Gardens that Honor the People we Love

I have been thinking a lot lately about the gardens we plant to honor the people in our lives that we love. Sometimes, we plant to mark a birth, a significant birthday, or a wedding. But, most frequently, I think, we plant to honor the memory of a loved one who has died. I’ve been thinking about these gardens because a dear friend—a neighbor and fellow gardener—has terminal cancer. I’ve been thinking about and planning the yellow garden I’m going to plant to remind me of her since yellow is her favorite color.

The year my grandmothers died, I planted a rose for each of them in a new bed “The Grandmothers Garden” at the St Paul house. And, a classmate of mine plants a tree on his property for each Minnesota soldier who dies in war and for each classmate who has died since our graduation. One year, he did this life-affirming gift on his birthday.

When I was growing up, my father planted a tree on our property for each of us. We thought that was the coolest thing, ever! Even though we have not lived in that house for a very long time, we still claim “our” tree when we drive by. A baby was born into my family yesterday. And, my first thought was that I needed to mark his entrance into the world and the family by planting something. I won’t plant a tree—the city lot is too small for that—but I will plant a shrub or perennial to honor his presence.

So, while I started the week thinking about a garden to honor the life of a friend whose life is ending, I end the week thinking about planting to honor the beginning of the life of my newest cousin. The circle of life continues.

Weeding and Expanding our Community Garden

Last night, I joined some neighbors for an evening of weeding and planning for our community garden – named the Grassy Knoll. (I wish the planners had chosen a different name – since the name they chose will be forever linked with the death of JFK for some of us. But, it is descriptive of the location.) You can imagine the looks of horror when I tell people I’m going down to the Grassy Knoll to weed or water or whatever. I avoid those looks now by just saying “the community garden” instead.

I didn’t take photos of the garden when we planted it, but did last night. One of the neighbors said that the plan for the garden was a wave but it looks more like a heart. I sort of agree with her! The sculpture in the background is called “Wind in the Trees.” We were surprised at how BIG the plants were since they were planted in May from tiny starts or transplants. We chose native prairie plants for a low maintenance garden. Weeding went really quickly with the number of people who joined us -- even in such a big space!

We apparently have some money left in the community garden bucket, so we started thinking about an expansion of the wave heart, which we’d plant in September so the plants have time to get their roots established before the winter. It’s lots of work, but makes the space look much more friendly and welcoming. So, it’s worth the effort.

Lucky Shot

I love seeing birds, bees, and butterflies in the gardens. I almost never have my camera when I’m working, though, because I worry about dropping it in a hole, sweeping it off the wall, stepping on it, or setting it down and forgetting about it. So, I typically take the camera out in the morning after our walk and take shots of the things that are blooming.

The butterflies have been plentiful lately – flitting and floating from flower to flower around the gardens. But, again, I never have my camera to capture these colorful moments. The other evening, though, I got lucky. Monty and I were just coming down the home stretch and a Monarch landed on one of the liatris. I stood and watched it open and close its wings as Monty watered one last plant. I hurried Monty inside, grabbed the camera, and went out to see if the butterfly was still around. It was still on the liatris—still opening and closing its wings. I took a few shots and managed to get this one.

Do you take the camera into the garden with you while you’re working so you can capture great shots? Or, do you make special photo trips into the garden like I do? Post a comment, let me know!

Weeding -- In Other People's Gardens

I am often asked why I weed in other people’s gardens—especially when I have so many gardens (and weeds) of my own. My answer is always, “Because I can.” I can weed. I can tell the difference between a dandelion and a coreopsis—a clover and a geranium—a violet and a brunnera. I can’t knit or crochet. I HATE cleaning, and while I love to cook, I prefer to spend as much time as possible outside during the months when green things are growing. So, I weed.

I don’t mind weeding. It’s satisfying work that shows immediate results. After a day in an office where you may not be able to tell that you’ve made a difference or accomplished anything, weeding is just the thing! You end up with a big pile of weeds and a lovely looking garden! It doesn’t get much better than that!

It makes people happy to have their gardens weeded. Sometimes, the people I weed for want to weed with me – they want to learn what should stay and what should go. I start by giving them a particular weed to pull (see selective weeding) and then add a weed or two through the season. Typically, after a season, they don’t need me anymore. (Every once in a while, I go back at the beginning of the next season as a backup.) Sometimes, the people know what the weeds are, but illness, pregnancy, or an extended vacation may prevent them from getting out in the garden. In these cases, I just go to work and get rid of the weeds.

It’s early August now, which means the growing season for crops has another six to eight weeks. (Our first frost date here is about the 15th of September.) But hardy plants can go another twelve. Plenty of time to be outside and weed.

Seeing Red? Nope, Not Here . . .

I walk through the gardens a couple times a day. I look for dead stuff, wilty stuff, unhealthy stuff, and pests. I notice what’s blooming and what’s past its prime. And, I look for buds of new growth. But, yesterday, I walked through and noticed the gardens as a whole, and I noticed that the garden completely lacks red! There’s not one speck of true red in any of the gardens this time of year!

I avoided true reds close to the house because of the barn red trim, but hadn’t realized that I had omitted red everywhere until yesterday. I have red tulips, red poppies, and one red monarda—otherwise, no red. The lilies, Monte Negro, are in the red family, but aren’t a true red. Neither are the Knautia Macedonia (more wine colored) or the Lychnis chalcedonia (leaning orange). Both of these, however, are on several lists of “Red Perennials.” A friend suggested a rose. I could do that. I’d need to move a wild rose to a partly shady spot to do it, but it’s a possibility. Is lobelia really my only non-rose perennial option?!

Maybe the way to get some red into the gardens is to get a few planters and fill them with red geraniums and impatiens, like my grandmother and father have done for years. They’re long blooming and do provide a big impact.

Let me know how you get red in your gardens.

For Novices Only?

I read a piece a few weeks ago about how hosta and daylilies are for novices only—that no self-respecting experienced gardener would have such lowly plants in their garden—unless it was as a placeholder for something else. I thought immediately about the Shady Sisters, long-time gardeners whose gardens contain primarily hostas because they are shaded by many oaks. The hosta in their gardens are the show pieces and definitely NOT placeholders.

I was taking out some unwanted shrubs the other day and the client asked me how I got to know so much about gardening. He wanted to know if I had taken college level courses in either botany or horticulture. I told him I had taken a botany class last year but that most of what I know comes from experience – many years of trial and error, success and failure. I told him that I started by reading everything I could about what was in my garden and continued by being curious about what other gardeners had in their gardens. The knowledge just builds from there.

The client has LOTS of hosta on the property and shrubs (with more hosta) around the foundation. Their vision for the property is simple, clean, and elegant – roses and boxwood. But, in addition to the hosta and shrubs, there are eleven oaks on the property—providing lots of shade. The boxwood will tolerate some shade, but the roses need a lot of sun. I suggested they may need to alter their plan and was met with some resistance.

After these experiences, I have formed my own conclusion about hostas and novice gardeners. I think it’s not the plants you use that makes you a novice gardener, it’s whether you understand the growing conditions and needs for the plants you choose to use in your garden. So, if you have lots of shade, a hosta garden may be just the right thing.

What do you think? Are there plants that experienced or long-term gardeners should avoid?

Arrivederci, Roma

You start with healthy plants. You prepare the ground, or in this case pot, properly. You water and fertilize regularly. And, still, it happens. Crop failure.

I started the season with expectation (not hope) of salsa – certainly enough to eat fresh and maybe, if I was lucky, enough for a half dozen jars to can. But, it is not going to happen. The potted tomatoes are doing okay, but not great--not like the incredible bounty I had last year. I’m getting some cherries (yum) almost every day now, but I can see the end of that bounty is near, too. There are a few Early Girls ripening, too, destined for sandwiches and salads.

The Romas did okay at first, too. Then, the vandals rolled the pot down the hill and I think the plant suffered some shock. I tucked the plant back in and moved it to a sunny location close to the house where I could keep an eye on it better. That’s when the squirrels decided to wreak their havoc. They started stealing the Romas. They left both the Early Girls and the cherries alone and either took the entire Roma, or chomped it and left it in the pot.

There were three left last week – enough for the smallest batch of salsa ever. They ripened this week, and every one of them had blossom end rot. All that's left is an empty vine.

Arrivederci, Roma. Good bye, good bye to salsa.