I love growing plants from seed, especially those I've collected myself. Each one is like Aladdin's lamp, an unassuming-looking thing, but if you rub it the right way, it will release amazing magic.
In the fall of 2003, my husband and I stayed at the Diuguid House, a bed and breakfast in Murray, Kentucky. They had a lovely old sugar maple in the front yard, and its seeds were falling like snowflakes. The proprietors let me collect handfuls of them. They also gave me sprigs of mint which I rooted and which thrives in my herb garden to this day.
I planted the maple seeds. Only two of them emerged and thrived. I gave one to my sister and planted the other on the west side of my yard. It's already taller than I am. Eventually it will take the place of the venerable old sweetgum tree, eight feet in circumference, that has stood sentinel in my yard since decades before my house was built. It's been in steady decline for years. When it dies, it will be like losing a member of the family. I hope that I'll find some solace, by then, in the cooling summer shadows and warm autumn glow of the Diuguid Maple, reminding me of our wonderful vacation in eastern Kentucky and the gracious hosts of the Diuguid House Bed and Breakfast who shared their home, their hospitality, and their plants with me.
Summer, 2005: blueberries
I planted a row of rabbiteye blueberry bushes about a dozen years ago. They languished for a few years in a location above a buried concrete drainage pipe. It was virtually impossible to get the soil acidic enough in that spot, since concrete contains limestone and leaches pH-raising calcium, so I moved them to a new bed without such influences about ten years ago. I worked in peat moss and soil sulphur, and they've thrived ever since. I still work at acidifying the soil. Blueberries are demanding that way, but otherwise they're as easy as pie.
Insects don't bother them. They're virtually free of disease. The only major pest is birds. In past years, I've covered them with netting to keep the birds out. I don't do that any more. No matter now carefully I covered them, an occasional bird still found its way under the net, but couldn't find its way back out again. It's devastating to find dead birds under the net. Those that I found alive were so exhausted from attempting to escape that their survival was doubtful, even after I freed them. It wasn't worth it. I haven't used netting for several years, now, and birds usually help themselves to most of the harvest.
The berries ripen here and there, and it takes time and effort to distinguish the ripe from the not-quite ripe, but it's worth it. I look for those that look inflated, wider than their length from stem to calyx (the end opposite the stem), and flattened on the calyx end. They should be very blue, usually with a whitish bloom but without a hint of red, and they should yield to very gentle pressure, almost falling into my hand when I pluck them. Of course, I taste-test as I go, just to be sure I'm on the right track.
This year I seem to be getting more than usual. Ironically, I think a family of mockingbirds is the reason. They've made their home in a neighbor's tree just a few feet away from the blueberries. They jealously guard the fruit, chasing away other birds. They even fuss at my husband and me when we come to collect our share, not realizing or caring that I'm the one who planted these bushes. Although the mockingbird family eats a good many berries, I consider it a fair price for protecting the remaining ones from other birds. We've harvested enough for fresh eating every day for a month. And fresh is our favorite way to eat them, with a dollop of vanilla yogurt on top.
Spring, 2005: the water garden
I've finally finished the back border, including the water garden. I removed my old pond a few years ago when the hard plastic liner cracked. For the new pond, I used a 10' x 10' rubber liner. It allows flexibility in size and shape, and it allows fine-tuning the top edge so that it's perfectly level (essential for a natural look). On the other hand it wrinkles, and it requires more finesse and more rocks to make it look natural inside.
My new pond is in the same spot as before so the digging was minimized, though it was still a chore. I sank the old cracked liner under the rubber one and used old newspapers for padding under the rest of the pond bottom. I included a small wading area for birds and a shelf for bog plants, like the pickerel rush blooming in the photograph above the 'Pink Beauty' water lily. Dragonflies seem to love resting on the pickerel rush. Natural enemies of mosquitoes and as beautiful as butterflies, they're very welcome visitors.
The pond is still in a new, raw state, but already I'm enjoying having a water garden again.
Late Winter, 2005: unfinished business
My back border is
a jumble of bricks, weeds and bare soil that I started reworking last fall, confident I'd be through by mid-winter. Now I plan to finish by the end of March.
In spite of the mess, pockets of beauty keep poking up through the rubble. A lone yellow crocus must have fallen from my hands last fall and has found a new home in the lawn outside the herb garden, where it's blooming happily, ahead of its mates in their beds. The candytuft is edged with white. A clump of snowflakes, given to me by a neighbor across the street years ago has been blooming for days. One year soon I really must divide it, but not this year.
Last year I rearranged the front beds and put in large swaths of perennials for a cutting garden. This year it should really hit its stride. Any day now I'll have daffodils and grape hyacinths blooming side by side. I already have a pincushion flower ready to bloom. It started budding out during a warm spell in January. Recurring cold weather kept suspending its growth, but not stopping it. It should be blooming in a matter of days.
