Rose Campion

Day 248: Good old Rose Campion! Even though the Barren Wasteland could use some serious weeding, Silene coronaria rises well above the tangle of old grass, last year's Rudbeckia stalks and the yarrow I've been totally unsuccessful in eliminating. I don't do much to the Barren Wasteland these days, preferring to let the tall "volunteers" hide the sins of my neglect. The Rudbeckia tends to get out of hand and the ones closest to the sidewalk interfere with trips to the garage. When I get tired of detouring around them, I yank a few. They re-seed and repopulate readily, negating any feelings of guilt I might have about removing them. The Rose Campion is another story. I would encourage it to spread, but it doesn't seem to want to expand its territory. But then, the Barren Wasteland is about survival, and any flowering plant which doesn't have plans for world domination is welcome there.

Just Poppy-ed Up!

Day 298: Look what just "poppy-ed" up in the Barren Wasteland! Last fall, a Parkie friend who is now at Olympic NP sent me a small bag of seed from the poppies she has growing along her hellstrip. I've admired them for years in the photos she posts, but I thought they were the traditional Flanders poppies, i.e., solid red. What a delightful surprise to find out that they are closer to vermilion, and that they have a white picotee edge! She sent them in the typical "pepper shaker" pods, which I crushed and broadcast in a prepared area where I know poppies do well. However, only a few of the seeds were viable, but the few which are now developing buds should be enough to re-seed themselves until they fill their dedicated space. Thank you, Lee and Pam!

Dominant Species

Day 285: This is the Barren Wasteland at its best. Rudbeckia (Black-eyed Susan) dominates the space with occasional pops of colour from Rose Campion, Deptford Pinks, Tall Phlox and (now) Milkweed. A few white Yarrow stems are interspersed despite my efforts at weeding them out, and the odd stalk of peppermint which escapes being made into tea may add flecks of lavender. Already gone are the California and Oriental Poppies, the "orange" phase of the Barren Wasteland's phenological cycle, but the Rudbeckias will persist until after the first light frosts. When a section becomes too crowded with clumps of this vigorous species, I pull them out to make more room. There never seems to be a shortage!

Milkweed At Last!

Day 281: At last! The Milkweed (Asclepias syriaca) has a few open flowers! This stem is the only one out of a dozen or so which carries an inflorescence (two, actually), but considering that it has taken three or four years to reach this point, I have hopes that at least some of the others will follow suit next year. As for the types of pollinators it may attract, I'm not expecting Monarchs. They are quite uncommon in western Washington, and I have never seen one. However, I'm sure they're not the only butterfly which finds Asclepias appealing. I can't imagine having to hand-pollinate the flowers, but I'll keep my little paintbrush handy because I want to grow these for the pods. I'll be watching for insect activity, although I haven't seen many butterflies of any species in the yard yet this year.

Deptford Pink, Dianthus Armeria

Day 268: Pink or not, I love Dianthus armeria, the Deptford Pink, and I very nearly eliminated them from the Barren Wasteland by overzealously collecting the seed to share with friends. I neglected to consider that they are an annual, and as such, need to re-sow themselves as their primary means of reproduction. But like many plants, they also have a backup plan. The roots sometimes form additional basal rosettes, so although the plant you see today may be dead and gone in the space of a few years, its clones may persist to form genetically identical offshoots of their own. The species was introduced to North America so long ago that it is now considered naturalized. Although the stems may grow to two feet in height, they are thready and thin. The freckled flowers appear at the tips and are relatively small, measuring only half an inch at maximum. They close in late afternoon or early evening.

The Barren Wasteland

Day 265: If you've been following along for any length of time, you'll have heard me talk about the Barren Wasteland, the ten-foot wide strip between the south wall of my house and the north wall of my garage. In the first few years after I moved here, all my attempts at growing veg or flowers in it failed miserably. The soil was simply too poor to support anything but the toughest grasses and other undesirables. I was on the verge of throwing in the towel when I hit on the idea of planting a wildflower mix, thinking that surely some native would take root. I'm smarter now than I was then, largely because the most successful of the species were California poppies, Ox-eye daisies and yarrow, all of which are considered "weeds" in western Washington. It's been impossible to get rid of them entirely, although they are largely overwhelmed by another success: Rudbeckia. Today, the Barren Wasteland is a riot of colour, but keeps its name in memory of my struggle to get something...anything!...to grow here.

Caveat Emptor

Day 261: Caveat emptor: "let the buyer beware." When I first moved here over thirty years ago, I set about trying to find something which would grow in the space which later became known as the Barren Wasteland for good reason. A ten-foot wide area between the back wall of my house and the side of the garage resisted all my attempts to turn it into a vegetable garden or a flower bed, rejecting every effort I made to enrich the soil with compost, fertilizer or other amendments. Eventually, I hit upon the idea of getting a "regional" wildflower mix to broadcast in the hopes that at least one species would find the conditions acceptable and, innocent that I was, I bought a large container which claimed to be "for the northwest." Today, with a bit more experience behind me, I would have read the label more carefully. What I planted...and what had the greatest success at establishing...were what I would now call "weeds." Over the years, I've managed to get rid of most of the undesirables, but two which persist are yarrow and California poppies. The Barren Wasteland is now a riot of colour and variety, but very little of that "northwest mix" still exists, having been pulled up by the roots and disposed of without further ceremony or regret.

Asclepias Found!

Day 308: It's easy to get lost in a crowd, and that's exactly what happened to the milkweed in the Barren Wasteland. I've planted it several times with seed from various sources, and although some plants appeared in the span of the last two years, I was almost certain that none had come up this year. I kept checking their spot every week or so in the early season, and then forgot about them as the other plants grew taller. I was harvesting seed from the Deptford Pinks yesterday, and as I pushed a mass of Black-eyed Susans aside, there to my wondering eyes did appear a rather substantial concentration of Asclepias, two to three feet tall. That discovery inspired me to check the second spot, where I found several first-year plants 12-18 inches in height. None shows any sign of developing flowers, but at least they've taken root and, in the case of this specimen, have now returned for a third year. Gardening is often a matter of patience as well as hard work, but that said, I think some of those Black-eyed Susans are begging to be relocated so the milkweed can thrive.

No Longer Barren

Day 304: There is a 10-foot wide strip of land between my house and the garage which, with the ambition of a new homeowner, I decided to turn into a garden when I first moved here over thirty years ago. A portion of it was occupied by a heavy wooden lid over the pit where the captive-air tank lives (the system which pressurizes water to the house) and a concrete slab over what must have been an old well. The rest of the space was overgrown with grass and weeds, so I set about digging and tilling, preparatory to planting beans and corn. I should have known the project was doomed just by looking at the soil: a pale brownish-grey substance with no tilth to speak to its ability to nourish plants. I was rewarded with some spindly, tough beans and nothing else, but even so, it took several years for me to admit defeat as far as produce was concerned. Changing tactics, I began trying to establish wildflowers in what had by then become known as the Barren Wasteland. Many experiments later, this is what the Barren Wasteland looks like today, a riot of chest-high colour. Despite being no longer barren, its name shall endure as a testament to my labours and the amazing determination with which black-eyed susans and rose campion vanquish all invaders.

Surprise Calendula

Day 227: Between the back wall of my house and the detached garage, there is a strip of ground roughly 10 feet wide. A portion of the space is taken up by wood and concrete covers concealing an old well and a pit occupied by the captive-air tank which provides pressure to my domestic water supply. Weeds and tough grasses filled in the remainder when I moved in over thirty years ago, and after digging much of it out, I discovered that the underlying soil was too poor to support much of anything else. The plot became known as the Barren Wasteland, and I took it as a challenge to my horticultural skills. Much of what I planted there failed quickly, either not germinating or not returning the following year. I threw out packages of "wildflower mix," knowing that I'd have to weed out some of the invasives which the packages promised were "selected for your area," but I needn't have worried because for many years, the only success story was written in California Poppies, something I really didn't want to take over my yard. I dug, I weeded, I added modest soil amendments as the budget would allow (after all, I wasn't planning to grow vegetables in the plot), and I transplanted a few durable natives in the hopes that their chemistry would begin to convert the soil to something more plant-friendly. Likewise, I moved a few favourites in from the other flower beds and eventually, the Barren Wasteland began looking less barren. Today, you wouldn't recognize it as waste ground. Admittedly, it's shaggy and unkempt: a "cottage garden," if you will, with no organization, no structure, a testament to those survivors who now possess it with a determined grip, including a few surprise Calendulas which drifted in on a favourable wind and decided to settle there.

Milkweed, Second Year

Day 302: The Barren Wasteland was getting out of hand, so early this spring, I weeded out the undesirables (frequently distributed in so-called area-specific wildflower mixes) to make room for other plants. I do not recall relocating any milkweeds. In fact, I do not remember seeing any milkweeds at all despite having attempted to establish them several times. Yet in addition to the ones I started from seed this year (now all of six inches tall), I seem to have two specimens, each standing at least three feet high. Will I get flowers and pods? If in fact, this is second-year growth and not some particularly vigorous first-year seedlings, they should come into bloom this season. I see no evidence of bud formation, however. Could these be from seed I had planted previously and which has lain dormant for several years? Whatever the answer may be to that question, I am happy to announce the presence of milkweed in the Barren Wasteland.

Mint Jelly, Mint Tea

Day 306: The problem with growing your own mint is exactly that: growing mint. It doesn't know when to stop. Once it's established, it will spread by stolon and by seed until it takes over your garden. The solution to the problem is to use as much of it as possible, remove the flowers before they can set seed, or pull it until only a small bit remains. Trust me, that "small bit" will be back next year with a vengeance. Fortunately, I like both mint tea and mint jelly (the latter goes very well on homemade sourdough bread), so I keep it pretty well in check. In any event, it occupies a spot in the Barren Wasteland alongside other things I consider too weedy for the flower beds or veg garden. That said, some day after I'm gone, that spot will still be coming up mint, mint and more mint. I hope whoever lives here next likes mint jelly.

Not-So-Barren Wasteland

Day 295: Although this post is nominally about the Barren Wasteland ("nominally" as in "named"), the real news comes from the House of Chirp. For the last two days, I have been expecting one or both (or more?) of the fledglings to pop out and take wing. Yesterday, it appeared so imminent that I stood for a long time at the kitchen window several times throughout the day, but as evening settled, I saw mom make one more food delivery and one empty-beaked pass as she tried to lure the kids out of the box. They were still there when I gave up the vigil, but this morning, no little beak appeared to greet me as my toast was browning, no movement disturbed the white feather visible just inside the door. I stepped outside; not a sound came from the House of Chirp. They must have flown right at dawn. Nor did I see any swallows on the wing as I scanned the sky. Be well, be safe, my little grandbirdies! There will be a clean house waiting for you next spring, a home where you or your parents can start a new family.

Now as for the Barren Wasteland, it occupies the space between my viewpoint out the kitchen window and the garage wall where the House of Chirp hangs. I cannot see much of it from the kitchen because the window is too high, although when I had tall Cosmos out there, they rose past the sill. The Rudbeckia is tall enough, but set too far east to be seen unless I lean over the sink. The Barren Wasteland is far from barren now, although when I first moved here, it was nothing but grass and weeds interrupted by the wooden lid to the captive-air tank's pit and a concrete slab of undetermined purpose. When I cleared it of undesirable vegetation and tried to plant vegs in the soil, they failed without exception. Over the years, I've thrown out packets of seeds in the hopes that something would take firm root, transplanted "unkillable" plants like the Rudbeckia and Rose Campion, and by and large, I've let it go as wild as it wanted. The result is an "English garden" style hodgepodge of colourful survivors, both native and cultivated, but the name has stuck. The Barren Wasteland will always be the Barren Wasteland, despite the fact that not a square inch of soil can be seen through the dense vegetation which now covers it.

Deptford Pink

Day 278: Let's talk about a couple of plain-English terms which many people find confusing. First off, when speaking of a plant as being "native" to an area, we mean that it has been there since...well, since it was first recorded by a human being. We have no way of knowing its prior history, although the advent DNA sampling has given us a few glimpses, but indigenous lore will tell us if it had any medicinal, culinary or spiritual significance even before the first botanist arrived to put a name on it.

On the other end of the scale, we have "invasive." Invasives are those plants which are not native to an area, and that have the capacity for establishing themselves at a sacrifice of native species. These are the "bad boys," and they come in various levels of virulence. Some are capable of becoming monocultures, crowding out anything else which might grow in a particular area, like the Phragmites which is invading many of our wetlands and waterways.

Now we have come to "naturalized," those plants which we know for certain did not occur in a region prior to a determinable (if broad) point in time, having been brought to an area deliberately or accidentally, and posing no threat to native species. One such plant is the delicate Deptford Pink (Dianthus armeria). It may have been brought to America by Europeans who wanted to retain a link with their home country's wildflowers, or it may have followed them as a seed caught on fabric or in hair, in animal fodder, or other means of inadvertent transport. It does not proliferate to a point which threatens native plants, does not draw pollinators away from the business they should be conducting; it is as innocuous as the student who sits in the back row studying, never raising a hand or participating in classroom discussions.

The Barren Wasteland holds quite a population of Deptford Pinks thanks to their inclusion in a packet of "native" wildflower seed (read the first paragraph again, please). I say, the more the merrier. The stems are tall and wiry, and the leaves are sparse and unassuming, almost invisible against the background of more aggressive plants. I don't notice it growing until one day, a flush of speckled pink eyes open. "Deptford! There you are!" It's always nice to see them again.

In The Barren Wasteland

Day 273: The 10' strip of yard which lies between the back wall of the house and the garage is known as the Barren Wasteland. Much of it is occupied by the cover for the pit in which the captive-air tank of my domestic water system sits, and a concrete slab of similar size which has no obvious reason for being there. As I discovered early on when I tried to locate a vegetable garden there, the soil is poor, rocky, nutrient-depleted fill. Still, I wanted something in that space so, being the type of person who doesn't want to kill a perfectly good flower outright, I began transplanting the things I didn't want in my flower beds with the thought that if they survived in the Barren Wasteland, they were worthy of admiration, and if they didn't...oh, well. The plot also became a repository for the contents of free wildflower seed packets, those "especially selected for your area" envelopes which tend to be filled with non-native species and outright weeds. I figured I was in for some serious weed-pulling, but also that I might get some colour in the long term. In other words, the Barren Wasteland was destined to become a home for the unruly, the mildly obnoxious, the problem children who deserved a chance to redeem themselves to become useful members of society: Oriental poppies, Rudbeckia, mint, English bluebells, Phlox, Pigsqueak. Somewhere along the line, Rose Campion crept in, and every year it surprises me when it opens its bright magenta eyes at the tops of 3' stems. How it grows so tall before I notice it is anyone's guess. I suppose it's because I overlook the Barren Wasteland's faults and accept that it's doing the best it can to please me, and please me it does, even though its population of rejects leans rather toward the pink end of the spectrum.

Bergenia, Pigsqueak

Day 207: Yes, it's pink. So why do I keep it around? Let's back up to the point when I first moved into my current home a little over thirty years ago. The flower beds had been let go and were entirely grassed over, and there was very little evidence that they had ever held "tame" plants. A few struggled through the matted grass: columbine, an Oriental poppy, a peony, and something I felt certain was delphinium. Between the house and garage was another area which I dubbed the "Barren Wasteland," occupied primarily by the pit in which the captive-air tank for my well resides. The soil surrounding it was too poor even to support grass. However, there was one exception: a plant with large leathery leaves which made a squeaky noise if rubbed together, as I discovered when I tried to dig them up to move to a better site. They also had roots anchored on the opposite side of the globe, so the relocation project was abandoned almost before it was begun, and the squeaky-leaved plant was allowed to remain, happy as Larry among the rocks and gritty earth. Eventually, from amid the leaves, a flower stalk arose, bearing a panicle of pink...ugh!...flared bells. Having already had the experience of trying to dig it out, I decided to let it remain. I don't see the Barren Wasteland unless I go out to the garage, and at least it provided some colour. It was some time later that I finally identified it as Bergenia, a semi-succulent perennial which also goes by the common name Pigsqueak. Ah, the squeaky leaves! Suddenly, this persistent pink plant had shown a charm to redeem itself, if only that it allows me to say "Pigsqueak!" in a silly voice as I walk past.

The Barren Wasteland

Day 297: Readers and friends will have heard me refer to the Barren Wasteland as a section of my garden, perhaps without understanding the history which brought about its naming. When I moved onto this property some thirty years ago, the flower beds had been let go for so long that they were entirely grassed over and filled with weeds. My first horticultural project was to clean them out and salvage what I could. To that end, a friend and I excavated to a depth of 18", delving up unidentifiable roots, pieces of broken glass, old wire and the occasional rock of grapefruit-sized dimension. The roots were returned to their beds, and no one was any more surprised than I when peonies and delphiniums shot up the following year. But the flower beds were not my only focus. I wanted a vegetable garden. A forested belt to the west excluded digging up the back yard for the simple reason that it received very little light after 2 PM, not an ideal condition for sun-loving crops. The front yard was out of the question and at the time, the side yard was partly covered by a concrete patio, ruling it out as well. The 10'-wide strip between the exterior kitchen wall and the garage seemed to be my only option, so I set about digging and sifting, weeding and hoeing and, at long last, planting. Bottom line: the only thing it would grow was green beans. Not lettuce, not zucchini, not radishes and definitely not corn.

Whether the fault lay in the nutrient-poor soil or in the hoodoo which customarily overshadows any attempts I make with respect to vegetables, I can't say. I suspect it was a bit of both. The patch became known as the Barren Wasteland and returned to weeds when I resigned myself to eating store-bought veg. A few years after I conceded the match, the gardening bug bit me again. This time, I pulled weeds and threw down wildflower seed from a mix. I mean, surely something will grow, right? It did. California Poppies and Yarrow filled the space and threatened to invade the rest of the county. Then I noticed a few oddments: Deptford Pinks, Wallflower. I pulled the more aggressive plants from around them in the hopes that they'd fill in. Rudbeckia seed spread naturally from my flower beds, providing some welcome tall colour. Seeing its success, I transplanted some Echinacea. It was happy there. Pigsqueak (Bergenia) and tall Phlox surfaced from the previous owner's garden, a bit too pink for my tastes but I welcomed them nevertheless, adding Rose Campion to keep them company. There's a wild Currant in there somewhere, a treat for the hummingbirds when it's in flower, and the Yarrow and Poppies persist in the "understory" despite my best efforts to eradicate them. I still call it the Barren Wasteland, although it's anything but. Today, that impoverished strip of land is largely populated with tall colour which spills out of the hoops I use to confine it, homesteaders succeeding despite the difficult conditions of their environment.

Farming The Wasteland

Day 307: Some of you are undoubtedly thinking, "Oh, boy...you're going to regret that!" and you may well be right, but I like mint jelly on sourdough toast. I'm talking about real mint jelly, not the mint-flavoured apple jelly available commercially. After paying extortionate prices for two measly four-ounce containers of fresh mint last year, I decided to grow my own. The stuff is a weed; there's no call for it to cost almost $8 per half-cup! In the Barren Wasteland, there are two concrete pads. One covers the pit where my water supply's captive-air tank lives and measures about four feet on a side, but the other one (roughly 3' x 4') remains a mystery even after thirty years. Between them is a foot-wide patch of poor soil, a strip which seemed perfect for a mint patch since the concrete bounds it on the two long sides and theoretically, should prevent the roots from infiltrating the rest of the area. If I am diligent about cutting it before it goes to seed, I should be able to keep it domesticated and producing plenty of leaves for delicious mint jelly and tea.

Barren Wasteland

Day 287: I call it the Barren Wasteland: the ten-foot wide space between my house and garage. When I first moved here, I thought to turn it into a vegetable garden, working around the concrete and wood dead spaces which cover the pit where my water system's captive-air tank lives. Little did I know that nothing but weeds would grow in that soil...not radishes, not zucchini, and definitely not corn or peas or tomatoes. A few years' experiments with bush beans yielded rather sickly crops, so after several attempts at trying to draw blood from the proverbial turnip, I threw in the towel and let the Barren Wasteland go. Then one year I hit on the bright idea of making it a wildflower garden. I bought a mix of seeds "designed for the Pacific Northwest" without paying too much attention to the content. It came up mostly California poppies which, despite being pretty en masse, are undesirable for their tendency to go out of control and into monoculture. My vision of a rampant English-garden style space refused to go according to plan until I relocated a vigorous Rudbeckia to one corner, apparently providing just the "lift" the Wasteland needed to take off on its own. I even found that some of the wildflower seeds germinated long after they'd been sown, delicate Deptford Pinks shooting up here and there accompanied by orange Wallflowers and the occasional Tall Phlox from some prior point in history. I added Rose Campion (purloined from a friend's yard) and more Rudbeckias, even a wild currant. Little by little, the Barren Wasteland filled in. Today, it's far from barren, but the name persists for this "wild space" where colour now crowds out the weeds. I'm happy with it, even though I am still pulling California poppies.

Oriental Poppy

Day 214: Another one of those "too pretty to weed out" plants, this Oriental poppy was one of the discoveries made while renovating grassed-over flower beds during the first spring after I moved here. At the time, I didn't realize how aggressive it was and gave it a position of prominence beneath the window. By the time a few years had elapsed, it had multiplied to a three-foot diameter clump, dominating the garden with its foliage long after the short-lived flowers had dropped. I decided I'd had enough of its bullying, and one day went out with the shovel to address the issue. "Look, you're fine as a bush, okay? But I want more bang for my buck. You're just not givin' me colour here, kid. Move out!" I excavated a wide circle, convinced that I could win the war with one pre-emptive strike. The following year, dozens of little poppy leaves up again in the spot I'd dug out. I executed another shovelling assault. Even so, it took about five years before I had successfully removed any trace from the flower bed. The relocated poppy was quite happy against my back fence for a decade until one tree began shading it out. After an inner debate, I decided to relocate it again rather than letting it die off. It now occupies a space in the Barren Wasteland which, I must say, is at this point hardly deserving of the name.