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It was a dark and stormy night.  The electricity was out again and I stood alone and shivering in the dark when I heard an unearthly sound coming from the back of the house.  Between a gasp and a scream, it sounded as if someone – or something – was being strangled.

I put the leash on Sadie, who planted all four paws in protest.  I convinced her to come out into the stormy night with me anyway and we half stumbled toward the sound.  Sadie was rigid with fear and I wasn’t much better, but we had to find out what was making the noise.

When we reached the edge of the lawn, I shone my flashlight up into the trees and gasped with horror.  The tell tale signs were there.  Purple blossoms dripped off the limbs as the vine, like a long, slithering cobra, wrapped itself around the trunk and limbs of the closest trees. Dozens of tendrils seemed to be reaching out for us. I shuddered and Sadie hid her nose under my rainjacket. No doubt about it, wisteria “The Strangler” was loose among us…….

A little melodramatic?  Well, maybe, but maybe not if you’ve ever tried to get rid of a healthy stand of wisteria.  This (currently gorgeous) aggressive vine from China has acclimated to our American woods and has climbed and smothered many of our native trees and shrubs.  Don’t believe me?  Listen to this:  There is a “Chinese lavender’ wisteria planted in 1894 in Sierra Madre, California that measures more than an acre and weighs 250 tons.!!!

Even the native American wisteria, Wisteria frutescens, can grow 40 feet and needs attentive pruning but it is not nearly as aggressive as the Chinese wisteria. It makes an excellent vine for arbors or trellises.  One of the most popular cultivars is called ‘Amethyst Falls’ and is a highly satisfactory garden vine.

Controlling and / or getting rid of Chinese wisteria is a time consuming project.  If you are determined to keep it in your garden, you’ll have to be diligent about pruning continually during the growing season.

If you want to get rid of it, dig up as much as you possibly can and be sure not to leave leaves, seed pods, stems or roots on the ground or they will take root.  If you have to, you could consider painting the remaining stumps with an herbicide to help kill it completely.

If smothering, out of control growth was not scary enough, all parts of the wisteria vine are poisonous.  I like almost all plants but there are some that I’d just as soon not invite home to my garden.  “The Strangler” is one of them.  Sadie agrees.

Happy Gardening!
Laura

Sounding like NASA Control  announcing touchdown, she shouts, “We have 100 % germination!”   She beams at the miracle of it all and I can’t help but smile back, sharing her enthusiasm.   Meet my friend, Honey, gardener extraordinaire and the most successful germinator I’ve ever met.

From January through April, Honey’s life is consumed with starting plants from seeds. When I visited her at her home greenhouse last week, she had nearly 3,000 seedlings in various stages of growth filling every available horizontal space.

“It all begins in January,” she explained, as we walked through the warm, misty air of her greenhouse.  “When the seed catalogs come, I spend weeks deciding what to order.  Every year I tell myself not to go crazy but then I get involved and lose my mind.  But look at the diversity!  24 different varieties of zinnas!!  And 5 different kinds of basil, including Holy Basil, one of the best pollinator plants I know of and you can only get it from seed.  And look at all the different kinds of marigolds!!”

I have to stop and take a breath, still trying to grasp the idea of 24 different kinds of zinnias.  But Honey doesn’t even pause.  “And just look at how much you save.  A package of 200- 300 seeds only costs $2.65.”  And now I try to grasp the implications of spending only a penny for an annual plant, rather than $2 or $3 and my interest escalates.

Honey’s enthusiasm is only matched by her organizational skills.  As each precious package of seeds arrives in the mail, she organizes them, based on when they should be planted.  The dates range from 2 – 6  weeks before the last frost date (May 1st for her garden).  On a master calendar, she marks the planting date for each variety.

And what does Honey do with 3,000 herbs and annuals?  She and her husband, Alan, take them to their “Organic Hobby Farm” in north Georgia. The summer garden is a wonder to behold. Although they plant a few vegetables, the bulk of the plants are flowers and herbs, chosen for their usefulness to pollinators.  When Honey’s garden is in full bloom, it’s not only wave after wave of color, but a moving wonder of butterflies, hummingbirds and bees.

Honey’s garden, and her enthusiasm are such a gift, not only to those of us lucky enough to actually see it, but also to the thousands and thousands of native pollinators that flock to her garden, helping to create a happy, healthy earth.

Laura

For those of you interested in some of the mechanics of starting plants from seed, Honey offers the following advice:

1.  Order (preferably) organic seeds in January
2. Divide seeds by when they need to be planted.
3. Use a good seed starting mixture with plenty of vermiculate and fill flats or containers.
4. Plant the seeds ( a seed applicator is an incredibly useful tool for tiny seeds) and cover with a plastic dome.
5. Place the flats on heating pads, ranging in temperature from 60 – 70 degrees, based on the plant’s needs.  This information is found on the seed package.
6. Place cool florescent lights 6 inches from the top of the dome.  Keep the lights on from 7 AM to 10 PM.
7. As soon as the plants emerge, take the dome off.  As the plants continue to grow, raise the lights as necessary.
8. Keep the soil evenly moist, preferably by bottom watering (placing the entire flat in a shallow container of water until the soil is moist.) . Mist as necessary.
9. As the seedlings continue to grow, transplant into larger containers as necessary.

Tulips, paragons of spring, are beloved by gardeners throughout the country.  But, their popularity here and now can’t compare to the frenzied obsession of Tulipmania of the past.

Tulips have a long and interesting history.  They were probably one of the first flowers cultivated solely for their beauty and tulip designs are found on pottery jars dating back to 2000 B.C.  It wasn’t until the 16th century that European explorers found tulips growing in the gardens of Turkish sultans and brought them back, first to Austria and then to Holland.

By 1634, Tulipmania had overtaken Holland.  Enthusiasm over the flowers reached fever pitch and their price per pound was more than that of gold.  Breeders soon developed striped, feathered and marbled varieties which brought higher prices.  One bulb of the variety ‘Semper Augustus’ was said to have sold for a record price of (today’s equivalent) $2500.

Not surprisingly, farmers began planting tulips as crops instead of food, hoping to cash in on the frenzy.  Also, not surprisingly, the tulip bubble burst, leaving economic depression, hunger and poverty.

The moral of the story?  Enjoy tulips, love their stunning beauty, their intricate details, their gorgeous colors, but don’t quit your day job to grow them!

Tulip bulbs should be planted in the fall after the temperatures have cooled.  Unfortunately, growing tulips in the South is a short term investment.  For recurring bloom year after year, tulips need three months of cool weather and bright sunshine after they bloom in March. Here, in Georgia, temperatures begin to warm considerably in May, which only provides one month of the necessary cool temperatures.  There are exceptions, of course, and some gardeners with perfect, well drained soils may have had great results with tulips coming back year after year.  For the rest of us, though, who live in the sunny South, it’s best to treat tulips as annuals and dig up and discard the bulbs after they bloom and move on to something else like…..Irismania, or Rosemania!

So, go out and tiptoe through the tulips while you can!

Happy Gardening,   Laura

As usual,  I have been excited about the arrival of spring to my garden.  But two weeks into the season, I’m already feeling a little overwhelmed.  Whether it was the unusual spell of cold weather, or the more than ample rainfall, or simply the glory of the warm Georgia sun, my garden has come on “gangbusters” this year. It already looks like a National Park Campground on Fourth of July weekend.

Walking through the garden, I have to admit to becoming increasingly anxious.  Ferns are poking up through the blooming azaleas, hostas seem to have doubled in number, creeping phlox is creeping everywhere and the arum lily that I dug up and discarded in the fall?  Apparently I only divided the roots.  They are back in spades.  The lenten rose?  Wow.  It’s like a tsunami.  I keep thinking, if things are overcrowded and out of control in March, what is it going to look like in June?

So, I go out and sigh and begin to dig and try to gain some control over this space I share with nature.  But yesterday, standing in the sunshine, I stopped long enough to look around and the sight was breathtaking.    The sheer abundance of the life around me was miraculous.  And I thought, “I’ve been missing this.  I’ve been so concerned about being in control that I have been missing the glory of this abundance.”

So I put down my tools, peeled off my gloves and just sat down on my bench to take in the sights and smells of my garden.  When the kids were in pre-school, they learned a song which came to mind.  “This is the day the Lord has made. Rejoice and be glad in it.” And so I rejoiced and was glad for my garden, for all it’s chaotic and exuberant abundance.  And, I decided, I’ll deal with June in June.

I think Mae West must have had it right as she said, “Too much of a good thing is…..Wonderful!!!!”

Happy Spring!  Laura

A note from last week’s post on moss:  Dave, my son who lives in Oregon, sent this photo of a mossy bank near his home.  Isn’t it beautiful?

If you have photos or comments to share of your “nature based life”, please do!

I’m in Oregon, knee deep in moss.  Grey green lichen hangs from the branches above me in great big frilly clumps creating a landscape so rich with life, I can almost feel it humming beneath and around me.  The moss is soft and springy and I marvel at all the different shades of green, from the brown – green of last year to the almost neon green of the coming spring.

I have always loved exploring the intricate detail of a mossy landscape.  Armed with a magnifying glass, I can get lost in this tiny world where ants are as big as dinosaurs and mossy fronds tower above them like sequoias.

I approach the study of moss and lichen more from an aesthetic viewpoint rather than a scientific one, for classification of these plants can get incredibly complicated, starting with the fact that a lichen is actually not even a plant. It is, instead, a fascinating combination of algae and fungus.  Dissect a piece of lichen and you will find two distinct organisms with their own distinct DNA. Amazingly enough, these two organisms are not even remotely related but in fact represent two different kingdoms.  Algae are in the Prosita Kingdom and fungus belongs to the Kingdom Fungi

The algae and fungus that comprise lichen are in a symbiotic relationship with one another. Neither can survive without the other.  Talk about co-dependency!  Algae, which can only grow in water, needs the fungus to be able so survive on land and the fungus, which has no chlorophyll, needs the algae for photosynthesis.  Together, they produce some beautiful and wicked looking organisms.

Mosses are true plants but do not have roots and do not produce seeds.  Instead, they produce spores which occur on stalks with a single capsule.  There are 22,000 different kinds of mosses, world wide, representing a vast array of growth forms.

Happily, after years of neglect, my back yard is more than half moss.   If I were to make the effort, I could greatly increase the amount of moss as it is easy to transplant and would spread quickly if I kept it moist and removed the weeds.

But, I’m not too inclined to make the effort.  I like the combination of weeds and moss and I love being able to spend my garden efforts elsewhere.  When it comes to my backyard, I’m quite content to roll no stones and let just them sit and gather moss.

I have to admit that as proud and happy as I am with my Georgia moss, it can’t compare to the mossy carpets of grass found in the Pacific Northwest.  I’m in Oregon now, visiting friends and family, and in a state of wonder at the beauty and variety of mosses and lichens found in these woods.  Tens of thousands of years have provided the perfect growing conditions for these plants.  Well, actually, lichens are not really plants.

Years (and years and years) ago, my mother and I were traveling through New England together.  I was writing a book about gardening and she was along for the ride.  As we sped through backroads of Massachusetts, we suddenly rounded a curve and before us was an entire field of bright yellow dandelions.

I stopped the car and we stared in amazement.  Then my mother said, “they would be pretty if they weren’t so common.”  I laughed out loud.  They were spectacular even though there are few flowers more common than a dandelion.

It was an unusual comment for my Mom to make because she was the one who taught me to look for beauty in all kinds of unexpected places.  As an artist, she saw the world a little differently than most people and she seemed to be in a constant state of amazement about the beauty she found around her.

As a teenager, I would become annoyed with her when she called me to “come quickly!” and pull me away from my book or worse, talking on the phone with a friend.  I would “come quickly!” and she would point out something – anything!- that had caught her eye;  how the sunlight made the maple tree look like it was bursting into flames or how the veins of a common violet were absolutely beautiful.

It’s only now, so many years later, that I know that the lesson she taught me was so much more important than my book – or my conversation with my friend. I try to pass this lesson on to my grandchildren so when I pull Rivers and Ellie, or Davey and George, or Rowan and Braxton, away from what they are doing to see how truly beautiful the dandelions are, I ignore their protestations and hope that one day they’ll be doing the same for their grandchildren.  Beauty is everywhere, especially this time of year as tiny wildflowers and weeds appear as if by magic.  You might have to get down on your knees to see them but there’s no better place to be, to appreciate the absolute miracle of the world.

The first bite of strawberry season was exquisite.  Jack and I eat strawberries year round but the difference between eating a January strawberry from faraway and stored for days or weeks, and eating a mid-February strawberry picked yesterday in Florida is like night and day. A real, in season strawberry, is incredibly sweet with only the slightest bit of crunch.

Strawberries have been cultivated for centuries.  Charles V of France is said to have had 1200 strawberry plants growing in the royal garden in the 1360s.  Today’s hybrid strawberry (big, plump, red and delicious) was first developed in France in 1750.  It is a cross between the wild strawberry of eastern North America and a strawberry from Chili and the results changed strawberry cultivation forever.

The small wild strawberry still grows throughout the United States and is as sweet a wild berry as you’ll ever taste.  Don’t confuse the true wild strawberry, which has a white bloom, with it’s unrelated friend, the Indian strawberry which has a yellow bloom, a tasteless berry and is overly abundant in too many places.

Strawberries are one of the fruits most easily grown by the home gardener.  I say Go for it! although I have to admit that I have had an abysmal lack of success in growing strawberries.  The plants do fine, as long as I keep them watered and weed free.  But every time the fruits begin to show a bit of red, it seems to be party time in my back yard.  Squirrels and chipmunks, moles and slugs pull up a chair and sit down to feast. 

I can’t pick the berries early to avoid this, as strawberries do not continue to ripen after being picked.  I could put out a net, as I do with my blackberries, but I don’t really want black netting all over the ground in my back garden.  I  could just be philosophical and “share” but I don’t want to.  I have too many squirrels in my back yard anyway.

So, instead, I buy at the market or grab the grandkids and go “pick our own” at one of the organic farms near by.  This is one time that I am content to let someone else do the work and I’ll reap the harvest!

You can eat strawberries morning, noon and night.  The following is one of our favorite recipes.  Enjoy!

Strawberry and spinach salad

• Fresh organic spinach (or any other combination of greens)
• Sliced, organic strawberries
• Crumbled goat cheese (or blue cheese)
• Chopped pecans

Mix and toss with poppy seed dressing (recipe following)

Poppy seed dressing:

• 1 cup light olive oil
• 1/2 cup balsamic vinegar
• 1/2 – 3/4 cup honey
• 1/4 cup sesame seeds
• 1/4 cup poppy seeds
• 1/2 teaspoon dry mustard
• 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
• 1 teaspoon minced onion.                                                                                                Place in blender or VitaMix and blend until well mixed.    Refrigerate left overs.

 Living with trees, it seems, brings not only beauty and joy but a certain amount of risk as well.  Our neighborhood in Atlanta, developed around 1909, was thoughtfully planned.  The developers  preserved and planted as many trees as possible, making it a beautiful oasis in the city.  All of which has been fabulous, up until the last decade when these 100 plus year old trees began to fall, smashing houses and cars and terrifying residents.

The age of the trees is just one factor in their current decline.  Obviously, the erratic weather of the recent past has also played a part in weakening root systems and the overall health of the trees.

In the last 8 years, Jack and I have lost three major trees on our 1/2 acre property.   So it is with a bit of trepidation that we look at the very large oak tree growing exactly 19 inches from the back door of our house.  It is leaning and hardly robust, so we called in the most knowledgeable arborist I know,  Chris Hastings, owner of Arbormedics in Atlanta.

After his inspection, Chris and I talked.  “Just because the tree is leaning away from the house,” Chris said, “is no guarantee of how it will fall.  A tree falls in the direction of the winds and will give way at the weakest point.”

He went on to say there is probable decay close to where a huge limb had been removed decades ago and where, we knew, there was a large cavity.  He offered to do sonic testing to determine the amount of decay in that spot, but added that even experts can’t agree on what those numbers mean to a homeowner.  It all depends on the risk factor that one is willing to live with.

In the end, Chris said that his greatest concern was that we had already lost so many trees and that this old guy, with lopped off limbs and a severely reduced canopy,  was pretty much standing alone, making it more vulnerable to the forces of nature.

Jack and I have talked and talked about this tree.  We both love trees but we have seen what incredible damage a tree can do when it falls. We keep asking ourselves, how much risk are we willing to take to preserve this venerable old oak?

I keep thinking, too, about what Chris said about how vulnerable it is, standing alone.  And I think what a good lesson that is about community, especially in these challenging times. I’m not sure yet what we’re going to do about the tree but I do know that Jack and I are dedicated to keeping our community strong.  We understand that standing with our neighbors, our friends and especially our family, will keep us all safer, no matter which way the wind blows.

There is a flower to communicate just about anything you want to say.  Imagine this conversation between two star crossed lovers:

• He said:     pink rose bud (declaration of love)
• She said:   almond (you’re guilty of indiscretion!)
• He said:     yellow rose (forgive and forget?)
• She said:   dead leaves (sadness)
• He said:     olive branch (peace)
• She said:   daisy (I’ll think about it)
• He said:     orchid (promise of luxury and riches)
• She said:   red carnation (yes!)
• He said:     violet (faithful love)
• She said:  orange rose (passion and enthusiasm)
• He said:   red rose  (true love!)
• Together:    baby’s breath!!!

  

Long before we had texting, tweeting and messaging, actually long before we had phones (ANY kind of phone!), people used the gentle and subtle art of communicating with flowers. The term “language of flowers” was first used in 1809. During Victorian times, dictionaries were printed so that people could keep up with various meanings and nuances of the language of flowers.

It can be a little confusing so if you’re going to use this as your primary form of communication, I suggest you make some flashcards so you and your conversation partner will know exactly what is meant.

Flowers have many advantages over texting.  For example:

• a bouquet of flowers is much less expensive than a monthly phone contract
• they smell much better than a phone
• flowers are much better to look at than a screen

Actually, I think this is such a good idea that I’m going to send a huge bundle of flowers to the White House, suggesting it as an alternative to tweeting!

Red roses, phlox and Happy Valentines Day to you all!!!

Laura

Like leftover ornaments on an abandoned Christmas tree, a few hardy blossoms offer bright spots of color in my winter landscape.  How (and why!) these blossoms come in mid-winter is a mystery, but I am so glad they do!  I know they are not really harbingers of spring.  They are more like “tide-me-overs”, offering a little bit of flower beauty to keep gardeners going until spring weather brings a tidal wave of petals, color and fragrance. 

By far the most prolific of my “winter wonders” are the pink and white blooms of lenten rose (Hellebores.) With their freckled faces, they are truly lovely flowers, though you practically have to get down on your knees to see them.  Lenten roses “nod,” hanging from the stem with their faces turned toward the ground.  Perhaps this offers extra protection from the cold winds? or maybe they are just shy.

These flowers would be welcomed any time of year, but the fact that they come in the middle of winter makes they even more precious.  Lenten roses are easy to grow and will spread rapidly when growing in a happy home.

Although there are many cultivars available now, offering double flowers and brighter colors, I like my hellebores just the way they are.  I transplanted these from my Mama’s garden and what was good enough for Mama is good enough for me.

A little easier to spot are the blossoms from the ubiquitous and invasive Mahonia.  Native to China, this hardy shrub has found perfect growing conditions in southern woods and is now considered a damaging invasive species.  Although the lemon yellow flowers are pretty, clip them off once they have bloomed to prevent Mahonia from spreading further.

Two years ago, my sister, Sharon, gave me a small paper bush (Edgeworthia).  The first year I was afraid it wouldn’t survive.  The next year, I was afraid it was going to take over the garden.  It is a hardy shrub that produces very fragrant,  white or yellow flowers in mid to late winter.  Though it gets big (up to 8 feet tall and 15 feet wide), it is not invasive.

I love all these winter flowers and are grateful for them, but I have to admit, I’m ready for a change of seasons. Last Friday, I threw a party for all the groundhogs in my back yard, set up a tent and offered umbrellas so no one would be scared of a shadow and jump back in the ground again to prolong winter.  As for me and my groundhogs?  We’re ready for spring.