Each Little World

Fall color

Labor Day has come and gone and local schools, including UW-Madison, are all back in session. Which is another way of saying that it's Fall — and time to participate in the monthly Garden Bloggers Design Workshop over at Gardening Gone Wild. 

Nan Ondra has written and illustrated an inspirational opening post to get our garden juices flowing on the subject of The Garden in Fall. But if you've been reading Each Little World recently, you'll know we're enjoying a green spell in the garden — regardless of the calendar.

 

It's been cool enough to keep the moss on the mill stone — and the rock it's resting on (above) — growing lushly; but not cold enough to color the big, flashy Bergenia leaves as yet. Fall is the season for grasses with their waving inflorescences, but I don't have enough sun for most of them; so I favor Carex (sedges) instead. However, I pulled the seedheads off of this Carex sylvarica earlier in the season, because I've discovered it is a thuggish re-seeder. If I'm vigilant at that job, then I can enjoy its presence in the garden. This Carex is also a very healthy grower. I originally planted a group of three when one would have done the job in this location. 

One of my Fall favorites is Annabelle Hydrangea which Mark captured on a windy day (above). The huge mophead flowers persist through the winter becoming more bleached every day, until they finally blow away in the spring. It's always a tough decision whether to leave them on for winter interest in the garden or cut them now and turn them into a wreath for winter interest at the front door.

The Hydrangea hedge is growing in the shade of two 50-year-old Macintosh apple trees. We don't spray these trees or do any of the necessary work (other than an annual winter pruning) to harvest edible apples. We enjoy the cloud of apple blossoms in the Spring and let the green apples fall onto the moss below at summer's end.

Though it was never a conscious plan, it is clear from the following photos that my early Fall garden is filled with flowers that are subtle in both size and color. The dramatic show of reds and golds comes later when the trees turn. For now, I'm more than satisfied with the soft shades provided by yellow wax bells: Kirengeshoma Koreana (above) and K. palmata (below).

The only difference between the two shrubby plants, whose leaves resemble maples, are the flowers. Both have a form similar to a shuttlecock; but the flowers face outward on Koreana and downward on palmata.

Still putting on a show are the yellow waterliles in the pond. Though there are only a few flowering on any given day at this time of year, they still light up the pond. The water baby's breath, at the edge of the pond, has faded and fallen and is about to disappear entirely.

What is fall without sedums? This one (above) is as delicately colored as the pink fall anemone (below) in the bed bordering the driveway. But if you are not familiar with Anemone 'September Charm,' it's important to note that this plant looks delicate but is as tough as nails and will move through a bed taking over all available space if you don't keep it under control.

Most of my toad lilies barely have buds showing yet. They flower just before the first frost in a good year. Tricyrtis hirta ''Tojen' is an exception (below) and is in full bloom right now. I put in three plants about four years ago and they look like a shrub, the clump is so massive. The leaves are wonderfully glossy and the flowers look like orchids. Does not self-seed.

This aster (below) has no label in my files so I can say nothing about it other than it is a good four feet tall and currently a bee magnet. It's pale lavender blue and wants to flop where I have it planted due to lack of sun. It's getting enough sun to flower but not enough to be very sturdy. Next year I will cut it back early in the season to keep it a more manageable height.

The tag for this second aster (below) merely says "hardy aster" with no cultivar name — very annoying. But a nice size at only 12-18" tall. Both asters were intentionally planted near the Japanese anemone to emphasize the pastel color scheme.

Clumps of Cimicifuga racemosa 'Brunette' (snakeroot or bugbane, below) are in different stages of bloom throughout the garden. I grow them for the purplish leaves as much as the pink-tinted flowers. They also offer a contrasting shape to so many of the composite flowers of late summer and fall. A plant that's interesting in bud, bloom and seed stages.

Allium senescens 'Glaucum' is in the same border as the asters and Japanese anemone. That means its small lavender globes contribute to the color scheme; but I really grow this plant for its swirled rosette of blue-gray leaves that make an attractive groundcover at the front of the border. The flowers are a brief bonus.

This pond-side plant is one of the few bright tints in the garden this early in the season. Star fruit (Penthorum seloides) can actually grow in water up to a depth of four inches. It's about 18" tall. Though this has a tendency to seed, it doesn't travel far and it is recognizable as even the tiniest seedling, making it easy to pull it out wherever you don't want it.

In a month — maybe less — the maples will have the garden ablaze with color. In the meantime, whenever the view seems too soft and sweet, I only need to look through the fence to find a bright fall display in my neighbor's garden.

Making shade

A few years ago we lost a 50-year-old crabapple tree. This was not a dwarf but a big old tree that was home to a group of mature shade plants. Plants that were too happy and healthy — and too big — to move, even if there was a spot for them elsewhere in the garden. We replaced the crab with a multi-trunk Pagoda dogwood that is already a significant presence. What it isn't, however, is a significant source of shade for most of the plants around it.

Last year, my Kirengeshoma palmata started to fry in the hot, sunny and dry days of July. The leaves burned, and the flower buds dried up. Watering it helped, but wasn't enough to keep it from turning into a poor copy of itself. This month — with half the usual July rainfall — it looked like the Kirengeshoma was going to suffer the same fate. 

At four feet high and about five feet across, Kirengeshoma is more shrub than perennial. Though the canopy of the new dogwood is teasingly touching the plant's edges, it's not enough to keep the Kirengeshoma lush and lovely. So I created my own shade at the critical moment. I decided if a big umbrella could protect me from sunburn, it could do the same for the plant. 

I unearthed this umbrella, of unknown origin, from the basement. Made of heavily waxed paper, it lets some light through but deflects the harsh noontime rays of the sun. I stuck the handle in a big ceramic jar to keep it in place — and, voila! Instant sunshade. I've protected the plant on and off for almost a month. This last week has brought cooler temperatures, clouds and, yesterday, even some rain. The Kirengeshoma is covered with fat buds about to open. Soon I'll be able to close up my sun screen, sit back, and enjoy the show. 

Summer solstice

This may be the official first day of summer, but summer arrived here one week ago today. It was the kind of perfect day you dream about deep in winter: sunny and warm with enough of a breeze to keep the leaves softly rustling and the mosquitoes at bay. I spent it at a baby shower held on a farm in the country not far outside of Madison — surrounded by old stone walls, good food, horses, dogs, prairie grass, and of course, old friends. Meanwhile Mark was in a different part of countryside checking out all our potter friends at the annual Cambridge Pottery Festival. He snapped this photo which perfectly captured the mood of the day.

This may be the official first day of summer, but what's been noteworthy about its arrival this year is the endless Spring that preceded it. We've had an occasional day where the temps shot up into the high 70s pushing the blooming forward; but mostly it's been cool with plenty of rain and soft, cloudy light. It's been hell if you're trying to get tomatoes started, but heavenly otherwise. My rhodie — which had a record 17 flowers last year — had just under 50 this year. The 'Guernsey Cream' clematis had maybe a dozen blossoms last year; 40 this year. It's like the garden has been on steroids (weeds, too). 

This may be the official first day of summer, but I'm still celebrating Spring. The bouquets I made last weekend continue to hold pride of place indoors today. They're not composed of the Astilbes or Astrantias that are coming into bloom. Instead, I'm honoring the last blissful remnants of the stars of the Spring garden: The metallic gold seedheads of the Guernsey Cream clematis (above) and the glazed seed pods of peony 'Burnished Bronze' (below, along with leaves of Hechera 'Pewter Veil,' Cimicifuga 'Brunette,' and Geranium phaeum 'Samobor').

This may be the official first day of summer, but I've gardened for enough seasons to know that nothing is ever the same in the garden. You can't count on enjoying the same pairings of plants blooming together or your favorite shrub or vine producing more flowers each successive year. Change and uncertainty are what make gardening so frustrating and so enjoyable at the same time. During all these gorgeous Spring days, when others were clamoring for warmer weather, I reveled in the long slow unfolding of the season. I marveled at the lushness of the flowers and the length of blooming. I made myself stop — over and over again — to enjoy this special Spring, knowing I will never see another one quite like it.

My garden odyssey: To build a fence (part two)

Episode XXVII

HE SAID: I resumed work early the next Spring, the third season of construction on the fence. I had considered making the covered entrance more elaborate than the roof over the fence itself by curving it, adding a more elaborate ridge board, or adding other decorative features. In the end, I decided to keep it very simple and proportionate to the rest of the fence.

I added this recent photo (below) to illustrate the adage that change is the only constant. Squirrels have begun to do their best to destroy my good work from the inside out. Why they feel the need to gnaw on the cedar is a mystery to me. I've thought it might have something to do with grooming their teeth, but I don't really know. I can't imagine that they derive any nutrition from the wood. If you have any thoughts on why they do it or how to stop them, let me know.

The next element I tackled was the gate itself. There were some technical challenges that had to be worked out in the design. I wanted to imbed the hinges within the gate to keep it looking the same from both sides, but the placement of the rails in the fence limited where I could install the hinges.

The top hinge had to be located higher on the gate post than I had wanted, but the gate didn't have to be the same height all the way across. By changing the height I created a design that mimicked a Japanese sleeve fence. In the end, a limitation created an opportunity that I would not have come up with on my own.

I added a sliding wooden bolt that could be operated from either side of the gate and then added a fitted block of wood to act as a lock to keep little Elizabeth out. Her parents, however, could reach over and "unlock" the gate any time they wanted to stop by.

On a final, whimsical note, we carved an inscription in the gate. It was a pair Chinese characters we had copied from a sign in a Japanese garden in Seattle. It says: "Exit."

I designed the gate for the west side of our garden with a more robust character to match the wide staggered board fence through which it would allow access. I lightened the effect a little by adding slender bamboo verticals between the boards. This gate also looks the same from either side.

Finally, I had to find a solution to the corner occupied by the utility pole where two dissimilar fences failed to meet. I wanted another gate because we had often used this corner of the yard as a passage to another neighbor's. And I didn't want to simply bridge the gap on a diagonal. I thought it would look jarring in an otherwise rectangular space.

I solved the problem with this two-panel, double-hinged gate which is held in place with a bolt that drops into a pipe driven into the ground.

We've enjoyed the fence for several years now and find that it adds something special to the view in any season. It's especially lovely in the winter because of the way it holds the snow. Our intent was always to design and build a garden that looked good from the house throughout the year, and that meant that it had to have strong bones, as they say.

I think that one of the things the fence does, the covered gate especially, is to provide a sense of scale. We intuitively compare the other elements of the garden to the person-sized opening in the fence giving us both an indication of the size of things in the garden and the distances between them.

In the last photo you can see the way the fence and gate interrupt our vision, keeping our attention within the garden instead of moving back to our neighbor's house. 

The fence ended up costing us about $3500 in materials and many hours of time to design and construct. But I honestly believe it was worth every penny and all the effort.

To read the history of our gardens and the various aspects of designing and building them, click on My Garden Odyssey in the categories list. Click on the pictures to enlarge them so you can see the details.

April's rugged beauties

Too damp and cold to garden and, yes, it is snowing — for the second Sunday in a row! Less snow this time — at least so far. But the wind is picking up and temps are falling. Predicted overnight low is 24 degrees.

I decided not to cover up any plant, no matter how far along it might be. Last year, I made instant row covers (apple hoops and sheets of plastic) and used wastepaper baskets to cover plants in mid-April when we had a big snowstorm. 

I decided that I need to see what these plants can take and the only way to discover the answer is to take a chance on them freezing, losing buds, dying, looking ugly, and whatever else may happen. At the moment they look quite pretty with their coating of freezing frosting.

Pictures (from the top): 1, 2 Hellebores; 3,4 snowdrops; 5 Crocus chrysanthus 'Snow Bunting'; 6,7 Crocus tommasinianus; 8,9 tulips; 10,11 Iris reticulata 'Harmony.'

The power of the ordinary

When I look at the entries in my hand-written garden journals that cover the months from the beginning of cold weather to the arrival of warmer days, there's usually very little noted. And yet something is always changing right outside the window, whether I'm paying attention or not. Observing those changes — and consistently noting and recording them — is how we learn about the natural world. It even has a name: phenology. It's the branch of science that studies natural events that recur periodically in relation to seasonal and climate change. 

Here in Wisconsin, the most well-known practitioner of phenology was Aldo Leopold, whose findings were detailed in his "Sand County Almanac." Leopold kept meticulous records of seasonal events such as the dates of bird migrations and the flowering of certain plants. Nearly three decades after Leopold's death, his daughter, Nina Leopold Bradley, and her husband, Charlie Bradley, moved back to the Sand County farm and resumed keeping the phenological records.

As a result they wound up with two sets of data spanning almost 70 years, which gave them a personal look at how the seasons have changed in Wisconsin. The data from Leopold's shack — coupled with data about the ice melt from Lake Mendota in Madison recorded by the University of Wisconsin's limnology department — have shown state trends consistent with global warming. Though phenology can show such major changes, the record-keeping process can be as simple — or as complex — as you want. 

In one of the newsletters from the Aldo Leopold Foundation, Nina says the Leopolds discovered that phenology and record keeping were "in our roots," and it became a way of life. In addition, she says those observations coupled with record keeping "slowly sensitized us to the land and our relationship with it." As Leopold himself noted, "Keeping records enhances the pleasure of the search and the chance of finding order and meaning in these events."

Aldo Leopold observing nature at "the Shack," near Baraboo, Wisconsin. (UW Collections)

One of the best ways to begin keeping your own phenology records is with the work-and-activity book put out by the UW-Madison Arboretum. "My Nature Journal: Explorations of the Natural World Using Phenology," a spiral-bound volume by Cheryl Lyn Bauer and Miguela Smith Fry, explains phenology in simple language and charming illustrations. It’s intended for children but will help anyone figure out how and where to start. I have a copy and love it. My journals tend to be filled with haphazard bits of information and it's not easy to compare sets of data. This little book makes it easy to keep consistent and simple records.

The book has a two-page spread for every month. The left page gets you started by suggesting what you might look for. There's room for about 15 entries, along with a place to note the date. The facing page tells you about what's happening that month and provides a list of tips. There's also space for drawings, photos and artwork.

The book has space to record "firsts" and "lasts" for each season. The fall/winter possibilities include first fire in your fireplace, first ice fishing shacks on the lakes (a big marker in Wisconsin), first snow day when school is canceled (four in Madison this winter; two for snow and two for cold). 

There are pages for information garnered on hikes, tree statistics and leaves you've gathered as well as room for maps of your favorite wild places during each season. And there's a reading list (for children and their grown-ups) as well as Web sites with phenology information so you can become as involved with this subject as you wish.

No matter how simple or complex your observations, if you're a phenologist in Wisconsin you're not alone in your work. And you can connect your observations to that larger network by joining the 50-year-old Wisconsin Phenological Society. You can download pdf’s of their Phenology Guide and Data Reporting Form as well as find information on joining the organization. Annual dues are $2 (!) while $50 will get you a lifetime membership. 

Parts of this post were previously published under my byline in The Capital Times.

Winter weekend afternoon

The snowstorm that was supposed to hit us mid-week pretty much fizzled. So I didn't pay much attention Friday when a friend e-mailed to cancel our planned museum meet-up this afternoon. She was probably a lot less surprised than I was when I looked out the window this morning. 

Not only was it snowing heavily, there was quite a lot on the ground already. The deck, the stone walls and the green spots that had appeared around the base of various trees and shrubs in the garden during the recent thaw were all under a blanket of snow again. 

But there's nothing more lovely than a snowy day when you don't have to work. Even better, when you don't have to leave the house for any reason. We had everything on hand we could possibly need. We'd hit the library to pick-up some DVDs yesterday. And stopped at the bookstore to use our 40% off coupon on a new book on Japanese gardens (!). The fridge and freezer were full. 

We loafed and lazed and looked at the views out every window. It was an almost perfect day — until we realized there was one reason we had to go out.

Cold climate roses

It's so cold here that it's hard to think about much else at the moment. So it may seem surprising that I've got roses on my mind. Not just any roses, of course: cold climate roses. 

And none are more cold hardy than Canadian roses, both the Parkland series developed at Morden, Manitoba and the Explorer series originally hybridized at Ottowa, Ontario. In 1990, the Chicago Botanic Garden began six years of evaluating these roses. The results were compiled in a wonderful CBG evaluation report that you can download.

The Explorer series are, obviously, named after Canadian explorers. Wisconsinites learn about a few of them, like Marquette and Joliet, by default due to their Midwestern connections. But we name schools and prisons after them; never roses.

 

HENRY HUDSON EXPLORER ROSE

No, I learned about Canadian explorers via other channels: the "Simply Folk" program broadcast on Wisconsin Public Radio on Sunday nights. I'll never forget the first time I heard their names uttered by the late Stan Rogers in his a cappella song, "Northwest Passage," a paen to those early adventurers.

Rogers' song is considered a classic in Canadian music history and Stephen Harper, Prime Minister of Canada, has called it the "unofficial Canadian anthem." It is a song about the search for self as much as for the mythic "Northwest Passage;" of men defeated by hubris as much as by weather.

It's a timeless, moving tale that almost brings me to tears every time I hear it. This CBC program on the Arctic features the song's first verse and memorable chorus — sung in Stan Rogers' inimitable voice. 

Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage

To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea;

Tracing one warm line through a land so wide and savage

And make a northwest passage to the sea.

Westward from the Davis Strait 'tis there 'twas said to lie

The sea route to the Orient for which so many died;

Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered broken bones

And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones.

The Explorer roses may bloom during the long, hot days of June, but it's in these dark, frigid days of January that I think on them and their namesakes. Not just the men mentioned by name in Stan Rogers' son — John Franklin, Henry Kelsey, Alexander Mackenzie and David Thompson — but all the intrepid northern pioneers memorialized with a rose. 

If you are a trivia junkie, here is a quiz about Canadian explorers and their roses. 

This picture, from the Alaska Image Library, showing ice in the Beaufort Sea, gives little sense of the dangers faced by polar explorers. I always see the "hand of Franklin" clutching the blood red rose named after him. Its color so hot it could trace the "one warm line" that Rogers sings about.

As for the Henry Hudson rose pictured above: Hudson is known to most Americans as the first European to ascend the Hudson River which is named after him. Hudson and his ship spent the winter of 1610/11 frozen in ice drifts in what is today known as Hudson Bay. Hudson, his son and a crew of seven all died after being set adrift by the remaining sick, starved and mutinous crew the following summer. The lovely Canadian Explorer cold-hardy rose, named for Hudson, perhaps offers us a subtle clue to his icy end. 

Weekly weather watch

My unofficial snow gauge — the height of the piled up snow on my garden bench — has been up and down in this dizzying week of Wisconsin winter weather. A warm spell almost cleared the driveway and the deck furniture of snow but it was a short lived respite.

Here's the view Sunday, Dec. 14: 

Wednesday, Dec. 17 the gauge (below) was climbing again with the snow making long triangular prisms on the bench slats. The depressions in the table in front of it are deceptive since the table is made of two long boards with a narrow space between them. The pattern suggests there are two openings but it always looks slightly different depending on how fast the snow falls, how wet it is and if it is windy out. 

The big storm that was forecast for Friday (Dec. 19) arrived right on schedule around midnight. By about 12:45 a.m., snow was coming down very quickly and there was a strong wind blowing. You can just make out the sharp edges of the deck and our little Buddha at the base of our big honey locust tree (below).

Here's Buddha (below) this afternoon about 1 p.m. after we came in from a good two hours of snow blowing and shoveling our driveway. 

WINTER COUNT

If you live in Madison and are wondering how much snow we got and how we compare with last year at this time, here's the answers based on my notes in last year's garden journal.

By this date in December, 2007, we were at 20 inches of snow for the season. Yesterday morning we were at 20.7 inches. Overnight we received 10.3 inches in Madison according to the NWS at Truax Field. That puts us at 31 inches — well ahead of last year's total at this same time. 

We received 30 inches of snow during the entire month of December in 2007. Since that was our snowiest December on record, it would seem we are well on our way to tying — if not breaking — that record. Especially as snow is forecast for both Saturday and Monday evening. I'll keep you posted.

Because of the wind, last night's snow isn't very deep on the bench (above) but piled up in dips and swoops instead. 

Shopping and shoveling

My Christmas shopping may just have gotten a whole lot easier. When it's shopping vs. snow, I learned long ago that snow always comes out on top — and all around you. You can't live in this climate without starting your shopping early or having a Plan B. I did the former and now it looks like I may have to do the later as well.

A whopper of a storm has just started with snow currently falling at the rate of two inches an hour and winds that are expected be gusting up to 30 miles an hour while I'm tucked up in my bed. The snow should taper off sometime Friday morning. But with 8-10 inches predicted, it's going to take a session with the snow blower as well as some serious shoveling to even get our driveway passable. More snow is predicted for Saturday night into Sunday morning and Monday night into Tuesday night.

The good news is the weather should be clear for Christmas Eve and Christmas day gatherings. The better news is that my husband and I both planned to be home today and Saturday so we can ignore the weather until we're ready to hit the driveway with all the energy we've got. 

The best news is that I only have a few presents left to buy and the same gift will work for most of those still on my list: the 14th annual Madison Area Master Gardeners 2009 Wisconsin Garden Journal.

The theme of this year’s calendar/datebook/garden journal is gardening for the senses. The MAMG Journal includes information on how to create gardens that appeal to all five senses but it offers much more: monthly gardening tips, beautiful images, space to record weather information, seed and plant inventories. I've written articles for past issues and my husband has contributed photos because we appreciate the mix of aesthetics and practicality. 

In addition to being a beautiful and useful gift, it’s locally produced as well as aimed at local gardeners. But since it covers USDA Zones 3-5, it works for almost anyone who's gardening in the upper Midwest in those zones — like you, perhaps? What's nice about this gift is that since it's a weekly engagement calendar, it works for almost anyone — even if they're not really that into gardening. But for someone who's trying to learn or wants more information, it's an especially valuable gift.

It’s available in a huge number of bookstores and garden centers from Madison to Spring Green to Kenosha to Hudson, so you should be able to find it without a long drive. Or you can order it directly from the MAMG.