Garden Accent

Garden Accent or Garden Contraband, depending on whether you're talking to me or to Hank. So, I was toodling down a country road on the way to visiting a friend whose garden is going to be in a June garden tour. In my peripheral vision I saw an old shed/barn with a couple of overalled guys who appeared to have dragged from said structure an incredible number of big old things...... milk cans, planters, old plows, shutters, carts....good stuff. I slowed down, quickly reasoned that I could cause an accident either by slamming on my brakes OR by gawking, went a bit further, did a u-turn and parked the car. As I worked my way through that good stuff, (or objects of great potential), my eyes kept going to this old child-size bike. Must be old. Made of iron and rubber, weighs a ton, and it has that great back to front wheel size ratio. It had a price tag on it of $12. Finally, feet firmly planted in front of it, chin in hand, I stared at it and stared at it. The fellow must have thought I was debating a barter, so he jumped into my presumed thought process with, "You can have that for ten dollars." He didn't know that what was really going on in my head was the plethora of comments that Hank would have when I unloaded this item from my car. But ten dollars? You can't get two honeydews and a cataloupe for $10. So, based on my melon logic I declared the bike MINE. For better or worse, it has found a home near my burning bush and is a participant in my efforts to hide the air conditioner. (Surprise, surprise, guess who has admitted that it doesn't look so bad after all!) The spokes were begging for a vine; my choice was the hyacinth bean vine, which I have planted right behind it. I promise another picture when the vine is in bloom.

Rhubarb

While I will never have a sprawling rhubarb "patch," I have long desired to have one successful rhubarb plant. When I was a child, the rhubarb grew in a large patch which seemed to be simply placed there by Mother Nature. I'm very sure that no-one ever teased it into becoming the fruitful, high yielding, ever spreading patch that it was. Location, location, location. It began its life in naturally rich farm soil that assured long life and high productivity. After many years of personal failed attempts, I am cautiously optimistic about this rhubarb plant. It is in its second year. Last year I gave it plenty of compost and kept my eager hands away from it, determined to give it one season to get established. This year more compost..... and it has rewarded me with enough rhubarb for two pies, the second of which just came out of the oven.
I'm considering giving "Ruby" a sister, so that in this lifetime I will have enough rhubarb in one season to try all the recipes I've clipped - rhubarb upside down cake, rhubarb parfaits, rhubarb chutney pork chops. And most important of all, a couple of pots of the good ol' Rhubarb Sauce my mom used to make, and which I took so for granted.

Elves and Fairies

The rainy season has given the elves and fairies some romantic places to dance under the moonlight.

Gardener's Heels

Probably because I'm not a mani-pedi kinda girl, my feet have fallen victim to gardener's heels. Also known as slogger heels, flip-flop heels, call it what you may, it all means the same thing - tough, cracked and horrible skin. Yuk. I thought it would be my lifetime companion until my dear friend who goes back to fifth grade (!) recommended Heel-Tastic, available at Bed, Bath and Beyond. At the risk of sounding like an info-mercial, may I say that this is nothing short of a miracle. I was a serious skeptic, but after seven days, new feet! I'm speechless.

The Give and Take of it All

As good timing would have it, when I was starting my garden here a friend's son was giving away perennials from his newly purchased lot so that he might have a more maintenance free lawn. When I heard the words "Help yourself," I was there in a flash with my galvanized tub and shovel. The hostas in this picture are just a few of the many he let me dig up. The lovely, white, arching polygonatum came as a stowaway seedling in the clump and surprised me when it emerged a few weeks later. The budding lily-of-the-valley 'neath the bleeding heart were given to me by a Pittsburgh friend and made the cut for my illegal mass transportation of plants across state borders (now THAT was a van load of plants hidden under all those sheets). I think of my garden as a friendship garden because so many of the plants have been shared by special people. My oldest perennial is a bee balm given to me as a newlywed; it has taken up garden residence at all four houses. If there is anything that makes me happier than receiving a treasure from someone else's garden it is to share with others from my own. My daughter and her husband purchased their first home in Connecticut last summer. Emily let me know she would happily receive anything I wanted to share.

And so it was that last week-end I went on a digging spree and loaded up my car, oops, to take plants across state borders once again. I labor for food, and Emily's pregnant/cracked rib condition dictated that I had outside duty while she rewarded me with burritos and home-made bread at the end of the day. Edging, defining, digging, clearing, working in compost and finally, setting the baby plants in their new spaces. I can hardly wait for Emily's reports on how "the babies" are doing.

Rambunctious Reseeders

I previously posted about invasive perennials and my attempt to eliminate them from my garden. In a bow to lower maintenance, and okay, age (there, I said it), I also have bid farewell to rambunctious re-seeders. It's not that I don't think they are lovely. I'm captivated when mass re-seedings of dainty forget-me-nots cast an ethereal blue haze over a garden - but someone else's garden. The pink, lavender, purple and white of the tall slender and graceful larkspur are my favorite garden colors. If they were a dance they would be a Viennese waltz. But then I force myself to think back to when I pulled hundreds of full-grown larkspur plants out of my garden so that other plants might have a share of the water and nutrients. Johnny-jump-ups have such a sweet little face and breed in awesome color combinations. I miss them. Feverfew gave me splashes of cascading white bouquets when plants around it were succumbing to seasonal doldrums. Nepeta had the combination of lavender and soft grey foliage that when combined with pale pink had a calming effect. As much as I love Black-eyed Susans in the fields, it has always seemed garish in my garden, so I'm fine with letting that go. And malva eventually fell into disfavor with no saving graces at all! Elimination of re-seeders in my current garden has been largely successful. But apparently there were a couple of seeds hiding away in clumps I brought from Pittsburgh, just waiting to germinate and surprise me, which they did in the last week. I have to admit, they made me smile and say, "Well, where did YOU come from??" The forget-me-not is attempting to brighten a not very attractive concrete foundation corner. And the johnny-jump-up is simply attempting to brighten my day. I will enjoy them while they blossom, but then it's OUT BY THE ROOTS before they go to seed. Oh, I'm sure their progeny will appear in a year or two to remind me of just how sweet they are.