Each Little World

A grand old flag

When it comes to holidays, Thanksgiving and Christmas are the ones that I always think of as steeped in tradition and ritual. But when I look at the Fourth of July celebrations of my childhood, I realize that even this holiday had the kind of personal details that made it memorable. When I was growing up, the day began with my dad hanging our huge 48-star flag. It had belonged to one of my great uncles, a career Navy man, and stretched almost from ceiling to floor, filling the opening between the columns of our porch.

The day meant a family picnic with all the cousins. There was space to run around and lots of wonderful food. But best of all were the bottles of cold soda in galvanized tubs full of ice — a noteworthy treat since we were not usually allowed to drink soda.

There were no public fireworks displays to watch — those came in August at the county fair. Instead, there were always sparklers to end the day. Thus sparklers are the only fireworks I really care about.

These days my celebration is smaller but it begins the same way — hanging up the flag. My sister with the big old house got the flag to match. But I have one just as special. It's not the flag made by one of the oldest flag manufacturers in the U.S. that the June issue of Elle Decor suggests would make the perfect summer hostess gift. That one comes with a pole, is 5'x3' and made of two-ply polyester open weave to reduce wind stress. It's available for $119 (plus shipping) from Williams Sonoma.

Not that a flag wouldn't make a great gift to mark a really special occasion — like a wedding. Many years ago I discovered that you can request a flag that's been flown above the nation's Capitol in Washington, D.C. on a specific day from your U.S. Representatives in Congress. I ordered a flag that would be flown on the day Mark and I got married. You have to order six weeks in advance and then wait for delivery which means it will always be a belated gift. But you can save it for a couple's first Christmas or first wedding anniversary. I saved ours for when we moved into our first house a year after our wedding. 

I'm not really what you'd call a flag waver — though I did wear a flag vest with red and white fringe down to my knees during my hippie days! The American flag, however, is a visible symbol of all of us and for all of us. I think every house should have one. 

Check your representative's Web site for details. Flag information is usually listed under constituent services. Typically you must be a resident of the district or be sending the flag to someone who is. All flags are sold at cost plus shipping and handling. The cost varies depending on size, material and whether you just want a flag or one that has flown over the Captiol. Those flags come with documentation, which costs about $4.00 extra. A 5'x3' cotton or nylon flag is about $9.00. Betsy Ross has complete rules for flag display and folding here.

My Garden Odyssey: The moss garden

EPISODE XXXI

SHE SAID: Some things happen in the garden by design, others are the result of serendipity; our moss garden being a perfect example of the later. We'd seen pictures of the famous moss Temple Garden at Saihoji, of course. And we'd even seen the incredible moss garden at the Bloedel Reserve in the Pacific Northwest in person. But living in the upper Midwest, we never thought we'd be able to have a moss garden of our own — not until I realized we had the classic American dilemma: lawn grass that was attempting to grow in ever deepening shade under a pair of mature apple trees.

My moss garden on a good day.

One day I realized there were lush patches of moss growing in the midst of the grass. You couldn't actually see them unless you were at ground level looking down. I wondered how one could get rid of the grass without harming the moss. For starters, I decided on a low-tech approach: I sat down and began to pull out the grass — stem by stem — until the moss patch was visible. I held the moss in place with the palm of one hand while I pulled out the grass with the other hand. Usually, the grass just pulled through the moss, roots and all, without doing serious damage. 

I knew nothing about moss before I began my grass removal process — neither of us did. But two men came to our rescue: the first was George Schenk with his award-winning book, "Moss Gardening Including Lichens, Liverworts, and Other Miniatures." The book was packed with information, ideas for employing moss in the garden and gorgeous, inspirational pictures. Schenk's book convinced me a moss garden was worth the effort required.

Moss growing in a moist, shady corner of the garden.

The second font of moss wisdom was Andrew Hipp who taught a two-day workshop, "Introduction to Wisconsin Mosses," at the UW-Madison Arboretum. At the time, Hipp was finishing up his PhD at UW; today Dr. Hipp is the plant systematist and herbarium curator at the Morton Arboretum in Illinois. Mark and I both signed up for the class and spent a number of pleasant hours looking at and learning about mosses in a funky old classroom that was like a small cabin and had been built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s when they were part of the team effort that built the Arboretum.

Liverwort (both images from our garden, above) often piggybacks on the soil of nursery plants. 

We discovered a lot about mosses, including:

1. There are 13,000 species of mosses and 380 types can be found in Wisconsin. There are fewer mosses in urban areas as they are sensitive to pollution. 

2. Mosses can dry down and re-hydrate when it rains. Knowing that bit of info keeps me from watering my moss patches even during periods of drought.

Spore cases (I think) on an unidentified moss in the garden.

3. Mosses will come to your garden based on the conditions you have. So I don't take any moss from the wild or other locations. That way I get the ones that are looking for acidic clay soil — which is where my best mosses all grow. I also don't have to wonder which ones want sun and which shade as the appropriate ones will site themselves. Our largest moss garden is under big old apple  trees; but other patches are next to the fence on both sides of the drip line; between tree roots and stepping stones in both sun and shade, on moist ground and on hard-packed clay.

Moss growing on clay soil under the drip line of the fence roof.

4. Mosses are almost always growing with other different mosses. If you look at this photo you can see three different types. Identifying them, however, is always done under a microscope using particular parts of the moss. We brought samples of moss from our garden to the class and had them identified; but we would be hard pressed to name any of them today. We decided to just enjoy them and encourage them, but not worry about names and id's. We opted for the sensuality of moss over the science.

Multiple kinds of mosses growing together.

One of the things I've learned from experience is that mosses can come and go. They may suddenly desert a location where they grew lushly for a few years. Sometimes they return to a spot nearby, though usually not the exact same place. So I try to keep the patches weed free and to remove leaves and other debris which will suffocate the moss or keep it from direct contact with soil. I try to make sure that I'm not the cause of the mosses' disappearance.

Moss used to grow between the root flares where Mark is standing, but it disappeared a few years ago. Now moss is growing on dry, hard-packed dirt between the  tree and the stepping stones.

Moss is a much prettier and softer ground cover than grass and looks great during winter thaws unlike lawn suddenly revealed by snow melt. But it can't take the rough and tumble that grass can (kids and dogs), nor is it particularly low maintenance. It may not need fertilizing or weekly cuttings but I am constantly working to keep it clean and free of the wood chips which wash over the brick edging of the path adjacent to the moss during big storms. That's an ongoing maintenance issue that we plan to devote our attention to this summer. 

The moss at this end of the bed still needs weeding and you can see where the mulch from the path has washed over the bricks and into the moss.

One gardener I know uses fine mesh to keep the leaves and debris off her moss. I bought a big piece from her last summer but have not been exactly vigilant in using it.In fact, the moss is covered with tiny green crab apples and yellowing leaves that have fallen in the last couple of days. I pick them up constantly but my efforts only last a few minutes at most.

The other moss maintenance issue is weeding. It is ideal for seedlings of everything from dandelions to Jack-in-the-pulpit. There's always clumps of fine grass or vining weeds to pull out. 

Dappled light on the moss looks lovely but tricks me into reaching for clumps of light when I think I'm reaching for fallen yellow leaves.

Given the moss/grass comparison, would we encourage you to grow moss instead? Absolutely. I like to think of it the way George Schenk does: "I personally find that while moss certainly requires care, the job seems to give back more than does the relentless routine of lawn upkeep," he notes in his book. "The work of moss gardening has an elitist quality that I must admit I find appealing. Every John and Jane grows grass. Only Nature's chosen grow moss."

Bulbs: More on Martagons

For those of you interested in more information about the Martagon lilies that I wrote about yestereday, one of the best sources is the North American Lily Society. The society categorizes the different types of lilies into groups according to parentage as well as flower shape. If you want to get technical, martagons are Division 2 lilies which includes hybrids derived from similar species including Lilium hansonii, L. medeoloides, and L. tsingtauense. NALS also sells “Martagon Lilies” by Eugene Fox, a 182-page book that is “the most complete reference on martagons available.”  

Martagon 'Claude Shride'/Mark Golbach photo

If you're looking for great pictures of Martagon lilies, check out the North Star Lily Society. This Minnesota group sells a CD-rom containing photos of over 150 species of martagons, along with articles and assorted information. If you grow martagons and take good photos, you may be interested in submitting them to the group for future CDs. (Mark's photos are not on the CD, but all the images you see on this post are his).

The two Martagon lilies that I'm currrently growing — 'Claude Shride' and 'Mrs. R.O. Backhouse' — are both such great plants that they've had me hunting for the most interesting martagons out there. I've been able to locate the plain species and few other interesting looking ones locally at the Flower Factory. As for mail order, I've found them at Brent and Becky Heath, McClure and Zimmerman, Old House Gardens and Plant Delights Nursery. 

Martagon 'Mrs. R.O. Backhouse'

But now I'm searching further afield which is how I discovered the Lily Nook, one of the few Canadian sources that ships to the U.S. At last look they had around a dozen different martagons for sale with prices ranging from $10 to $50 per bulb. That’s in Canadian dollars and Lily Nook’s Web site notes that credit card payments will be automatically adjusted for exchange rate. There’s also a $10.00 Phytosanitary Certificate charge per order. This certificate is required by the destination country and proves the bulbs have been inspected to be sure they are free of insects and disease. 

Not very romantic sounding, but you’ll be sure that those mail-order packages won’t contain any unpleasant surprises — just these gorgeous lilies.

Bulbs: Martagon lilies

Among the stars of my June garden are lilies. They’re elegantly graceful, hardy to Zone 3, pest-free and grow in the shade. What more could you want? 

. . . Perhaps a little respect. 

These are martagon lilies: a wonderful plant that continues to remain relatively unknown despite having been cultivated for centuries. John Gerard, author of the famous Elizabethan “Herbal,” mentions them in 1596 in a list of the plants growing in his garden. In Uppsala, Sweden, martagons bloom under ancient trees in the garden of 18th century naturalist Carl Linnaeus, the man who devised the two-word system we still use for naming living things.

Martagons come up early in the garden — mine typically are a good two feet tall by Mother’s Day. Their glossy foliage rises in whorls along the sturdy stems and adds a distinctive shape to the garden while you wait for the flowers. One stem may carry dozens of downward facing “Turk’s Cap”-type flowers which come in a wide range of pinks, mauves, scarlet and wine reds as well as white, yellow and orange. They self-seed and, unlike many lilies that fade away after a few years, martagons will outlive the gardener who plants them — rather a nice thought.

The lagging popularity of martagons is likely due to the small size of their flowers. They simply do not have the kind of large showy blossoms that Trumpet and Aurelian and Oriental hybrids sport nor their intense perfume. Some people claim that martagons have an unpleasant scent but I’ve never particularly noticed it.

What I have noticed is that, though martagon flowers are significantly smaller, they have a subtle sophistication their more dramatic relatives lack. A slight breeze will set them dancing rather than falling over. And they have the advantage of fitting into the larger garden design, unlike the big, flashy hybrids which demand to be noticed to the detriment of the bigger picture. 

Martagon seedpods are just as attractive as the flowers and I always leave mine in place for winter interest. So far, it does not seem to have sapped the plants of any vigor. They’re also good markers so I don’t go digging in the wrong spot when I’m adding bulbs in the fall or mucking around in the spring.

But perhaps the real reason martagons have not achieved the same degree of popularity is not so much because of the demure nature of their flowers but the cost of the bulbs. Look in any catalog that sells martagons and you’ll see the prices are anything but demur. However, if you keep in mind that martagons are long-lived, low maintenance plants then the prices seem a bit more reasonable. 

But frankly, I think you just get hooked on martagons the way we gardeners get hooked on dozens of other plants and then the price sounds fine. I can’t imagine my garden without the red lacquered flowers of L. martagon “Claude Shride” (directly above) or “Mrs. R. O. Backhouse (all other photos),” which Old House Gardens describes as “soft amber-gold touched with pink and dotted with maroon.”  Their description is perfect and so is Mrs. Backhouse, who is quickly outperforming Claude — the result of a bit more sun, better soil and less root competition. 

Parts of this post appeared under my byline in a slightly different form in The Capital Times.

Peonies: Itoh or intersectional hybrids

Tree peonies (P. suffruticosa) have flowers that are so large and layered that they don't seem quite real to me. Like "dinnerplate" dahlias, their size has rendered them useless as an integral part of a garden or a bouquet. They steal the show in both instances.

The old-fashioned peonies (P. lactiflora) that have been growing at my house for the last 50 years have been shaded out by the tree canopy. That's less of a problem for me since I've started growing woodland or species peonies, which flower before the trees leaf out. At the other end of the peony season is my Itoh or intersectional hybrid peony, 'Border Charm,' which just finished blooming this week — done in by high temps and rain.   

These plants are the "result of crossing tree peonies, which have woody stems, and herbaceous peonies, which die back to the ground in winter," according to Klehm's Song Sparrow catalog; the source of my plant. The result of this cross-breeding is that Itoh peonies have the flowers and foliage of tree peonies but die back each year like the herbaceous peonies. The whole plant also tends to be hardier and smaller in stature.

'Border Charm,' for example is a compact plant that only gets about 24" in both height and width. Mine has certainly achieved that in the four years I've had it in the garden. Because of their smaller size, Itoah peonies can easily be incorporated into a perennial border; though I have mine growing as a specimen under a Ginkgo tree near the pond.

The Klehm catalog describes the flowers on 'Border Charm' as single, nodding blooms. I would say they have a layer or more of petals but tend to remain cup-shaped with a dramatic center (above). The flowers don't open out as much as some peonies and definitely not as much as traditional tree peonies. Until this year —  when the first flower to open showed its parentage (below). Whether it was the result of the age of the plant or the long cool Spring or a fluke, I can't say. The other flowers all fell prey to the weather before they had a chance to open wider than usual. So I have to wait until next year to see how they all perform.

 

When I bought my 'Border Charm' peony in 2005, Klehm was selling it for $45.00; now it's down to $39.95 for a 3-4-year-old plant. But that's a steal compared to the price of many of the Itoh peonies which cost up to $90 in the Klehm Song Sparrow catalog. On the other hand, Roger Anderson, an Itoh breeder from Fort Atkinson, has a new one going for $250, while Plant Delights Nursery is offering his introduction — 'Bartzella' — for $150. 

My garden odyssey: The Tea House rises

Episode XXX

HE SAID: I had read that, in early days, people living in areas prone to freeze/thaw cycles would build structures on foundations of dry set stone. The stones would move and shift with the seasons, and the building would float on top of all that activity.

I decided to adapt that approach using tumbled concrete pavers, both for their regularity and for the rustic look of the chipped edges and subtly varied color. I dug a foundation trench, including an outlet trench on the down hill corner for drainage. I packed the bottom with several inches of crushed limestone, and added four inch perforated drainage tubing along the perimeter.

In determining the dimensions of the tea house, I began with the size of the concrete blocks. I determined that I could lay a foundation 7' 7" X 9' 7" without any cutting. That meant that once I added a 4" X 4" frame on top, I would be left with a floor space of 7 X 9 feet. If I used 2 feet of that space for the Tokonoma (display area), I was left with a 7 foot square. If I made the ceiling 7 feet high, I would have an area for tea that was a perfect 7 foot cube! No, I'm not into numerology or anything; but the idea of being able to sit in a 7 foot cube and look out onto the pond while sipping tea (or bourbon, for that matter), pleased me very much.

With the foundation in place, I turned my attention to wood. I started with two 10 foot-long and two 8 foot-long 8" X 8" cedar timbers. I notched these in order to join them at the ends and to establish the locations for the floor joists and the upright members.

I had back-filled along the inside and outside of the foundation wall with pea gravel to facilitate drainage. The gravel on the interior of the foundation reminded me so much of a Zen garden that I couldn't resist adding an arrangement of small rocks. It is a secret garden that I am sharing with someone other than Linda for the first time.

Once the project was underway, I got into a rhythm of measuring, cutting, and hauling lumber back and forth between the tea house and the saw in the garage. I was working from a plan of sorts, but an awful lot of the building was made up as I went along. Problems I hadn't anticipated would crop up, often requiring modifications in my plan. But, before I knew it, I had the basic frame of the tea house in place and Winter was bearing down on us.

I added some temporary rafters and a tarp to keep the snow off, and wrapped the sides in plastic sheeting for additional protection from the elements until I could get back to work in the Spring.

There were things I had to do before I could add the roof. The overhang at the front and back of the structure was such that it would need additional support. The previous Fall I had purchased five large stones to arrange as stepping stones and support stones in front of the entrance. There was also a large cut-granite block to function as the front step to the tea house. I drove the stones home in my truck without giving any real thought to how I would get them to the tea house. They were too heavy to pull up the hill, even with a dolly.

I imposed upon the generosity of the neighbor behind us once more. From his house, it was all down hill to my yard. We slid the stones off the truck using wooden ramps and onto a sled cobbled together out of plywood and rope. We dragged the stones down to the fence gate where they waited as patiently as rocks can wait for Spring.

But my problems weren't over yet. I still had to get them across the stream. I managed this with a combination of PVC pipe rollers and more plywood. The trouble with working alone, is that I frequently forget to take pictures. I think you would have enjoyed seeing that little engineering project.

As with almost everything involving the garden, the roof took longer and was more complicated than I would have imagined. I wanted it to look attractive not only from the outside, but also looking up at it from the inside. That meant that the pattern of the supports for the shingles had to be both functional and appealing. It also meant that I had to use a variety of nail lengths, depending on the number and thickness of the shingles, in order to keep any nails from showing on the inside.

A small miscalculation meant that the roof and a tree insisted on occupying the same space. I built the roof around the tree, although it may not be all that many years before the opening will have to be enlarged. With any luck that will be a problem someone else will have to solve. 

Many years ago my doctor told me that I was genetically prone to hernia. He was right. I've had four! They tend to develop gradually, with subtle symptoms that one wants to ignore; and for a while you can. Eventually, however they become unmistakable. That was the case while installing the roof. I think hauling those bundles of shingles up the hill and then up the ladder to the roof was what really pushed things along.

The roof got finished and the surgery was a success — laparoscopy this time, very cool. 

Everything, as I've said, takes longer than you plan. I managed to make some progress on the carpentry details last summer, but family obligations meant that I wasn't able to begin filling in the walls with stucco. And so far this season, I've been lucky to keep up with basic maintenance chores. But it's still only June, and with any luck we'll have a long beautiful Fall to continue working. In the meantime, even in it's unfinished state, the tea house is a welcome shelter in our garden.