Vancouver Sea Breeze

Day 234: Clematis "Vancouver Sea Breeze" is one of the principle focus pieces in the motley assemblage of plants I call my "garden." Saucer-sized flowers simply cover the vine once it's fully open, but even in the early days of its blooming cycle when it has more buds than blossoms, it's still a show-stopper.

The secret to success with Clematis is knowing what "group" defines a specific species. Group I plants are spring bloomers and should be cut back immediately following flowering. The plant will then put on new growth. This will be the wood which will develop blossoms the following spring. Group II plants are repeat bloomers, flowers emerging from both new wood and old. These can be pruned after the first flush of bloom in the spring, but care should be taken not to remove all old wood in order to ensure continued flowering throughough the summer. Vancouver Sea Breeze is a Group II species. Group III plants are the easiest of all: simply cut the vine back to 12-18" in early spring if you want to keep growth confined, or just let the vines wander at will for a massed display through summer and fall.

Vancouver Sea Breeze

Day 215: In the Pacific Northwest, you cannot beat Clematis for putting on the best show in town, and "Vancouver Sea Breeze" is the star in my garden. Still a young plant and barely four feet up the trellis, it has at least ten fully open flowers and more buds waiting in the wings. Off to the right, a yellow columbine was resurrected during my spring digging frenzy. I thought it had disappeared. I'll mark it to be moved to a better location next year because at this spot, it's only an extra in the play.

Clematis "Vancouver Sea Breeze"

Day 208: Little by little, I am managing to convert my garden from pink to blue. The pink bits came with the house, and at the time, I wasn't going to quibble. As it was, a friend helped me excavate two overgrown, weedy flower beds to a depth of 18", the two of us sifting the soil through our fingers to remove any undesirable roots and making a stack of others to replant. Oh, there were a few lovelies in the lot: tall delphiniums, showy peonies and such, but the majority of our salvage consisted of columbines in a variety of shades of pink. With the exception of invasives, I do not have it in me to hate a flower, so as I added plants in shades of blue and purple, I removed the pinky ones to locations where I'll see them less often.

Among the ones I added, a deep-hued Clematis was one of my favourites. It climbed a trellis, marched across the awning over the back step, tangled itself in power lines and became lovingly known as the "Purple Wall." After a decade or so, it diminished in vigour, and whether the problem was that of its inherent life expectancy or some lack of care on my part, I did not know. I tried transplanting it, and eventually, it died. As much as I had loved its church-purple blooms, I decided it was time for something different and planted "Vancouver Sea Breeze" in a new location. This morning, I was greeted with three open flowers, the first of the season, and at least a dozen more are in various stages of development.

Particularly Peculiar

Day 326: When I was in third or fourth grade, I experienced a peculiar phenomenon of euphonics in that after saying the word "broom" several times in succession, it ceased to have meaning in my mind and became simply a mellifluous sound; meditative, if you will, and possibly akin to the similar "Om" of yogic mantra. I was a strange child, to be sure, and even then, my fascination with language and semantics was strong. Another linguistic form which continued to intrigue me into adulthood was that of the tongue-twister, and I went well beyond "she sells sea shells by the sea shore" to write my own. ""Few-fruited fennel flowers freely following frost" and "Merrily chewing cherries, very cheery veeries chirrup" are but two examples. However, one which seeped beyond the boundary of true tongue-twister into the realm where meaning ceases to apply was "particularly, peculiarly." It is not a complete sentence, and therefore I do not categorize it as a true tongue-twister, but try it three times fast. You will undoubtedly discover that you're putting an extra "-lar-" in the second word, and then a few repetitions further on, you may begin to wonder whether you are pronouncing it correctly or not. It's a rather disorienting feeling to lose a piece of your language. You may even feel mildly nauseous or dizzy. (The Surgeon General insists that I display that warning to potential practitioners.)

I'd like to be able to work that phrase into today's post, but the best I can do is to say that Clematis and Nigella both have particularly peculiar preposterously pretty pods. It's been a long week.

Look What Followed Me Home!

Day 179: It began as a couple of innocent items on my shopping list for today. Preparatory to transplanting a couple of horse chestnut trees and a fig, I intended to purchase potting soil and bark mulch in order to do the job right, but that meant checking a couple of different garden centers for the best price. Strangely, by the time I was again bound homeward, my car was packed as full as it could be: five bags of mulch, two of soil, a pair of Blue Star juniper tams, an orange tuberous begonia, a one-gallon Clematis Vancouver Sea Breeze, and the greatest prize of all, Sarracenia x Carolina Yellow Jacket.

The Pitcher Plant is a new hybrid and according to the tag, "a hardy horticultural conversation piece," i.e., a companion for my Sarracenia rubra (which, incidentally, is developing two blossoms this year). It too will stand guard at my back door, protecting me from flies and mosquitoes and perhaps the occasional guest who arrives unannounced. Trespass not, lest ye be eaten!