Fall Clean-Up and Thanksgiving

Post 56

I should write about Fall clean up, which I should be doing, but I'm not, since I've got another cold. So I'm posting some pics of my last blooms to make up for lack of weightier content.

Orange-leaved Crepe Myrtle, cobalt Wolfsbane and purple dried Hydrangea--an unplanned color combo that delivers quite a pow. The hydrangeas, right before they go brown, turn extraordinary shades of purple.

 

 

Aside from some of the easy roses, what other plant gives you so much umph from Late June to early November?  Late blooming anemones are also dramatic against the changing foliage.

Has pink ever looked so strong?

And of course the last bloomer, the perennial chrysanthemums with residual mistflower and geranium.

And the remnants of other flowers here and there.

 

In Thanksgiving for a lovely gardening season, Happy Turkey Day.

Earthly Skysea Solstice,...and Jean Mather

 Post 43
I've literally been dreaming blue this last week--figures in glistening blue raiments. Its not hard to figure why. Outside my window, radiant pulsating blue...

Something about this last year, a rainy fall, a mild winter and an early spring, has made this one of the best years for hydrangeas anyone has seen. Hydrangea Heaven.

I did a post on hydrangeas last year that covers the basic how-to. but because it was a fall post, most of the pics were of aging moptops, not the lively blue youngins pictured so far. And besides, beautiful as these beauties are--there are also other types of hydrangeas, all with their own charms.

There are mopheads with bicolored florets.

 There are lacecaps.

There are lacecaps with variagated leaves.

 There are oak hydrangeas, happy in lightly dappled shade.

And then there are climbing hydrangeas and their crazy, ever-bloomin cousin, Schizophragma hydrangeoides. Here's a pic of a biggie at Chanticleer

Below is my yard with a 3 in 1, a climer, a bicolor, a lacecap... and a astilbe, a fig and cherub with a fish.

And all these are all in bloom right now. An earthly skysea show for the solstice.

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This post is in memory of the Rev. Dr. Jean Mather, Mother Jean, 09/23/1946- 06/13/2012.

She was a gentlewoman and a scholar, who set a stirring example of bravery and faith in the face of  adversity. It was an inspiration and a pleasure to have known her.

It almost seems silly to say 'Rest in Peace.' With people like Jean, you know they are in the arms of God. Nothing else could hold her. This felt surety when I think of her, and of others who I have known like her, is part of what fastens me to a faith in the Life beyond life.

A Grand Surprise: Southern Magnolia

Post 41

When you chose to plant something, you do what you can to make it happy, but you never really know if all is well till it blooms.

Two years ago this fall I saw a young, dwarf Southern magnolia (Magnolia grandiflora,) on sale. My husband had put the kybosh on early spring magnolias, but here was one that bloomed in late spring. And in white, a color that does not put teeth on edge. But zone 7 was the extreme limit of its range, and Northwest Philly was not yet officially zone 7. Did I mention it was on sale? And that its older leaves were shiny evergreen on one side, and covered with a soft, tawny dust on the other? Leaves so begging to be touched and loved and treasured that, well--my wallet was out before I knew it.

There is a small mound on one side of the sun porch that is completely protected from the wind, as it stands  within a U made by the house and an overgrown rhodo. As it gets full sun, it is a good spot for zone-challenging plants. My acanthus, zone 7, has done well there.

So I planted the magnolia there. You can see it tip at the top-right corner of the above picture. It didn't bloom that following summer and I consoled myself that it was still a fine foliage plant. And  I'd given up on its blooming this year--I mean spring is pretty much over.

But I was in for a grand surprise, a Magnolia grandiflora hazarding out its first exquisite, lemon-scented bloom, with another still forming. The plant is happy, and that makes me happy.

So--this I'll pass on. Do you know the micro-climates in your yard? The warm, well-drained areas, the cold pockets, the shady deserts under trees? Try to, cause it lets you plant intelligently, which greatly ups your chances of success. Fit the needs of the plant to the character of the place and you will have made gardening a whole lot easier.

Here is a pic of my rock garden, which I created just so I could grow certain plants that do not do well in amended clay. If you want to know more about microclimates and what to plant in them, there is a gardening book by Roy Lancaster--"Perfect Plant, Perfect Place." When I first started gardening I did my best to absorb most of it, and have relied on its M.O. ever since.The Free Library owns copies, including ones at the Chestnut Hill branch and Central.  Its call # is: 635.965 L221P. Happy Gardening!

 

And look--2 more blooms, with the one in bud looking just like an egg. A grand welcome to the coming summer.

 

Garden Story with Hydrangeas

 Post 7 

If Cleome is for history, what is for story? And, how are garden and story alike?

In literary works, it's often the atmosphere, the mood of a piece that is remembered. An atmosphere, created as much by the author's prose style and choice of metaphors as by plot, theme or character, is like a visit into an exteriorized consciousness. It can be what can makes us love an author's work even if it isn't always successful.  How stories are told is what matters.  Gardens are like that too. They have moods, modes, spirits, that self-reveal within their larger context, so that gardens experienced become like stories told, poems recited, songs sung.

Below is my garden's story. Garden design-wise, what my garden lacks in planning, lists and drawn-up diagrams is make-up for by a fable.  Changes made in the garden work if they are congruous with the story's vision. It gives me, and the garden, a flexible, open structure, around which to grow

  "Once upon a time there lived an old woman in an old, stone house in Northwest Philadelphia.  On weekdays she would take the train to East Falls, where she taught Baroque Literature at Wissahickon College. But on weekends, vacations and those long summer evenings when the light wouldn’t go away, she made a garden.    

Mophead Hydrangea new, with Cranesbills and Ladies Mantle 

And what a garden it was. She packed it with every possible flower. She induced the plants to flourish so that they grew, climbed and tumbled into intersecting layers, too complex for the eye to take in all at once,  so that, by overfeeding the senses, it simultaneously quickened consciousness. It was so beautiful in growth or decay that it made you feel that somehow our world was more wonderful than you had previously imagined it, all meadowbright with possibility and discovery.  It was a magnificent garden, and as you may have guessed, it is not the garden that you now see.



Mophead Hydrangea old

For one day the lady, after decades of being old, went away. No one saw her again. New people came and lived in the house with its garden, and then even newer people. None of these people have gardened like the old lady. Still, the garden, messy and half-wild, has thrived. Though not as beautiful as it once was, it has persevered and so, prevailed.  It has continued, much like an old hydrangea blossom, its early sunburst of unearthly blue muted into petals mottled by mauve and green and aqua-like light.

Mophead, old, with Acanthus and hardy Begonia

A girl who had grown up int he house and played in the garden knew there was something unique about the garden and that it had to do with the garden’s shape. And love of course. Because a child would say that love was involved. That somehow the old lady’s love had seeped into the place.

And indeed, the garden, beneath its wild plantings, does show a distinct pattern. You can see it most clearly in winter. At the center stands an urn that is surrounded by four, sphere-topped columns arranged in a rectangle. A plaque on the urn read, “Quincunx/Lambda.”

No one knows exactly what that means. The first word is Latin, the second Greek, and few even try to guess why these words would be put together.  The child has grown up, and now lives in the house again and tends the garden.  And when she gardens she feels as if, time and again, she is bumping up against some invisible, solid, buried form, that is revealing itself, slowly but ineffably, a sign of she knows not what. 

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How-to: Mophead, or Hydrangea macrophylla, is one of the most popular members of the hydrangea family ( Oak-leaf, Lacecap and Pee-Gee are also much loved and thrive in our area.)  Historically called Hortensia Hydrangeas, French Hydrangeas or Penny Macs, Mopheads are originally from Japan. They make a big-leafed, water-fond bush of about 5 feet that is happy in sun or semi-shade.


One of the fun things about Mopheads is that many varieties (though not all,) can bloom  pink, blue or purple, depending on the pH of the surrounding soil. To get the blue end of the spectrum, you need very acidic soil with aluminum in it. This is not too difficult in the Wissahickon Valley, since most of our soil here is naturally acidic. This is often not true, however, around the foundation of our houses, where leaching from cement and other building materials can over sweeten the soil.  I have 2 Mopheads up against the house and use Espoma Soil Acidifier to blue them. If that dosn't do it --try throwing some cheap aluminum nails into the soil around the bush.

If you want pink you need to do the opposite. Add lime to sweeten the soil, then--if you use chemical fertilizer, use one with a high phosphorus count; phosphorus blocks aluminum intake. I have less experience with this -- for me, the bluer the Mophead the better. One year I had one that was almost turquoise and am still trying to duplicate it.

Most hydrangeas tinge towards russet as they age. Some then pale into beige and sand.  You can also trim the heads off when they're still fresh and hang the heads upside down in a dark place to dry. They look good in dried arrangements. A spritz of hair spray will keep them from crumbling too soon.

It used to be that all Mopheads were prone to losing buds to freezing and thawing in winter, and therefore might not bloom come summer. "Endless Summer" and other like varieties have put an end to this problem, since they bloom from new spring buds and are dependable. They cost a bit more, but are worth it.