Bloom Day 03.09

Yellow bulbine, Asian ground orchids, and a Pat Austin rose are three of the shows currently appearing in my garden.

But, what I'm really excited to tell you about are these irises...

My husband and I rescued these last year after I noticed a familiar crown shape off to the side of the road. I joked then that being moved from blazing sun and neglect in a former pasture to a place of honor in well amended soil and constant attention in my garden would probably kill them. Instead, they've quadrupled in size and rewarded us with the most interesting blooms. Many of them have petals that are exactly one half purple and one half white. I've started calling it Night and Day, both for the change in their growing conditions and for their unique coloring.

Another interesting iris blooming right now is one that develops absolutely NO stem. It's hard to capture in a picture, but here's my best effort. The blooms are silvery white with a small amount of purple deep inside. I've looked everywhere to find if it's symptomatic of a disease, but everything just says that some dwarf varieties don't form a stem.

This peachy one is a pass-along plant, so I don't have the actual name. It has enough brown in it that I call it Peach Tea. The beautiful peach iris I got from Annie in Austin (of the Transplantable Rose blog) hasn't bloomed yet, but it's planted nearby looking promising.

These white irises were in a group of unmarked plants being sold for next to nothing because no one knew what variety or color they were. The antique roses and salvia guaranitica "Black and Blue" behind them haven't really come to life yet, and the spots of white on tall stems really brighten up that bed. Just in front of these white irises are the purple verbena canadensis "Homestead Purple" that are usually one of the first things to bloom in the garden. This year they were beaten to the punch by several irises and the Old Blush rose.

Here's Old Blush - my nominee for hardest working rose in the garden. It has so many blooms, its stems just faint under the weight.



I once overheard other members of the Austin Iris Society talking about silly people who try to grow irises and roses in the same bed. They must not have been talking about Earthkind or antique roses, because my irises seem very happy growing among them. They're all in raised beds, receive full to part sun, and require very little water or fussing. This one is called "Royal Knight", and it's done surprisingly well with morning sun only.

Scattered among the white irises are poppies and the larkspur seedlings that are coming up all over my garden thanks to the seeds MSS of Zanthan Garden gave me. The poppies weren't quite ready for bloom day, but I decided to give you a preview.

The Martha Gonzales rose in that bed is blooming fairly well, but the Marie Pavie, Old Gay Hill, Lindee, and Franziska Krueger have just produced single bloom previews of what is to come.












Martha Gonzales (right) and Franziska Krueger (below)

Marie Pavie (right) is the most fragrant rose in my garden, making up for its demure blooms. When in full bloom, it scents the entire back yard.















Also on that side of the garden is the Tulipa Clusiana "Cynthia" that I discussed in my previous post. Here's another picture. They began to bloom March 8th, and are still at it.

Of the approximately 15 varieties of salvia in my garden, the salvia Greggii was probably my least favorite until I started trying to kill it by cutting it to the ground every year. It got bushier and prettier, and now blooms heavily in a lovely fuschia color. It also seems to have absolutely no pests.

Moving to another area, the Loropetalum chinense "fringe flower" is still blooming, but I didn't take another picture to leave room for the new additions. Demonstrating favoritism, however, Marilyn's Choice abutilon blooms all year, and I still couldn't resist giving you another look.


Keeping the Marilyn's Choice abutilon company are Gregg's Mistflower (Eupatorium greggii), pink Texas rock roses (Pavonia lasiopetala), yellow cestrum (Cestrum elegans), and two colors of shrimp plant (Justicia brandegeana). The abutilon and chartreuse/pink shrimp are the only two in bloom right now.
















This rose is called "Colleen's Climber". It's a found rose named after my friend, Colleen Belk. Those of you in Austin may know her from her many years at Barton Springs Nursery, one of the best in our area in part due to her hard work.













Orange Bulbine isn't producing flowers right now as well as the yellow variety, but both are blooming. Yellow is pictured at the beginning of this post, and here's the orange.

A new type of lavender I'm trying this year is called "Blueberry Ruffles", a lavandula cultivar. It's supposed to have early and repeat flowering, with very fragrant large flower spikes. This teeny bloom may not look like much, but none of my other lavenders has produced any flowers at all this spring.


Moving toward the other side of the house, Old Blush, Lady Banks and Cecille Brunner roses are all in bloom.


Lady Banks (left)










Cecille Bruner (right) started from a 4" cutting two years ago.






The snow peas are still producing flowers and peas.




Usually the wisteria threatens to take over its side of the yard, but this time of year it seems fairly tame. Its clusters are just beginning to open and the branches are still bare.




In the front yard, the only things blooming right now are the white spirea, a Mutabilis rose, and a yellow columbine called "Hinckley's" (Aquilegia hinckleyana).




When looking for the botanical name for the spirea, I found lots of websites saying it should be blooming in June and that it has low tolerance to drought and restricted water conditions. Mine defies such thinking, blooming like crazy as soon as the weather warms consistently above freezing (usually late February to mid-March) and flourishing without supplemental watering.

I realized I also have purple spiderwort, asparagus, and a succulent named "Ghost" in bloom but didn't get their pictures. In the greenhouse, a miniature yellow rose and several of the scented geraniums are blooming. There may have to be an addendum in a couple of days for all the things that were overlooked. It's great to have so much going on out there!




Hinckley's columbine (left) and Mutabilis rose (below). The Mutabilis is covered with blooms of pale pink, coral, peach, and fuschia fluttering like its namesake butterflies.





I also have another yellow columbine, locally called "Hot Mama" that has larger blooms but contrary to her name isn't showing her goods yet.

Once again, I thank Carol of May Dreams Gardens for inspiring me to look more closely at the beauty in my own back yard. I hope you enjoyed the visit.

Tulipa Clusiana is Back!

Just had to share these with you. There's a lot happening in my garden, but I'm saving most of it for Bloom Day. These old friends surprised me on Sunday, March 8th, but I'm just getting around to showing them off.

I didn't know you could get a tulip to naturalize in our heat and horrible excuse for soil until a friend at Barton Springs Nursery introduced me to Tulipa clusiana "Cynthia" several years ago. I was charmed by the idea of having these delicate beauties popping up each spring, and even happier they share the name of my oldest stepdaughter. Even if there were other tulips that could be happy here, I'd still grow these for the dark pink on the outsides of their sunny lemon yellow petals. I'm told they're originally from Uzbekistan - who'd have thought our climate would support their natives?! But, they happily signal spring each year just at that time Austin gardeners are trying to guess if it's going to be in the 80's or freezing tomorrow.

I'm also a sucker for their grey foliage which is completely hidden in this picture because they're peeking up through the foliage of a Peggy Martin rose. The bladelike foliage you see is narcissus tazetta.

Be sure to pop back by on the 15th for Garden Bloggers Bloom Day - I've got a lot of plants promising to put on a show.

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance ...

Knowing this day was coming hasn't softened the blow nor has it prepared me with the right words. It's been my preference to just get through emotional events, then to use words later to reflect back when I've established the necessary distance and objectivity. I'm breaking with tradition today because we've all lost a treasure and I need somewhere to go with the feelings.


Madalene Hill passed away yesterday at the early age of 95. "Early" because she seemed immortal to me and because I don't know what we'll do without her. "Early" because she always had more energy than anyone else in the room. "Early" because I'm not ready to let her go.


My husband says that when I mention Madalene in my writing, I always say her name as though everyone on the planet automatically knows who I'm talking about - like "God" or "Elvis". And I always answer that they do. Anyone who knows much about herbs does, and they're who I'm really talking to now.


Do you remember the exact day you first discovered a passion for something? Something you thought you could make your life's work? I do. It was in a cooking class being taught by Madalene and her daughter, Gwen, in Houston in the early 70's. Although already working in restaurants, I hadn't really decided what to be when I grew up. That night Madalene said something like "Herbs are the thin thread that links you to your ancestors no matter what part of the world they came from." For someone looking for connections, family, and my place in the world, those were powerful words. A lot of firsts in my life occurred in her presence, a lot of lightbulbs went off. And after all of these years, it's just too hard to imagine her gone.


There's one memory I'd like to share. I was the general manager of Hilltop Herb Farm in Cleveland, Texas, working on opening the new one in Houston. If you don't know about the original Farm in Cleveland, it was a true destination location. People would drive the two hours or more from Houston and other cities to this place out in the piney woods of East Texas, down a two lane country road with no streetlights, to the middle of absolute nowhere. A turn onto a dirt drive would land you by an enormous greenhouse where a prix fixe dinner centered around culinary herbs was served on Friday and Saturday evenings.


This particular Friday evening in 1983 seemed like the others. A "little weather" seemed to be blowing in, but the staff was in the kitchen finishing the meal preparation as Madalene greeted arriving guests. One arrived at the main entrance to the greenhouse in a wheelchair, about the time a tornado also made a surprise appearance. With Madalene holding onto the guest with one hand and holding firm to the wooden doorframe with the other, they rode out the tornado right there in the door. The wreckage of the greenhouse was strewn about them, but there they were. You can see why I might think of her as indestructible. To give you an idea of the devastation that night, it took several hours to clear an exit back to the road, and several more before we could even think of leaving. Friends of the Farm returned the next day to do what we could, but it was a crippling blow.


Years ago I lost another friend too early - Warren Skaaren. When he died, I eventually realized that all we can do to get through the loss and to honor them is try to cultivate in our selves more of the traits we loved in them. With Warren, it was humility and a generosity of spirit. With Madalene, I don't know where to start.


This post started with Ophelia's line from Shakespeare's Hamlet: "There rosemary, that's for remembrance..." It continues "pray, love, remember..."

I know we will.

(Latest update is that there will be a memorial service for Madalene on March 22nd, at 2 p.m. in the beautiful Concert Hall on the grounds of the Festival Institute in Round Top.)

Garden Bloggers Bloom Day

In the three years Carol at May Dreams Garden has been hosting Garden Bloggers Bloom Day, this is the first time I've managed to take pictures and get them posted in time. When I first heard of it, I had the impression it only happened once a year; but eventually I caught on that the fun happens every single month. So welcome ... here's what's putting on a show in my Zone 8 garden in Austin. Thanks for stopping by. That's a red shrimp plant to the left. I think the frost damage makes it look like chintz.

Frost damaged, but still covered with blooms and reddish new growth - "Old Blush" rose.

Bulbine frutescens, yellow (above) and orange varieties (below)

Meyer lemon getting a start on this year's Meyer Lemon Ginger Marmalade.

Fringe Flower (Loropetalum chinense)

German Iris "Feedback" with MSS' larkspur seedlings in background.

Chandler variety strawberries - here in Austin, we plant our berry plants in the fall for a full crop the following spring and summer. These guys have been blooming a little off and on all winter, reflecting how crazy our cold/hot cycle is with 80 degrees and freezing weather in the same week.

In the greenhouse, the pelargoniums (scented geraniums) are putting on their dainty blooms. This is an apple scented one.

This abutilon has the common name of "Marilyn's Choice" and mine looks like this all year. If anyone has the botanical name of this variety, please let me know.

That's all that's blooming today, but the garden was full of promise as I was snooping around for blooms. Thanks, Carol, for getting me back outside.

Wow ... it's really happening!

Just made my hotel reservation for this year's Spring Fling to be held in Chicago and had a few thoughts that actually apply to the bigger picture:

1. It's possible to trust other people to get things done - at the first Spring Fling in Austin, the Chicago gardeners were telling us that we'd be gathering "next year in Chicago". Honestly, it was hard to imagine they'd go home and not get so busy gardening and being regular folks that it wouldn't slide to the bottom of the "to do" list.

2. Sometimes others do a better job than I ever might have done - This is probably something I should engrave on a metal disc and wear around my neck. I mean, just look at the Chicago Spring Fling website! They have a logo, and hotel info, and links, and lions and tigers (well, okay, no lions and tigers but there IS a borzoi!)

3. There are people you just met (last year or last week) but feel you've known your whole life and your life is actually better for knowing them - whether it's our common interests or what we learn about each other by reading blogs, I don't know. But, in these times when so much talk is about what's wrong with everything from the economy to politics to the taste of tomatoes, it's refreshing to remember the world is full of things and relationships that are absolute perfection . Without exception, the Spring Flingers are amazing people with talent, people I'm proud to call friends, people I want to hate because their gardens are so much better than mine. See for yourself - visit every link over there on the right under "Their sites are prettier than mine" and go to Chicago Gardeners at blogspot dot com. There's worse ways to spend your time.

Worms and Great Writing

You're right, no matter how many times you read that title, it still won't make sense. Those two concepts, "worms" and "great writing", just spar with each other. And that, dear reader, is exactly the problem I've been having. Reading other Spring Flingers' blogs has given me serious performance anxiety; but after months of stalling, it's time to talk about vermiculture - the proper term for worm composting. Guess I'll stick to what I know and leave the great writing for the pros.

The best primer on this subject is probably "Worms Eat My Garbage" by the late Mary Appelhof. She started writing in the 70's about her experiences with vermiculture, and the company she founded is a dependable source of worms, worm bin supplies, and information. No doubt, even a slight interest in vermiculture has led you to the internet and that site. Her book is widely available at bookstores and organic gardening centers, as well as online. It's a great place to start if you're considering keeping a vermiculture bin.

Started with a few worms given to me by a friend, my bin exists primarily to teach me about the subject. Let your reason for having a bin help determine the size container you choose. Obviously, if you're serious about using vermiculture to handle all of your kitchen scraps, it will need to start on a larger scale. Take the plunge and order a pound of worms to start. It took nearly a year for my small handful of worms to multiply to the point that they even needed the 5 gallons of space I initially gave them. The scraps I offered seemed to sit for weeks and I'd about decided the worms had all died. But once they took off, they really took off. Now, I'm about to move them into a 40 gallon bin. So, here's what the past year in worms has looked like.

As soon as I got them home, I went to work preparing the bin. They need air, darkness, food, and moisture (but not too much water.) If you order your worms, you'll have time to get the bin ready before they arrive. But mine were a bit of an impulse, so I had to work fast.

First, I drilled small air holes in the lid and all around the top third of the container. I hoped the holes would be big enough to provide air circulation but small enough to prevent escape. Some people cover the holes with fine screen, but that hasn't proved necessary. Either the holes were the right size, or my worms are nice and fat.

The first time you prepare bedding for your worms, you can shred newspaper to create a 8 to 10 inch layer. Lightly cover the paper with a thin layer of sand or garden soil, mix in with the paper, then use a spray bottle to dampen the bedding. You want it barely damp, but not wet. Put your worms in the bin and give them some time to burrow down - about 30 minutes. Sprinkle the bedding with chopped up food scraps and place a piece of cardboard loosely on the surface. The cardboard seems to encourage the worms back up to the surface to eat the scraps (and the cardboard.) Replace the lid on the container and give your worms at least a week to settle in before you start peeking in on them constantly to see if they've multiplied yet.

The picture at right shows an active bin where the worms are processing newspaper, food scraps, and eggshells. They've also eaten the cardboard cover.

Worms eventually eat about half their weight in scraps each day, but you do have to work up to that amount. (Being a former chef, I had to fight my impulse to feed them constantly.) When there is very little of the original bedding visible, and the bin contents are brown and "earthy" looking, you know your bin is working. Feed small amounts until you see evidence of your worms breaking down the scraps. Many people rotate placement of scraps in their bins so the scraps remain undisturbed until broken down by the worms. I mentally divide my small bin into eighths and rotate through the sections. Scraps should be chopped or shredded, and eggshells crushed. Tea leaves and coffee grounds, shredded paper towels and coffee filters, grains, and vegetable scraps are just some of the things your worms will consume. If it seems too wet, you can add more dry material such as shredded newspaper, crushed leaves, or dry soil. Avoid meat, dairy, and large amounts of fat. If you're already composting outside, most of the same guidelines apply. However, unlike outside composting, some of the problems you may encounter are overfeeding, too much moisture, and temperature. Vermiculture bins should be stored in temperatures above 40 degrees and less than 85 degrees F. In Texas, this generally means in a sheltered area out of direct sun.

Look closely - in the picture above you'll see where the air holes were drilled in the top portion of the bin.

It's a little odd to talk about what the worms "like", but mine seem to thrive when I add an occasional layer of moistened coir. It comes in dried bricks which must be soaked and broken apart and is available where hydroponic gardening supplies are sold.

If the surface layer of the bin is covered with food scraps, I'll often completely cover the entire surface with shredded newspaper or moistened and shredded coir. Also, as I mentioned before, they really seem to be more actively eating and reproducing when the surface is lightly covered with a piece of cardboard as well as putting the lid on the bin.

This is the finished product - compost ready to put in the garden and even more worms ready to go back to work in the bin. Various methods are used to separate out the worms. Although they will often clump together near the bottom of the bin, I generally put on a pair of gloves and gently spread the bin contents out on several layers of newspaper. When I've separated as many worms as possible, I put them back into the bin and the process starts all over again.

It's hard to imagine, but there's really very little ick factor to vermiculture. It's a good option for apartment dwellers, offices with kitchens, and other places that generate food scraps but don't have the option of an outdoor compost pile. Properly maintained, they don't stink or attract flies and other unwanted pests. Gather your courage and give it a try.

(Lori asked the questions you probably have at this point - check out the comments.)

"Plastics"

1967 brought us "The Graduate" and the movie quote voted #42 (out of 100) by the American Film Institute. "Plastics" is also a line that's been running through my head a lot lately when I've been playin' outside. In spite of my love of rocks, wood, and other things organic, I've noticed a number of plastic items have become workhorses in our little garden.

This is my plastic "Trifecta": the greenhouse, rain tank, and some GrowBoxes.

Probably best known to anyone reading this blog is the big green rain collection tank. Made of polypropylene and piped with PVC, it's undeniably a big plastic statement. Of course the lovely rock, mortar and wood cisterns we've seen at the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center or in the James David garden would be preferred for their aesthetic appeal. But our big plastic tank is doing its job well and would be much easier to pack up and move if needed.  What's more important - avoiding something made from petrochemicals or collecting rainwater?  It seems so many of our choices are complicated. 

Less obvious, but essential in my world, is the heavy plastic liner of the pond. Rugged but flexible enough to follow the shape we dug in the hard clay, it allowed us to completely change the way our garden looks and feels, and the way we feel about being outside.

Probably my least attractive plastic garden components are the "Grow Boxes". Initially, I was attracted to the possibilities these self-watering containers offered in making gardening accessible to school children. The boxes are inexpensive to construct, can be broken down at the end of the growing season or school year, and allow kids a way to learn about the source of their food, butterfly gardens, or just the magic of a seed transforming itself to a plant.

Here they are last winter lined up in front of the greenhouse that's made of PVC and heavy mil plastic sheeting with its fiberglass shade cloth.

As I used them, I also found out how convenient it is to be able to leave on vacation and know the tomatoes won't die for lack of water. It's also an easy way to keep food crops out of the "reach" of two large male dogs when they lift their legs.

The funny thing is how much I've learned to appreciate them through the process of teaching people how to make them. Folks are always telling me how much they like them and why. Number one reason for most is that someone with no yard or depth of soil can grow homegrown tomatoes and other vegetables. Older folks enjoy gardening at an elevated height, and that there's no need for hoeing or heavy work involved in gardening with them - just planting and dragging the occasional (plastic) hose over for adding water to the reservoir.  With so many advantages, should they be avoided because they're fairly "tacky" and again, made from a petrochemical product?  If a child develops a love of nature or a better diet and appreciation for vegetables because a teacher grew something in a GrowBox for the class one year, does that benefit outweigh the negatives?

Also built from a plastic storage bin is my vermiculture (that's worm composting) bin.

Although it took a while to really get going, now I'm wishing it were bigger. Guess I'll just have to build another one.  Does it being made of plastic negate the act of composting?

As I've mentioned, many of my plants were grown from cuttings gathered from friends. My success with propagation increased dramatically when I began using cut off soda bottles to increase the humidity for the cuttings. (Since cuttings have no roots, at that point all moisture must be taken in through the leaves.) I couldn't begin to afford enough of the lovely glass cloches traditionally used for this purpose - especially when it's time to prune the roses and I find it impossible to waste all of those potential rose plants. Then it's not unusual for us to have as many as 25 "test tubes", as my husband likes to call them. The primary downside to these is that I've been seen scouting my neighborhood recycling bins since we don't even empty 4 soda bottles a year.

On one of those dog walking/scouting trips, I found two large plastic pots that were being thrown away. They now house the Meyer lemon and a Mexican lime.

The newest plastic additions are the raised bed corner supports I just used to build 3 vegetable beds in a sunny side strip of our yard. Even though I could have constructed simple raised beds without them, they made the project even simpler and offered angles that would have complicated the process by hours. It was during the building of the beds that now famous single word of dialogue from The Graduate began repeating in my mind.

So, give me some feedback: other than the little nursery pots and trays we bring plants home in, what are the ways you're using plastic in your garden? Please tell me I'm not alone in this dirty little secret.