Frontyard Flowerbed in September

This flowerbed is once again a riotous mess.  The jewelweed has taken center stage.  I like this wildflower, so that is fine by me.  Not fine by me are the volunteer rose of Sharon blooms, the remnants of an old Rose of Sharon that used to grow here and is rather a mess to contain (which is why I took it out….or tried anyway).

The hostas, now baked by the August heat, are ready for some cooler Fall weather.

The elephant ear hostas are staking a stab all Fall colors.

All Summer long I’ve had the thought that ample time for gardening would suddenly appear for me.  In truth, most of what appeared was ample work to be completed in order to start the school year.  So the garden was short-changed as July slipped into August and now September.  I have hopes that the weekends in the Fall will offer time for me to trim back this flowerbed and I hope that it will.  October 1st will tell that story……

Fading Hostas

The summer’s heat has begun to take a toll on my hosta plants, an August development that I am accustomed to.  But there is still beauty to be seen in the vivid colors of these leaves.

Even as they begin to fade, they make me happy.

Frontyard Flowerbed in August

Things are a tad overgrown here in the frontward flowerbed, the outcome of a hot July, plenty of rain., and less time for gardening than I would like.

If I’m being honest, I have a fondness for the jewelweed’s yellow flowers and when I do clean out this flowerbed later this month, I’ll let them stay around.  Summer green in abundance is a daily gift in this world gone mad and I am grateful for that blessing.  

Front Yard Flowerbed in June

This flowerbed has been splendid for all of May and as the azaleas moved past peak bloom, some slender, tall iris flowers began to emerge.  

I watched with care as I didn’t want to miss the chance to admire the flowers that emerged. 

The hostas are freshly verdant.  

There is jewel weed growing wild in the last of the open spots in the soil and I like it.  It will stay until I fill this space in the flowerbed, likely with some vinca later this summer.  The arrival of consistent warm weather has been a nice.  It’s starting to feel that despite the fact that we are still working from home and social distancing, things are beginning to shift toward whatever we will call this still-living-with-a-pandemic kind of normal.

In the midst of the uncertainty and anxiety, I peak over the side of my front porch and the view is lovely, a gardener’s reminder to be patient and on the lookout for unexpected joy.  

September 1: Fairy Garden

The weeds along the line of the fairy garden fence never lost their access to abundant rain this summer and they’ve rather taken over.  There’s green everywhere in the yard; enough that it’s hard to believe Fall and September are at hand.

And yet, here we are.  There’ve been enough cool mornings to get the dogwood tree to think of the coming season.

The same is true for the peach tree.

Though the hostas don’t look bedraggled by the heat as they usually appear in August, they do look a bit tired.

Summer flew by and I can’t quite believe that Fall is at hand.  I’m never ready to say goodbye to flip flops; this year is no exception.  But tomorrow is Labor Day and Tuesday is the first day of school and just like that, I’m wearing shoes again and we’re off and running.  By this time next month, the fairies and I will be planning for their slumber season.  I’ve already stacked up some garden bulb catalogs to enjoy as a treat this back-to-school week and as September closes out, I will have ordered some bulbs for next Spring.  At least a few will be planted in this fairy patch.  Gardening always rewards advance planning and I like that.  

I especially love the seasons as they are changing and nothing is more lovely than the cooler mornings that signal Fall on the horizon.  The fairies and I are ready for the change.

Peace Lily

I have a bit of a green thumb and I love house plants.  Helping things to grow is rewarding and a way that I help myself to live in the moment.   Most years, I manage to restrain myself and I only add one plant to my collection.  Last summer, that was a pretty little peace lily.  It did well on the front porch and thrived when I moved it inside so that Spring found my peace lily in need of some room to grow.  I transplanted it and then held my breath, because transplants are sometimes tricky. I needn’t have fretted, as the peace lily is coming along quite nicely.

White flowers are on their way.  The new pot provides plenty of space for the plant to grow.  It’s out on the porch again for the summer and I greet it each day.  In return, it rewards me with its lovely self.

Hostas!

It is an established fact that I love hostas of all sorts.  The varieties that grow in my garden make me happy on a daily basis.  In the last few years, I’ve planted additional varieties.  In the frontward flowerbed, I have some green and white-edged variegated hostas that I think are splendid.

There are also some elephant-eared hostas in shades of green and yellow that I rather enjoy.  These hostas come up slowly in the Spring but when they finally open, they are impressive.

This time a year is perfect weather for hostas —— plenty of rain followed by sunshine and warmth.  May, I find you charming.

Time Lapse Hostas

The front yard flowerbed at my house has been a project for the last few years.  A few unpleasant bushes were removed and the ivy was trimmed.  Daffodil and tulip bulbs, azaleas, and hostas were planted in their place.  The flowerbed gets morning light and comes alive slowly for the first weeks of Spring.  Once the hosta bulbs burst through the soil, the pace of growth is rapid and each day brings a little more unfurling.  This Spring, I stopped to make a picture of that process each day for a week.  From day 1 to day 2 is a bit of a Mother Nature magic in my own yard.

Each day brings a little more green and a little more growth.

I daydream of staying outside all day just to watch it happen.

In the Spring light, the green plants are verdant and lush.

Each day brings a bit more of the brilliant green.

By the end of the summer, the hostas will fill three times as much space as they occupy now.  I can never get enough of them, so that will be very happy indeed.

Zinnias

This weekend is the official start of Autumn and though there seems to be enough warm weather on tap to keep me in zinnia bouquet for a few more weeks, it’s a nice time to celebrate the flowers I have enjoyed this year.

I love zinnias and have been growing them for year.  Every Monday, I pick myself a fresh bouquet for the week.

Zinnias are simple and rather old-fashioned, part of their appeal to me.

They like sunlight and they tolerate heat.  I’m careful to water and fertilize them and for their part, they bloom and bloom and bloom.

Zinnias on the table feels like a cheerful treat and I look forward to the zinnia season all year.  There are dozens of varieties from which to choose and I enjoy collecting seed packets in preparation for each Spring's planting.

That’s happy!

Peace Lily

Some years ago, when I lived in Nebraska, I had an enormous peace lily plant.  I gave it away when I left the state because it was too large to carry across the country with a dog and a toddler in tow.  A few weeks ago, I was at Ikea when I spotted a small peace lily and thought, “that’s coming home with me.”  And so it did.  It’s already thriving on the front porch and will need repotting before the summer is over.

In the humid early mornings, the leaves and budding flowers have drops of dew on their tips.  

The dewdrops are usually gone by 9 am but while they last they are lovely and remind me to look carefully for the moments of fleeting beauty in the world.

Zinnias!

Last night, I picked my first zinnia bouquet of the season.

Gardening has taught me more about patience than anything else and this point in the summer, when there is an abundance of fresh produce to enjoy, is always lovely.  The days are sunny and long and it feels as if summer might very well last forever.  This won’t be the case of course; the zinnia season is as fleeting as any other.  But while it lasts, it’s so very charming.

My Secret Garden

The flowerbed on the edge of my driveway at the east side of my house gets morning sun, but is otherwise in the shade.  For years, it was edged with hostas and had two azalea bushes and some ivy.  But it was mostly overpowered by a bossy rose of sharon bush that grew and grew.  I wanted a greener bed, one with more hostas and less rose of sharon.  Two years ago, I set out to have just that.  This Spring the patch has been lovely, a treat I view in the morning and enjoy in the evening.  Because it’s tucked up against the house, it’s a bit of a secret garden and I find this quite pleasing.  

The bed is verdant green and the variegated and elephant-eared hostas are coming along quite nicely.  T gave me a new azalea and the shade of pink is just right.  The ivy needs some trimming and training, but that’s a job I enjoy. 

Gardening is my reminder to be patient and enjoy the surprises that Mother Nature can spring upon me.  Some years, that’s zinnia beds that have been consumed by bunnies and squirrels.  Some years, it’s peaches and apples that are gobbled up by the local wildlife.  And some years, it’s the way a project I daydreamed comes together just when I need it.  

That’s happy!

The Zinnia Season

Last week’s forecast suggested that the first week in May would bring us some unusually warm days and nights.  So I did what any rational woman would do: I lined up my flip flops and I planted my zinnia seeds.  

Zinnias are on of my favorite things about summer.  Daydreams of picking bouquets from my own garden have carried me through many a dark, cold Winter day.  But daydreams are one thing and getting seeds in the ground are another; getting planted a few days early is a treat.  Tomatoes and basil will go in the ground in the next week; by then tiny flower seedlings will have emerged.  The 2018 gardening season has begun!  

Time’s Witness

At historical sites, trees that were standing when a historical event occurred are designated a Witness Tree and a marker placed by the National Park Service says as much.  T and I have seen this at a host of historical sites, at places like the Battle of Gettysburg and Antietam.  At Seneca Falls, New York, in the yard at Elizabeth Cody Stanton’s home along the Erie Canal, the tree in the left of this photo was there when Stanton sat on her front porch and dreamt of the Declaration of Sentiments. 

I like trees anyway, but the witness trees seem special because they have seen so much and stood through time, silent witnesses to major events. 

In my backyard, I have a patch of iris bulbs that came from my great grandmother’s home in Missouri.  They grew there when my father was a child in the 1940s.  A patch of the bulbs was transplanted when he moved to California in the 1950s; there they grew in my grandmother’s yard.  My father planted them in the homes we lived in while I was growing up.  Eight years ago, he separated the bulbs and mailed me a few of my own.  I planted them in a sunny corner by the garage and waited for flowers.  

Each Spring, the bulbs would put forth green leaves, but I never got flowers.  I enjoyed the greenery and kept fertilizing them, in the hopes that flowers would someday emerge.  A few week’s back, I was checking the garden and I realized that this year there were iris flower stems among the green leaves.

This week’s sunlight and warmth brought more growth.  This morning, I have pretty purple irises to admire.

They are lovely, of course, and made lovelier to me because of their history.   I garden because my father gardens.  He gardens because his grandparents taught him to love stirring the soil and making things grow.  This history of gardening is important to me, a reminder of things that transcend time.  These flowers remind me of gardeners that came before me; they are witness to the gardens my family grew.  They make Spring that much sweeter for the reminder.

That’s happy!

Spring is Coming

Every year, no matter how much I long for it, Spring comes on slowly.  As the morning chill starts to feel thin, there is expectancy in the air.  It’s a signal that reminds me to pay attention to the changes that have begun to emerge.  They are subtle, but still there, patiently waiting for me to notice.  Well before it brings warm breezes or blooms, the crocuses and daffodils peak through the soil, often to shake off a late round of snow, but growing nonetheless.  After cold months of stark forests and dull gardens, color begins to emerge.  These subtle changes can be found everywhere and I look for them eagerly, with my nose turned toward the sunlight as the days lengthen.  Then, something splendid emerges and I enjoy the surprise of the blooms.  Such is the case with these daffodils that are cheering up my shaded front yard.

Right next door, my peony has also begun to emerge.

There is much more to come of course, and that is the true joy of Spring, which starts slow but predictably results in a riot of abundant color and blooms.  I love the way the season builds anticipation and rewards my patience.