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.
In honor of the holiday weekend, here is a post that first appeared one year ago. The photos still haunt me. I recently returned to the nursery-that-was, and not much has changed. Yes, the weeds have been mown and the random pots removed, but the structures remain (albeit a little more dilapidated). There are also a couple of flatbed trailers parked on the lot, but the abandoned nursery remains, a testament to the loss of small, local, neighborhood nurseries and small businesses that can’t keep up with the onslaught of retail and box store chains, rising rents, and a lifeless economy.
On this Labor Day, please visit a local nursery — and if you would like to open your own, I know a place that’s available.
Cosmos.
I love a rainy day, no matter the season. It’s the perfect excuse to curl up on the couch, nap a little or a lot and watch a parade of old movies. It’s also a chance to take a break from gardening chores — but not completely.
A rainy day, as it is as I’m writing this post, is the perfect time to get in the garden — to not only weed (easier to pull out) but to experience the garden in a different light. The whole world seems more organic — just water and earth and plants. I guess I believe for every drop of rain that falls, a flower grows.
Candy Tuft.
The recent heat wave may have been a bit extreme, but at this moment I’m sitting inside with a blanket pulled up to my chin. It’s not that I’m feeling under the weather. Instead, I’m feeling the weather. I think when the heat wave broke, it also broke summer. Clouds, rain, and cool temperatures have been the order of the day. The last few days, actually.
What’s a cold gardener to do?
The Great Heat of 2013 has come and gone, and there is joy and gladness throughout the land — and when I say land, I mean my garden. In fact, I think I can actually hear a collective sigh of relief coming from the plants (and maybe some of you) as more reasonable, seasonable summer temps return.
And when I look around the garden, it’s clear that some plants are still sporting nasty sunburns. Some of the hydrangea heads, for example, are tipped with brown.
But it’s the zinnias that garner all of my praise. I planted various kinds of zinnias this year — more than usual — because I knew that I would be unable to start my usual annuals from seed in the potting shed. I needed an easy seed — one that could be directly sown — and zinnias were the obvious choice.
And I’m so glad I did. As the temperatures rose, they stood tall and proud, empty of fear and full of color. I like to think they were the cheerleaders of the garden, encouraging the other plants to hold on. I’ll let their photos do the talking.
Joe and I live in the center of Long Island, give or take a mile. That means that our climate is usually a bit different from the rest of the Island. Autumn arrives sooner, spring a little bit later, and the cool ocean breezes just can’t reach us during the summer.
It also means that if we drive west, we can enjoy the sites, sounds, smells, and flavors of New York City and its boroughs — but for a more rural excursion, we can drive east to Long Island’s East End.
Hydrangea.
Green is the color of comfort, at least it is for me. It’s the color — whether it’s during a mid-winter trip to Florida or those early days of spring or those boiling days of summer — that holds me and comforts me, cradles me and soothes me. It’s as if green pulls me close and says, “I’m here. I’ve returned. I didn’t abandon you. Just breathe. . .”
nce upon a time, in a garden somewhere between here and there, peony blossoms remained tightly wrapped in anticipation of their debut at the grand ball. Even the servant ants worked tirelessly and feverishly to ensure that each fold, each petal, was proper and elegant.
“If love is sweet as a flower, then my mother is that sweet flower of love.”
Stevie Wonder
Mother’s Day and flowers, flowers and Mother’s Day — the two are so intertwined that it’s nearly impossible to separate them. For most of my life, the day was a chance to give flats or flowering shrubs. It’s also the day that symbolizes the absolute safe time of year to get things in the ground. So for this day, here are a few photos of the azaleas, lilacs, and columbine blooming now and a few words for Mothers everywhere — including my own.
When my friend Maria presented me with a small bag of Muscari bulbs as a gift years ago, I had no idea that that would be the start of a beautiful relationship. My first thought was, “How cute. Grape hyacinths — even the name sounds petite and demure.” Nothing, though, could be farther from the truth.
Nitty Gritty Dirt Man 