Big Doug's Hellebore

Several years ago, I cleared out a space under Big Doug, intending to fill it with shade-tolerant species. To that end, I solicited root cuttings from my botany partners' garden, and they brought me a bucketful of Hellebores. Only one has survived, but I can now say that it is on its way to becoming a major feature. Whether I'll live long enough to see it as big as the ones in my main flower bed remains to be seen! Also in Big Doug's shady nook are some unhappy Hostas, but any fern I tried to plant there has withered and died. As with all my gardening pursuits, the philosophy is that if something likes the conditions I can provide, I'll plant more. If it refuses to grow for me without much effort on my part, I'll give it a pass. The Hellebore has apparently decided in my favour.

Hellebore

Day 91: When a plant is advertised as having "black flowers," it's advisable to take that description with a healthy grain of salt. "Black" in the plant world is the darkest shade of blue or red which can be achieved genetically, and nursery photos likely have been taken of specimens in optimum growing conditions, and may even have been enhanced to emphasize the dark hue. Soil pH can play a strong role in maintaining the "blackness" of a variety, as can the mineral content. The most striking example of that phenomenon in my personal experience has been with the iris called "Superstition." The first few years after I had planted it, its deep purple blooms were as black as I could have desired, but iris tubers are notoriously hard to weed, I eventually dug it up, separated the roots and moved them to a new location. When it flowered the following year, the blossoms were a dark mahogany red! When I realized what was going on, I moved it to a new spot again. It was much happier there, and now produces flowers as dark as those it first bore. My "black" Hellebores are another example. For the first few years, they were as dramatically "black" as the photos in the nursery catalog. As they have depleted some nutrient in the soil, they've faded to purplish-red.

Another Hellebore

Day 147: Perhaps I should walk around my yard more often. It seems I was mistaken when I said my other Hellebore wasn't in bloom yet. It's in a shady spot, and I have a tendency not to notice it because it's not very large yet. Unlike the one in my flower bed, its leaves have lighter coloured veins, making them appear almost mottled. I've been trying for some time now to establish a "shade garden" of Hellebores, Hostas and Maidenhair Ferns under Big Doug. It's coming along at a turtle's pace. I either need to buy more plants (not likely to happen) or hit my botany partners up for more starts. Yeah, I'm looking at you, Joe!

Hellebore Season

Day 145: It's Hellebore season, and mine are heavily packed with flowers. They emerge from the center of the plant, rising above last year's deteriorating foliage which leaves the garden looking a bit tatty, but this can be forgiven in view of their sheer profusion. Only the "black" ones are in flower as yet. They are a major feature in my east-side flower bed, and the roots are so compacted that I can't divide them even when I jump on the shovel. Maybe I should sharpen my axe? In any event, even once the flowers have cycled out (and they bloom for quite a long time), the foliage stays lush and green throughout the summer. As perennials go, there are worse things to which you could dedicate a flower bed.

The Weaving Weekend

Day 128: The photo is entirely irrelevant to the subject matter of this post, but it is already late in the day and I am delightedly worn out. I have had a tendency to forget that my friend Ed, although an accomplished band-weaver, has never woven on a shafted loom. After refinishing Max, he came into possession of an eight-shaft Bergman, and Max came to live at my house without Ed having even threaded a heddle. Meanwhile, Ed set to work refurbishing the eight-shaft and finally reached the point where he was ready to weave. He read books. He watched videos. He asked questions, both of me and of members in an assortment of weaving groups, but Friday evening, I suggested that he come up for the weekend for a "weaving intensive" designed to acquaint him with the process of dressing a loom with warp, telling him that there was no better way of learning than "hands on." He arrived yesterday afternoon, and we immediately set to work loading a warp I had pre-measured in a heavy cotton suitable for placemats. With only a short break for dinner, the warping process was complete by 10 PM, well past either of our normal bedtimes. Today, even before breakfast, he began the actual weaving. I was pleased to see that his experience band-weaving gave him good control over the selvedges, one of the more difficult weaving skills to truly master. By the time he left, he had roughly nine inches of a nice twill completed. He's taken my table loom home with him so he can do his "homework," i.e., completing at least two placemats. For me, it was absolutely wonderful to have a student who was quick to grasp concepts, and to take to weaving like a fish to water even if I am ready for a good, solid nap.

Hellebore In Black And White

Day 109: When I mentioned that I wanted to add more hellebores to my yard, maybe even create a space especially for them, my botany partner offered to share a root of his white one to go with the black one I already had growing in two places. I welcomed the opportunity although I was worried that it was a little late in the year to split it, but it seemed to be settling in, at least until the heat of summer arrived. The leaves withered, and I figured I'd lost it. However, hellebores are pretty durable despite not always responding well to being divided, and I was pleased when leaf buds emerged from the ground. It is now flowering, as are the black ones. Hellebore flowers nod, so I propped these up so that you could see their faces. Joe's has the additional appeal of light-veined dark leaves. I still want more varieties!

Evidence Of Spring

Day 174: Evidence of the changing season is beginning to show up in the garden, at least between snow showers. Only today, I discovered the volunteer primroses lurking in the moss and the swelling buds of the Red-flowering Currant. While some things seem to be running late (the daffodils are barely budded), the Hellebore is more lush than it's ever been before. What phenologic cues are these plants taking, that some are in a rush to produce as many flowers as possible while others seem to be husbanding their strength? What do they know that we do not? Humans have become so divorced from Nature that our bodies no longer follow the map of the seasons, so separated from the rising and setting of the sun that we complain when compelled to change our clocks to another designation which, after all, is a purely artificial construct in the first place. We have, as a species, moved a long way into an imaginary world. We could do with a lesson from the flowers in how to judge when the time is right.

Hellebore

Day 143: Hellebore is one of the most rewarding perennials in my outdoor garden. Throughout the year, it's always doing something whether it's producing blooms or showing off its luxurious deep green foliage. Admittedly, it gets a little worn by late November, but then it can be counted on for the earliest flowers of spring. Its alternate name "Lenten Rose" bespeaks its blossoming period, and its colour palette of purples and pinks echo the candle wreaths associated with the religious season. It spreads, but slowly, and the tough roots can be sectioned with a sharp shovel if you want to propagate it or keep it within bounds. It's tolerant of both heat and cold, produces its best colour in semi-shade or early-day sun, and thrives even in almost any soil as long as it is not clayey. Mine is one of the darker varieties, and although its hue has faded since planting due to poor soil and too much light, it flowers prodigiously for six weeks or so prior to peak foliage production. For the remainder of the summer, its mounds of palmate leaves provide a rich background for the obligatory annuals.

Gardening V.s Horticulture

Day 160: It might surprise you to learn that I have not always enjoyed gardening. Although I was driven each year by the human compulsion to grub in the soil each spring like a mole, it was not a process in which I took much pleasure and because of that fact, the results were what one might expect, i.e., partial or complete failure. My flower beds never bloomed. How could they, beneath the weeds which grew faster than the seedlings? And vegetables? Have you ever met a person who flunked both zucchini and radishes? Now you have. It always seemed to me that after I had weeded once, weeding should have been done for the year, and once I had stuck a plant in the ground, it required no further care than occasional watering. Suffice to say that it was not a formula for success, although ornamentals like this black Hellebore fared better than edibles and inspired me to take better care of my flower beds. I began fertilizing, adding soil amendments, choosing plants for specific problem areas, and I began to see results. Whether by accident or not, one year saw a bumper crop from the cherry tomatoes I planted in sunken containers, and I proudly shared the bounty with my friends. Now I had come to understand that there was more to gardening than planting. A few more years passed, and the riotous hodge-podge of random colours in the flower beds and harvests of tomatoes, blueberries and raspberries encouraged me to expand the garden and my labours. That said, it was not until horticulture crept into the equation before I could say that I enjoyed my work. Once I began hand-pollinating vines and layering shoots, I was hooked. Now each year, I look forward to playing Luther Burbank, paintbrush in hand to tease pollen from one Akebia vine for transfer to another. And then I wait anxiously for signs of success, checking almost daily to see if pods are beginning to develop. It's science, people, and the garden is my laboratory. I won't say that's made weeding fun, but it makes it worthwhile.

Hellebore In The Rain

Day 177: It's been several days since I took this photo through my living room window, really the best view of the Oriental Hellebore (Lenten Rose) since from that angle, it's not hidden by daffodil leaves. As garden plants go, I find it quite rewarding. Once it's done with its lengthy winter-late spring blooming cycle, the leaves darken and become substantially larger, shading out any nasty weeds which might be hiding closer to the ground. It endures dry days without much noticeable effect, remaining richly green until late autumn. The plant then retreats into dormancy for a period of 8-10 weeks before new flower heads begin to appear. If you plant a Hellebore, be sure to give it lots of space. It can become quite large. That said, it is easily divided and "spares" can always be transplanted to other areas of your yard. Keep it out of full sun. Morning light is sufficient to keep it healthy, and if you have a variety with coloured flowers, a little shade will keep them vibrant.

Spring Is Bustin' Out All Over

Day 172: Spring is bustin' out all over! The daffodils were still only in bud during the morning two days ago, but by afternoon, they'd thrown their jackets off and were welcoming mild temperatures with open petals. Grape hyacinths popped up a few days earlier, and I'm ashamed to admit that I hadn't noticed them until they started showing purple. The Hellebore recovered from being crushed beneath the yard glacier and surged quickly to the fore with a thick flush of flowers. And Spring urges are driving me to get my hands dirty. I'd pilfered a few flowering quince stems from a vacant lot last year and, after having been confined to buried pots for a year, they were ready to plant out. The raspberries are making leaves, the blueberries and kiwis likewise promising a harvest to tide me through next winter. Hurrah for Spring!

Itchin' To Be Diggin'

Day 164: My patience with rain and cold is nearly exhausted. I'm itchin' to be diggin'! Or if not digging, at least pulling some of the weeds and scratching out the moss, preparatory to putting annuals in the ground. I must remind myself that it's still March, a good two months to go before a killing frost is unlikely. Even so, I've had it happen in mid-June, although not in the last decade or so. The garden stores down in Flatland are pushing out their displays, oblivious to the fact that some of us live in Zone 7, a narrow strip of cold country which runs along the spine of the Cascades and spills over where one particular Big Ice Cream Cone dominates the horizon. I wish my psychology permitted  me to channel some of the gardening urge into a bout of spring cleaning, but somehow getting down and dirty has a much greater appeal than mopping floors and polishing doorknobs. Nah, I'll just sit here with the seed catalog on my lap and dream.

Black Hellebore

Day 116: Friends who have known me for any length of time know that I have a passion for "black" flowering plants, i.e., black tulips, black pansies, black iris, etc. None of these is actually pitch-black, black as night, black as a London coal-hole, but rather some shade of purple, and some darker than others. "Black" hellebore is one of the lighter ones, but you can't deny that it is strikingly sumptuous, especially since it frequently holds its blooms over a blanket of snow. Also known as "Lenten Rose," it flowers in late winter and early spring. Its leaves are dark green and palmate, their edges serrated, and at least on my plant, the flowers arise from the center of the clustered stems. This year, mine is particularly lush, but the stalks which bear them are fairly short. Fortunately, one of them had turned its face upward to display the center detail.

Easter Blooms

Day 185: The colour in my garden is patchy, but there's no denying that Spring has arrived. My earliest memories of Easter involved searching for eggs in my parents' garden, and I think it's fair to say that I was more entranced by the flowers than by the treats the famous Bunny had left beneath them. Invariably during my hunt, a few stems of Grape Hyacinth would be broken, and of course these were gathered up to be accompanied by a few deliberately-picked daffodils and the obligatory do-you-like-butter dandelions. Lilacs came later, in time for May Day, followed by the blood-red peonies which my father so dearly loved. Sometimes there were sweet peas, a plant I have never successfully grown here at the foot of the Mountain. Today, my complement includes daffodils and narcissi (we won't quibble over semantics), Fritillaria meleagris, grape hyacinth, pigsqueak (Bergenia), heather, a Patty Plant, wild currant, abundant hellebore and snowflakes. If the Bunny were to bring me eggs today, he'd have no trouble matching them to a hiding place, whatever colour they might be.

Hellebore

Day 150: Hellebore really might be considered part of the "winter" garden since it begins to bloom around Christmastime, but its common name of "Lenten Rose" implies that it is at its best near Easter. This year, mine is living up to its moniker, in full flower now with at least fifty nodding heads. My camera doesn't like to portray it in true colour which is more of a dusty, rosy dark lavender, "black" to the nursery trade. The individual flowers are 3-4 inches in width, and quite a display en masse.