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.

Spring Hope

Day 107: Where there's life, there's hope. Hope springs eternal. Even though we have another month of cold ahead of us, we've turned the corner of winter and are heading into spring. The species tulips I planted last fall have broken through the ground, along with snowdrops and snowflakes, and the crocuses and alliums can't be too far behind. Soon, the front flower bed which I so laboriously cleaned of grass and weeds in September will be filled with colourful blooms. Ostensibly, the bulbs will be followed by a wanton array of snapdragons, seed harvested and spread from those in the east bed. The east bed needs very little attention these days, having become the home of crowded perennials like hellebore, peonies, daffodils, grape hyacinths and yes, some rather unruly snapdragons of assorted heights and colours, but who doesn't love snaps? They do well here, so I am encouraging them to spread 'round front. There are worse things that could happen to a garden than having snapdragons take it over. They bloom early and long, often persisting well past first frost and even into early snow (which we have not had this winter, I might add). I'm of an age now that I want things to tend themselves in the flower beds with little intervention on my part. But first the bulbs! The upcoming flush of colour will put the roses back in Mother Earth's cheeks, and mine.

Snap Shots

Day 317: I've planted an assortment of annuals in my flower beds over the years, and as most of us are wont to do, I've unintentionally allowed them to re-seed themselves, ensuring a succession of "volunteers." Some have proved to be bothersome. It took me several years to eliminate the last of the Lobelia, a plant which is fine massed in hanging baskets, but rather annoying when it pops up elsewhere. Likewise, marigolds are nice along a border, but have a tendency to turn up where you least want them to be. Snapdragons are another story. Who doesn't love snaps? I would prefer the low types to the tall ones, but that lanky, lemony one in the middle makes such a bright and cheerful addition that I've given it permission to seed to its heart's content in a spot where nothing else seems to want to grow.

Non-Stop Garden News

Day 299: The Garden News (hardy fuchsia) is Non-Stop (begonia) now, showcasing an assortment of grand openings and special features. The hummingbirds are having a heyday, unsure which flower to visit first. The hot weather did most of my annuals in, but the perennials (at least the ones I've chosen) have learned tricks to ensure their personal survival. When I first began tending flower beds, I planted annuals heavily, and although I never really pursued a particular colour scheme, each year had its dominant hue. My mother's assertion was that perennials would ensure a performance of some sort year after year. I finally came around to her way of thinking, convinced by a succession of peonies and delphiniums which argued strongly for her logic. Now I look forward to the return of those spots of dependable, reliable colour, and as a bonus, the Rufous and Anna's Hummingbirds have marked the waypoint of my property with their internal GPS.

Colour Garden

Day 217: At no other time of year are my flower beds as lovely as they are from mid-May to early June. Foliage is at its best, the greens fresh and rich to set off a display of spectacular colour and form which seems almost impossible for such a small space. No shade dominates, reds popping up among the blues, white and orange dotted here and there, as random as the stars in the sky. I long ago abandoned any attempt to control the chaos of my floral universe. Its mind is its own, and its machinations too complex for me to decipher. And, lest anyone think that I am a good gardener, let me assure you that as in the larger universe, there are areas where the equation breaks down: bare spots of infertile or clayey soil which have resisted my efforts to amend them. One could learn a lot about physics sitting in the garden, or under an apple tree as the apocryphal tale of Newton's gravitational revelation advises us, and what grows and what does not is governed by an uncertainty principle more complex and confusing than Heisenberg's.

Nigella, Love-In-A-Mist

Day 289: Although most of the plants in my flower beds are perennials, I like to fill in the open spots with annuals in order to have the freedom to "change it up" a bit each year. Invariably, though, there are a few stragglers from previous year, having re-seeded themselves before I could dead-head or remove pods. There have been a few I wished I'd never planted, and marigolds springs immediately to mind. As much as I love them, I was pulling marigolds for years as they cropped up in unanticipated spots. Likewise, I seem to have permanently installed tall yellow snapdragons when the dark red short ones I'd hoped would re-seed are slowly dying out, and never, ever again will I plant Lobelia in anything but a hanging basket. On the other hand, there are some faces I welcome each year, despite their visits coming as something of a surprise. One of these is Nigella, which bears the charming common name of Love-in-a-mist. I presume the "mist" portion of the nomenclature comes from the ferny, lacy foliage which surrounds the flowers, leaves which dry to a wiry state to become a basket for balloon-like maroon-and-cream seed pods. The pods are lovely in a dried arrangement, and hold their colour for months, but I always leave a few in the garden to assure more Love-in-a-mist next year.

Garden Rainbow

Day 215: The images in this collage were all taken on Wednesday afternoon in my garden, but please don't get the idea that my yard is a showpiece. The truth is that it is anything but. The "lawn" is a mass of moss, cat's-ear, dandelions and tough-stemmed grasses, and the shrubs are let go wild, branching however they wish except when they occlude some other plant from sunlight. Better Homes & Gardens would never take photos here, but what my yard lacks in aesthetics, it makes up for in habitat. The birds love it, and so do I.

That said, I'd like to introduce you to some of my floral friends. Not all of them are represented here because some come later, summer folk such as delphiniums and hardy fuchsias. They'll have their day when the spring flush fades.

Top row: blueberry flowers (I should get a ton of berries this year if the pollinators do their job), Asian Bleeding-heart, Lithodora, Kerria japonica, alpine strawberries
Second row: pink heather, English bluebells (can't get rid of them!), peony, hellebore, Centaurea
Third row: assorted columbines
Fourth row: Sitka Mountain Ash (the birds love the berries), red dogwood, Lily-of-the-Valley, lilac, azalea
Bottom row (for groundcover, of course): Heucheras in three shades

How Does Your Garden Grow?

Day 223: You cannot fault my flower beds for lack of colour. If my preferences lean toward blues and purples, it is deliberately not evident. Rather, the cool shades are dispersed throughout to complete the rainbow; not regimented, neither boundary nor in bounds. There are no tidy borders of shorter species, no insistence on "tall people in the back, please." Leaves fill in every hollow, peonies popping up through hellebore and columbine and the tangled straps of daffodils. It has taken me years to turn my colour gardens into unschooled chaos, to find just the right plant for this patch of poor soil or that. My flower beds are as close to a wildflower meadow as could be expected of tamed hybrids and commercial cultivars: motley, rampant and lush when at peak bloom. How does your garden grow?