Patience Is Indeed a Virtue

As I tromped back to the house after putting the trash out early this morning, I was greeted with a lovely November surprise, a fall blooming camellia literally bursting with blossoms.

I planted this Camellia sasanqua 'Autumn Moon' in my garden three years ago. It has struggled to make itself at home, even though it is sited perfectly - protected from the harsh southern exposures, partial shade (morning sun, afternoon shade), in moist, but well-drained acidic soil. William Ackerman could not have found a better spot for this plant in my garden. I pass it many times each day as I leave and return home. I've watched and waited. And today, at last, the reward.

Oooh, the metaphors for growing children . . .

101 Gardens To See Before I Die

I'm still working on the complete list, but definitely one on my "must see" gardens was Thuya Garden & Lodge in Northeast Harbor, Maine. It only took a small fortune to secretly bribe each of my children to let me take the most delightful afternoon of our vacation to steal away for a self-indulgent day trip. Designed by notable, and self-taught, landscape designer Charles Savage, Thuya Garden offers a splendid perennial border garden in the fashion of Gertrude Jekyll's famed English gardens. Absolutely, this would be one to remember.

Through the front gate, the first evergreens I noticed were none other than two overgrown Picea glabra, Dwarf Alberta Spruce -- the same plants ubiquitous to gas station landscapes and grocery store garden sections, and most definitely the last plant I would have expected to see at Thuya.

(Note: There is not a place in the modern world for "garden critics," so as a general rule, I try not to be critical of plant selections or garden structure of other designers. Rather, I work to make myself consider more thoughtfully what the designer was trying to accomplish. I may still not like the idea, but at least I can appreciate what someone else did.)

Then, I walked on a short path to the perennial gardens. At first look, I thought the mix of colors was too intense, too varied and too unplanned. I had expected a progression of colors cool to hot, but felt a bit disappointed when a lovely mix of blues, violets and whites was missing a small taste of yellow to bring out the intensity of the palette. Instead, a ruddy orange peered between some meadow blues and creamy whites. A stand of brilliant red Monarda stood straight and tall next to a massing of steely blue Echinops ritro. Why would anyone one do that?

Taking a deep breath, I continued to walk and look. The beds are not borders, but rather very long, stand alone beds that can be viewed from all sides. Just as soon as I thought again about the missing yellow, I made a turn and my view became exactly that, a wash of yellow throughout the garden with the cooler colors just a complement. The ruddy oranges and vibrant reds were perfectly sited and gave me pause to consider the pleasure of enjoying a beautifully planted garden.

Walking back through the gardens (to the loo), I found the gardener's shed. I must confess I was struck by a strong sense of shed-envy. An old wooden wheelbarrow, tools all aligned and upright against the wall, all hidden behind the main gardens, but yet still very much a part of the garden.

Only then, and much to my surprise, I found the reason for the dense and blobby Picea glabra - a perfectly framed view (denser than a holly which might not survive the harsh winters, more compact and proportional than a larger spruce) with a tease of the perennial beds - and one that would be most often, and perhaps more appropriately, enjoyed by the gardener, not the garden visitor.

Flower Vomit

The azaleas have been in bloom in Washington the past few weeks. While I adore azaleas spread throughout a woodland garden, there are some yards that have gone a little overkill with these ubiquitous foundation plantings (like mine). I inherited a somewhat mature garden, with, no joke, over 50 different varieties or cultivars of azaleas, which in bloom, looks much like "flower vomit."

As a young child, I nicknamed my room "the flower vomit room." It had been decorated for my two older sisters, circa 1968. Painted pale pink, it had (according to my mother) very expensive 100% wool bright pink carpet that wouldn't show wear for at least 25 years (and it didn't). But my least favorite part (and no offense to the unnamed decorator), the bed linens and curtains were a blend of pinks and chartreuse and olive green, somewhat modern at that time, and to not appear overly floral for young pre-adolescent girls. It was quite out-of-style when my sisters went to college and I got my own room for the first time. I loved having my own space and not having to share a room with my rough and tumble younger brothers, but I was a tomboy through and through. Pink and I just clashed.

Pink and I still clash. My personality is much more blue, yellow and green mixed with a little dirt, er, brown. Somedays I might be a bit more red, but only if the aphids are eating my roses or my dear dog buries a bone where I've just planted dahlia bulbs. Pink is pretty and kind and gentle and delicate. In the garden, I like pink limited quantities, over there in the distance for a spot of color, or set against the backdrop of lots and lots of dark green foliage.

So my dilemna remains what to do with the wash of pink that blankets my garden for three weeks in April and May, then nothing for the remaining 11 months of the year?

Over time, a few have died giving me the chance to fill in with new deciduous shrubs with varying textures and bloom times, such as Hydrangea quercifolia, Oakleaf Hydrangea and Viburnum plicatum var. tomentosum, Doublefile Viburnum. The shady conditions and and mature height of the azaleas has offered space to experiment with shade perennial combinations -- last spring I mixed Polygonatum odoratum 'Variegatum', Solomon's Seal, Athyrium niponicum var. pictum, Japanese Painted Fern, Heuchera x 'Plum Puddin', Plum Puddin Coralbells, and Carex comans, Hair Sedge.

So, yes, I will continue to endure and appreciate the flower vomit each spring, if only as a launching point for experimentation.

Little Orphans

Animals are fine by me, and we have one that lives in our house. The kids and my husband indeed are of the animal kingdom, but there are days that they are much more like reptiles (slithering), or birds (constantly eating), or earthworms (wriggling around with nothing but poop and dirt in their wakes). But one so-called "pet" is enough. No strays. No hand-me-down pets. No caving when my son gives me a pitiful pout and tells me for the 1,000th time that our dog needs a friend. My stock answer is that we are the dog's best friends. And that the house rule--one pet--is still in effect.

But plants are a different story. I take in orphan plants and give them a home. (I don't actually name them, the Latin is enough.) My own garden's design is such that there will always be room for the plant escaping an early death. A client had several Hydrangea quercifolia, Oakleaf Hydrangea, that had been crushed by a falling limb during a thunderstorm. They were essentially missing an arm and two legs, fairly misshapen and surely not worthy of a front garden. The plants were not dead, just in need of a year or so of rehab, which I kindly offered them. Today, I made the rounds to check on my rehab patients and was pleased to see their progress. All have new leaves emerging -- and how appropriate for Easter -- unfurling like little hands folded to pray as the days warm.

I even take in orphan plants from the nursery. Technically, they haven't been abandoned but rather just up for adoption and like human adoptions, there's a little cost involved. Sometimes I think I understand the California woman who had octuplets this spring: I just cannot have one and wonder about the many others left behind for uncertain fate! I want as many as will fit on my cart, or in the back of my very large SUV (a lot). Today, I adopted a nice brood to fill some bare spaces and containers while I await the return of some late spring perennials.

Here are some helpful hints for great looking containers:

• Use a variety of colors, textures and sizes (the tallest being no more than the height of the pot). Experiment!
  
• Select a color scheme, sticking with either a warm/hot palette (reds, oranges, yellows) or cool palette (blues, purples, bit of yellow), using white and green as neutral.
• Make sure the plants require similar sun exposure (i.e., don't mix shade plants with sun plants no matter how awesome the will look together - it won't last) and that they will thrive in the location the pot is placed (i.e., don't put shade-loving plants in a pot that will bake on the patio).
• Pack in the plants! Typically, pots are filled with annuals with a short bloom season and don't have time to grow and fill out like the perennials and shrubs in the garden. Put as many plants into the container as possible (keeping their soil around the roots) for instant beauty!
  
• Give the plants a good start with good potting soil, some organic slow-release fertilizer and plenty of water. It's also a good idea to replace the soil in older pots every couple of years -- just spread the old dirt in another spot in the garden.
• Water, water, water -- every day if it does not rain, and in the morning so the roots have time to absorb the water and are not boiled in the afternoon heat.