Pleasant Hill Ramblings

a little “late autumn” planting

2020-01-06T21:29:00.002-05:00

Allium bulbs planted on January 5, 2020.

That’s the truth, folks.

The weather in Washington County, New York, the United States of America, Continent of North America, Western Hemisphere, the Earth, the Solar System, the Universe, the Mind of God (that’s what it said on the envelope, but I digress), this early winter has been so unusual that it’s worth noting I was able to plant about 40 allium of different varieties that I bought on clearance in December as well as a quantity of daffodil bulbs that I dug in the spring with every good intention of dividing and replanting in a timely manner (insert wry chuckle).

I did this on Epiphany (anticipated), January 5, 2020. The ground is not even close to being frozen.

The scoop, as it played out:

In the front of the peony bed (the side closest to the road), I planted 15 Allium ‘Purple Sensation,’ 14 Allium ‘Christophii,’ and 10 Allium ‘Gladiator’ in a more-or-less random pattern. If any of them come up, I will be pleasantly pleased, of course. I think some might.

I also planted 22 clumps of about 5 or 6 bulbettes (or what would you call a small bulb) on what I will now call Spruce Hill behind the garage.

At some point, they will amount to something grand, but in the meantime, I’m just happy to have them in the ground and off of my to-do list. Happy finter or wall!

saffron succotash

2019-11-26T22:36:00.001-05:00

Well, no lima beans here, ma’am.

On a whim . . . at Lowe’s for a new bulb socket and came across these other bulbs: Saffron crocus on clearance (50% off), which were, inexplicably to me, mixed in with the spring-blooming crocus.

Bought them out, only a few bags left, but 48 for $10.

I just potted them all up—growing like crazy, poor little guys. If they green up and survive, I’ll wait for them to do their thing, let the foliage die back, and then plant the dormant bulbs outside next spring.

spring bulbs planted

2019-11-24T21:58:00.000-05:00

Just the facts, ma’am:

At Pleasant Hill:

130 Scilla siberica planted in shovel indentations of 5 apiece in front of crabapple outside dining room window, down by bed at side of road, in front of newly planted dawn redwood, around old apple tree in orchard. Maybe someday this hill will be lousy with squill!
50 Crocus tommasinianus planted hither and yon, lol, can’t quite remember where those fellows went!
10 Ornithogalum nutans (or Silver Bells) planted in east side of perennial garden on south side of house.
12 Narcissus ‘Sinopel’ planted down by Chris Michel’s mailbox.

At Lower Hollow House:

25 Tulipa sylvestris (or Florentine tulip) planted in five clumps near lavender off of south side of garden room patio.
10 Tulipa acuminata (or Fire Flame) planted in same general area off of garden room patio.
20 Crocus ‘Orange Monarch’ planted on east side of garden room patio.
50 Tulip ‘Golden Artist,’ a viridiflora, not yet planted.

burn, baby

2019-07-15T22:42:00.000-04:00

Phase III of dealing with sticks, branches and logs has arrived. I’m pretty sure I’ll still be dragging limbs and branches into the woods to decompose and “create habitat,” even though the piles look messy once the leaves have gone away in the fall. And B and I did buy a chipper early on in our residency on the hill, and so I still have the ability to create mounds of chips for mulch and for pathways, so that’s good.

But up until this summer, I’d never considered burning! And that, my friends, is the answer for 2019. It’s fast, it gets rid of tremendous amounts of brush in an afternoon, and it’s fun to watch.

A little background: In the late fall of 2016, I had two trees cut down in the meadow, because they were shading things unreasonably, and I wanted to open the view up a bit more. The guy who came (recommended by my boss at Watkins Garden Center) was a short and scrappy young guy who took maybe three minutes to cut and limb the fallen trees. I figured I’d get around to dragging brush away “in a little while.”

Cut to a few weeks ago (yes, a few weeks ago in the spring of 2019). My friend D came over, and we spent the afternoon dragging some of the brush from that long-ago project into the woods, other logs to a wood stack behind the prayer shack, and still more into piles. Where I was certain it would sit for a very long while.

Last week enter I., friend of D’s and maker of fires. So one afternoon while I pretended to be otherwise occupied in the garden, D and I. took a match to the brush pile, and off it went. It is amazing how quickly three years’ worth of dried brush went away.

The fire burned for a few days, until D and I. returned to cut and drag more brush, which they laid on top of the ashes and watched as it caught and burned more.

Habitat pile? Nevermore, at least in the middle of the orchard. Chipping? Not on your tintype, buster. Burning? Burn, baby, burn!

The fire catches.

Fire master tends to the fire.

A well-earned break from dragging and burning.

The burning continued through the early evening and for two more days!

Stump for sitting on to watch the proceedings (and a little refreshment).

fall into winter

2018-11-20T22:37:00.000-05:00

Goodness. Weather. This has been a most unusual autumn, with dank, cold days and a lot of rain. Very little sunlight, such that the 3 sunny days we had (perhaps I'm exaggerating a bit; but only a little) felt like tremendous gifts from the heavens. I'm not a person who suffers from seasonal affective disorder, but I discovered this fall that sunlight makes me happy.

And now we seem to be transitioning into a cold, snowy winter. Two snowfalls so far, and we're not even at Thanksgiving!

Fall chores completed:

Dug dahlias at Pleasant Hill, at my sister's house in Schenectady, and at Lower Hollow House, my friend's house in Dorset
Cut back most of the old growth in the perennial garden
Cut back peony foliage (I neglected to do so last winter, and I think the plants suffered this year because of it)
Planted 3 blueberry bushes in close proximity to 3 other blueberry bushes I planted many years back; I seem to want a thicket of blueberries, and why not, when the fall foliage is so beautiful
Moved a bunch of unplanted perennials into the basement for the winter
Set up grow lights to overwinter geraniums and agapanthus in the aforementioned basement
Watered multiple pots of amaryllis I seem to have ignored all spring and summer; if I get growth from the bulbs, I'll be happily surprised
Repotted a peace lily given to me when B died
Dug and set new mailbox post in concrete; attached new mailbox to post

What I didn't complete:

Weed completely overgrown vegetable garden
Plant new hostas and other perennials
Refurbish shade garden under lilacs and maple trees on the south side of the house

There is always next spring, and even this winter—if the snow show goes away until a little later—to get more things done in the garden, but at this point I'm happy to settle in with a good book in front of the fire and dream of gardens to come.

header photo

2016-11-22T18:34:00.001-05:00

Even though it's now almost winter on the hill, and there is snow covering the bare branches of the lilacs, I am going to leave the header photo as is for the foreseeable future. Lilacs were B's favorite flower.

I say "were" because Bill died on August 30th of complications from prostate cancer. 55 years old, too, too young, my dear sweetheart. He was diagnosed with stage 4, metastatic prostate cancer right after his 52nd birthday in 2013. He endured antihormone therapy, multiple hospitalizations, reversible kidney failure, double nephrostomy tubes when the cancer invaded his bladder, seven months of chemotherapy, and then a very fast, very painful decline over the last month he was alive. When he died on August 30th at home with me right beside him, I was almost relieved, because his pain and the indignity of his disease were finally over. But my pain has really only begun. I miss him so much.

Lilacs were Bill's favorite flower. We bought lilac bushes for birthdays and anniversaries even as we sought to rehabilitate the lilacs already on the property here. He considered them his flower. I consider them our flower, too.

I am going to try to begin to post more to this blog that I've neglected for so long. I think writing about our garden, and now writing about Bill, too, will be healing for me at some point. At this juncture, almost three months from his death, I am almost overwhelmed with grief. This, apparently, is normal in the grieving process. I think I was operating on adrenaline for the first 8 weeks, and almost convinced myself that maybe Bill was away on a short vacation, but would return soon.

With Thanksgiving looming (our favorite holiday) and Christmas right on top of it, I realize that he will not be back. Funny, isn't it, that it has taken this long for this hard fact to sink in.

More later, but for the time being, here's a photo of my sweet William, taken by me when we were out to dinner at a little inn in Vermont on his 50th birthday. What a handsome man he was. The poem is one I learned only about a week before he died. I read it to him a few times over that last week. He loved it as much as I do.

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]
e.e. cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

dahlias some planted

2016-05-05T22:24:00.000-04:00

Nothing like putting a few tubers into some dirt to engender hope for lengthening, warming days. Planted on the last day of April and the fifth of May:

Saturday, April 30 (from Frey's Dahlias in Oregon)

Chee
Kaiser Wilhelm
Luttwichen
White Fawn

Wednesday, May 5 (from Old House Gardens in Michigan)

Bishop of Llandaff
Gerrie Hoek
Old Gold
Prince Noir

Next up (tomorrow?) are the dahlias stored in boxes of peat moss in the basement. Ahh.

iris chrysographes fail

2014-05-29T17:46:00.005-04:00

Joe adding insult to injury.

Sad rotten little Iris chrysographes, who sits in his pot of free-draining soil.

The rhizome looked a little sketchy to me when it arrived from White Flower Farm last week, and I saw no evidence of growth, but I potted it up and set it out on the fire escape anyway.

This week there is nothing happening still, so I wrote a note to the nice folks in customer service, had a response within the day from Diane, and have been promised a replacement.

We just want these things to work.

on callaway road

2013-11-01T23:29:00.000-04:00

Callaway Road (about a mile north of Pleasant Hill) is beautiful all year round. It's a dirt road through farm fields bordered by sumac in the foreground with the Adirondacks to the west and the Green Mountains of Vermont to the east. But it's especially lovely once the sumac has fruited and the leaves have turned.

The view from Callaway Road, October 2013.

Abutilon theophrasti or velvetweed

2013-11-01T23:06:00.001-04:00

A few years ago, B and I paid good money for a load of compost delivered by a local farmer. He dumped it at the top of the driveway, and we spent the next few months spreading it over all the gardens. As the summer progressed I saw all sorts of plants I'd never seen before. The compost was full of uncooked seeds, and we ended up pulling luscious, gigantic weeds by the thousands over the next two summers.

One of the new weeds took a liking to the bed down by the road. I let it go to seed a few times, the first time out of laziness, the second because I thought the seedpods were beautiful. I called it witchweed until I did a little research and determined it's Abutilon theophrasti. Kind of a nondescript plant when it's green and flowering (although the leaves really do feel velvety), but once the flowers go and the seeds develop: Wow.

Dehiscent velvetweed.

killing frost

2013-10-30T07:45:00.000-04:00

Not having actually been at the house during the week, I'm going on what my neighbors tell me: We had a killing frost Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, October 16, 2013. Just for the record, and all that.

And, yes, it was a glorious bunch of dahlias.

start me up

2013-05-11T23:52:00.002-04:00

new labelmaker + new labels = happy gardener

late winter odds and ends

2013-03-23T23:33:00.004-04:00

Found a few ninebark labels in the garage

Physocarpus opulifolius 'Monio' or Diabolo Ninebark (planted closest to the house)
Physocarpus opulifolius 'Coppertina' (planted farthest from the house)

Map of Slate Hill Farm daylilies wintering in the vegetable garden:

Bit = 'Bitsy'; FH = 'Frans Hals'; GT = 'Gold Thimble'; KL = 'Kindly Light'; LN = 'Lady Neva'; PI = 'Princess Irene'

Happy to see our new Hamamelis x intermedia 'Diane' testing the bloomin' waters:

Dahlia tubers in basement:

'Andries Orange'
'Bloodstone'
'Crazy Legs'
'Duet'
'Florinoor'
'Golden Cloud'
'Kelvin Floodlight'
'Kogane Fubuki'
'Little Beeswings'
'Lucky Number'
Sorensensii
'Star Child'
'Winsome'

Need to order 'Clair de Lune,' 'Giraffe,' 'Kaiser Wilhelm'

red

2013-01-01T12:46:00.000-05:00

The first real snow of the season fell Christmas day, two days after Christmas, and again two days after that. There isn't a ton of it (probably seven inches or so), but even a little makes every branch and stalk in the garden look like an old Japanese brush painting.

The pot-bound red osier dogwood Alan sent north with B and me a few years ago has settled into its new home in the garden that edges the patio. I cut it back hard every spring (to within about four inches of the ground; I said hard, didn't I?), and it sends up lots of new growth through the spring and summer. During the growing season, the branches are just as plain as can be, but come autumn, they begin to color up, and when the leaves drop, there they are in all their fine redness.

After reading about winterberries on Margaret Roach's A Way to Garden for the past few years, B and I decided we needed to add a few to our yard. We're not following Margaret's lead— she sites them in the distance where they "'read' as brilliant landscape elements when [she] is tucked indoors" (although we may do that, too, eventually). Instead, the two shrubs we bought and planted this summer form part of an arc, along with three Physocarpus 'Coppertina,' at the top of the driveway, separating it from the garden. These two little shrubs have already set some berries, "as red as any blood." The birds will love them, when they eventually find them.

Finally, what's a catalog of winter red on our hill without a view of the barn dressed up in its star? Putting it up (B and I aim for the second Sunday of Advent) always is, shall we say, a little bit of a challenge (I keep vowing to make it easier on ourselves by mounting the two pieces on a frame and hoisting the assembly via a pulley system to the side of the barn; maybe this summer), but seeing it shine from the early-winter darkness inspires and anchors us through Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany.

Happy new year!

nice combos

2012-08-27T00:09:00.002-04:00

Self-sown Foeniculum vulgare 'Purpureum' (bronze fennel)
with Helenium autumnale 'Moorheim Beauty' behind.

Cleome hassleriana 'Pink Queen' against
a backlit wall of Cotinus coggyria 'Golden Spirit.'

Verbena bonariensis doing its perky, cute thing
in front of Phlox paniculata 'David.'

garden timeline: aster 'october skies'

2012-08-26T23:48:00.002-04:00

I pinched back my clump of three plants twice or three times this summer so that now I have what looks like a two-foot high shrub about three feet across. First bloom (with thousands more buds just beginning to develop): 19 August 2012.

garden timeline: clematis paniculata

2012-08-26T23:26:00.003-04:00

First bloom on sweet autumn clematis: 25 August 2012.

most-asked-about plants in margaret roach's garden last weekend

2012-08-26T09:10:00.000-04:00

I love listening to "A Way to Garden" on WHDD radio. I hook up to it via an app called Stitcher on my iPhone and listen to it, along with BBC Radio's "Gardeners' Question Time," WGLT's "Gardening with the Dean of Green," and NCPR's "Gardening Conversations" with Martha Foley and Amy Ivy (which isn't on Stitcher, but is available as a podcast), on my drives north from the city. These are my favorites, because I don't feel as if they are advertisements for a particular agenda or product, and they seem most focused on presenting useful information in a way that isn't pretentious or precious or jokey or dumbed down. I wish there were more programs like this, but I'm just not finding them. Any suggestions?

But I digress.

In Margaret Roach's most recent podcast, she listed out the plants that visitors asked about most during her recent garden tour, which was last weekend during the annual Copake Falls Day. Here they are:

I'm particularly interested in Aesculus pavia, which has red blossoms during the spring. Unusual.

daylilies for james

2012-08-23T22:54:00.000-04:00

James, here are a few daylilies I took note of at Slate Hill Farm last weekend. They're all in bloom now. Fiery, but fiery red, rather than fiery orange, most of them.

'Ruby My Dear': Red with a yellow throat, late, 28 inches (Craig and Mary Barnes, 2011)

'Augie Lombard': Red blend, very late, 31 inches (Bell, 1991)

'Caroline No': Red-orange with a red band above a yellow-green throat, late, 36 inches (Craig and Mary Barnes 2008)

'Challenger': Warm brick red with gold midribs, late midseason to late, 72 inches (Stout, 1949); Mary Barnes noted that it was blooming beautifully in an area with half sun

'Poinsettia': Orange-red spider, mid-season to late, 36 inches (Stout, 1953)

I know you already have 'Autumn Minaret." Did yours come into bloom a few weeks ago like mine did? It's already over six feet tall. Just beautiful.

'Princess Irene' is a great orange (see my previous post), and it was in bloom at Slate Hill Farm last weekend, too.

Old House Gardens is selling two other beautiful late daylilies, 'August Pioneer' and 'Black Friar.' Have you seen them?

Good luck! I think I may go back and buy a 'Challenger' this weekend. It really stood out to me. I'll also be on the lookout for more fiery orange daylilies for you . . .

slate hill farm, the 2012 edition

2012-08-16T23:56:00.000-04:00

Gracious, more daylilies! After church last Sunday, I had a choice: Turn left and go home to weed. Hmmmm. Turn right and visit Slate Hill Farm, just to look around a bit and see what's blooming . . . What do you think I did? What would you do?

Craig and Mary Barnes took time out from their weeding to walk me through their late-blooming daylilies, all of which I wanted to buy. I somehow managed to limit myself to fewer than 10. But just barely. I'll pick them up on Saturday.

The information below is from Slate Hill Farm and other sites (including Bloomingfields Farm and Oakes Daylilies):

'Kindly Light' Classic spider, glowing yellow, very narrow petals recurved, blooming from mid-summer for about five weeks, 30 inches (Bechtold, 1950)
'Princess Irene' Rich, clear orange, blooming from mid-summer until frost, 36 inches (Zager, 1952)
'Poinsettia' (for some reason this one isn't in the online catalog, so I'm linking to Google images): Orange-red spider, mid-season to late, 36 inches (Stout, 1953)
'Frans Hals' (ditto on this one, too): Bright rust and orange bicolor, creamy orange midrib on petals, very long blooming from midseason, 28 inches (Flory, 1955)
'Bitsy' Grassy foliage, small yellow flowers, reblooms, extra-early, 20 inches (Warner, 1963)
'Gold Thimble' Tiny, tiny, tiny! Beautiful little cup-shaped gold blossom (Hughes, 1966)
'Lady Neva' Soft yellow semi-spider with rose eye, fragrant, early-midseason, 42 inches (Alexander/Moody, 1970)
'Scarlet Orbit' Red with chartreuse throat, reblooms, fragrant, early, 22 inches (Gates, 1984)
'Easter Monday' Pale yellow trumpet, fragrant(!), mid-season to late, 52 inches (Craig and Mary Barnes, 2006)

Notice the Barnes's hybrid, 'Easter Monday'? It's a large trumpet and fragrant. Say no more. And the color is wonderful. All right, stop. And did you notice how tall it is? That's it: I love it.

I seem to be partial to older varieties, traditional shapes, and traditional colors, although I did kind of a double-take on an almost white daylily that the Barnes are trialing now. I bet that would look great among brighter colors.

The last daylily I want to buy this year is Sydney Eddison's favorite, 'Painted Lady.' I've found it at Lakeview Daylily Farm, and nowhere else, so before it gets too much later in the season, I need to put a last order in . . .

upstate new york hosta society plant sale

2012-08-12T08:51:00.000-04:00

Yesterday morning, I tagged along with my hosta-loving friend Pam to the annual hosta sale sponsored by the Upstate New York Hosta Society at Faddegon's Nursery in Latham, New York. We decided to go a little early after she told me about last year's sale: She and her friend Diane arrived at 8:45 for what had been advertised as a 9:00 opening. When they got there, they were almost run over by all the early birds pulling carts piled high with hostas back to their cars. The sale had opened early.

The injustice!

So this year, we arrived at 8:30. Who knows but that other hosta lovers cried foul last year, because the sale began at 9:00 on the dot.

Our strategy was to grab the plants we might want and then review our finds later, which worked really well for us. We bought for three gardens—Pam's, Diane's, and B's and mine—so our two-tiered cart was jammed. Between the three of us, we ended up with something like 20 beautiful plants and spent a grand total of $103. Here are my purchases:

(left to right) 'Abiqua Drinking Gourd,' 'Christmas Tree,' 'August Moon,' 'Green and Gold,' and 'Sum and Substance'

All healthy plants, and we had the opportunity to talk to a bunch of other people who love hostas, too (they're a congenial crowd). What a happy morning!

welcome morning, by anne sexton

2012-07-21T10:34:00.000-04:00

There is joy
in all:
in the hair I brush each morning,
in the Cannon towel, newly washed,
that I rub my body with each morning,
in the chapel of eggs I cook
each morning,
in the outcry from the kettle
that heats my coffee
each morning,
in the spoon and the chair
that cry "hello there, Anne"
each morning,
in the godhead of the table
that I set my silver, plate, cup upon
each morning.

All this is God,
right here in my pea-green house
each morning
and I mean,
though often forget,
to give thanks,
to faint down by the kitchen table
in a prayer of rejoicing
as the holy birds at the kitchen window
peck into their marriage of seeds.

So while I think of it,
let me paint a thank-you on my palm
for this God, this laughter of the morning,
lest it go unspoken.

The Joy that isn't shared, I've heard,
dies young.

centaurea montana

2012-07-20T23:38:00.000-04:00

My mom grew this in a partly shady garden next to the stone wall on the south side of our yard, and I remember vases of the blooms on our dining room table when I was growing up. The flower always seemed a little odd to me, a little vulnerable, vague, and sparse. I wanted more petals. They're such an intense blue, but I thought there were too few of them. It's a pretty flower, but not in any usual way.

Mom must have moved the plant to her garden at the lake house where she and my dad spend most of their summers these days, because she still cuts it for her flower arrangements. And I have remained ambivalent toward it.

This means that I've never asked my mother for a piece of her plant to put in my garden, and when I've seen it or its gold-leaved cousin at nurseries, I've thought, Oh, I should buy that because it reminds me of home, but I never have.

Then last summer, my friend Pam offered me a piece of her plant, and I thought, Oh, all right, let's try it. She told me not to be sad when the leaves disappeared after I put it in the ground. "It'll do that, and you'll think it's a goner. But then it will send up new leaves and maybe a bloom or two, and you will be happy." Well, it did send up a bunch of leaves last summer, but it didn't flower until this spring. And when it did, all my ambivalence disappeared.

The sparseness of the petals seems delicate and elegant to me now. The plant is huge and has been in continuous bloom since May, a real plus in my gardening book. The blue is gorgeous, and by happy accident my Eryngium 'Sapphire Blue' is planted right next door, so that the interplay of these two odd birds is kind of wonderful. I'm such a fan that I'm considering buying the gold-leaved version, too, and, in fact, I did buy another centaurea this spring, Centaurea macrocephala. It has a yellow, thistle-like flower that makes it look like C. montana's football-playing older brother.

I'm glad I got over my reservation about this wonderful plant. I don't know why it took me so long to decide to grow it up here on the hill, but I'm happy I finally came around. I feel like I should tell my mom that I get it now.

And thank you, Pam!

a million little stars

2012-07-20T00:32:00.000-04:00

The other night, after I watered all the squash I just transplanted (transplanted! in midsummer! so dry! what was I thinking!), I took a rest in the vegetable garden and noticed how sweet the flower bed in the middle looks. B has planted thyme and more thyme and yet more, and it is in bloom.

midsummer triptych

2012-07-19T23:56:00.002-04:00

In spite of the dry summer we've had so far (note crispy Heuchera in the header), the garden looks lush; even 'Rozanne' is hanging in there, and she's in full sun!

Foxglove with a backdrop of 'Blue Angel' hosta.

Fern, astilbe, pachysandra.

Geranium 'Rozanne' and Cotinus coggyria 'Royal Purple.'