Bloomin’ Update 13: A Walk In The Clouds


A cloud fell from the sky last night.  I’m not sure when it actually happened, since it was crystal clear when I went to sleep.  This morning, when I looked out of the window, I had to wonder, “Am I dreaming?”

Fog has a way of playing games with you.  That might be why I love it so much.  Ordinary objects become fuzzy.  Landscapes become otherworldly.  With imagination, I can be anywhere: my backyard or a Transylvanian woods.  Like snow, fog seems to muffle sound and makes you feel as if you’re the only person alive.  As I went exploring, I could hear the random drip of melting ice crystals, their misty evaporation rising into the air.  And as the sun warmed the atmosphere, the fog left and everything — including me — returned to it’s usual state of being. 

I hope these photos offer a glimpse of the gauzy wonder that was a Sunday morning fog in late November.

 
 

 
 
 

Bloomin’ Update 12: Bedazzled & Be-blogged


I always thought I knew my garden, knew all of its ins and outs.  I have learned otherwise since starting this blog.  Now, I find myself looking at the garden more deeply, always thinking of the next post.  In fact, post obsession occupies most of my daily thoughts since I promised myself that I would post twice a week.  Could I possibly write that much, especially at this time of year when so much of the garden is leaving or already gone?

That was the thought I had the other day when I pulled into the driveway, the posting question planted firmly in the forefront of my brain.  It had been a rainy, gray day — and as I sat in my car, I looked about and I was stunned.  My garden had been transformed into a shimmering display of rubies and amber,  garnet and topaz.  The next day, the sun came out, and when I looked about again, I discovered that my rainy day vision had not been a dream. 

Red and Gold, part 1.

Weeping Dogwood.

Beneath the outer leaves of the Weeping Dogwood, other leaves were making the change.

It's a wonder what a little frost will do to Hosta.

Azalea.

The Climbing Hydrangea has never bloomed. Just leaves.

Japanese Maple

Euonymus "Burning Bush" is on fire.

Red and Gold, Part 2

 

 

Saving Elephant Ears & Canna — Part 2


For the sake of saving time, I thought I would combine the final packing practice for Canna and Elephant Ears.  Besides, I don’t think I can actually type the words Canna and Elephant Ears one more time.

The process is pretty much the same for both plants.  You will need peat moss, some kind of storage container (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.

Step 1: Where Canna are concerned, I double up two brown paper bags and label the outside.  I then put a shovel or two of peat moss in the bottom of the bag so the corms have a nesting area.

Step 2: I then place the corms (stem and all) into the bag.

Step 3: I tend to really pack the bags.  I’m not sure if this is correct, but it’s likely that I do this for the sake of space, since I have so many corms to pack away.  Once the bag is full, I then add more peat moss to the bag, shaking the bag so that the peat moss settles and covers the corms.

Step 4: Finally, I have something that looks like this.

Now for the Elephant Ears.  Last year, I stored the Elephant Ear bulbs in a plastic crate lined with a plastic bag.  I’m not sure if this had to do with my loss of energy and wanting to finish the task, needing to save space, or just running out of bags.  Either way, it worked.   By the way, don’t be surprised if your Elephant Ears have continued to grow since you dug them up.

Step 1: Once the crate is lined with a plastic bag, add a few shovels of peat moss into it to give the bulbs a place to rest.

Step 2: Load the Elephant Ear bulbs (stem and all) into the peat moss-filled crate.  Again, I tend to pack a lot in there.  Then add peat moss to cover the bulbs.

Step 3: Ultimately, this is what I am left with.  All that’s left to do now is carry everything into its Safe Room.

The Final Step: Here is the Safe Room — a cement bunker/bomb shelter hidden behind Joe’s  closet in the bedroom.  Now, anyone who knows me or who has read previous posts understands that I have an active imagination.  As my summer plants continue to live, enclosed behind the closet, my mind races back and forth between Edgar Allen Poe’s Fall of the House of Usher and the classic sci-fi film Invasion of the Body Snatchers.  So far, the Safe Room is protecting Joe and me.  So far. . .

Saving Canna — Part 1


Now that the Elephant Ears are out of the ground, it’s time to turn my attention to the Canna forest that is my yard.  The truth is, I never intended to have a Canna forest — things just got out of hand over the years as corms grew and became easy to divide, or I found new leaf patterns or bloom colors and I thought I needed to have three of each. 

I live in Zone 6 and I have tried to overwinter some Canna in the ground, but I have had no success.  I’ve mulched them and planted them along the south-facing side of the house, but to no avail.  So whether you have a few stalks or a forest, this is what you will need if you live in a northern climate and would like to save your Canna for future summers: garden clippers, shovel or pitchfork, stamina.

Step 1: For the sake of this demonstration, I dug the Canna first.  You could also trim the stalk and then dig out the corm.  Either way, pry up the plant, being careful to not damage the corm with your garden tool.

 

 

 

  

Step 2: Leave about 8″ – 10″ of stalk.  Actually, Canna can grow quite large, so for ease of trimming, it might make more sense to leave the corms in the ground, cut the stalks, and then dig out the plant.

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

Step 3: As sad as it is to do this job, there is a thrill each time I remove a corm from the ground.  See that white bulbous shape and the group of purple-tinged tips peaking through the roots?  That’s where next year’s growth will occur.  Ah — the promise of next year’s garden!  By the way, this is also a good time to remove any excess dirt.  Don’t divide the corms; that’s a task that’s safer to do in the spring when you unpack them from their hibernation location.     

Step 4: After the corms are out of the ground, I keep them in the potting shed for about a week.  The setting is warm enough for them to dry a bit before packing away, but not so hot that they cook.  Since I have several varieties, I group them in large plastic containers.  I also store them upside down — mostly because my gardening bible, Better Homes and Gardens Complete Guide to Gardening, recommends doing that.  I’m not sure of the reason, but I do as I’m told — and my gardening good book has never failed me. 

Next Post: Saving Elephant Ears and Saving Canna — Part 2.

 

 

Saving Elephant Ears — Part 1


With frost rapidly approaching, it’s time to remove my tender Elephant Ears and prepare them for winter storage.  My method is something that I have adapted over the years, and it’s based on what I’ve learned after saving dahlias and caladium.

What you will need: garden clippers, a pitchfork or shovel, old clothes, nerves of steel.

Step 1: The first thing to do is cut back the stems.  I try to leave about 8″ to 10″ of stem.  No matter how many times I have done this, I always feel a little guilty because the leaves have reached their fullest.  But, alas, all good things must come to an end.  Do not be surprised if there is a gush of water that pours from the stalk after you make your cut.

Step 2: After the stalks are cut, within minutes they begin to “bleed.”  If you decide to try this project, be sure to wear old clothes — the brown/red liquid will stain and it does not come out in the wash.  I learned this the hard way, and now I have my Elephant Ear cutting outfit.

Step 3: Using the pitchfork, I carefully work in a circle, prying up the bulb.  Once it feels loose, I gently pull the base upward, revealing the bulb and the wild mass of roots.  At this point, I will shake off the excess dirt.  You may notice that your main bulb might have smaller bulbs attached.  Do not separate these at this time — that task will be much easier in the spring when you replant your bulb.

Step 4: Here we have pretty Elephant Ears all lined up in a row.  Once the plants are dug, I store them for a little more than a week in the potting shed.  It’s warm enough and dry enough for the bulbs to set before they are packed away.

Stay tuned for a future post on the final step.

Book Review: 1493


When children recite, “Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?” perhaps a more appropriate question would be, “From where does your garden grow?”  That’s the question I ‘m asking myself this Columbus Day weekend after reading the best-selling new book 1493: Uncovering the New World Columbus Created, by Charles C. Mann.  This meticulously researched book examines the world after Columbus set foot in North America. 

While Columbus certainly has his critics, there can be no mistaking that his arrival in the New World placed the entire world on the globalization frontier.  The author’s position is that much of what we enjoy today can be traced back to what he calls the Columbian Exchange, a means of moving plants and seeds and animals from one part of the world to another part.  It is why, for example, that tomatoes arrived in Italy and citrus arrived in Florida.  So much of what we take for granted wasn’t always so; and much of it would not be if Columbus had not set the process in motion. 

I myself am a bit of a mutt: English, Scottish, German, French, and Italian.  My paternal ancestors arrived in North America in 1675; my maternal great-grandfather entered through Ellis Island.  While this is my gene pool, I wonder just how diverse and worldly is my garden? 

Thanks to the Internet and Google, I learned that what I plant has traveled a long way to be planted.  In fact, my garden could be a lesson for world leaders seeking peace.   Although it heavily favors Asia and Central and South Americas, there is little conflict in plants from many lands successfully sharing common ground.   (Note to self: bring Australia into the mix, but wait until full-out global warming for Antarctica to come into bloom.) 

And to think my melting pot only took 518 years — and still counting — to plant. 

Happy Columbus Day — and enjoy the weekend in the garden.

Not-So-Wordless Wednesday: My Roots Are Showing


This is the end result of a day spent digging and removing Elephant Ears and Canna from the garden, and preparing them for their long winter’s nap.

It’s probably my least favorite day in the garden, and each year, I dread its arrival.  The chill in the air is my signal that, “It’s time.”  Armed with a pitchfork, clippers, and nerves of steel, I apologetically approach each plant.  I want to say, “Believe me, this is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you.”  I want the plants to understand that my actions are for their own good, so that they may live to see another summer.  But in the end, I fear that they’ll see me as a Viking, pillaging and ransacking their cozy beds.

Gardeners, I think, must have a bit of masochism in their blood.  Who else would try to trick Mother Nature by planting wrong-zone plants, nurturing them into blooms, and then hacking them down, ripping them from the ground, and storing them over the winter — only to start the process all over again in the spring?  Oh, to be content with zone-appropriate material!

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Bloomin’ Update 10: Autumn Joy


My plan was to have a post featuring the blooms of the waning days of summer.  With camera in hand, I captured bees tending to their chores on a day that felt more like July than September.  If you could see their bee faces, I’m sure they were aglow with autumn joy.

 Then, in a matter of hours, a cold front roared through.  The clouds thickened and darkened, the wind grew stronger, and fat drops of rain splattered everything.  And all the while, the temperature plummeted — so much so, that by sunset, it felt like late October.  When I looked out of a window, I saw the last canna bloom (was that a shiver?) glowing.  I again grabbed the camera, this time to capture the canna’s last stand — and I was blown away by the vividness of color.

 
I wondered what other flowers and plants would look like surrounded by chilled darkness and then the glare of a flash.  I was limited in my selection because of the time of year, but I did (surprisingly) capture a noisy cricket in the ivy that climbs up the maple tree.  He’s resting on the large leaf at the bottom of the photo.
 
   
Now the Zinnias, a little battered and chewed up, but still holding on to their color.
 
 
 
This Blanket Flower is probably wishing that it had a blanket.
 

A few of the old standbys:  a faded Hydrangea (take that Madonna!), Liriope spikes, Coleus “Tartan,” and a Caladium close-up.

 

The Sunflower Sisters, one streaked with orange, the second like a faded version of the first, and the third looking more like celestial eclipse.

Finally, another glimpse of “Autumn Joy” Sedum.  The bees were probably in a state of suspended animation at this hour and temperature.

My late-night expedition into the garden was a wonderful way to close-out summer.  (Note to self: Next year, don’t wait until the end of summer for a nighttime photo shoot.)  Looking back on this growing season, it was exciting to enter the blogging world and to share my life and garden with you.  I appreciate greatly all of the comments and encouragement.  Now, it’s time for cleaning up, digging and storing tender bulbs, protecting terracotta pots, and the never-ending raking — in other words, the joys of autumn.

Name That Garden


“Hello, and welcome to Name That Garden.  The rules are simple.  I will post a photo or two or three of a garden, and you have to guess where that garden is located.  Margo, tell us what the people are playing for?”

“Well, Nitty Gritty, they’re certainly not playing for a car.  But they will be playing for the fun and surprise of it!”

“That’s swell, Margo.  Now, are you ready to play, everyone?  Here is our first photo.”

 

“If you guessed C, then you are correct.  This display is part of a local gas station that is located on a heavy-traffic intersection.  Not only is it great to see a business doing its best to make the neighborhood look nicer, the waterfall is a welcome distraction as you sit in your car waiting for the light to change.”

“If you’d like to continue playing, click the ‘Continue Reading’ link below.”

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10 Reasons I Love Elephant Ears


Have you ever sat under an Elephant Ear leaf?  I’m not sure what made me even think to do this, other than my curiosity to see one of my favorite plants from a whole other perspective, but as I looked at the leaf’s underbelly, I reflected on all of the reasons that make me love Elephant Ears.

1. Well, there’s the simple fact that I can lay on the ground and look up at the leaf.  It’s a great place to take an afternoon nap, enjoy the shade, and look at the play of sunlight hitting the leaf’s upper surface.  From below, it glows, much like stained glass does when its illuminated.

2. The color.  Look carefully at an Elephant Ear leaf, top or bottom, and see the swirls of shades of green.  It looks as if it’s painted, and the greens always look refreshing.

3. They’re waterproof.  Each morning it’s a treat to see pearls of dew gathered in the folds of the leaves, or perhaps what’s left from an overnight rain.  When the morning light hits the beads, they look like drops of mercury or silver.  I often think that if I find myself on “Survivor,” I would roof my shelter with Elephant Ear leaves, or at least use one as an umbrella.

4. Size matters.  As the season progresses, leaves unfold larger and larger.  One leaf can measure 3 feet.  I have found that when I keep the plants in a pot, they remain stunted.  Plant them in the ground, and they let their presence be known.  Similarly, one large leaf placed in a vase can be just as dramatic in the house.

 

5. Taste of the tropics.  As a Zone 6 or 7 gardener, depending on the specifics of the Cold Hardiness map, I like to create a tropical feel in the yard.  Elephant Ears are more than able to create the illusion that my Long Island garden is in South Florida.

6. Easy care.  As much as I dislike fall clean-up, it’s necessary when it comes to Elephant Ears.  Right around the first frost, I’ll cut back the leaves, dig up the bulbs, and let them cure for a few days.  I’ll try to shake out much of the excess dirt.  The dug bulbs are then placed in paper bags and covered with peat moss.  Lately, I’ve also tried plastic bags, and this also seems to work, as long as I keep the bag open.  Either way, I place the bag in a cool, dry place, such as the cement bunker that is behind a bedroom closet and under the front steps.  In the spring, I’ll bring out the bulbs, pull off the dead roots and tops, plant them in pots with the tip just below the soil (maybe even peaking out slightly), place them in a sunny location, and give them lots of water.  Once they sprout, in the ground they go.  Elephant Ears are slow to start, but with water and heat and humidity, they take off. 

7. They bleed.  I learned this the hard way during my first fall clean-up of Elephant Ears.  After cutting the stalks, I noticed that my clothes became stained with a rusty red color.  I then noticed the ends of the stalks with the same color.  The stains are permanent, which means that I now have work clothes specifically for Elephant Ear cutting, and they are stained with memories of previous prunings.

8. They multiply.  I started with a single bulb, and now I have enough to fill one bed, and more to intersperse with hydrangeas that have not reached full height.  In fact, I was so overwhelmed with babies, that I brought the extras to work and shared some Elephant Ear love.

9. They’re fun.  The leaves almost bounce in the wind.  I will often walk by them and tap each leaf like a drum to make them bounce.  Besides, visitors will always smile when they see them, especially the larger leaves.

10. Have you ever seen a new leaf?  They emerge from the stalk of an older leaf, like a tightly wound sword.  And then they open, like a sail unfurling.  The larger the leaf, the greater the opening.

 That’s it for now.  Happy Gardening!