Gardens and Weather; Journal

Clary sage. The single survivor from last season's seed-raised crop.

A biennial, so left in this weedy spot to flower and hopefully provide me with seed for another year.

The coarse leaves of clary have an astringent sharp scent, but the flowers are pleasant. The buds are particularly fascinating. I have three very tiny plants in the greenhouse which I hope will be ready to set out late in the summer.

This milkweed is a more refined form than the common wildling. It is loved by butterflies and when the monarch caterpillars discover it the plants are quickly gnawed to naked stalks.

When the peonies have been shattered by rain and the early roses are succumbing to Japanese beetles, daylilies take over.

Echinacia/coneflower in its simplest form--sturdy, dependable, holding its own in the rough garden strip.

Echinacia backed by aster.

In other gardens I've set out nursery purchased exotic forms of coneflower, never as hardy and self-perpetuating as the generic.

Buds on the double orange 'ditch lilies' originally dug up along the Old Gradyville Road and moved with me first to the Amish farm and then to the new house.

The veg garden has flourished in the recent gentle rains. In this plot are Better Bush tomatoes, a hill of muskmelons [purchased plants] and cucumbers. Dwarf sunflowers edge the far side of the plot. [Planted for me by Jim before I was able to work outside.]

We've had two meals from the Swiss chard. Beets will need to be thinned. Jim has staked the Carolina Gold tomatoes and put up the fence for the Blue Lake beans to climb. Blossoms are appearing on the potato plants. We didn't buy seed potatoes, but salvaged some that sprouted in the pantry. A row of carrots is badly in need of attention--carrots are a frustrating crop. Jim used his seed planter which has metal disks sized for a variety of seeds--the carrots, never-the-less, went in much too thickly.

Carolina Gold tomato.  We've been applying a fungicide to the tomato plants about every 10 days in the hopes of holding off the usual devastating blight. Frequent rains since the last application may have rendered it useless. 

Rain came in bursts nearly every day during the past week; looking across the meadow the view was of gathering clouds; the pattern was showers lasting 10 or 15 minutes, followed by steamy sunshine, then another shower. 

A brief downpour made way for a fiery sunset.

Smoky orange, a streak of blue, a quickly changing palette of grey, lavender and apricot surrounding the sun as it sank into the ravine at nine o'clock on Thursday evening.

Daybreak Friday brought crashing thunder, pounding rain, power blips, before the weather settled for a steady rain through the day. The air has been heavy with humidity and heat--thankfully a later occurrence this season than is usual.

Steamy sunshine on Saturday with a thrashing wind and another brisk shower at dusk.

It was damp this morning, but sunny. I cut back the roses on the east wall, trimmed most of the nepeta. The pinks that edge the west wall are next on the list--already sending up fresh growth in the center of the withered clumps. Foxglove is going shabby and needs cutting down, perhaps leaving a stalk or two to set seed. 

The beauty of flowers is transitory, easily blighted by unfavorable weather, subject to ravages by insects. The roses had a good flush of bloom, most of the peonies came on before the rains, the clematis have been a joy. Nigella seeded itself with a vengeance, swallowing last year's clumps of balloon flower. The thyme edging the raised bed in the west garden was hardy through the winter and spread lavishly before being blackened by too much moisture. I've pruned away damaged stems, but not feeling very hopeful for its survival--it doesn't like wet feet.

Still potting on seedlings in the greenhouse, disentangling the roots of pot-bound nursery purchases which I hope will revive when they can be situated in the new raised bed which is a work in progress.

 

The Flowers of May

May in south-central Kentucky is a time of flowers.

In my garden this means peonies, iris, foxgloves, as well as a first flush of bloom on clematis and roses.

In spite of damage to the leaves by sawfly larvae, my David Austin shrub roses outdid themselves in this third season since planting.

Above is Queen of Sweden, a very stately upright bush.

Queen of Sweden and Roald Dahl.

A planting of Double Red Knock-out roses anchors the south wall garden. Most of the seed-raised foxgloves tucked in front are shades of rose pink--probably offspring of the variety Camelot.

 The old-fashioned pink peonies are early bloomers, sweet-scented and heavily petaled.

Crowded near the peonies is an aster that will bloom later in the summer.

Red valerian leans out from the house corner on the west retaining wall. Miniature lilies have been moved on from two earlier gardens. The edging of pinks were seed-grown last season.

Common sage tucked into the raised bed by the front steps outgrew its space, probably because the bagged soil used in the bed is too rich for most herbs. The plant should have been pruned about the time that I was 'laid up' with the DVT--by the time I was on my feet, I decided to allow the rampage of blue to run its course.

A white foxglove with pale freckles. The 'Sutton's Apricot' foxgloves which bloomed last year near the white ones made no appearance this year. I'm hoping that a few of the potted on seedlings lifted in late January will prove to be that variety.

The west wall garden with pinks in full bloom, rose and lavender foxglove.

I lost the tag for this lovely David Austin rose; I think it is The Poet's Wife. In previous years few of the buds fully opened. This year there has been a profusion of these frilly blooms which have a refreshing citrus scent. 

Plants which self sow can be a delight--or they can become vigorous interlopers.

Nigella seedlings should have been thinned early on; they took over, completely swallowing several plants of platycoden/balloon flower which is slow to emerge in the spring. Nigella happily produces several 'crops' of bloom in a long Kentucky summer and reappears to do it again another year.

Clematis plants Samaritan Jo and Edita were meant to share a trellis. I had no idea both would explode with a tangle of blossom the year after their planting. These two had a rough start in 2020, being uprooted several times by a belligerent racoon just days after they went into the ground.

It has been a joy to bring in roses and peonies during their brief time of glory.

I have run short of tiny jugs and bottles to hold them.

Scooping up fallen petals is a small price to pay for this corner of scent and color.

I would like to display some in other spots--on a bedside table or a corner of my desk. 

The resident cats take too great an interest in bouquets!

Rainfall was sparse mid-May, not quite reaching drought conditions but dry enough to have us hoping for showers. It was perfect haying weather. Tractors and hay wagons lumbered along the country roads, huge round bales dotted the shorn meadows. The sun-warmed smell of sweet clover and meadow grass mingled with the aura of blackberry, honeysuckle and the invasive rosa multiflora. 

The rains arrived in the early morning hours of 28th May and continued until the sun reappeared on Sunday. Slow rain, falling in bursts, dwindling, streaming down again bringing chilly nights and days of green darkness.

The peonies and roses, slightly past their best, bowed to the ground, heavy-headed. 

In the vegetable garden beets, carrots, potatoes, green beans, all revived and grew with tremendous energy.

After a blue sky day of sun and wind on Sunday [in time for a family picnic!] the weather has again brought spotty showers.

I've pruned away the shattered peonies and roses, dead-headed the Knock-Outs--an ongoing chore.

We are grateful for the gentle rains, for the postponement of high temperatures which so often begin to overwhelm before the end of May.

The time of spring flowering is over for another year. In the next few days I need to work at cutting back tired plants, weeding. 

As we move into June the daylilies and the container plants will take over the task of providing color. 

A number of things are growing on in the greenhouse, waiting on the completion of the new raised bed under construction by the front door. 

My gardens will never resemble the photos that appear in coffee table tomes or alluring seed catalogs.

I will never have sufficient energy or time to give the best of care to my plantings.

Beset by weeds, insect pests or struggling under my benign neglect, my gardens continue to delight me.

 

The Man In The Garden

Sunday morning sunbeams slant through the green of the trees that line the ravine. As I watch, mug of half-caff in hand, the sun climbs above the barn roof, flooding the newly shorn meadow with light. 

My gaze lingers on the sprawl of pale peonies in the rough garden strip edging the drive, then continues up the lane.

Our neighbor has planted a garden, long and narrow, bordering the lane just before it curves to plunge past the pond and then up to the road.

There seems to be a tall man standing in the garden, his back to our house! 

I add more cream to my coffee, pour some for the cats clamoring at my feet.

I consider mentioning the man--who still stands unmoving. 

A snatch of conversation overheard yesterday, tugs at my sluggish morning mind--our son arriving with the announcement that neighbor J. P. and his household are constructing a scarecrow.

Our neighbor, J. P. is a good steward of his property. His barns are painted, gates and fences are straight, posts are topped with hand crafted bird houses; the double doors fronting his workshop are decorated with a collection of small signs, vintage license plates. hubcaps. Some of his displays leave no doubt as to his political allegiance!

He keeps the grass cut along the lane, rearranges the gravel displaced by a hard rain. 

Driving in from errands later in the day we had a better view of the man in the garden.

I was intrigued enough to walk back with my camera the better to appreciate the finer details.

The 'scarecrow' has been cleverly fashioned as a homespun replica of its maker, down to the rusty beard, battered hat and work-worn jeans.

Note the wooden hand clutching a drink can, the package of 'smokes' tucked into the pocket of the faded denim shirt.

Its taking a few days to become accustomed to the 'man in the garden.' 

We hope the summer sun and rain will beat gently on this fine example of primitive folk art. 

I expect we'll soon take his presence for granted and miss him when he seeks cover for the winter months.

 

Cats and Clematis

I loaded these photos Wednesday evening thinking I would include an essay.

My photo program is particularly balky lately, the photos seeming to land in odd files and taking an annoying amount of time to locate and sort.

So, few words, but hoping you'll enjoy our felines and the flowers.

Robert, 'speaking' to me from the west retaining wall.

Edward [who is spending more time outside as he has taken to stalking Clancy when in the house.]

Willis can be counted on to appear with offers of assistance for any outdoor task.

'No, I don't want to smile for the camera!'

Shelby.

A gathering of cats waiting to offer companionship.

Edward, Shelby, Willis, Nellie.

Duchess of Edinburgh.

Edita.

Samaritan Jo has managed to twine around the Duchess.  I didn't intend that to happen, but too late to unravel the vines.

Newly planted Jackmani.

Duchess of Edinburgh--very bouffant blooms.

Edita. [Chosen in memory of my late friend, Edie Robie]

Samaritan Jo.

 

Green Darkness

We were up early on Tuesday morning. Thunder had been rumbling since around 4 a.m. rain fell in windy gusts. The cats fidgeted, shafts of lightning bored through the bedroom curtains. Sleep was impossible.

Inside the rooms felt dim even with lights on; outside the sky was dark, the landscape had a brooding aura--dripping trees along the lane and at the edges of the ravines seemed to have moved closer to the house. The last blossoms of the dogwoods lay plastered on wet grass.

Between bursts of rain I ventured outside. It was a wellies kind of day. The cats followed me out, stepping daintily through the sodden grass, returning to the porch to shake wet paws with distaste.

The first foxgloves to blossom. 

Lady's Mantle [alchemilla] the only two plants from last season's sowing. 

Weeds abound in all my plantings, a frustration, as I'm restricted from hands and knees gardening.

Gardens weeded and mulched in late October produced flourishing mats of ground cover undesirables, dandelions have seeded themselves, buttercup invades in tough-rooted mats.

Centranthus ruber, a sturdy clump from seed two years ago, with a colony of new starts surrounding it.

Blackberry lilies, seed saved from lilies planted in 2020, seed purchased from Select Seeds.

I am fascinated by these. I had seed grown plants to set out by mid-summer. The lilies are small, attractive, but not commanding in the way of daylilies. The ripe seed pods resemble a large blackberry. To date, 17 of my collected seeds have germinated; I am hopeful there will be garden space for them when they are ready to move to permanent quarters.

The pale yellow iris were removed from an over-grown planting along a stone wall that needed to be demolished at Howard and Dawn's homestead.  I found the purple iris growing near a power pole at the western end of our property near the site of the burned house.  I had a stunning collection of iris at the Amish farm, but wasn't able to move them. These yellow ones are rather insignificant on their own, but interspersed with darker varieties would provide contrast. I have a bucketful of them sitting in the greenhouse waiting to be interred in some likely spot.

Strawberry crops are ripening locally in spite of several wet mostly dark days. The hay in the east meadow wants cutting. In the garden Jim's planting of beets has emerged, the tomato plants have settled in and should have their first blast of blight deterrent--as soon as there is dry weather. 

I have worked in the greenhouse in cautious increments of time, transplanting the tiny seedlings meant to be the nucleus of a wildflower garden. Another project on hold until I can convince J. that a raised bed alongside the front door brick landing would be a positive enhancement.

Oh! the things I would do--if I could do!