Saturday, April 25, 2015

Time to Go

Robin on armillary obelisk captured through the winter glass on the front door.
How and when do we decide it is time to remove a plant or to make big changes in the layout of our gardens?

I have had a forsythia bush in my garden.  Nothing says spring so much to me as forsythia blooming. My particular cultivar was given to me by my mother in 2002, before I became so much more knowledgeable of forsythia in general.  Whichever cultivar it was, unknown, as my mother is not particularly adept at those types of distinction.  It did not bloom until its third year.  It has not bloomed in the last three.  There was a year here and there it did not bloom for one reason or another, bringing the total percentage of times it has bloomed to about fifty percent.

The rest of the time it is just a LARGE green bush. In a small garden.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Garden Efficiencies

Prairie smoke, always seems to bloom just a tad before
 I get the leaves rakes from the Long Border.
This last weekend I spent most of my time puttering around my yard. It was a great weekend to pull quack grass from the hosta bed.  The quack grass is green, yet the roots are not well established, the hosta eyes have not yet emerged, but I can feel their firm points as I work protected from harm by the soil.

I scraped and painted the side of my house where the Annabelle hydrangea quickly grow, hiding the peeling paint and making it nearly impossible to paint house without getting a fair share of pinkness on hydrangea as well. I went on to untie the climbing rose and alpina clematis from the porch railing and scrape and paint that, too.

I touched up the sour apple green paint on a trellis where a climbing William Baffin will make the job tedious at best in the near future.

My yard is not yet raked and neither are the garden beds, but I am not panicked. Spending time on these chores ahead of the other just makes sense to me. It is more efficient than attempting them later. I also think it seems much more efficient, too,

Sunday, April 19, 2015

Over 100 Years in the Making

My white pine is well over 100 years old.  It is not until white pine reach that age that the bark takes on this craggy appearance.  There is so much more character there than the skin, you can hardly call it bark, on the younger pines.  I often think of the person who may have  planted this tree.  Did they envision it as this dominant player in my small yard's landscape, dwarfing the house they planted it near?  My house is a pink fairy cottage in its shadow.

I am waiting for a fierce wind to make it rain pine cones!

This little clump of crocuses are darling.

The emerging foliage of Virginia bluebells is like no other spring ephemeral.
It seems to be an almost dusky purple.

Hepatica, transplanted by ants.

The ants are always busy. I am never quite sure where I will find bloodroot next.
I am not privy to the gardening ants' garden plans.