir 'Silberlocke'. It is a slow growing dwarf, and likely to stay mounded rather than the more pyramidal shape that some Korean firs become*. It is the same cool silvery blue as the mountain mint on the other side, which was a happy accident of design.

It would be nice if the rain and clouds would go away now. Still waiting.

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* the 'Silberlocke' fir was from Kevin's nursery before he closed. He told me he had propagated this himself, and because the parent plant was a mounder rather than a taller specimen he says my plant is likely to have a lower profile and stay rounded. I'll let you know in 20 years.