My Obsession with Bearded Irises

My obsession with bearded irises, Siberian iris, and all things iris continues to grow. Hubby bought me a beautiful encyclopedia of iris breeds that was on clearance and I've got that plus some other iris books out in the living room now. Each evening, I thumb through them, dreaming. Red or blue? Bicolored or solid? It's hard to decide.

Bearded irises grew fairly well on Long Island but they thrive here in Virginia. Each spring, I see clumps and thickets blooming in glorious profusion at the edge of farm driveways, by sheds, even in ditches alongside the roads.

My goal is to plant at least one new variety each year. Last year, I planted a soft pink bicolor and a blue and was rewarded with blooms from the soft pink. The iris we moved from Huntington are thriving, so much so that Hubby remarked yesterday I may have to divide them again. I think it's too soon and want to give them another year or two.

In the meantime, as the cold weather descends and I start cleaning up the flower garden, I'm trying to decide where I can fit in more bearded iris. Should they go by the pathway, or in the back? Near the butterfly garden, or on the edge of the woods? Like the daffodil and narcissus bulbs we planted in the orchard, I want to plant new iris bulbs each year, until the garden is covered with them.

I know it's not time to plant them. It's not even time to order them. But I've already started window shopping...

Can you imagine how beautiful it's going to be when I get those bearded iris all along the edges of the woods?

November Garden Surprises

Back on Long Island, the November garden was a dreary mass of matted oak and maple leaves and the occasional surprise burst of orange from a marigold that had somehow escaped the frosts. It's different here in south central Virginia. Although we'd had some cold nights and one good, rip roaring frost (27 degrees F), the days zoom back in the 60's and '70s. The rolling hills and sheltered spots also seem to produce amazing micro climates. I've got cool weather annuals like my snapdragons just fine and dandy back by the garden shed, but a few were nipped in the flower garden next to the driveway. Ditto for the petunias; they're still blooming next to the garage, but just green out in the flower garden.

And the vegetable garden never ceases to offer surprises. The garlic is doing well, sending up robust shoots that are making my mouth water with thoughts of Italian recipes to make next year, but so is the Chard. Not unexpected, but it's rapidly overtaking the bed again. The spinach struggled along, strangely so, since I expected it to be more vigorous, but the biggest surprise has been the calendula. It's an herb whose flowers are used for skin balms. I looked out the kitchen window this morning and saw some orange peeking out from behind the catnip. And there were new calendula blossoms on a plant I thought was dead. The picture today is my little bed of calendula. I harvested the blossoms, and have them in a Mason jar next to my lavender; both will come in handy this winter.

I'm loathe to dig up anything right now. Plants that look dead revive under a few days of warmth and rain, and plants that "should", according to the garden books, be dug up and discarded are still going strong, so I'm just leaving everything alone and enjoying the long slide into winter.

The Mouse

Yes, another rodent visitor. We're noticing they come in when it's cold or rainy outside. Well, if I were a field mouse, I would too. Pierre woke us up at 4 a.m. on Thursday morning vigorously playing with something on the bedroom floor. I assumed it was one of his toy chickens, the ones he enjoys bringing upstairs and lining up on his little blanket. So I rolled over and went back to sleep. I awoke at 6, took care of Shadow, got my coffee and headed upstairs to work. As I was answering email, I heard a muffled shout from down the hallway. Hubby emerged from the bedroom. "Pierre's got a mouse."

"His green one or his blue one?"

"Neither. A real one."

He had the little creature cornered behind the night table. We went about our day, leaving Pierre on guard duty. Pierre kept his vigil all day long, barely snatching a cat nap for the next several hours. The mouse never moved.

Finally, Hubby could stand it no longer. He decided to take action.

I heard a triumphant shout. "I got him!"

He walked into my office holding a lid on top of an empty plastic container. The mouse was standing on tip toe inside, nose twitching, looking indignant.

"Nabbed him on the stairs."

Score: Pierre, 2. Hubby, 2. It's a tie.

In the middle of the nor'easter, with branches snapping and the wind and rain howling, Hubby walked out into our woods. He was gone for about 10 minutes. He came back soaking wet.

"Where in the world did you go?"

"All the way down to the fallen tree. I let the mouse go there. At least he has a place to hide from the storm."

"The owl might get him." We've got a wonderful Great Horned owl living in the woods on that side of the property. We hear her every night, hunting.

"Yeah, but at least that's nature doing what it does..." He shrugged and brushed something off his maroon sweatshirt. "You know. Not...playing him to death, the way Pierre would. Fast, natural death."

"What's that on your shirt?"

"Saltine crumbs. I left him a cracker. He's probably hungry."

I told him that St. Francis of Assissi would have been proud of him.

Nor Easter

This nor'easter won't stop today. The wind has been howling since yesterday, and it's pouring. It's cold too - only in the forties. Hubby refuses to turn the heat on. The house is around 60 degrees. I'm finishing up a few things I can only do on the main computer, then taking my laptop downstairs, lighting a fire, and working there for the warmth.

Shadow is so funny in the rain. She hates rain. Now when she sees me take out an umbrella, you can just see her face fall. "Oh no....rain. No ball playing today." When I walk her along the street, she keeps turning her head around and looking up at the sky, as if seeking the source of whoever is hurling raindrops on her. She looks absolutely offended at the rain, as if it's beneath her dignity to get soaking wet.

One good thing about stormy weather...it makes Pierre all cuddly. As I write this, my tough, independent cat has discovered sitting on my lap while I work. He's too big for that, however, and sort of drapes all 17 pounds of his king cat self across my lap, resting his chin on the arm of my chair.

My garden looks like it's drowning, and we've got a tree across the driveway. Happy fall! Now I am heading down to a warm fire and continuing my workday...

How to Make Cold Frames from Recycled Materials | eHow.com

How to Make Cold Frames from Recycled Materials | eHow.com

How to Do Fall Garden Clean Up | eHow.com

How to Do Fall Garden Clean Up | eHow.com

Geraniums

My plant room is now filled with friends to overwinter, mostly geraniums. I've got a soft spot in my heart for geraniums. They always remind me of my parents and Mr. Hoffman, the kindly neighbor from Floral Park who I've mentioned before.

My dad grew red geraniums in window boxes outside of our dining room. In our New York City suburban house, they attracted a hummingbird - a rarity on Long Island. I was in the fifth grade when I saw a hummingbird for the first time.

My seat at the dinner table had me facing the window that overlooked the driveway, with the window box full of red geraniums. Suddenly there was a flash of emerald and an odd hum - and there was a hummingbird, drinking nectar from the geraniums. I had never seen a hummingbird, and ever since then, I've been absolutely fascinated with these tiny birds.

I love the beautiful reds, hot pinks and light pinks and the foliage of geraniums. The smell isn't so pleasant from the foliage, but I like the diversity of foliage on them too - the frilly, frothy, dark green, light green, and green with burgundy stripe foliage.

I managed to save my reds and one pink geranium before the frost. Next year if I can find seeds or plants online for scented geraniums, I'm hoping to add some to the flower garden.

One great thing about gerniums; Pierre hates the taste of them. One nibble and he was cured of his desire to shred Mommy's plants. If only I was so lucky with the others (and my bookmarks; every single book mark I own is now decorated with cat fang marks.)

You can never have enough geraniums!

The photo below is my plant room...sorry it is so dark; I can't quite figure out how to get the lighting right in my little room.