Disappointing Invasion

When I began my garden here in upstate New York two years ago I gave myself a rule, "No Invasives Allowed." They may have been eye-catching, I may have enjoyed them briefly, but they became overwhelmingly difficult as they attempted a coup of my Pittsburgh garden. They are the ones that gardeners are only too happy to give away to new and innocent gardeners. They are the ones sold by the buckets at local fund-raising "plant sales." Bee balm, evening primrose, ajuga, nepeta, gooseneck loosestrife (oooooh, how I loved that one). The perennial pictured above is Achillea Pearl. It was so well behaved in my Pittsburgh clay soil that I never cast aspersions on it. I loved the bright splash of white here and there. And so I planted it in three spots in my garden here. Uh-Oh. The sandy soil brought out its inhibitions. In this early Spring it is invading all territories near it, attempting to make 2011 the year it conquers all of its neighbors - the lavender, the veronica, the scabiosa and anything else it can stretch its young tendrils towards. And so sadly, it it has to be tossed aside like last year's prom queen. In the light of day I may take heart and toss it near the wood's edge where its free will can be respected. Who knows, it may find the mint that I tossed back there last year.

The Essential Gardening Wardrobe

From Head to Toe:

Nylon Teva hat with visor and neck protector, originally purchased for kayaking but I use it every time I'm in the garden.

Old blue sweatshirt, circa 1975. It just gets better. And softer.

Bib overalls, circa 1994. Held together with big safety pins. Bib pockets perfect size for plant tags.

Blue bandana handkerchief. It took me till 2011 to get fed up with the futility of managing a flimsy kleenex with gardening gloves on. So this is my new favorite bling to my outfit. Besides, it was my Dad's, so I feel like he's gardening right alongside of me.

"Atlas" gardening gloves. The only pair I've ever been able to use. Nice and snug and the women's small fits my child-sized hands. Does not prohibit the weeding action. If you are a gardener and my friend, chances are you will get this as a gift in your lifetime.

Old brown socks. Need I say more about the color? So practical!

Sloggers. Hose 'em down, put 'em back on. Check on the whole garden with my early morning coffee before the dew is dry. Ah, yes. I love my sloggers.

Trust me on this: you will never see my summer gardening outfit on this blog.

Browns Are Beautiful!

I've never had a very scientific approach to composting. Pamphlets and books on the subject overwhelm me and make me feel defeated. I take to heart the parts I like - that whatever the balance, it will eventually compost. Let it be. But I can't ignore the experts forever. I know that my compost bin is sadly lacking in "browns." We live on a new lot, so we don't have significant leaves in the fall. And it DOES take my pile of green debris forever to become "gold.' In the summer I feed it a steady diet of kitchen scraps and garden clippings. All greens. Green, green, green. But on this Spring weekend I've collected buckets and wheelbarrows of BROWNS! Last Fall's foliage, brown blossoms, blown astilbe plumes, pruned hydrangea, two year old triple shredded bark mulch that has begun to decompose. I've gone to the edge of the woods and raked out leaves and dried grass. I turned my old compost pile over and layered with my collected browns. It's a happier pile now. I can tell! Next Fall I will steal the bags of leaves from the edge of my daughter's mature lot and stockpile them. Oh, and guess what I have learned is a "brown?" Dryer Lint!! Yaaaay!

A Children's Book for March

This was the definitive book for the month of March in our house. I regret that it is no longer available in hardcover, for it is my favorite book to give to new little March babies. Marc Simont effectively uses black and white to illustrate all the woodland animals from the tiny snails to the brown bear awakening from their winter homes. Author Ruth Krauss urges the animals along.... "They sniff the air, they run!" And they are rewarded with a surprise - the first little flower of the season. When I give this book to March babies I write in the front that every year on their birthday they should go outside and look for a flower. (It helps to include some crocus bulbs for the parents in this gift, but they are pretty hard to find in the Spring!)

There is nothing quite like that first flower to awaken us from our own malaise. I found mine last week.

In the outskirts of Lakeville, Ct. there stands a stately Victorian home that was my “second home” as a child. Built by my grandfather’s uncle at the turn of the century, it was maintained by his daughters their whole lives. Its name, “Hillcroft,” was derived from these lines of a William Wordswoth poem:

"A little croft we owned – a plot of corn
A garden stored with peas, mint and thyme
And flowers for posies."

Hillcroft was a short drive from our Falls Village farm. Because “Auntie Mary” and “Auntie Margaret” raised my mother, we spent much time visiting their home. Perhaps for a day, an afternoon, a sleepover or for an extended stay when my mom went to the hospital to have more babies. Everything these aunties did, they did with love – fixing meals, sewing doll quilts, mending hems, sending us home with cookies. Auntie Mary was “lame” and did the sewing and knitting, but Auntie Margaret actively tended gardens - the grape arbor, the vegetable garden, the raspberry patch, rhubarb garden, peony garden, the daffodils beneath the apple tree, grape hyacinths along the porch, morning glories trailing over the railing. The centerpiece of it all was their formal perennial garden with an aisle down the center. I was too young to know individual plant names, but I delighted in the seasonal evolution of all this garden had to offer. If it sounds idyllic, it was. I wish I could go back in time and step into this garden once more. There are no pictures in existence. Only my memory’s collage – a blur of beauty. But when I smell a lupine I am indeed taken back, and know for certain one flower that was there. My aunties were my inspiration for all my gardening dreams. My blog is dedicated to their memory and to a garden memory that is far too precious to ever disappear. Because they shared their love of gardening with me, I share my thoughts, ideas, questions, disappointments and scattered moments of glory with you, my gardening friends and readers.