Cold Climate Gardening

Spring Ephemerals: Garden Bloggers Bloom Day May 2013

Kathy Purdy — Fri, 17 May 2013 03:41:24 +0000

Spring ephemerals typically bloom in May here. We have many growing at our new home that didn’t grow wild at our old home, plus there are many that I acquired through purchase or trade while at the old house that I brought over with me.Here are a few of my favorites.

I don’t know what magic makes bluets grow in a lawn, but we have that magic here.

Bluets grew in the lawn at my husband’s childhood home, great patches of sky-blue in grass a little on the long side. Several times I took a chunk of bluets (Houstonia caerulea) from my in-laws’ lawn and transplanted it into ours, attempting to replicate the exact conditions, but to no avail. The bluets never returned in our lawn the following year. And yet, here they are in our new lawn. I hope they stay.

This darling was given to me by a gardening friend, and it is slowly growing bigger.

The white form of rue anemone (Thalictrum thalictroides) grows wild at our old house. I have yet to see it at our new house, but I have this dainty pink form thanks to a generous friend.

I think shooting stars are fascinating. I’d like to grow more of them.

I once saw a shooting star growing along the shoulder of a country road in our former county, but never since. The Dodecatheon amethystinum pictured here was purchased from a nursery that is no longer in business.

Because the light is shining through the spathe, or hood, of this plant, the stripes appear red.

Jacks-in-the-pulpit (Arisaema triphyllum) grow plentifully along the side brook (see map). Some have green striping in the hood, and some have brown striping. But you can see that the brown must have red pigment in it when you view a Jack that is backlit.

Also Blooming Now

Trillium erectum (finishing up)
Trillium grandiflorum
Early meadow rue (Thalictrum dioicum)
Marsh marigold (Caltha palustris)
Solomon’s seal (not sure which one)
Tiarella cordifolia
Lady’s smock (Cardamine pratensis)
Twin-leaf toothwort (Cardamine diphylla)
Celandine poppy (Stylophorum diphyllum)
Creeping phlox
Virginia bluebells (Mertensia virginica)
Narcissus x medioluteus I used to call this Irish Laddie before I knew what it was.

Inspired by the words of Elizabeth Lawrence, “We can have flowers nearly every month of the year,” Carol of May Dreams Gardens started Garden Bloggers Bloom Day. On the 15th of every month, garden bloggers from all over the world publish what is currently blooming in their gardens, and leave a link in Mr. Linky and the comments of May Dreams Gardens.

The Front Walk: Excavation Begins!

Kathy Purdy — Sun, 12 May 2013 03:13:06 +0000

Last Saturday, May 4th, work on the front walk began! First my son Rundy marked out the edges of the walk with string and stakes.

Then Rundy used a spade to cut the edge of the walk along the string.

Then he used the spade to cut sections of sod, sliding the spade under the roots. The hen is inspecting his work to make sure it is not harboring any worms or other tasty morsels.

After a section is cut, he folds it over and carries it to the pile. (This part is easier if you have lifted weights for years.)

Next he uses a mattock to break up the grass that was growing too sparsely to lift as sod.

Then he digs and shovels the dirt out into the bed of the truck.

When he fills up the bed of the truck, he will fill up the trailer parked behind it. He uses the mattock to loosen the soil as needed and to pry out the larger rocks. The goal is to remove eight inches of soil throughout.

He didn’t quite finish, and this Saturday it rained, so no further progress has been made.

That’s not precisely true. The soil has been used to fill in low places in the lawn. The larger rocks that you see along the edge in the grass have been collected and dumped on the rock pile. However, no more digging has been done. And while looking over these pictures, I am surprised at how much more leafed out the trees are that are in the background. Spring has sprung!

Cottage Garden Discoveries

Talitha Purdy — Sat, 11 May 2013 01:07:02 +0000

One of the lovely things about gardening is that no matter how long (or short) you’ve been doing it, there’s always so much more to learn and discover. Lately, I have been discovering “cottage gardening”–that serendipitous combination of flowers and vegetables and herbs, with the flowers being largely traditional and very fragrant.

Last year was my first real foray into cottage gardening; I’ve loved the idea for quite some time, but the opportunity (or the persistence and pig-headedness) to actually practice it only presented itself just now. I’m continuing my cottage garden this year–in which I hope to discover many more things–but I made a lot of personal discoveries in my first year, too.

Flowers I Thought I Knew: Carnations

For example, I discovered carnations. Well, of course I always knew about carnations. They’re those bland “filler flowers” that you get in run-of-the-mill flower arrangements. Their colors are always either a bit insipid and washed out, or else garish and tacky. Of course, if you don’t like their color, you could always try the dye-in-the-water trick, but that’s about the end of their usefulness. Right?

Pink carnations grown in a cottage garden. Photo credit: Talitha Purdy for Just Two Eyes to See Photography

Wrong. Lured in by Renee’s Garden’s write-up for their ‘Enfant de Nice’ Carnations, I decided to give them a try and see if maybe “homemade is always better” would hold true here as well. Indeed. I found out that carnations could make my heart sing, and “fragrant” seemed too common a word for them.

The fragrance of carnations must be brought into the house. Photo credit: Talitha Purdy for Just Two Eyes to See Photography

Carnations are invited back to my garden again this year. Well, into my garden, and into my vases. You do realize that spicy-goodness scent needs to be brought inside and enjoyed 24/7, right? Naturally. The fact of the matter is, almost all “cottage garden flowers” seem to go together spectacularly in a vase, an unforeseen but decidedly pleasant side-effect of cottage gardening.

Snapdragons

Cottage garden flowers just naturally go together in a vase. Photo credit: Talitha Purdy for Just Two Eyes to See Photography

Carnations didn’t seem to find their way into this shot (blame the rose; roses always seem to steal the spotlight), but snapdragons did (I believe they were from the “Tall Maximum Blend” from Botantical Interests.) Tip: if you peek at the undersides of baby snapdragon leaves, you can make a pretty good guess at their blooming color. Whites and yellows will have green undersides; pinks will have blushed undersides, and your darkest snapdragons will have maroon undersides to their leaves. So you can kind-of/sort-of sort out your “mixed” seedlings.

Snapdragons bloomed from July to October. Photo credit: Talitha Purdy for Just Two Eyes to See Photography

I’ve always liked snapdragons, but last years from Botanical Interests was a particularly fine showing, and I could show you about a million pictures of them like a proud new momma. I think they pretty much rated “swoon-worthy.” They’d already gotten a really good start by July, and they were still blooming their hearts out by the final frost call in October (unusually late for us, but it’s hard to complain about that!).

Coral Nymph Salvia

An unexpected delight by the name of ‘Coral Nymph Salvia’ from Renee’s Garden is also in bouquet shot above, if you look in the background there. It isn’t coral at all–at least, not by my book. “Coral” has the orange-y undertone that kind of grosses me out, and this was just the same lovely, complementary shade of pink as to go with my snapdragons. . . and carnations. . .and show-off roses. I wished I’d managed a picture of it in its natural habitat, as the plant just bursts with blooms and made itself very ready for vase-cuttings. It is also invited back to my garden this year.

Pansies

This pansy picks up the color of a nearby red lettuce. Photo credit: Talitha Purdy for Just Two Eyes to See Photography

Oh, and pansies. I discovered pansies. Yes, yes, I’d always known about pansies. They’re just like another kind of Johnny-Jump-Up, don’t you know. It’s rather the same as saying that a Great Dane is just another kind of dog. Well, these were called “Swiss Giant Blend” (from Botanical Interests), so you might have thought I’d have gotten the hint! Something was determined to eat all my pansies (good taste, I’m sure; all the same, I’m happier now that we have a mousing cat).
Nonetheless, those that managed to soldier on gave me a stupid grin of delight every time I saw them. Soldier on they did. I might already have as many blossoms now as I did by the end of last years rodent-ravaged garden, because most all of them wintered over, and don’t see any point in wasting time getting started blooming again. (These pictures were taken this morning.) Oh, my dear. You are so very insistent about it being Spring, and I love that about you. Your frosty edges are melting from the fiery color inside of you. Keep it up. And while you’re at it, can you please convince your recalcitrant cousins to SPROUT, ALREADY?? I am an impatient gardener, and I think those seeds should hurry up and pop out of the soil.

Discoveries to Look Forward To

Last year’s garden in early August. Photo credit: Talitha Purdy for Just Two Eyes to See Photography

What new things am I hoping to discover this year? Sweet peas. (They finally sprouted! Hurrah! Mom can probably tell you how I complained like a toddler impatient to arrive at its destination, waiting for those sweet peas to poke above ground.) Foxgloves. Hollyhocks. Window boxes that look beautiful, not patched together with last-minute clearance annuals.

But mostly, I am hoping to discover the same joy I had last year–getting up on a foggy morning and standing at the edge of my garden, watching it bursting with life and beautiful things. If that’s not the purpose of a garden, what is?

Disclosure: Botanical Interests and Renee’s Seeds sent complimentary seed packets for us to trial. In addition, we are affiliates of Botanical Interests, and when you purchase seeds after clicking through our links, we will earn a small commission.

Hepaticas on the Home Front

Kathy Purdy — Sat, 04 May 2013 02:05:34 +0000

This Hepatica acutiloba seems almost identical to the one I saw in Tennessee, and it’s growing within walking distance of my house.

Almost a month after I visited Tennessee, I walked down our country road to the same general area where I had seen trilliums and other spring ephemerals in abundance last year, and discovered hepaticas growing there as well. I must have visited this area too late to see them last year.

Besides white, I saw various shades of blue-purple and pink, often growing right next to each other, so I don’t think the pH of the soil caused the different colors. They were more likely genetic variations.

This was the deepest colored hepatica that I saw, next to a red trillium (Trillium erectum) in bud.

This clump has a pink flush to it. I did see some pinker ones, but didn’t get a good photo of any.

Would you call this lavender?

This one has a delicate blue flush.

I am reassured that, once I find a source for it, Hepatica acutiloba will do well here.

The Front Walk: It’s Coming!

Kathy Purdy — Sat, 27 Apr 2013 03:11:05 +0000

I received this rock for my birthday . . .

. . . Along with this note

Soon after, a load of crushed stone was delivered. You can see the Happy Birthday Rock on the pile.

The stone will go at the bottom of a trench that has yet to be dug, to provide drainage for the irregular bluestone pavers. It turns out that what I thought was fieldstone is actually Pennsylvania Bluestone. We are still waiting for a quote for the paving stone.

This is one of several projects planned for Purdyville this spring and summer. I will tell you more when there is more to tell. In the meantime, there are many other areas of the garden to explore. In my garden overview post, I promised to describe many of the areas on the map. I kind of got stuck on the front walk, and it’s time to change focus.

White Sharp-Lobed Hepatica, My New Love: Wildflower Wednesday

Kathy Purdy — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 11:00:08 +0000

I fell in love with the white form of sharp-lobed hepatica along a walking trail in Tennessee.

Earlier this month I visited the Cherokee National Forest in Tennessee, in particular the Bald River Falls. Frances of Fairegarden and I walked a trail that took us up behind the falls along the Bald River, and we saw many wildflowers as we walked. The one that stole my heart is known as Hepatica acutiloba. (It’s recently been moved to the Anemone genus and is now known as Anemone acutiloba. Sigh. I’m going to pretend I didn’t know that.)

White hepatica was blooming abundantly along the steep banks of the hiking trail.

Any other time I had seen hepatica, it was blue-violet in color, perhaps at times leaning towards pink. But these flowers were a pure, glowing white, and I couldn’t get enough of them. I knew I wanted to grow them in the wilder part of my garden, with other native plants in the woods.

Two kinds of hepatica are considered native to North America: Hepatica acutiloba and H. americana. You tell them apart by looking at the leaves. The sharp-lobed hepatica, H. acutiloba, has pointy leaves.

See how each lobe of the leaf comes to a point?

Yet many sources, including the Minnesota Wildflowers website, concede that the difference between the leaves of the sharp-lobed hepatica and the round-lobed hepatica (H. americana) can be pretty subtle. In fact, at one point they were considered variants of the same species. But still, most sources seem to think that the sharp-lobed hepatica does better on limestone soils. If that’s true, I will have trouble growing it on my acid clay, unless I add lime to the soil. But then, I doubt it would naturalize.

I won’t know if this hepatica will thrive in my garden until I try it.

I have grown other supposedly lime-loving plants without amending the soil, so I am not without hope. But if you know of a source for the white-flowered form of either hepatica, please let me know. Thanks.

Posted for Wildflower Wednesday, created by Gail of Clay and Limestone, to share wildflowers/native plants no matter where you garden in the blogasphere. “It doesn’t matter if we sometimes show the same plants. How they grow and thrive in your garden is what matters most. It’s always the fourth Wednesday of the month!”

Is it spring yet?

Kathy Purdy — Sat, 20 Apr 2013 03:08:53 +0000

How do you decide that spring has finally arrived? What signs tell you that the wait is over? At our old house, seeing the leafless branches of the trees on the hillside turn red from swelling buds was our certain sign that spring had arrived.

The red tinged trees on the hillside signal spring’s beginning

It was confirmed by coltsfoot blooming and peepers peeping.

Coltsfoot flowers are the earliest blooming wildflower.

While it is difficult at our new home to get a good look at a hillside without taking a walk or a drive, we have a new sign to add: the emergence of the wild leeks.

Wild leeks, also known as ramps, emerge very early in spring.

Wild leeks (Allium tricoccum) never grew on the land of our old home. They are supposed to flower later in the year, but I didn’t ever see flowers last year, even though I made a point to look for them.

I checked back with the Nature Calendar, to see how her seasonal divisions compared to what I have been actually observing here. Conclusion: things change fast around here, and seasons overlap. Earlier this week, I was debating whether it was the end of Mud Season, or the beginning of Crocus Season, as the snowdrops still looked good and the crocuses had finally started blooming.

These are the crocuses I planted last November

Today the first daffodils opened–and the first bloodroot, making this Daffodil Season. According to Janice Goldfrank’s calendar, this is when the wild leeks appear and the peepers start peeping. But both of those started before the daffodils did. For that matter, the coltsfoot was blooming before the crocuses.

So, yes, it is spring, but a rather compressed one, I’d say. Of course, since this is the first year for the daffodils and the crocuses, they are blooming a little later than they might if they were well established. And really, only the earliest daffodils have started. It will be interesting to compare with next year. Cold climate gardeners, are your signs of spring much different from mine?

Next Spring’s Foundation: Garden Bloggers’ Bloom Day April 2013

Kathy Purdy — Mon, 15 Apr 2013 17:09:59 +0000

This is the second spring in our new garden. It takes time for plants to build up strength and multiply and consequently early spring/late mud season bloom here looks sparse. But each leaf is soaking up sunshine and storing food that will make next year’s bloom, and the slow-to-warm spring that we have been enduring enables these early bloomers to stay above ground longer, with a greater opportunity for bulking up underground. How’s that for finding the silver lining in a cold spring?

These snowdrops pictured below were in tight bud a month ago. I’d say at this point they are a little past their peak but still looking good:

Because of the unseasonably cool weather, these ‘S. Arnott’ snowdrops have had a long season of bloom.

You can see that the flower stems of the spring snowflake I mentioned previously have elongated. There is supposed to be a rarer form of this plant that has yellow spots on the flowers instead of green, but I notice my plant has one of each.

Each blossom of this plant has different colored spots, yellow on the left and green on the right.

In the last couple of days, buds on the newly planted crocus patch have emerged, but haven’t had much sunshine to encourage them to open:

Just planted these crocuses last fall.

I just dug up the ‘Josef Lemper’ hellebore from the old garden last week. It’s looking pretty good:

This is the third year I’ve grown ‘Josef Lemper’ and he’s starting to fill out respectably.

Inspired by this very-late-fall/very-early-spring blooming hellebore, I’ve made a point to seek out other hellebores that fall in this category. Last year, Burpee invited me to trial some plants and I chose six hellebores that I hoped would give me both fall and spring bloom. As is typical with hellebores, they’ve taken a while to get going. Two of my plants have buds:

‘Ivory Prince’ will probably bloom this week–maybe even today!

‘First Cuckoo’ isn’t quite open yet, and was facing downward, but I have high hopes for it.

Siberian squills and the earliest daffodils are blooming at the old house, but not here, which leads me to believe it is a tad colder here. But perhaps I should give them another year to settle in here before I come to a conclusion.

Garden Epiphanies

Kathy Purdy — Sat, 13 Apr 2013 15:19:41 +0000

Gardening experience, for the most part, is accrued bit by bit, as decisions are made to do this chore before the other, plants die and we know why–or we don’t–and mental notes are made about what is blooming when. But every so often, the gardener has an epiphany, a light bulb moment. These milestones represent major shifts in the gardener’s modus operandi and are a significant component of what we call gardening wisdom–the mythical green thumb.

Today is a milestone birthday for me. I am older now than my grandmother was when I was born, which made her a grandma. Grey hair, bifocals–yep, I’m old enough to be a grandma. So I thought I’d share some of my gardening epiphanies with you, so you can take a shortcut to your own green thumb.

Paths

I had just moved into our first house, after a succession of apartments and a mobile home. Finally, I had a yard. But I didn’t want a yard, I wanted a garden! The only problem was, I didn’t know what made a yard feel like a garden. There is no one right answer; you have to find the answer in your heart. So I mulled over this as I washed dishes and pondered it as I cared for my children. One day I was flipping through a garden magazine and saw a photo that made me realize I needed to have a path for it to be a garden. Every outdoor space that held enchantment for me as a child had a path wending through it.

I created this path at the old garden. It is lined with snowdrops in March and narcissus in May. It brings you into the secret garden. And who knows what is around that bend?

Texture

I had read about the need for varying foliage texture in a garden dozens of times without really grasping what was meant. An article in a garden magazine illustrated this concept with a greyscale photo–and suddenly I got it. Take the color out of a garden photo and all you have left is foliage texture. You will notice if the texture is all the same. Frances of Fairegarden calls it Little Leaf Syndrome. Texture keeps a garden interesting even when there are few flowers blooming.

Take away the color–does it still hold your interest?

Take photos of your garden, convert them to greyscale, and see what you can learn.

Color Echoes

I had heard of contrasting colors and complementary colors, but until I read Color Echoes: Harmonizing Color in the Garden by Pamela Harper I had never thought to use one plant to pick up and echo the color of another. I started to look at plants a lot more carefully–the green heart inside a yellow daylily, the red stems on a green fern–and search for plants that would highlight those subtle color details. Often they were already in my garden, and just needed to be moved around.

The diascias in this container echo the stripe in the canna leaf.

Not All Weeds Are Created Equal

Some weeds, especially tap-rooted ones, need to be pulled out on sight. Better yet, yesterday. And in my garden, dock is far worse than dandelion. I hate not finishing a task once I’ve begun. So if I’ve begun, say, pruning the roses, and if on my way back to the garden shed (to get the rose gloves I forgot) I see a dock seedling, I used to say “I’ll pull that when I’m done pruning the roses.” No more! Experience has taught me that I won’t remember the dock seedling after I am done with the roses, and the next time I see that weed I will have to dig to China and damage three garden-worthy plants in the process of getting it out.

These are dock roots. They are almost impossible to remove whole except in mud season, when the soil is saturated.

How About You?

I could go on–you know how old folks ramble–but I’d like to hear about your garden epiphanies? What sudden insight made a big change in the way you garden?

Spring Snowflake, Leucojum vernum

Kathy Purdy — Fri, 12 Apr 2013 15:42:37 +0000

This is my first year growing the elusive but hardy spring snowflake.

I have taken contributor Brian Bixley’s admonishment to heart and I’m trying to get more early blooming plants in my garden. The gardening season is typically considered the time from the last spring frost to the first autumn frost. By that measurement, I have a short season garden. The only way to get a longer season of bloom is to focus on those plants that want to bloom when most of the world still considers the weather rather unpleasant.

Spring snowflake (Leucojum vernum) definitely extends the season. I planted it on the north side of the house, and here it is blooming after the snowdrops but before the Dutch crocus and Siberian squills, which are in warmer locations. It has grown taller since I took this picture, standing about eight inches tall. Each flower is about an inch across. It is reputed to self-sow, and I am looking forward to having a patch of this early darling and eventually spread it in more locations.

Why Don’t More People Grow Spring Snowflake?

You would think with all this going for it, it would be a must-have plant for spring. According to Daffodils and More (where I got my spring snowflake), this hardy bulb is difficult to ship. When dug and cured like most other fall-planted bulbs, it tends to rot. I paid a premium price for this bulb’s special treatment, expecting that it won’t need special treatment in my garden and will be worth the investment. It sounds like it is a true passalong plant, thriving when it can be handed over the garden fence and replanted quickly.

It’s Not Summer Snowflake

Pay attention when you are ordering, and don’t get Leucojum aestivum, the summer snowflake, by mistake. It is an equally garden-worthy plant, with more numerous flowers on each stem, but it blooms later in spring, perhaps early summer. I have it in my garden as well, and I’m not saying don’t plant it, just don’t confuse it with the spring snowflake.