A year ago, I was posting about Sandy and sharing photos from my local community here on Long Island. A year ago, I organized a three-day, school-wide bake sale and food drive for local communities.
For most people, a year has made a difference. In my world, Nana’s tree (below), which was badly damaged in the storm, has been cut down and removed.
Changing leaves and cooling temperatures can only mean one thing. It’s time to complete the saving process. By now, elephant ears and canna have been drying out for about a week — and now I have to get them ready for their long winter’s nap.
The final step is pretty much the same for both elephant ears and canna. You will need peat moss, some kind of storage containers (like brown paper bags), a shovel, and a room that stays relatively dry and evenly cool so that the plants can be lulled into a deep sleep without freezing. If the final storage location is too damp or warm, the plants never get a chance to rest and they are at risk of rotting away — and after so much work getting to this point, that would be a shame.
I’ve had to make a difficult decision this year about my collection of canna. What started with a few corms has, over the years, become an overwhelming amount of plants — even after giving corms away. And the increase in plants also means an increase in labor, and I’m reaching a point (for several reasons) where I have to cut back. So, I’ve decided to not save canna and to instead start fresh next year. In the meantime, though, I thought it was still important to repost the steps that I’ve followed to keep the canna coming.
The October weather has been strange. There was a moment when it felt like autumn, but then it became more mild and humid — and so I let my tropicals stay in the ground. But how much longer will I be able to get away with that? At some point, it will become cooler and frost will arrive — and these tropicals need to be stored for the winter.
This will be my weekend project — and since I’ll be a bit busy, I thought it was the perfect time to re-visit a previous post that chronicles the process. Up first are the elephant ears.
Let’s be honest. Gardening is fun — but is it always a good time? Is there anything about gardening — like certain chores, for example — that isn’t enjoyable? Anyone care to share?
Okay, I’ll go first.
I’ll begin with my second to least favorite chore because that will lead quite nicely to my absolute least favorite. I despise trimming shrubs. I’ve done it, of course, usually with one of those old-fashioned handheld clippers. No power tools for me.
Apparently, though, I learned how to trim from the same school where my father was taught how to cut my sister’s bangs when she was a kid. First, you cut this way — but it looks uneven. Then you cut again. Still uneven. And so on and so on — eventually leaving my sister with a row of fringe at the start of her hairline.
Mum is actually just one of the words that comes to mind this weekend. The other word is menopause.
The calendar says October, but the tenth month seems to be experiencing an August-worthy hot flash. The heat and humidity combined with the fall colors, as well as a rain deficit here, feels a little odd — but it hasn’t stopped the mums from doing their thing.
Nor did it stop this gardener from taking a walk with his camera.
“I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house.”
— Nathaniel Hawthorne, The American Notebooks
Now that the new school year has started, reading — both books and blogs — is one of those joys that get pushed aside. But I’ve decided to make the effort. That’s why I picked up Colm Toibin’s The Testament of Mary, a short book that tackles a very big subject: the latter years of the Blessed Mother.
In between her recollections of her actions during her Son’s life, there was one passage that jumped from the page, a paragraph that captured me at this change of seasons.
“I do not often leave the house. I am careful and watchful; now that the days are shorter and the nights are cold, when I look out the windows I have begun to notice something that surprises me and holds me. There is a richness in the light. It is as if, in becoming scarce, in knowing that it has less time to spread its gold over where we are, it lets loose something more intense, something that is filled with shivering clarity.”
Why was Mary staying in the house? Why was light so important to her? Could it be that Mary suffered from Seasonal Affect Disorder, also known as SAD? I know I do. When the sun goes down, my SAD goes up.
It’s been a week since a flock of grackles descended in the trees around my home and unleashed a hailstorm of acorns. I have since learned that acorns are one of the species’ culinary favorites, especially as the iridescent birds begin their migration south.
That being said, they aren’t very neat or efficient eaters. In fact, I don’t think the ’80s band A Flock of Seagulls could have caused this much of a mess in their hotel room, not even during the height of their popularity.
Seven days since their arrival — that’s seven days filled with more grackles, squirrels, and wind — the driveway and path looked as if they were the end-result of some slapstick comedy routine — you know, the one where an innocent passerby (me, for example) slips on some casually placed marbles (or acorns, as the case may be), so that the prankster (or grackle) can have a few laughs.
At this time of year, as the garden tumbles into autumn colors in preparation for its winter sleep, it’s difficult to not search out garden photos — whether of my own garden, the gardens of other bloggers, or especially gardens of the past.
It’s in those old photos, the kind that give a peek into a moment in time, that the questions start to swirl. What plants did they select and why? Where was the best spot to view the garden? What were the scents and aromas? The sounds? Who tended the beds? What tools did they use?
Enter The Victorian Garden (Shire Publications), a fact-filled and image-rich book by Caroline Ikin. Beautifully crafted, the book not only offers a clear explanation of Victorian garden style and history, it also celebrates the Victorian gardeners and their innovations — accomplished through Ikin’s skill at bringing readers along as she steps through the garden gate.
Recently, I had the chance to ask Caroline Ikin about her book, the Victorians, and life in her own garden.
Hydrangea blooms fading away.
I stepped outside this morning and I could see my breath. Clearly, summer left the building — or at the very least, it left the garden. Almost immediately, I began singing Lana Del Rey’s smash, “Summertime Sadness” — or, rather, just the chorus: “I’ve got that summertime, summertime sadness, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh.”
I’ve actually been a little melancholy over the past few days. Maybe it was the 9/11 anniversary. Maybe it’s the start of another school year. And maybe it does have to do with the change in weather. While the cooler weather signals the time to clean and store terra cotta pots, elephant ears, and canna — as well as myself — for the winter months, there is something else on my mind.
Nitty Gritty Dirt Man 