Author: lwcmartin@bellsouth.net

It sounds like a recipe for soup – a little parsley, some cabbage, a little kale and – pansies! But in truth, it’s the backbone of my autumn gardening season.  Maybe more than in any other season, in the fall I appreciate gardening in the mild climate of Atlanta, Georgia.  Once the heat, humidity and bugs have passed, or at least gone dormant for a few months, I am re-energized to plant again.

Pansies and violas are pretty amazing flowers.  Planted in the fall, these will not only withstand all but the most frigid temperatures, they will also become established enough to begin growing and blooming in spring as soon as the weather warms again.  In the past several years, my pansies have bloomed intermittently throughout winter, thanks to the dubious benefit of warmer-than-average temperatures.

Both pansies and violas are in the viola genus and are also related to the violets and johnny-jump-ups.  Pansies were bred from the johnny-jump-up, native to England, to develop large, flat and beautifully marked petals.

Pansies are heavy feeders and should be treated to an application of organic fertilizer every few weeks in spring and summer.  This year, for the first time, I put out a “pansy starter” fertilizer at planting time.  I’ll let you know if it was worthwhile or if I just succumbed to great advertising at the garden shop for no reason.

Companion plantings for the pansies include parsley – useful in the kitchen as well! – ornamental cabbages and, my personal favorite, kale, which we pick and eat all fall and again starting in early spring.

So, don’t put up your trowel just yet but go out and plant some pansies!

I have to admit that I can’t always make a positive ID of the trees that I see in the woods, but I never have trouble recognizing a Sassafras tree, which has such a distinctive collection of leaf shapes that anyone can tell when they’re looking at a Sassafras.  This tree sports three  different leaf shapes – an oval, a “mitten” and a “three lobe”.

 

 

 

Early Colonists found this native tree to be both useful and delicious.  The leaves were dried and ground into a powder called “file” which is an important ingredient in gumbo.  More deliciously,  Sassafras root was used to make alcoholic “root teas,” based on recipes from the Native Americans.

During Prohibition, these alcoholic teas were banned.  Not to be deterred, Charles Hires, from Philadelphia, found a way to make the first “Root Beer.”  He kept the flavor, which came from Sassafras root and about 30 other wild roots and herbs,  took out the alcohol and replaced it with carbonation. He proudly served this at the 1876 Centennial Exhibition and it has been popular ever since, though modern root beer no longer contains actual sassafras root.

There has been a revival of the old alcoholic root tea in the form of a liqueur called “Root,” which is created from cane sugar, birch bark, black tea, orange and lemon juices, various spices and sassafras “essence.”   The FDA, several years ago, banned the use of true sassafras, which they consider a possible carcinogen.  This is one of the few true American liqueurs and one of the few spirits that is certified organic.  Reviews are enthusiastic and people say that it really does taste like old fashioned root beer.  It’s a shame that it can no longer be made from actual sassafras roots, but at 80 Proof, it probably won’t matter much after a glass or two anyway.

 

Just to be sure,  I checked the Persimmon jam recipe again.  Yep, it calls for 5 CUPS of pureed wild persimmons, not 5 persimmons.  I look at my meager  wild harvest and ponder.  What was I going to do with 5 persimmons?  Too many and too beautiful to throw away, too few to be really useful.

I could show them to the grandkids (less than enthusiastic response). I could make 2 tablespoons jam (too much trouble for too little reward). I could paint them (fun! but I still ended up with 5 persimmons, each of which is larger than a grape but smaller than a golf ball.)  I could give them to my friend who has a country house called Persimmon Farm but she, too, is crafty and would want to DO something with them and what do you do with 5 wild persimmons?

I know! Write and illustrate a children’s book.  Five persimmons sitting on a tree.  One fell off and then there were…..But then I’d still be stuck with 5 wild persimmons.

Just eating them is not an option.   Wild persimmons are NOT one of those fruits you want to eat right off the tree unless they are perfectly ripe.  And they are only perfectly ripe for about 2 hours before they begin to go bad. Unripe (which 4 out of 5 of mine were)  wild persimmons are one of the tartest fruits known to exist.  These are cousin to but distinctly different from the sweet, plump Asian persimmon available in the store, which thankfully have a longer “perfectly ripe” life span.

I could make a fall arrangement with them.  Unquestionably,  wild persimmons are some of fall’s most beautiful fruits.  A lovely deep orange color, they are like Christmas tree ornaments on a tree whose leaves are a matching hue.  But after a few days, I’d just be stuck with 5 rotten wild persimmons.

In the end, I used them as a centerpiece for the dinner table, then created a water color painting to give to my friend with Persimmon Farm, then extracted the juice from my persimmons, chopped up pears and added enough sweetener to make a surprisingly delicious Persimmon / Pear sauce.  While working on the sauce, I made up a story about the persimmon tree to tell the grandchildren,  Ahh, Mission accomplished.  Now I can sleep tonight knowing that 5 persimmons harvested from the woods near Lake Lanier have not gone to waste.

 

  The apple tree in the backyard of my childhood home in Atlanta, Georgia produced apples so tart they made your face pucker.  Small, green and generally hard as a rock, they made a surprisingly good apple pie, proving that enough sugar and butter can make most anything taste delicious.

Our next door neighbor, a half mile away, loved these pies that my Mom baked and is the one who named it “live” apple pie. Since everyone loves apple products these days, I thought about renaming it the “IPie” but decided to stick with the old name.  It’s a good one.  The tart, fresh taste of those apples in the crisp, sweet cinnamony topping is as alive for me today as it was decades ago.

Of course now we have many different kinds of apples to choose from.  For my taste, there is not a better eating apple than ‘HoneyCrisp.’  It packs a honey sweet goodness with just the right crunch.

I am not alone in my love of ‘Honeycrisp’.  Since it’s introduction to the market in 1961, it has become the best selling apple and is the most planted variety in Washington State, the “Apple Capitol” of the United States.  Due to a genetic variation, the cells of this apple are twice the size of other apples, giving it the characteristic cr..r…r..unch.   This variety is difficult to grow, is easily bruised and has a short harvest season, only between September and early December.

The popularity and accompanying high price tag (‘Honeycrisps can cost as much as twice as much as other apple varieties) led breeders to develop other “crisp” varieties including “CrimsonCrisp’, ‘GoldCrisp’, ‘CosmicCrisp’, and ‘EverCrisp.’

I’m grateful for the high falutin’ breeding that brings me the ‘Crisp’ family which restored my faith in apples after years of eating nearly tasteless ‘RedDelicious’ and I’m happy that there are now many good baking apples.  But in my mind, nothing I buy at the super market can compare to the memory of those tart green apples picked right off the tree and baked into Mom’s “live apple pie.”

This is the easiest, fastest and most delicious pie recipe I know of. More of an apple crisp than a true pie, this recipe has been passed down for four generations in our family.  Enjoy – and pass it on!

Live Apple Pie    Serves 4 – 6

3 – 4 tart green baking apples, such as ‘GoldCrisp’

1 stick butter

1 cup sugar

1 cup flour

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon cinnamon (or more!)

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Peel and slice apples (about 12 -16 slices / apple) place in a 9 inch pie pan.

Mix together sugar, flour, salt and butter, making coarse crumbs.  (You can do this in a food processor, pulsing 10 – 12 times.) Do not overmix or make it too smooth, you want small chunks of butter.

Sprinkle the dry mixture over the apples, sprinkle with the cinnamon.

Place in oven and bake about 15 minutes then lower temperature to 375 and bake another 30 – 35 minutes or until apples are soft when poked with a fork.  If the top begins to brown too much, cover with foil to continue baking.  The apples should be thoroughly cooked and the topping a delicious, crispy brown when baked.

Serve with vanilla ice cream or sweetened whipped cream.

Yum.

 

 

 

 

This article is lovingly dedicated to the memory of my sister, Linda Rose Coogle Stephens.  March 23, 1943 – October 13, 2017

My last rose of summer forgot to quit blooming.  It thinks it’s still June.  I’m not really complaining, I love all flowers, all the time.  It is a ‘Knock – Out’ rose, a variety that burst on the scene in 2000 and took the gardening world by storm. These sturdy, hardy roses, are as advertised  (carefree) and make growing roses possible for even the most casual gardener.  They thrive with no chemicals and little maintenance but do benefit from regular pruning and watering.  Other than that, as long as you provide the basic requirements for rose growing, they will need little other maintenance.

All roses, including the Knockouts, need at least six hours of sun for optimum bloom.  They need rich, well drained soil, a layer of mulch, regular watering and pruning.  And even the ‘Knockouts” like to an early summer feeding of organic fertilizer.

When I first began growing these, the only color available was the bright pink, but now you can also get them in a lovely pale yellow color and I have read about (but not tried) a new variety called “White Out.”  This is supposed to have a “blizzard of blooms” from spring until frost and grow only 3 – 4 feet tall.  I can’t wait to try this!

The “carefree” advertisement may need adjusting in the future.  There is a virus that can attack and kill even the ‘Knockout.’  It is called ‘Rose rosette’ and results in vermillion stems and buds that open into deformed blossoms and will eventually kill the plant.  Note:  The normal habit of the plant is to produce reddish green new growth so don’t get this confused with the true garish bright red caused by the virus.  Right now there’s not much you can do about it except dig up and destroy any effected plants.

There are some drawbacks to growing ‘Knockouts’ to the exclusion of other kinds of roses.  They have little scent and are a little hard to work with as a cut flower.  Admittedly, the more refined tea or bush roses produce blossoms that are more sweetly scented and are, in truth, much more beautiful.  You have to pay the price, though, not only because they require chemical assistance through fertilizers and pesticides, but also because they are, literally, more pricey.

But roses, no matter what kind, are among the most stunningly beautiful flowers in the garden.  Whether they tempt you with a delicate scent and softly colored petals or “knock you out” with their bold blossoms robust growth, roses belong in every sunny garden.

Finally, like getting bubble gum off the bottom of my shoe, summer is letting go.  There are still strings and strands of heat and humidity lingering on but for the most part, the long, hot days of Summer 2017 are over. It might be a while before we pull out the winter coats but for now, I’m thrilled to be wearing a sweatshirt.

 

My garden is definitely glad to shake off the end-of-the season blahs and look toward something new and fresh.  Pulling out old, scraggly way-past-prime annuals feels like brushing tangles out of my hair.  It is lovely to have everything neat and orderly again.

But in the midst of yellowing oaks, orang-ing dogwoods and scarlet-ing maples, there are definite signs of spring-like growth.  I’m not talking about plants confused by lingering warm temperatures paired with shorter sunlight hours making them think it’s spring, like daffodils that might be putting up leaves.  Instead, I’m talking about those plants whose natural growth cycle causes them to put out fresh, green growth right now at the beginning of fall.

Probably the most conspicuous of these is Helleborus, Lenten rose, whose peak blooming season is mid-winter.  Beginning in January, these plants brave the cold (and sometimes ice and snow) to bring us an abundance of lovely white or dusky rose colored blossoms. 

But their growth cycle begins now, when they are putting out new, bright green leaves, at the same time that most other perennials are shutting down for the season.  Lenten rose is a great, easy to grow perennial.  This is a good time to plant them.  If you have friends who grow this plant, they are sure to have extras to share as lenten rose multiplies quickly.

Another example is grape hyacinth, a small but beautiful plant that grows from a bulb.  Although it doesn’t bloom until spring, the grass like leaves are coming up now.  The blossom of this is made up of a stalk of bluish purple buds that never fully open and remain looking like small balls or grapes (thus the common name).  It is a great plant for mid spring and looks good with yellow daffodils and European primrose.

Speaking of which, the small English primrose (Primula veris), related to but (in my opinion superior to) the garishly colored hot house primrose (Primula vulgaris), is another great perennial that is putting out new growth right now. This plant is traditionally called “cowslip” in its native England. Cowslip puts out beautiful pale yellow flowers in mid spring. The flowering stalk is about 10 inches tall and grows from a basal rosette of crinkly leaves.  By fall these leaves are looking pretty tired and ragged but if you look closely, you’ll see the bright yellow green growth of new leaves, promising lovely spring flowers – as soon as winter is over!

I love these alternate-season plants because they are living proof that “to everything there is a season.”

Every time I walk into my front garden I can hear my mother’s voice in my head.  Unfortunately, this voice is not telling me how beautiful the garden is, but instead is asking why in the world I planted flower colors together that clash?

My mother was ultra sensitive to color combinations and clashing colors to her were like finger nails on a chalkboard.  Growing up, it was no big deal if we went to school with a tear in our skirt or dirt on our blouse but we did not dare leave the house in colors that were not pleasing with one another.  Ironically, my father was color blind.

Of course, having been raised with the strictest rules about color, I did not mean to plant things that did not blend well together.  When a nursery plant is simply marked “pink,” though, that can cover a wide range of shades from orangey to purply and that’s where the trouble comes in.

If you remember your color wheel, you’ll also remember that adjacent colors are not as pleasing together as complementary colors (those across the wheel.) So, my purplish pink phlox next to my orangey pink roses were enough to set my teeth on edge, every time I drove into my driveway (often!) To say nothing of my mother’s voice fussing in my head.

I decided it was easier to move the phlox than the established roses so last fall, I dug up “all” of my purplish phlox and replaced them with white ones.  However, based on what the garden looked like this summer, all I really did was to spread the roots as I had twice the number of purple phlox there this year as I did last year. So, I will try again this fall and will be ruthless in ridding the garden of those pesky purplish phlox.

Fortunately, especially because I love pink, there are lots of colors that look spectacular with the roses.  Like many gardeners, I try to have some color in the garden for as much of the year as possible.  In fall, Autumn Sedum offers a beautiful dusty rose color that looks great with both the late dahlias and the last of the summer roses.

But, what to do with all the phlox?  I moved them to the back yard beside things such as purple salvia, purple aster and yellow goldenrods.  Everything is complementary, looks great and Mom would be happy.

 

My seven year old granddaughter, Ellie, loves to play pick up sticks so I thought she would jump at the opportunity to  pick up some real sticks in the back yard! I was wrong.   So, we sat on the living room floor and played a few rounds of the game, then I sent her home and went out to pick up after Irma.

The task seemed endless as limbs and branches were strewn all over the ground but in a surprisingly short time, I had much of the yard cleared and a satisfyingly large stack of debris stacked.  The more I worked, the better I began to feel and I remembered all over again why I love to garden.

Gardening, even doing something as mundane as picking up sticks, allows me the illusion of control over something.  I can, at least for the moment, make my garden look neat and cared for.  Who knows how long it will last? I am still incredibly vulnerable to the vagaries of nature.  I can’t stop trees from falling.  I can’t stop hurricanes from blowing through.  But I can go outside and breathe fresh air and relish the sunshine on my skin and feel the dirt beneath my hands and it helps. It centers me and reminds me that I even though I’m not in charge, I am part of nature and connected – for better or worse – to all other living things, including the oak trees that created such devastation in our neighborhood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Although I’ve always admired the oak, I’m beginning to wonder if its the best role model.   Not to sound too dramatic about it, but all of this reflection with Irma and the Oak Tree (sounds like a great title for a kid’s book!) has given me a new life plan.   I think I’d rather be a bamboo than an oak.  An oak stands immovable and solid – until it doesn’t.  Even though the slender bamboo may not be the mighty force that the oak is, it does manage to survive the storms.  It’s better to bend than break, better to sway than fall.

As we continue to face the results of a rapidly changing climate, ferocious storms and devastation will occur more and more frequently.  How will we survive? How will we handle this increasing fear and stress in our lives?  My daughter-in-law Emily had some ideas about this in her comments on my last post about the hurricane.  She said  that we all need “…to swim through the trauma to reach the shore of resiliency.”  Note she did not say “safety” she said “resiliency.”  We can’t control our environment to keep ourselves safe but we can learn to not let a storm such as Irma define us.  In other words, we can  become more like the flexible bamboo rather than the mighty oak.

Laura

P.S.  I encourage you to read all of Emily’s excellent comment on last week’s post.  I’ve pasted it below.  Emily is founder and director of Cascade Mountain School and is a passionate (and articulate!) environmentalist and educator.   http://CascadeMountainSchool.org

Oh My Goodness! What an incredible story. I guess the ancient cultures also used to say that a total solar eclipse portends doom and destruction…I would definitely say we have gotten our fair share in this country since August 21st.

The air in Hood River is so smoky that school is closed again tomorrow.

The United States is experiencing the results of a climate-changed world, like other parts of the world have already been experiencing. Climate change is quickly touching our lives in little and big ways. Will we continue to ignore Nature’s warning signs and try to resume to business as normal?

What is the new normal? In addition to physical destruction and economic repercussions, how are our bodies handling the micro and macro-traumas of feeling unsettled, being worried about life and limb, home and family? How do we accept and move through these situations to meet resilience on the other side?

The hurricanes, earthquakes, and fires are teaching us many important lessons. One of them is that our world is full of uncertainty. Another is that we are intimately connected to everything and everyone else. Our survival depends on our capacity to accept what is and to meet it head-on, to swim through the trauma to reach the shore of resiliency, and to stay committed to love, which is the only thing that consistently trumps fear.

Thank you, Laura, for sharing your story.

 

 

 

Sunday:  12:00    White bean soup is in the crock pot.  Bread is rising on the counter.  I’ve moved all the small pots, put the ferns up against the house and made sure there is plenty of gas for the grill. But I know that whatever happens with the electricity, I am already powerless before this storm.   I do what I can do, except, as the governor of Florida suggested, pray. So I go outside, where it is warm and breezy and wonderfully pleasant and pray that my trees will stay firm, that no one will be hurt, that this storm will pass us by.

My frenzy to do something to prepare is a symbol of the power of the storm.  Right now it is hundreds of miles away.  But “they” say that it can still make a sizable impact.  I can’t help but tune in periodically to hear what “they” are saying now.  What’s happening?  Is it as bad as “they” had predicted?

Sunday 2:00  They’ve cancelled schools in Atlanta for tomorrow.  No one really knows for sure what will happen but obviously, the school superintendent is nervous. Oh boy, does this mean that I get the grandkids all day tomorrow?  Just in case, I haul out the box of crafts.  Or maybe we’ll make blueberry pies instead …..Decisions, decisions…

Monday 10:00 A.M.  Kids are with their parents.  Everything in the city has been cancelled.  When it is calm, I think, “this is ridiculous, nothing’s going to happen.”  When the wind gusts and the rain picks up, I think, “yikes!” and scurry to the only room in the house without windows.

Monday 2:00  The wind is definitely picking up and the rain continues steadily. Branches are down everywhere but nothing major.  I’m already tired of storm fever.  I quit checking the news, I am ready for things to calm down.

Monday 4:00  I’m in the kitchen, Jack is nearby when we hear a thump.  It wasn’t even really loud but we jumped up to look and were horrified to find our hundred year old oak tree on top of our neighbors’ house. One moment it is a source of beauty and pride, the next instant, it is the source of mass destruction. We ran out in the rain and knocked frantically on their door and were relieved beyond words when our neighbor answers.  She and her husband are unhurt but stunned to find a tree in their family room.  They are especially shocked because this is the second time a tree has fallen on this beautiful, gracious house.  They know what the next months will look like.  She is stoic, he is stunned.  They are both already weary.

I stand, tears streaming down my face, feeling incredibly guilty, though I know there was nothing we could have done.  We had kept watch over this particular tree and had an arborist out twice to look at it.  Both times she assured us that the tree was healthy and she could not give us permission to take it down.  Not her fault either.  It’s impossible to tell, apparently, when a tree has a shallow root system, as this one did.

I love and revere nature.  I even named my blog after nature.  But She scares me as well. The fury of the hurricanes of the last month and the terror of the wildfires that are burning near my son’s home in the Columbia River Gorge and my sister’s home in southern Oregon are both stark reminders that Nature is a force to be reckoned with. It is easy to see how primitive cultures believed the wind and the sea were gods and goddesses to be feared, worshipped and placated.  And perhaps there lies the answer, not to revert to a primitive religion, but to treat all parts of Nature with honor and respect, to act as stewards, rather than masters, to do what we can to stop defiling this incredible planet we call home.

 

My garden is very busy these days, as birds, butterflies and bees seek the last bit of nectar and pollen before the weather changes.   The flowers seem to take flight themselves as these winged wonders flit from one blossom to the next in a frantic effort to prolong the season.

But of course these birds and insects do much more than add beauty to the garden.  It’s difficult to overemphasize the importance of our native pollinators. It’s estimated that the reproduction of 90% of flowering plants and one third of human food crops depend on pollination by insects and other animals. Pollinators not only provide an essential element in the food chain, they also help maintain healthy and thriving ecosystems wherever they are found.

Butterflies are delicate feeders, usually perching on top of a blossom.  As they look for nectar, they collect pollen on their legs.  Bees, on the other hand, get down and dirty, burrowing down into the blossom and getting covered with pollen (think of the Peanuts character Pig-Pen), which they then take to the next flower.

The South has a wonderful diversity of natural pollinators.  According to the Xerces Society (an outstanding educational and advocacy organization in Portland, Oregon), the South is home to 18 different species of bumble bees, and thousands of native bees, butterflies, beetles, wasps, and moths.

Native pollinators, in many cases, have co-evolved with the native plants and are ideally and sometimes tragically dependent on one another.   Take, for example, the Monarch butterfly, whose larva feeds ONLY on the leaves of the milkweed plant.  With reduced numbers of milkweed populations, the monarchs have suffered as well.

Unfortunately, native pollinator populations have decreased in the last decade.  But, you can help.  The Xerces Society is sponsoring a “Bring Back the Pollinators” campaign and hopes to get one million people to sign a pledge to 1.  grow more flowers 2. protect bee nests and butterfly host plants 3. avoid pesticides and 4. spread the word.  To sign this pledge, go to  https://xerces.org/

I  have two grandchildren who are allergic to bee stings so I’m super cautious about flying, stinging insects in the garden.  But, I’m also very aware of the importance of explaining to them (and their parents) the necessity of learning to co-exist with the all creatures in our gardens.  Without them, we would have no gardens. Even though our first instinct might be to destroy bees and their nests, we need to remember that bees provide an irreplaceable link in the pollinator sequence.  So, take whatever cautions are necessary to keep susceptible children (and adults) safe but also remember that humans are only one link in the complicated web of life.

P.S.  I have several coloring book pages of wildflowers and their animal partners.  If you would like some, just email me and I’ll send them to you!