Author: lwcmartin@bellsouth.net

But no longer a blog

I have been writing this blog since June of 2017 – five fun and nature filled years. During those years, I’ve reported to you my challenges, total failures and successes. I’ve brought you along as I played with six grandchildren, reporting on our many projects from making a geode cake to making blankets for the homeless, from making 1000 brownies to picking flowers for Mother’s Day.

I have written about Sadie, my faithful dog as well as Jack, my long-suffering husband.

I have written about my parents and how they taught me both a love of nature and the joy of hard work and the value of a job well done.

But mostly I’ve written about being in being in my garden and the deep seated joy it brings me to work with this living palette. And while I have loved writing this blog, I’m ready to make some changes. I find myself wanting to garden more and write less. After all these decades of researching and writing, I want to dig in and experience my garden directly and to figure out for myself what works and doesn’t work instead of turning to the experts. I want to be a curious gardener and to sit and wonder and marvel at the ongoing saga of growing plants and of trying to make my piece of land both useful for the environment and a pleasure to look at.

Everything about the garden is constantly changing, daily, yearly and by the decade. Trees grow and light changes. The soil, thanks to constant attention, is maturing and becoming richer. Storms pass through, taking down trees and the light changes again. And though this has always been true, I think changes in the garden, as everywhere, are more rapid and extreme than they used to be.

And with these changes comes the challenge and responsibility of learning to garden in a way that not just pleases me but that also provides a service to the environment. And, frankly, I’m not sure yet how to do that. How do I work with nature as I garden? How do I make my space an integral and thriving part of the ecosystem? How can I use my garden to help mitigate the effects of climate change? I have a lot of questions and I’m no longer content to do things just because that’s the way we’ve always done them. I believe that changing times require creative minds.

I’m sure I’m not giving up writing forever, it’s in my blood and what I’ve done all my adult life. I’m just not sure what I want to write. Maybe it’s a new blog: The Curious Gardener, Maybe it’s a book on gardening and climate change. Maybe it’s poetry. Maybe it’s a collection of the best Nature Based blogs. I don’t know. I only know that my life, as always, will be nature based and that nature – from my garden to the vast wildernesses that I love to visit – will be central to who I am and what I do.

I suppose that a blog, like a garden, is never finished. So as I move toward the next phase of growth – and hopefully bloom! – I’ll do so with the thought that I’ll pop up in your lives again some day, Sort of like kudzu, I’m hard to get rid of!

Thank you so much for the support and enthusiasm you have shown for my writing. I will miss the sense of connection I’ve felt with far flung and seldom seen friends but I also know that the roots of friendship grow deep and true and that in another time, another season, we will connect again.

Like bridesmaids at a bachelorette party, my “Sunpatiens” (impatiens bred to thrive in the sunshine) have been drinking non-stop all summer as Atlanta has been blessed with ample rainfall. These beauties drank it all in, acting as it there was no tomorrow and no reckoning at the end of the party.

Which is now. Rain stopped abruptly about 10 days ago and while most of my sturdy native plants are doing fine and adapting well, these big, blousy beauties are looking a little peaked, By late afternoon as the still-hot sun takes it’s toll they look a little hung over, with droopy leaves and wilted blooms.

I really have little sympathy for them. I don’t mean to sound judgmental, but there’s a price to pay for non -stop drinking. Though these days, without knowing when it will rain again or not knowing if the next rain will be a torrential downpour or a passing drizzle, who can blame them for making the most of every drop?

But that’s one of the challenges of gardening – and growing – in a world where the climate is changing and extreme temperatures and rainfall are becoming the norm.

I don’t mind helping out in the short term, sort of like providing a halfway house while they adapt to drying out. But long term? These annual plants are simply not worth pouring good, clean precious water over. They contribute little, except as eye-candy. They do not attract pollinators, do not provide food for caterpillars or songbirds, don’t make a good habitat for much of anything and don’t, as some plants do, put carbon back into the soil. In my garden, each plant has to earn its keep and serve a purpose in the ecosystem. And, since sunpatiens are annuals, I’ll have to pull them up in few weeks anyway to make room for cool season plants.

When I bought these new – fangled, sun – loving impatiens, I thought that they were about the healthiest looking plants I’d ever bought. Midsummer, I gave them a sprinkling of organic fertilizer and that, coupled with ample rainfall, resulted in plants that now stand more than three feet tall. So, it’s not their vigor or their beauty that I quarrel with, it’s the fact that they’re hanger-ons, requiring care, attention and lots of water without doing their share to create a healthy ecosystem.

The problem is, like a line of chorus girls, my sunpatiens create a gaudy border at the very front of my garden at the street. They set the stage for the rest of the garden and if they look wilted and unhappy it makes everything look neglected and sad. So, what to do? There’s no rain in the forecast, I don’t really want to waste water on them just to keep them alive for another couple of weeks but if I just dig them up, it will leave gaping holes in my front garden.

But, since I’m God in my own garden, I’m going to experiment. I’ve decided to cut back half of the stems with the hope that half the plant will need half the water, though I’m not sure that it works that way. But, it’s worth the experiment. One unexpected benefit of this was that I had armfuls of gorgeous white blossoms to bring indoors. I’d never considered impatiens as cut flowers before but they have lasted pretty well and look gorgeous in a vase.

The important lesson for me, as a gardener, is to think ahead and to work with my environment more than to control it. More and more I’m putting in plants that take fewer and fewer resources. And, I am restricting my palette to include only plants that provide something important for the ecosystem in which they live. I’m including more perennials than annuals, more shrubs and trees than grass. I’m working with the soil so that my plants produce good, strong roots, which will help them withstand the extreme challenges of a changing climate.

I really have nothing against chorus girls and bridesmaids, I just think it important to remember that when the party’s over, there’s work to be done.

When my grandson, Rivers, told me that moonvine was his favorite flower, of course I fell all over myself to grow it for him. Now 15, Rivers is not the constant companion he was for me during the first decade of his life so I’m always looking for ways to engage – and please him. Moonvine? I’m on it.

I started them from seeds last spring, carefully nicking each hard seed and soaking them overnight to maximize germination. Success! And a lot of it. I chose to put the vines on either side of the front walk where they get the maximum amount of sunlight. I knew that they would need support. Being of the frugal sort, I bought some thin poles to build a small, basic arbor for the vines that would eventually grow rather than buying an already made trellis.

I was pretty excited when the vines began growing vigorously by late June. Yay! They looked so happy and healthy. And robust. And strong and aggressive. And a little scary. The vines soon completely covered my homemade trellis so I had to go out and buy trellises after all. But no problem! It was worth it, Rivers was going to love this.

Another month and these, too were covered with vines with long tendrils waving in the air like snake heads. But by now I also started seeing buds and I envisioned sitting quietly with Rivers on an early evening, both of us watching in awe and wonder as the moon flower went from bud to open blossom in a matter of minutes. Maybe he’d even want to bring his girlfriend! Maybe he would want to have a moon vine party and invite all his friends!

By early August I was thrilled to see the first blossoms. Five to six inches across when fully opened, they look like giant morning glory blooms, with good reason. They’re in the same genus and look very similar, only differing in the time of bloom.

I thought about calling Rivers but I knew if I waited that soon I would have a dozen or more blossoms putting on a show that would knock him off his feet and impress him so much he’d never forget it. So I waited. And waited and when finally I counted 15 buds that I thought would open that night, I called Rivers.

No answer.

So I texted Rivers.

“Rivs!!! The moonvine are ready!! Can you come see them tonight?”

Long, long, long wait then a text……..

“What’s a moon vine?”

WHAT??????? What’s a moonvine? No sitting in awe and wonder? No girlfriend? No moon vine party?????

After a long, long time, I finally texted back.

“Your favorite flower. Remember?”

No answer. I Sighed. And sighed again. But what did I expect? I’ve raised teenagers, I KNOW what they’re like.

I put down my phone and went outside to watch the magic all by myself. But, much to my awe and wonder, Rivers and his Mom were sitting in the front yard.

Rivers looks at me, “Where’ve you been? You better hurry. They’re about to open.”

I didn’t answer, just hugged him and sat down to watch the show. Teenagers! They’re just full of awe and wonder!

I have to admit even though I am passionate about all wildflowers, I tend to spring forward rather than fall back and my expertise about the native plants blooming in the late summer and early fall is a little rusty.

I can easily tell the big ones, the knock you off your feet roadside flowers such as Joe-Pye weed, Ironweed and goldenrods but not so much when it comes to the smaller, more subtle wildflowers blooming in the late summer woods. So when Jack and I went hiking on the Appalachian Trail near Woody’s Gap last week, I came home full of joy and praise about the wildflowers I had seen but also full of questions and uncertainty. Snakeroot or boneset? Lychnis or Silene? Tickseed or Swamp sunflower? So many questions!

But after consulting both books and friends, I think I came up with satisfactory identification for most of what I saw, some of which was so beautiful it literally stopped me in my tracks. These are a few of the many species we saw. Enjoy!

It was a grand day of hiking and flower hunting, cool enough for a jacket, even in Georgia in August. But, as usual, Jack and I probably didn’t have as much fun on the trail as Sadie did. She was in her element and ready to go back any time. Me too!

If you think that all carnivorous plants are the “vampires of the plant world,” you would be only partially right. Pitcher plants, the various species of the genus Sarracenia, are more flesh eating than blood sucking. They do indeed trap and eat their prey, but they do it in a way that seems completely benign – unless you happen to be the beetle or fly that actually ends up as lunch. Unlike plants such as the Venus fly trap which move fairly rapidly (at least for a plant!) pitcher plants don’t move but lure insects in with a sweet, delicious scent.

Over the eons, the pitcher plant has evolved many ways to insure that insects who actually land on the plant don’t escape. The lip is sticky and the slippery hairs inside the pitcher are pointed downward making the insect’s downfall almost insured. Once something falls into the rich mixture of liquid death at the base of the pitcher, all hope is gone as a combination of enzymes and acids begin immediately to dissolve the juicy parts of the insect, leaving only the exoskeleton as proof of its demise.

Though this is pretty unfortunate for the insect! it is a marvelous way for the pitcher plant, which makes its home in wetland areas, to supplement its nutrients. But even with this protein rich diet, pitcher plants are in trouble. It’s not vampire hunters but builders and developers who, over the decades, have drained, paved over and eliminated over 90 percent of the wetlands in the southeastern United States.

The result of this massive loss of habitat is that three Sarracenia species are listed on the federal endangered species list and several others appear on lists at the state level. This makes it a genus of great environmental concern. The fine scientists at the Atlanta Botanical Gardens are addressing this situation and have developed a Sarracenia Plant Collection which is accredited by the Plant Collection Network, a program of the American Public Gardens Association.

The goal is to not only preserve and maintain species of Sarracenia but to conserve the genetic variability within each species. Look at it this way. If there was only one human couple left on earth, they could, gradually, repopulate the earth but the inevitable inbreeding would result in a loss of vigor and adaptability for those people (remember the European kings?) If, though, there were 20 couples left, the crossbreeding would result (in a lot more fun) and a much healthier and more vigorous population.

The same is true for plants. If we save the seed of just one Sarracenia (or hemlock or orchid or whatever) we can save the species but for how long? Inbreeding would cause weak and depressed plants and the eventual demise of the species. Scientists call this a population bottleneck. All of this is occurring at a time when climate change is challenging plants to be more adaptable than ever before.

To do what they can to protect the genetic diversity of Sarracenia species, ABG scientists are undertaking the massive job of collecting multiple seeds from 50 different individuals within each species and propagating them from various sites in the wild. How lucky we are that these dedicated men and women are working tirelessly to insure that nature will not just exist in our future but that it will be vigorous, strong and vibrant. I am forever grateful for their contributions. Their work gives me hope.

I used to be opposed to container gardening, being of the mindset that if God wanted us to garden in pots, She wouldn’t have given us the big green earth. Or something like that. But I finally discovered the magic of gardening in a contained space, having the whole world in a single pot. And, generally speaking, there are no weeds! a particularly welcomed aspect of gardening during these hot, summer months.

I now have quite an array of potted plants on my front porch. And I have quickly discovered that success breeds more work and expense because the bigger the potted plants grow, the more often you have to divide them, meaning new pots, new potting soil and finding new space in which to put them.

I shouldn’t complain, though, because my potted begonias – which I managed to keep alive during the cold winter months by rolling them in and out of the greenhouse so often we were all dizzy – have been spectacular with leaves that measure literally ten inches across.

It has been such fun to choose colors and textures that complement and contrast with one another. This year, I chose red spotted caladiums and a gorgeous small leaved dark red and green coleus for the smaller pots and then have done really, really well.

When I was choosing the annuals for the small pots, I had to return the first selection to the nursery. When they asked the reason for the return, I told them it was simply not the right shade of red. They looked at me as if I was nuts but I have to live with this and look at it every day and life is too short to have clashing colors at your doorstep.

Now that the plants are established and take little time or attention (other than keeping them watered) I have turned my energy towards finding beautiful pots and what fun that is! This apricot angel wing begonia (which I have to keep separate from their pinkish red cousins!) looks stunning in this painted pot. Now, I’m wondering if I can’t paint my own pots, or do some raised plaster stenciling, or maybe buy a potter’s wheel and learn to throw my own pot!!!! Ahh, so many things to do.

Hope you’re having a happy summer.

During a recent trip to Italy, Jack and I were lucky to be able to visit one of the great gardens of the world – the Baroque palace and gardens of Isola Bella. This “beautiful island” is in Lake Maggiore, only 400 meters from the mainland town of Stresa.

To get there, you line up with many other tourists to take a short ferry ride over to the island. The entire island is only 49 acres and holds not only a small village but also the palace and the gardens. We wandered quickly through the village – mostly souvenir shops and restaurants now – and then I sprinted through the palace to get to the gardens.

The palace and gardens were started in 1632 and were a gift from Carlos Borromeo III for his wife, Isabella d’adda. Construction was halted mid century when a plague devastated the Milan province. Years later, sons and nephews (including the Cardinal Giberto III) resumed the work, which was completed nearly 100 years after it was begun.

But of course a garden – any garden – is never finished and Isola Bella is no exception. The gardens are comprised of a pyramid shape 37 meters high (soil had to be shipped to the island) and ten overlapping terraces. Ponds, fountains, grottoes, and a lot of statuary complement the abundance of plants.

Perhaps the most outstanding single specimen is the huge camphor (Cinnamonum camphora) that was planted in 1819. Today the massive tree is braced and wired in an attempt to prolong its life as long as possible.

Pedestals on the highest terraces are softened with huge baskets of Chinese trumpet vine. The moderate climate of the island makes these perennial vines, with stems as big as tree trunks.

We were there during peak hydrangea season. The blossoms were so numerous the shrubs looked like giant bedding plants. Just beautiful!!

Though I loved seeing Isola Bella, the size and grandeur of this garden make it a little overwhelming. It’s hard to call my little plot of ground a “garden” after seeing Isola Bella – but I was happy to see it again, because truly there’s no place like home.

I have progressed from being a “helicopter gardener,” obsessively watching over my “babies,” to feeling as if I’m trying to hold back a roomful of third graders right before recess. My garden – both front and back, sun and shade – is growing by leaps and bounds with such exuberance, it’s hard to keep things under control.

The herbs and perennials in the sunny front are glorious. Bee balm has hit its peak and is gradually beginning to go to seed but hyssop, standing almost 5 feet tall, is still full of blooms and attracts bees like a magnet.

Summer annuals that began life in the garden as tiny seedlings are now full and robust. Zinnia, pentas, “sun”patiens, cockscomb and lantana are bright and healthy, in spite of the high temperatures we suffered through this past week. The low growing calibrochoa, which looks like a small petunia, has formed a mat of white blossoms. Astoundingly, some of the snapdragons I put in last fall are still looking good and have not wilted in the heat.

But it’s the ever changing parade of perennials that I find the most interesting and the most fun. Not everything blooms at once, of course, but that’s the joy of it. As the bee balm begins to fade, pink phlox are just behind it, ready to take over.

Day lilies have been blooming heavily for several weeks now and should continue for a while longer. Gaillardias are on their way out but cultivars of the native blue salvia and purple coneflowers are still looking good. Native black eyed Susans have been hit hard (again this year!) by a small black bug but it’s struggling through. The cultivars seemingly unfazed by the bug, are just beginning to bloom.

In the back, pink phlox and the purple blooms of hostas blend and contrast with the blue hydrangeas, making quite a show. Japanese aster, which doesn’t bloom as heavily in the shade as in the sun, provides a sprinkling of white through the woody borders. White impatiens are grouped strategically and help to brighten dark corners.

And today, the first Asiatic lily began to bloom, It will be three weeks of breathtaking beauty as these tall, stately plants offer their annual gift of exquisite bloom. As always, I find the garden to be a great lesson in non-attachment. For I know that no matter how much I love a lily or a rose or an aster or whatever, I can’t hold on to it. Beauty, as life, is always changing.

A recent visit to the Atlanta Botanical Gardens found me in open – mouthed wonder in front of a pond where both water lilies and lotus were in full and brilliant bloom. It was great to see them growing side by side because though they share many of the same characteristics, there are also many distinctive differences between these two bathing beauties.

The American water lily Nymphaea odorata has leaves that float directly on the water. In the wild, the rhizomes can root in up to 8 feet of water in a pond or small lake. The abundance – and potential trouble – of this species varies with location. Though considered an invasive weed in California and Washington state, it is considered threatened in Connecticut. Don’t confuse our native water lily with many other harmful and invasive water plants that clog small bodies of water.

The American water lily was considered an important food source by native Americans. All parts are edible – seeds, flowers, buds and rhizomes. The seeds were roasted and eaten like popcorn.

The leaves of giant water lilies of South America are so strong that they can support the weight of a small child.

Perhaps even more beautiful is the lotus. Differing from the water lily, the leaves and flowers of lotus are held above the water surface from 6 inches to 3 feet tall. Worldwide, there are only two species of lotus, the American lotus and the sacred lotus of Asia.

Both species produce seeds that are amazingly long lived. Seeds of American lotus have stayed viable for over 200 years – but seeds of the Asian species have germinated after a thousand years. The “lotus” effect was discovered by scientists who studied the remarkable capacity of the lotus leaf to shed water. When water hits the surface of the leaf, it immediately clumps into droplets, taking with it any available dirt or mud. The droplets roll off, leaving the surface clean and dry.

Scientists in Australia found that the Asian lotus plants maintained an even temperature between 86 and 95 degrees, even when outside temperatures dropped into the low 50s.

Because the beautiful, pristine blossoms of lotus grow out of the mud and muck of a pond, the lotus has come to symbolize purity, transformation and enlightenment.

Every once in a while Sadie, best-dog-ever, asks to write the blog. This week it’s her turn.

Greetings from the Garden and a big “Woof” to my human Mom for letting me write this week.

Before I left the litter, my real Mom, the one who birthed me, gave me some words of wisdom. “Walk softly but carry a big stick,” she said, and it’s been advice that has made my life much easier since I live in a garden where walking softly is absolutely necessary. Generally, my adopted-Human-Mom and I get along really well because of this.

But doggone it, every once in a while I slip back into my baser, animal instincts and then I am definitely in the dog house. Case in point: You know that my Human-Mom invited thousands of people to see our garden (oh the smells they left behind!!). I wish I had been here, think of the puppyrazzi! But my humans and I left for the weekend.

When we got back, Human-Mom said that someone had left a dog chewy toy just for me. Generally I’m into instant gratification and would start chewing right away but I was still trying to sniff out scents from thousands of people (I have to say, some smelled better than others!) so I decided to save my toy and to bury it for later.

Oh boy. Big mistake. Human-Mom stood holding an (admittedly) shredded plant saying something about Jack in church. Puzzled, I looked around but Jack was inside reading the newspaper. I sat. And waited. And then she said, “You tore up my one and only Jack-in-the-pulpit plant!” Oh good grief. I looked at the thousands of flowers that I hadn’t dug up and thought, get over it. But, being well trained, I put on a sad puppy face and went to make amends.

She, of course, did get over it and tossed the thing on the compost pile. Who knows? Maybe it will grow there.

It’s quiet in the garden now, with all the people gone but I kind of like it this way. As we head into the dog days of summer, I’m going to catch up on some much needed sleep. I hate to admit it but I’m getting on in life. I’ll be 12 (in people) years this fall. And that’s ……..oh don’t even count in dog years.

So, I’m off for some serious – and hopefully undisturbed – napping. As my Mom used to say, just let sleeping dogs lie. It’s been a busy spring with lots of excitement and I guess I should feel pretty special, being a part of it all. But really? at the end of the day, I’m nothing but a hound dog.