Memorial Gardens, or Remembering Loved Ones Through Plants

It seems as if I use many flowers and plants to remember people I love who are living still or people I love who have passed on. My mother, for instance, loved the garden and my childhood memories are tinted with the yellow of Kerria japonica, a snowball viburnum that shaded the screened in porch, gladiolus blooming next to the brick, tumbles of yellow and red roses. I found myself unconsciously drawn to such plants as I selected flowers for my gardens at my new home here in Virginia. "Rosemary for remembrance" may be just a saying, but all plants bring with them powerful connotations and memories.

Kerria japonica. Thank you Joan!

Today, the Kerria bloomed for the first time, reminding me again of the power of flowers and plants to help us remember. This poor Kerria came as a bundle of sticks caked in mud. I'd wanted one for ages, but the only one I could find was from a nursery online and they wanted $25 for a little potted plant. No thank you. I put the word out among my gardening friends that I wanted one, and wouldn't you know it but a short time later my friend Joan called to say that a neighbor was ripping out a whole hedge of them, and would I like one? Sure! She showed up with a bag that looked like a bunch of green twigs caked in mud.  We planted them without much hope in a sunny spot in the new garden area on the southern side of the house that we installed this spring, and waited. Leaves appeared, but they still looked like sticks.  Now today; one single yellow flower, like a pompom, stuck to the end of one of the twigs. The Kerria has bloomed at last!

Sunlight through the leaves of the snowball Viburnum, like stained glass

Mums for my dad; Kerria, snowball viburnum, Blaze roses for my mom; holly for Aunt Betty; butterflies for Aunt Lucille, because they are such a wonderful Christian symbol of rebirth and renewal.

What will people grow to remember me by, I wonder?  (Probably something weedy with thorns!)

Butterfly on butterfly bush today in the garden.

Hot Summer Colors in the Garden

I tend to go for bright, bold colors in the garden, and the hot orange snapdragons and zinnias shown here are just two examples of what's blooming in the garden now that attests to my love for powerful, bright, clear colors. Part of this is simply a function of what will show up best in the larger spaces here in my garden at Seven Oaks. I love gazing at my garden from my office window, where I have a nearly unobstructed view from above of the beautiful flower gardens in front of the house. It's easier to see bright colors from a distance. My Bonica rose, for example, is a light pastel pink, and unless the entire bush is covered with flowers, it really fades into the background.

Not so the bright, clear sunny yellows of the daisies and black-eyed Susans blooming now. They pop into bright punctuation marks throughout the garden. Even the orange daylilies, the yellow Stella d'Oro daylilies, and the Asiatic lilies are all shades of bright clear orange or yellow.


Many garden design experts recommend planting cool shades in hot climates to tone things down, but I tend to like to turn the volume up to 11, to paraphrase the movie Spinal Tap. How can you tone down a  July day in full sun in Virginia? It's hot. No two ways about it.  Might as well admit it and enjoy it, right?

 

Actually, if you want to cool down...take a walk in the woods.  The woods are where we go to cool off, although the ever-present, always disgusting ticks keep my to the paths. Today I saw a flock of wild turkey hens and dozens and dozens of tiny chicks hopping away.  Toads darted from underneath a fallen log and a painted box turtle made his way slowly away from the compost pile, which I've tucked in among the trees. I suspect that both the box turtle and the toads found a hearty meal among the flies and insects buzzing near the compost pile!

 

 

 

Yes, these are my woods...lovely and cool on a hot day!

Before I close today's entry, one of Pierre's many fans wanted to know what was going on with the critters. Well, things have been very quiet with them both.  Oh sure, the usual mischief. Pierre disappeared yesterday when I thought he was on the porch and I found him jaunting about the woods; bad kitty took himself for a walk.  Just for his fan who wrote to me, I will close with pictures of his royal highness, prince of the household, Mr. Pierre himself.

Pierre, helping me at work.

Magical Hummingbirds in the Garden

Did I ever tell you the story of the first time I saw a hummingbird? I probably have, because I tell this story a lot. It's a moment for me that still stands out in memory as a moment crystallized and frozen by awe- and mystery, and magic.

I was about 11 or 12 years old. My place at the dinner table in our family dining room on Long Island faced a window. My mother sat across from me. Behind her I could see a window which overlooked the driveway, a short strip of grass and bushes, and then Mr. Hoffman's house. If you've ever seen the shots that open All in the Family and you see how close the houses are to one another, that about sums up Floral Park; a bit greener, a bit more suburban, but we could still see into each other's houses unless the blinds were drawn.

My dad had hung window boxes on the eastern side of the house - two, one under the kitchen window and one under the dining room window. Each year he planted pink or red geraniums.  On that magical June day, I remember siting at the table eating dinner. I looked up at a strange sound and there in the window, hovering over the geraniums, was a hummingbird.

The bird looked at me quizzically, sipped a bit from the geranium, then zoomed off on his next errand.

I tried to call out to my family what it was but by the time the word "Hummingbird!" escaped, it was gone. At first no one believed me. Hummingbird sightings are rare on Long Island!  But I knew what I had seen. I felt privy to a mystery. I was in awe of the tiny creature, and from then on, my fascination with hummingbirds grew.

Now that I live in Virginia, hummingbirds are abundant from April through late September. I have a feeder next to my front porch and each morning I love to sit there with Shadow and a good cup of coffee and watch the show. The hummingbirds check Shadow out at first, but when they realize that the big furry dog is no threat, they continue to feed.

I have one fat ruby-throated male I've nicknamed "Chief" because he sits on top of the feeder pole like a chieftain of old, jealously guarding "his" nectar source.  He chases away females, juveniles, and any male foolish enough to challenge his claim to the "flower."  Sometimes the least are first, however, when Chief is fooled into battling off another male and leaves his post; females and juveniles wait in the pine trees, chattering, until the male lures Chief away, and then they descend hungrily on the feeder.  Chief swoops back and angrily shoos them away, but by then it's too late; they leave, satisfied.

My sister's birthday was this week and I mailed her a beautiful hummingbird feeder I found at a local store. She called me last night and was very excited by the addition. Her children peppered her with questions, remembering the feeder on my porch; would they get a lot of hummingbirds too? What could they do to keep it clean and safe for the birds? Where should they place the new feeder so they could see it easily from the house?

I hope that they too get to see the magic of a hummingbird. There really is something quite special about these sweet, curious and intelligent birds.

(Hummingbird picture is from Morguefile; the porch with the flag is really my front porch, and that's just where I like to sit.  And the geranium is my photo too.)

Flower Seed Packet Surprises

I've written about my annual ritual of choosing a few new varieties of both flowers and vegetables for the garden. I'm growing heirloom bean seeds, potatoes and horseradish in the vegetable garden; three new plants to explore and learn. The flower garden saw the addition of Monarda, Bee Balm, and a new hybrid Gaillardia called "Punch Bowl." (Blogger isn't cooperating with my attempts to add pictures, so I am using Amazon instead; I'll post an original photo when the service is working well.)

I didn't know much about Gaillardia when they came with a Spring Hill Gardening catalog kit that I purchased to fill in the bare clay soil next to the driveway that morphed into the flower garden. I noted where the catalog company suggested planting it, popped it into the ground, watered it and thought nothing further about it.  Soon the plants rewarded me with abundant sunny orange and yellow flowers. Puffball seed heads resembling dandelions nodded on the low-growing foliage in the fall. The next year, I had double the number of Gaillardia, plus Gaillardia growing among the gravel rocks in the driveway and off into the woods. Prolific? Meet Gaillardia.

I've moved plants around the garden, collected and shared seeds with friends, and pulled them up by the roots. Nothing phases them. They grow where most plants won't, don't need a lot of water, and bloom almost continuously once they get stared.

Feeling a bit tired of the orange and reds, though, I perked up when I saw the beautiful pink and purple hybrid advertised in a seed catalog. I purchased the seeds and started them this spring.  This week, the first two plants bloomed...and was I in for a surprise.

The pink one? Yes, that's what it's supposed to look like.

But guess what? I've also got some ruffled lemon yellow ones growing right next to it, and a few orange and yellows from the same seed package!

I am guessing that Gaillardia is one of those plants that just crosses so easily or reverts to its origins that nobody could guarantee an entire package of one color of seeds. Since my garden is a crazy quilt of color, I really don't mind. In fact, it's become an adventure to find new colors in the garden beds. I plan to collect the seeds and share them with my gardening friends at Christmas...but I can't guarantee the color!

Synchronicity and Stories

We had the funniest thing happen this weekend. We were at our neighbor's pig roast, which is sort of like a block party back on Long Island except we don't have blocks out here in the country, so our friends throw open their farm to family and friends, roast a big pig, and everyone brings side dishes and drinks to share. Hubby and I had walked back to the shade of a pecan tree behind the house to watch the kickball game going on among the teens and young adults. It was a lot of fun. It had gotten very hot and sticky, and soon a young mom brought out a rubber-duck shaped swimming pool for her toddler. She placed it under the shade of the pecan tree and her son helped her settle this adorable baby girl in a gingham dress and white bonnet into the wading pool. The baby squealed with delight and we watched as the brother tenderly poured water over her head to keep her cool in the 90+ degree heat. She seemed more intent on drinking the water from the bucket than pouring it over herself, but her brother tried very hard to show her how to pour the water herself. She just gurlged and cooed and splashed the water merrily. She was a pretty little thing and absolutely content to sit her pool in the shade and splash around while the adoring adults watched and delighted in her antics.

"Do you know who that little girl is?" the woman sitting beside me asked.

"No," I said. "Who is she?"

"Do you remember a story from the Farmville Herald (our town newspaper) a few months ago about a father who delivered his own baby on a front lawn because they couldn't get to the hospital in time?"

I did remember the story. At the time, we marveled at how quick-thinking both parents were.  He had been driving his wife to the hospital, and the baby came before they got there. He'd delivered the baby on somebody's front lawn, much to the homeowner's astonishment!

"That the baby," she said.

I smiled in delight to see the cherub splashing merrily away. It's amazing to me how often such coincidences happen in my life. I'll read something in the paper about total strangers, then months later will meet the people involved. In fact, it happens to me so frequently that a friend actually accused me of making it up once! She thought I was concocting those things, but I never do. I just seem to attract synchronicity into my life.

Many people talk about the "Law of Attraction" that was made popular in the movie and the book The Secret.  Really though, I think my gift for synchronicity is simply awareness.  I remember stories; I remember and mentally file away all sorts of random things that interest me. And I have heard it said that what you fix your attention on you do somehow draw into your consciousness, although sometimes things like meeting the little baby from the story are just coincidences.

God breezes, synchronicity....whatever you call it, even thinking about that little girl in the pretty dress and bonnet splashing around in her wading pool makes me smile today!

Living Joyfully One Day at a Time

Thank you to all my friends and family far and near for the prayers and encouragement this week. Some people were aware that one of my siblings needed emergency surgery this week; everything went well, and he is expected to make a full recovery. To everyone who remembered him in your prayers, thank you.

I've spent the last several days talking to my two sisters and my other brother at least once, sometimes several times a day, as we process the anxiety and fear of having one of "us" so ill (we tend to refer to ourselves as a collective, like the Borg without the creepiness factor). Many of them are trying to find meaning in what is happening; the only meaning that I take from it is that we must continue to live joyfully, one day at a time. It is so, so very easy to forget that each day is a miracle unfolding in front of us.  I know that I do that all the time! I wake up and want to grumble because the dog woke me at 5 a.m, or I stagger down to the kitchen bleary-eyed and find a stack of unwashed dishes from the other adults in this household. It's like I'm the only one around here with the magical abilities to squirt some dish soap into the sink and wash a plate.  Grumble grumble grumble.

All around the world is beautiful. It's ugly and scary too, and my mind wants to magnify the ugly, scary things and forget the beautiful things.

That's why I think gardening is so amazingly therapeutic. Look at the photo at the top of this page. I snapped that on the spur of the moment on Monday morning. During the summer months I like to take my coffee in the morning out onto the front porch and sit for a while watching the birds and the dawn light changing the colors of the clouds. It's cool and peaceful in the morning and with Shadow by my side, we watch the world awaken and unfold around us.  I took a little walk around the garden and there was the only remaining hollyhock, this lush lemon yellow beauty, unfolding its blossoms like beautiful, delicate whorls of lace.

Yet there in the middle of the flowers were Japanese beetles - first of the season. They can eat a flower right off the stalk and they love hollyhocks. So I captured the beauty of that flower and enjoyed it for the day.  The next day it was gone. Did it die or did the beetles eat it? Who knows?

The important thing to remember is that joy, like beauty, is a daily gift. It has to be renewed daily.  The human impulse is to want to squash joy and beauty into a sack and take them out every day and look at them again and again while all around us new joy and new beauty unfold.  There is an old saying that today is a gift- that's why we call it "the present."  It is so true.

You can look for the Japanese beetles spoiling the hollyhocks, or you can bask in the beauty of the hollyhock today - and not worry about tomorrow.

Make sure you take a few minutes today to enjoy the gift of your present.

Garden Volunteers Blooming Today - Sunflowers

Self seeded sunflower, blooming in June

I love sunflowers. They didn't grow very well for us on Long Island, and the chipmunks got most of the seeds. We had one very fat chipmunk living in the drain pipe next to our patio at our old house on Long Island. My father in law would plant sunflower seeds in the garden bed next to the drain pipe.  We'd catch the rotund chipmunk digging in the soil, stuffing his cheeks full of seeds, and racing back for the safety of his drain pipe. My husband always wondered if the little creature grew to be any fatter, would he get stuck inside?

I haven't seen any chipmunks on our little farm, and the sunflowers we grow are grown against the long southern wall of the house. Last fall I was lazy and didn't take the sunflower seed heads in like I did the previous year. The birds found them quickly, and we had a wonderful show of goldfinches and other birds on the abondoned seed heads.

I thought no more about it until this spring when we noticed "weeds" growing among the shrubs on that side of the house. The weeds quickly grew into sunflowers - and because they got such an early start, they're blooming today, in June instead of August.

Pink clashes with the red - but the petunias had other ideas!

Another group of volunteers that appeared just a few weeks ago are the pink petunias shown in this picture. I planted red - clear red - to make a nice contrast with all the yellows and oranges going on in the garden. Pink clashes. The petunias beg to differ. All along the area where I planted pink petunias last year are newly emerged volunteers.

My front window boxes are planted with geraniums that I wintered over.  This year, more volunteers emerged - geranium seedlings! Today we counted four altogether. They grew in the oddest places. Some are tucked up under the damp shelter of the azaleas, a few are under the porch overhang, and one is just next to the sidewalk. Honestly, if I tried to start seeds there they'd never come up, but these seeds found a way!

Lastly, I've got clusters of pansies growing under the shady stone wall of my back deck.  I've planted lots of pansies there in previous years, but this year switched over to impatiens.  Then I noticed the pansies coming up all over the place. I've got white and yellow pansies nodding among the impatiens. 

Garden volunteers offer fun surprises. You never know what you're going to get when the plants start seeding everywhere.  It works for my unsophisticated country casual design where anything goes.  My plants know where to grow!

Coreopsis self seeded among the daisies.

Odd Red Coreopsis in the Garden Today

Red flower amidst yellow Coreopsis tinctoria

On Monday morning, I usually step outside with my camera and capture as many images as I can of the garden, the wildlife and the woods; most of the picture accompany various articles I have due during the week.  As I stepped down the new (and spiffy, I might add) garden path, I stopped to take some pictures of the Coreopsis tinctoria or "Plains Coreopsis" I have growing throughout the garden. I planted one small seed package, and it reseeds so prolifically that I have it growing throughout the garden now. I used to dislike it, but now I like it - mostly because the flowers smother out weeds. I remain suspicious of it, however, mostly for its tendency to reseed so freely I'm pulling plants out of our gravel driveway. Tough as nails, that Coreopsis.

A flash of red caught my eye and I bent closer to inspect it. Imagine my surprise when I found a red coreopsis growing among the yellow ones. At first I thought it might be a stray cosmos, but no - the leaves are identical to Coreopsis tinctoria.

Have you ever heard of this? I know red is another common color, but I have never grown red in my garden - and none of my neighbors have red either.  Is this just a typical genetic fluke or what? The only ones I could find online claim to be dwarf red Coreopsis tinctoria, but this one isn't dwarf - it's nearly 3 feet tall, as tall as its neighbors.

I'm just glad I happened to photograph that Coreopsis and not another patch in the garden!

Red - growing among the yellow - Coreopsis-like foliage....

More in the same area. I couldn't find another red one!

Purple Coneflower or Echinacea in Bloom

Echinacea "Paradoxa" and friend

The Echinacea are now in full bloom throughout the garden, although the latest additions in 2010, Echinacea "Cherry Brandy," are shyly holding back their blossoms. I even found a few volunteers, or plants grown from seeds blown about by the wind, in the island bed in the middle of the lawn. Shadow and I went out to the garden at noon today, braving the scorching heat wave that's struck central Virginia, and she plopped down under the snowball Viburnum while I inspected the Echinacea.  I did a double take when I realized why Shadow chose to snooze under the Viburnum while I puttered about; it's tall enough to cast a decent shadow, and she lay down in the shade.  I only planted that little seedling in spring 2009 - they sure do grow quickly!

The Echinacea growing throughout my garden are from two groups I started from seeds. The first group started as a 'sampler' pack from Park Seed. I bought the Park Seed Coneflower Collection Echinacea and lavender sampler sets in 2008, started them from seed, and used the seedlings as a border around the island bed. I had a few lavender leftover, so that became the border around the rose garden and then a little hedge of lavender nearby.

Coneflower collection - White Swan, Purpureau (purple coneflower), Paradoxa (yellow). Petals are upright until maturity, then they point downward into the telltale cone shape.

The kit included Echinacea "White Swan," the Traditional "Purpurea" (purple, what everyone thinks of when you say Echinacea - Purple Coneflower), and Yellow "Paradoxa."  (If you buy the collection now, they swapped out the common Purpurea for Magnus, which has a more daisy-like appearance but is also purple.)

Echinacea is native to North America, which is another reason I love seeing the nodding, cone-shaped seed heads. The name comes from the Greek word for "hedgehog" because the first Europreans who saw the plant decided the seed cone looked bristly, like a hedgehog. I'm not sure if I'd have chosen a similar name. I probably would have called the plant "goldfinch mother" since it nurtures the goldfinches and kinglets that love to eat its seed. Every fall, flocks of the beautiful golden birds alight on the seed heads.  I collected seeds the first year; now I don't. I leave them for the birds.

Classic Purple Coneflower

This year I have a few more Purpurea seedlings snug in their nursery pots on the front porch, waiting for a cooler day to move them into the garden. I like to wait until I have at least three sets of strong, robust leaves on the plants before attempting to transplant them, and I have to wait for a time when I know I will remember to water them daily.  If I get too busy, I forget to water them, and in this heat the babies shrivel and wither away under the fierce glare of the Virginia sun.

If you've never grown Echinacea, they're truly easy care perennials, but they do need full sun and some space.  I recommend that beginners buy them as fully grown plants at the garden center, since the seeds require some TLC and nurturing until they're big enough to transplant into the garden. Some of my friends have had success sowing seeds directly into the garden; maybe you will, too. But do add Echinacea to the garden. Nothing says summer like Purple Coneflower!

The Changing Garden Color Palette

Each month, a new color palette sweeps through the flower garden. I didn't do that on purpose; I'm not that skilled at garden design. I just plant what I love and the rest follows.

Early spring finds hues of purple and pink scattered throughout the garden, punctuated by bright red, yellow, apricot and pastel pink tulips. Nodding daffodils also add bursts of color, but the main theme is pink and purple.

As May transitioned into June, I noticed more yellow flowers blooming, and now that we are into the second week of June, the predominant colors are yellow and orange.  Purple lavender, purple and pink petunias and hummingbird flower, fuchsia colored yarrow and red roses accent the garden, but the main theme is yellow and orange.

Bright patches of yellow daisies, yellow Stella d'Oro daylilies, and yellow and orange Gaillardia create sweeps of color. What I've noticed is that flowers that reseed and spread freely, such as the Gaillardia, are taking over big patches of the flower garden which is fine by me.  The more flowers I have planted there, the less room there is for weeds! But it is also creating dominant color palettes.

A wildflower-like effect among the perennials; the pinks are mini hollyhocks, and the others are coreopsis, ox-eye daisy (a true wildflower) and Gaillardia

Yellow coneflower blooming now with visitor

Stella d'Oro Daylilies

Nature is more skilled as a painter than I am, and I am grateful for her masterful touch in the garden choosing the color palette!

Lavender, Roses and Bees-Flower Gardening Magic

Lavender border around the roses

Lavender blooms profusely throughout the garden now, and the border around the rose garden area is a symphony of humming and buzzing. Hubby and I worked on the garden pathways on Saturday, completing a record number of feet in one day; we finished the main pathway steps, then the circle around the rose garden. We have about 5 more feet of walkway to complete, stones on the work path to cement, and then we need to agree on the "ta-da!" factor at the garden entrance. I set aside a special stepping stone I bought at B and M Greenhouse in Farmville for the entrance; it has a butterfly impressed upon its surface. I'm considering buying those bright rock-sized glass stones at the dollar store that florists use to fill clear vases with to create a stained-glass effect, but I can't decide if it will look dazzling or Las Vegas showgirl cheap at the entrance. I get the sneaking suspicion that a scattering of those glass rocks may look too glittery for my country garden. I also have visions of them becoming slick with moss over the years and causing someone to tumble down the garden path a la Jack and Jill in the old nursery rhyme. I think I'd better wait and see what Hubby comes up with.

Garden entrance. Tempting to add some glitz, but it's going to ruin the natural look! Morning glories climb the trellis.

You can see from the pictures today how we are working on the pathways. First, they are cleared of weeds. The ground is hard-packed clay so I usually pull the larger weeds first thing in the morning when the dew wets the ground enough to loosen the weeds. Next, we tack down 4 foot wide landscape fabric.  Turns are tough; you have to slice and fold the fabric like wrapping a present.

The path to the right shows you stones on fabric. The pebbles are added last.

Next, we place the slates. That's another tough job since we bought the wrong kind of slates - we purchased the kind people use to build stone walls, not the kind for pathways. They're all of different thicknesses.  We have to work carefully through the piles of slates and find ones of comparable thickness. Then we have to spend time placing them into a pleasing pattern.

Last, I haul buckets of pebbles from the pile we had delivered.  Originally we bought Quick Krete concrete filler pebbles, but the company changed them from the nice little white and natural colored stones to ugly dark gray ones this year. Bags were a lot easier to haul around the garden, that's for sure. Instead, we bought a truckload of river stones from Jamerson's in Appomattox, and had them delivered into a big pile.  My job during construction is to walk two pails back and forth from the pile up the slight hill to wherever Hubby is working.  We dump the pails, and then do it all over. I am hoping it builds beautiful biceps muscles; I hauled so many pounds of stones this weekend I must have gotten a good workout!

Flower garden is buzzing with bees!

But the lavender and the bees...I couldn't get over the variety of bees buzzing about the lavender. Bumble bees, honey bees, wasps, hornets, yellow jackets. I know it sounds like a nightmare, and if you'd asked me this back in New York City before I moved, when I was a happily commuting suburbanite, my reaction would have been "Where's the can of Raid?"  I hated bees. My mom used to frighten me every time I went outside to play, "Now stay away from the bees or you'll get stung!" as if getting stung is the worse thing in the world. Well, I got stung by a yellow jacket last year when I reached into the strawberry bed and picked a strawberry the yellow jacket coveted; he stung my finger, and while it hurt like blazes, I'm alive to tell the tale. Now that I know I can survive a sting, I'm not afraid anymore.

The buzzing from the lavender patch is a living things. It pulses and soars, rising during the hottest part of the afternoon, the sound gently diminishing as dusk falls.  Last night I took a little walk around the flower garden to admire our hard work.  Even though night was approaching, there were still some bees, hard at work in the lavender patch.  I admired their industry.  "Busy as a bee" indeed.

Please enjoy the pictures of our progress on the flower garden.  All of these pictures were taken today here in my garden.

Blaze climbing rose on the hand-made trellis added this year.

Hummingbird Chuckles

I love hummingbirds, and their antics always make me laugh. This year has been an unusual year for hummingbirds. I saw the first few in early April, filled and hung the hummingbird feeder next to the porch and...nothing. The feeder remained full with no more hummingbirds in sight.  Now they are back, enjoying the snapdragons and the many flowers I've planted for them as well as the feeder. But one inquisitive fellow got a bit too demanding this week.

My elderly father in law live with us, and he enjoys sitting on the front porch each afternoon. He loves watching the hummingbirds and the other birds that inhabit the garden, and he has a great view of both the flower garden and the hummingbird feeder from the porch.  Well, he sat in his accustomed chair on the porch yesterday, only to get dive bombed by a chattering jewel-green male hummingbird.  It was so bad he was flailing his arms around trying to shoo the bird away.

Every time he'd sit down, the bird zoomed in, swooped, hovered, chattered and chuckled.  Finally, we realized the problem.

He was wearing a bright red shirt. The poor bird thought there was some new, magnificent flower sitting on the porch!

Hummingbirds LOVE red.

Yesterday, dad in law had on a black t shirt, and the hummingbirds were back, happily sipping at the nectar in their feeder.

It's dangerous around here to wear red! You might get mistaken for lunch.

Today's photos courtesy of Morguefile

Growing Beets

Beets growing in my garden.

I harvested the first beets on Sunday and made Harvard beets along with my Crock Pot pot roast, a family favorite, and homemade from scratch mashed potatoes.  We love beets, and while the weather stays cool enough I plan to pickle and can many of the fresh ones that are ready to be harvested.

My latest article written today for gardening community site Main Line Gardening features tips on Growing Beets, but what I wished I could have stressed more without sounding like a parrot squawking the same word over and over again - "Easy! Easy! Easy!" - is really, just how easy they are. People who say wistfully, "Gee, I wish I could grow a garden" should just get some beet seeds and chuck them in a little furrow in the ground and put a stick there to remind themselves of what they planted and be done with it. I can guarantee that in 8 to 10 weeks, you'll have beets.  Don't be afraid. Just plant those seeds!  Early spring or late summer or late fall are the best times to plant beets. They need about 60 to 65 degree days to sprout and grow, and they can take some frost so it's okay to plant them in the fall.

But whatever you do, just plant them - and enjoy!

Growing Beets, my latest article for Main Line Gardening.

The Right to Grow Vegetables

Photo courtesy of Morguefile

Sunday afternoon found me in the vegetable garden staking and typing up tomatoes. I can't believe how fast they grew. Only two weeks ago I examined their lush foliage, but they stood only about a foot tall, and the original strips of old sheets I'd used to tie their stems to the tobacco stakes gleaned from a neighbor's barn clean out seemed sufficient. I mowed the lawn and let Shadow play in the fenced in garden. Every time I ran the push mower down the grassy paths between the raised beds, I noticed how odd the tomato plants looked. It took me a few more passes around the garden before I realized the unruly plants had toppled and tangled all over themselves, bending, twisting and growing into one mat of greenery.

Gardening is a meditative act for me. While I'm gardening, I'm meditating. I find my mind quieting. Chatter slows, then stops. I hear only bird song, the hum of bees in the clover, Shadow snuffling around the garden or rolling happily on the grassy paths, kicking her solid feet in the air in glee, doing air bicycles like an old-fashioned girls school gymnastics class.  As I untangled snarls of tomato branches and gently coaxed the stems back to the tomato stakes, the sharp green smell of growing tomato plans drifted me back in time to my grandmother's garden.

I've written a bit about my father's mother, my grandma who spoke mostly German and who lovingly tended her little garden in Bellerose, creating heaven on earth for a woman uprooted from her own little farm near Bremen as a teenager. She loved her garden and especially her tomato plants. I remember happily following her skirts around the garden, watching as she pulled strips of cloth from the pocket of her apron and tied tomatoes to stakes in her garden.

My grandma always said things to me as a girl that I found odd.  "Make sure you can always grow your own food!" she would admonish, pointing proudly to her little apple trees and pear trees growing in her Queens, New York City backyard. She grew so many vegetables in that European-style kitchen garden that she canned tomato soup, tomatoes, tomato sauce, pears, you name it.  My dad built her shelves in the basement for her canned goods.

It wasn't until many years later that my grandmother's statements clicked into place for me like puzzle pieces locking and forming a picture. I'd come across a photograph of the ship that took my grandmother and her two sisters, Augusta and Marie, from Bremen to the United States in the early 1920s.  She had docked at Ellis Island like many other immigrants. I had once asked her in childish curiosity, "Grandma, why did you come to the United States?" 

"A loaf of bread," she told me, "Cost a wheelbarrow full of money."

I didn't understand what she meant, but studying the photos on Ancestry.com of other immigrants around that time and understanding today what the words "runaway inflation" means I got a glimpse of my grandmother's life in Germany before, during and immediately after World War I.  She never spoke about the war or how it affected the farm she lived on; but she knew what hunger was, and she knew how governments could fail, and she knew how insanity could lead men to lead their countries into chaos, war, bankruptcy and insanity.

Grandma was wise.  When she pointed to her garden and said, "Always grow your own food," she made a far more important speech than any politician trumpeting about freedom on a bunting-draped stage.   The right to grow your own food, the ability to ensure your family will be fed - this is a fundamental right that I take for granted.  Living in a peaceful, stable country, with the ability to grow my own food, preserve it, and ensure that my family will be fed...this is a freedom my grandma understood.

Staking tomatoes always makes me think of my grandmother, and I know this week as I face the prospect of canning beets from the garden, the canning pot and its rituals will also remind me of my grandmother.  I am so grateful that I had real, honest to goodness elders in the garden to learn from - my grandmother, Mr. Hoffman, my dad - to teach me the rituals and values of the soil.