Opposites Attract?

Opposites Attract?

      If someone told me, when I woke up that morning, I'd be watching an ad for a Chinese dance show over and over, and listening intently to the Chicago song “25 or 6 to 4”, I'd have said, “Yeah, could be. Why not?” I lead a quiet life, but it does get strange sometimes.

      To clarify, I was walking through a nearby mall and a kiosk was set up to run an ad for a Chinese dance/acrobat show, showing short clips of people jumping, thrusting with swords and throwing things in the air. Simultaneously, the mall muzak was playing the above mentioned song, which I like. The weird thing was: the phrasing and emphasis of the song were in exact sync with the video. I watched the tape run at least three times and the timing was precise. It was really neat to see, though the cultural basis of the two items were as different as [insert your own simile here]… And, yet they worked together.

      Married couples? Classic “opposites attract”. Not always for always, but sometimes for always.

      What could be more different than twisted hunks of metal and soft, growing plants? I just saw a picture of a fine garden in Delaware. A copper sculpture of a heron twisted elegantly upward before a set of soft Japanese Maple leaves. They do go together.

      Garden gnomes have been overdone, but a small statue of a smiling frog, in the lotus position, was great in a shady garden on a recent Azalea Convention tour.

The Neckel Garden in 2015 demonstrates how plants and human constructions can go well together.

      On the counter-example side: we are so used to seeing suburban houses that we don't think of them as piles of brick, wood, aluminum siding and shingles. In the old days, my days, the metal bars of TV antennas were the flag of the ugliness troops, but now there are just some satellite dishes on the lookout, which don't look quite as bad. And yet, we set out a small collection of trees and bushes all around, then declare the constructed piles “attractive”. Maybe, if the houses were made by Frank Lloyd Wright my sneers would be misplaced. Everything else is just a rectangular pile with a triangular pile on top.

      The 'burbs are so much a part of our psychological landscape we think the plants and construction mass are a happy pair. No. Foundation plantings are just a desperate attempt to hide … foundations. And, what is it about asphalt and asbestos covered triangles perched above our houses that stir the heart's aesthetics?

      Not all opposites attract. Most houses and their plantings are thrown together by the fates, hoping to coexist for a time, as cheek-by-jowl commuters on a Japanese subway. Anything a gardener can do to ease the strain will lower the world's tension. Maybe, raise plant societies to the Ambassadorial level??

Gardens You Might Miss on the Spring Tour - II

Gardens You Might Miss on the Spring Tour – II

While we enjoy visiting the gardens of friends, and may go on organized tours, you must realize that you are missing out on the wonders that that approach may skip. Continuing your education on the surprising varieties of design, we start Part II with:

The Politician's Garden

An Open House! Come and enjoy the chicken and hot dogs on the grill. Beer and soft drinks in the coolers! And flowers all around. She even remembers your name. And your children's names. And the fact that you put in a hosta bed last year. How is it, by the way? Oh, that's great! She's always smiling. Have you seen her back lawn? A little ratty looking now but she has wonderful visions of it for the future. Could you spare a donation for it? Would you like her to have some more camellias on the left? Could you spare a donation? Your vision could become hers, no matter what it does to the garden, the neighborhood, the state ... Could you spare a donation? My, you've lost some weight! Could you spare ...

The Doctor's Garden

I know he told you to meet him in the driveway at 10:15 but he's running late. There's an emergency. A squirrel knocked over a pot and has to be cleaned up (both the squirrel and the pot).

At 10:35 one of his gardeners comes out to the driveway and calls your name. “Yes,” you answer. But then you're pulled off the side and must fill out a questionnaire. “Why did you come today?” “Have you been here before?” “Is anything bothering you about the garden?” “Do you have insurance? (The stepping stones can be slippery).” “Which company?” The gardener takes the completed form and goes around the back of the house.

At 10:50 another gardener approaches and invites you into the garden. But you have only 10 minutes. He says that that is enough. Well, be sure to make an appointment to come back next year and we'll do this all over again. Did the first gardener collect your copay for seeing the grounds? No? That's OK, we'll bill you. You'll hardly notice the processing fee.

The Teacher's Garden

Don't be late or you'll have to show her an excuse. And who's signature is that? Is that your mother's handwriting? Never mind.

Visitors must wear a badge.

Flowers are all laid out in neat rows, alphabetically. One droops but the teacher's stick raises it up. Aggressively.

At the end of the Spring, plants are given grades: “Spectacular” means primed for success, “Average” – good for filling in the gaps, “Shows Promise” – must try harder next year, “Failure” – needs to be given away to people she doesn't like, and, the lowest grade, “Compost Pile”.

A true, real life fact: the latter is a grade I lusted after when I was teaching but could never get the school board to approve.

The Appalachian Garden

Ah, a garden with sculptures! Let's chain up the Pit Bull then walk around. Over here's a Ford F150, up on blocks now but someday it'll hit the road. That rust don't matter none. Sitting by the front door is a cherry red Dodge Charger. There's some kind'a bush crushed under it which was just in the way. Off on the left side of the double-wide is a '65 Mercury. The vinyl roof is a little ratty, but the moss growing on it sure looks nice. Ma loves greenery. The ditch by the mailbox has daylilies and cattails, lookin' might fine! The '55 Chevy next to them, with the multi-flora rose coming up by the tail lights, might be gone one day. A guy in town said he might be interested. Mighty interested. But, ya know, the place wouldn't be the same without it...

The Late-Night Huckster's Garden

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Simply unroll the plastic strips and your garden will pop up like a children's book. In full color! There's even places for bunnies and squirrels to hide! Birds in the bushes! Deer in the Dahlias! Elephants in the Euonymus!

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Gardens You Might Miss On The Spring Tour

Gardens You Might Miss On The Spring Tour

            I'm aware that my little shade garden is not the only environment you would want to visit.  Habitats have been designed for sunny areas, droughts, deserts, all native plants or rain forests.  I think I've seen all of those.  Some I haven't seen you might want to inquire about:

The Wrestler's Garden

            A wrestler would want to test his strength against a plant.  Nasty vines would be pulled with ferocity.  Low branches would fight back by slapping him in the face, almost putting out an eye.  Rose thorns would punch through his gloves but lose in the end with the branch on the compost pile.  Turning that pile, if it was 5' high, would be a major strain with loud roars accompanying each thrust and lift of the garden fork (from the legs, not the back).

            Bringing home bags of soil and mulch, this aficionado would take out several at a time from his pickup, drop them on his shoulders and jog to the back yard puffing “hut-hut”.  Each time he made the round trip his wife, in a bikini, would hold up a sign with his total number of round trips.

The Mortician's Garden

            Plants would be in somber, dark colors.  Respectful, not delightful.  A few lilies would be allowed.  Tasteful, of course.

            The name of each plant would be clearly marked on a little tombstone nearby.

            Going to the work area in the back would require passing through a creaky, wrought iron gate, then digging up the items from casket-like boxes.

            The tool shed would reek slightly of formaldehyde.

            And we don't want to know what's rotting in the compost pile.

The Gymnast's Garden

            Vines are old, heavy and hang low.  How else would you be able to swing from place to place?

            Holes would be dug by exploding upwards off a vault then sticking the landing.

            Fertilizer would be spread by putting a dollop on the hands and then clapping them together, forming the traditional dust cloud which would settle over the beds.

            The neighbors would be sick of the constant, upbeat music accompanying the gardener's bounding around the back yard.

            And that idiotic Russian judge would always be taking off points for dandelions.

The Seamstress' Garden

The Librarian's Garden

            Your first thought would be that the plants would be alphabetized, but you'd be forgetting the Dewey Decimal system.

            Your questions should be in hushed tones.

            If you want to know where a plant is, check the computer catalog on the patio.  But remember that other people are waiting to use it, too.

            Do you really like a plant you find?  You can take it!  But return it in 3 weeks.

The Klingon Garden

            No pansies here.  Tough love.  The barks are rough.  Many of the plants are treacherous.  None should be trusted.  Those that seem soft and docile have almost microscopic thorns to catch the unwary (such as on the fruit of prickly pear cactus) or will smear on a rash that drives you crazy (poison ivy).

            Of course it's not just the plants themselves.  In the crevices lurk Black Widow spiders.  Ticks hang off the ends of leaves waiting for you to pass.  And that pit viper in the grass is looking for a meal.

            The color palette will be largely a grayish monochrome.  Tulips are for wimps!

            If the gardener finishes the day without spilling blood then it would be an embarrassment.

            And you can't read the plant labels.  Or pronounce them.

Vanishing Species

Vanishing Species

      Aspects of my gardening have some similarities with species being driven to extinction. In earlier essays I have talked about the dirt I mix to place plants in. The constituents evolve over time as I learn and think of options. Unfortunately, that puts me at the mercy of the availability of those items.

      On the azalea email list people have touted one item or another for garden use, and when I respond that I can't find them anywhere, the answer comes back: “They're everywhere!” After checking, I find that they are sold in their region of the country, but not mine, even though the company has stores in both areas. Online shipping is prohibitively expensive for heavy bags. So, in practical terms, you can't get there from here.

      Similarly, items in my mix are common, until they're not. Organic humus used to be everywhere, but now I have to drive for ½ hour on the interstate to get to a place which has it. Pine fines were easy, until no one had them. A small shop 45 minutes away had all I could carry and, of course, they went out of business. I started using an expensive substitute. Recently pine fines reappeared, just down the street.

      Last month a big-box store nearby had a lot of pelletized gypsum (which I use in my mix for calcium). The trip today discovered only one broken bag. I declined to take home the shrunken, dirty mess. I should have asked the manager to tape the hole, and sell it to me at a discount, but I had other things to do. Who knew how long those negotiations would drag on, in an attempt to save 50 cents?

      We've all had experiences where a favorite ice cream, barber or auto mechanic has disappeared. How long can I continue to depend on the environment of retailers in my area to sustain my preferred mix of soils and chemicals? It's a constant struggle, and I understand the plight of remnant, threatened populations. Thinking about substitutes should start now, but if the substitutes were perfectly good, I would have used them in the first place.

Ivory-billed Woodpeckers, from the Florida Museum, U. of Florida

      Vanishing species suffer under disappearing habitat and climate, both of which are requirements for their survival. Coyotes have disappeared from the east, but the claim is that they have been making a reappearance. However, they are not pure breeds, but crosses with wolves and, sometimes, domestic dogs. The originals are gone. Ivory-billed Woodpeckers have vanished (unless some rumors in the conservation community are true: that a remnant population has been found and is being kept a secret). They might be repopulated with the Cuban variety, but would still be slightly different, and the actual species would have vanished. There is no substitute for the Dodo and the Passenger Pigeon. Extinction is really forever. And, no, a real Tyrannosaurus is not coming back, despite “Jurassic Park”. OK, that might be a good thing.

      The difference between the vanishing species and my vanishing soil mix is that the latter might be improved by a switch of ingredients. A subject for further experimentation. The downside to those experiments is that it takes three years or more to be able to judge whether the new version is better, worse or the same. During that time I may have to drive four states south to find pine fines, but maybe I can stop along the way and enjoy someone's garden. Or find an Ivory-billed Woodpecker!

One of These Things Is Not Like the Other, But the Other One Is

One of These Things Is Not Like the Other,  But the Other One Is

      I once saw a Blue Jay tearing at a name tag which was wired to the trunk of one of my small plants. The attacker finally gave up, but I could see how the need for nest-building materials can cause these tags to wander. Being inedible doesn't help them survive. If I'm too lazy to attach them to a trunk or large branch, then just stick them into the mulch, I'm asking for the trouble with which nature will gleefully hammer me. I think that it's the “gleeful” part that really bugs me.

      I'm sensitive to the problem of naming errors as it is common for me to find a tag lying in the middle of the lawn, 20 yards from the actual plant. If several small plants in pots are missing their tags, then I have to guess, or just leave them as unknown. Last year, Joe Klimavicz gave me a lot of rejects from his hybridizing efforts. I named them 'A', 'B', 'C', etc. When squirrels and birds scattered the tags around the yard, the original letter names became lost forever. A minor loss.

      No level of plant expert or august institution is above having their plant names messed up. The late azalea and rhododendron expert Don Voss worked for years cleaning up mistakes and computerizing the database of the National Arboretum. He also found labeling errors at flower show contests. Some plants can't be identified by any experts, since so many are similar. Some are simply put into the trade without registration, for sale on the cheap. Some names are dismissively floated by the cognoscenti as “Walmart Red” and “Walmart White”. No way to really know their history.

At the sales table of a joint Rhododendron Society/Azalea Society convention I once found a plant with good looking flowers: strong red markings on a white background. Its name was listed as 'Cream Ruffles'. Clearly it wasn't “cream” colored and the border of the flower wasn't ruffled, but I liked it, so I bought it and tagged it 'Cream Ruffles Not'. Over the years I've collected several other 'Not' plants.

'Cream Ruffles Not' in foreground; May, 2015

      Continuing the confusion above, there are some “Like” plants. If I get an unnamed plant and it looks similar to another, I give it the “Like” title, as in “Like Girard's Crimson”. Some “Like” plants I like and some I don't like. If I don't like them they become give-aways visitors appreciate.

Today I walked across the street to watch a neighbor and his teenage son dig a hole to put a plant in. I looked at the plant and asked them what it was. The man didn't know. It was purchased that afternoon. I said that it was probably a holly, noting the deadly spines reaching from the leaves, desperate to stab my skin. Then, a few seconds later I pointed out the white on the leaves and said that it was probably a variegated holly. His curiosity peaked, the man went inside the house, checked the label they had torn off, and came back with the news that the plant was a “Manager's Special.” That settled that!

      One of long-time gardener Don Hyatt's regular stories is of the time, when young, that he found some cheap azaleas in a nursery marked 'Lebalon 1 , 'Lebalon 2', etc. and vowed to collect all of the Lebalon series. Sometime later it was revealed to him that the name “Lebalon” was “No Label” backwards and the nursery simply had no idea what they were!

      Every gardener's frustration is the plant with no ID, though it also may become a focus. Looking for one like it that is labeled is a sport of sorts. Finding someone who can point to one of your unknowns and say casually, “Of course, that's a ...” relieves a weight. The expert moves on as if the long-sought info is of no consequence, unaware that an ordinary day was transformed into a great day! A triumph over the squirrels and Blue Jays!

Essays You Didn't Read

Essays You Didn't Read

      I was well into my semi-decadal cleaning of the floor below my computers when I carelessly tipped over the bit bucket and discovered a sludge of deleted essays. Being in a contemplative mood, I sat back and read the long-forgotten screeds, quickly understanding why readers never got to “enjoy” them:

Choosing Among The Lesser Of Two Evils

      When they stopped carrying my favorite topsoil at local stores, I was forced to choose among other brands that I didn't really want. Like voting for politicians. The problem is that the lesser of two evils is still evil. Why can't I have exactly what I … {delete}

Do Good Neighbors Make Good Fences?

      The news came that a neighbor I enjoyed chatting with was caught selling stolen property ... {delete}

Growin' 'n' Flowin'

      Stepping onto the shimmering lawn of diamond-like dew with my viscous coffee, I felt that I was in a jeweler's display window. Turning east I watched as the pearly morning light spread across the hemisphere of the sky like liquid milk, spattering cholesterol across the faces of the waiting daffodils … {delete}

Dreary

      This marks the 3^rd straight day of rain and chill. The garden is untouched, and I'm trapped in the house looking at pictures of last year's azaleas. Even the act of scraping the newly formed fungus off the dining room walls doesn't lift my spir … {delete}

Sometimes my inspiration runs dry as ...

Garden Rainbows

      I was dumbfounded to see the spectrum of flowers catapulting themselves at my eyeballs: coquelicot, deep koamau, flavescent and gamboge competed with grullo and zomp to irradiate my … {delete}

Really Gross Things In The Garden

      Most people would choose slugs, glistening in their bare hands, as the number one object they wouldn't want. However, did you ever consider how stepping into … {delete}

Boy, These Are The Best Roses!

      A famous nursery sent me a selection of roses to grow and then wanted my honest review, despite the fact that my heavily shaded yard would not be a place you would expect to find the sun-loving plants. In return, they would advertise on my blog and send me a monthly check.

Let me tell you, these are the greatest looking roses I have ever … {delete}

      I returned to my cleaning, sadly aware that not everything I said or wrote deserved preservation. The Nobel Prize for Garden Essays just exceeds my grasp ...

Things That Fall From Trees

Things That Fall From Trees

      A children's picture book I used to read to my son was based on Winnie The Pooh and I stole the title of this essay from the heading of one of the drawings. Tigger, Pooh's friend, was one of those “Things That Fall”.

      I haven't seen a tiger fall from the canopy of oaks, but I keep checking. You never know...

      On occasion an over-excited squirrel will plummet 20 or 30 feet to land inelegantly. Is he embarrassed? How would I know?

      My next door neighbor cut down all of the large trees on his lot when he moved in, despite my protestations, since they might fall on his house. The huge oaks hadn't fallen in their lives of over a century, but that wasn't relevant. I told him about how the trees cool the property in summer, cutting down on the need for air conditioning. In the winter they partially blocked the raw winds which steal heat from our houses. They provide cover, food and nesting for all the birds and other animals, etc., etc. All irrelevant to him.

      Visitors to my garden never have to ask why I grow azaleas, ferns and hosta. The tall oaks that have been here since I moved in over 40 years ago provide a silent, definitive answer: dappled shade.

      For me, the trees provide masses of leaves which build up my compost pile. Compost is a major ingredient in the soil I mix. By December of each year the pile is taller than I am, 20' wide and 15' front-to-back.

      The branches which fall can be burned in the fire place and also, when piled by the fence, are safe resting places for birds and other animals.

      Acorns keep the squirrels alive throughout much of the year, but they have hurt on the rare times when they've hit me on the head.

      There are obvious downsides to living among the giants. Dead limbs and trees need to be dealt with sooner rather than later. I kept putting off taking down a large oak, which was killed by gypsy moths. One night the tree crushed my wife's car (unoccupied, but still scary). The tree fell on its own recognizance in the still of the night, but the next day a tropical storm hit and a local newspaper photographer came by, recording it as storm damage. I wrote a letter to them, which they published, pointing out how the false statement will be observed as a part of history, a hundred years from now, by someone trying to write a paper on the “old days” for their Master's. But they never actually published a correction of their own.

Isabel plants a large branch against the house, Sept. 19, 2003

      Tropical storm Isabel brought down another large branch that did some garden damage, but the storm is better remembered for cutting off electricity to the area for one or two weeks, due to falling branches. A friend's house water came from a well and was dependent on an electric pump. It's tough living the primitive life for more than a day!

      Another year a micro-burst tore off a large branch that just missed the house and blocked much of the back yard, including the rear picture window. But the window didn't break.

      A couple of months ago, I had just driven into the driveway and stopped. I heard a loud ripping, crackling sound. I watched as a large (1.5 ft in diameter) branch fell from a neighbor's tree, taking down some branches below and destroying the fence that borders our property. Not the neighbor who cut down his trees, of course, but the one on the other side. Smaller branches came down on some of my pots that were sitting near the fence but the damage was minimal as they simply fell over and compressed instead of breaking.

      After over 40 years here I haven't felt even a small branch hit me. It could happen, but it is exceedingly unlikely. To keep it unlikely, I don't walk around the yard in very windy conditions. Dead trees and large branches that threaten us do have to be dealt with by professionals (who demand professional payment for removal). Vastly more dangerous is driving the interstate to an azalea club meeting!

      I garden with hellebores, hosta and heucheras because it is a shade garden. Without the trees I'd be growing roses and Canna Lilys. The variety of birds visiting through the year would shrink and the higher energy bills would mean less money for junk food.

      Whether you're talking about trees, marriage, kids, friends, houses or cars, nothing is perfect. But it's amazing how, in the end, so much of it is good. Always worth it … but I still keep a look out for dead branches … and Tigger.

The Joy of Dirt

The Joy of Dirt^TM

      The builder of the house in the swamp was focused on creating a small, single level abode. The area around it was destined for fill dirt. After moving into that house years later, I would find broken crockery, coke bottles and cap pistols mixed through the expanse of almost impervious dirt, all of which was inimical to life as we know it.

      My wife purchased some plants and my pick chipped away at the cement-like crust, creating small holes. The holes were refilled with the dusty clay, watered and the plants left to their own devices. Mission accomplished.

      Would you be shocked to discover that few of those survived?

      Decades after those initial gardening attempts, still uninterested in plants, I got the idea that if I watered the remnant population of scraggly azaleas, they might do better. With that deep insight, I launched into a multi-decade interest in watering. And a few other landscaping concepts. I learned that digging those holes was just creating an impervious pot which holds rain water as well as an aquarium. Few plants survive with their roots drowned in a tub. I began a continuing set of experiments designed to create dirt that the bushes would be happy in.

      Reading books and talking to a variety of people gave me conflicting answers. These replies provided fodder for a couple of articles in the Azalean magazine under the tongue-in-cheek title “And That's The Truth!”. I stole that title from Lily Tomlin's famous line in the old TV show “Laugh In”.

One of the reviewers objected to my use of the word “dirt”. The proper word was “soil”! Hmmm … the next time I come into the house, sweating from yard work, I'll wash my soily hands, take off my soily clothes and throw them into the soily clothes hamper. I may even have some soily words for the mosquitoes or cold winds, depending on the season.

      Subsequently, I read about “soil” and, while the variations were interesting, what I was trying to do was closer to the idea of hydroponics. As in hydroponics, the only ingredients for my dirt were items that I consciously added. The point was to create a substance that the azaleas would think was just perfect. Not sand. Not silt. Not clay. Not loam. Something else. For my own internal usage it was named “Dirt”. Should I trademark that name? After many modifications the two mixes I am currently using I call “Good Dirt” and “Quick Dirt”.

      Lurching toward an understanding of what azaleas needed to caress their roots, I read various books and magazines while mixing ingredients in mad-scientist concoctions. Few of those experiments actually led to deaths, however there were many stunted, irregular and unhappy plants.

I learned that having a lot of organic matter is very important, but experts left out how much “a lot” is. And does the source of that organic matter matter? Cow manure, pine bark nuggets, sphagnum moss, yesterday's newspaper? Soil tests gave me a sense of how much I actually had in the mix, but I was still flying blind.

 

The start of my soil mix: Oak leaf compost, perlite, commercial humus and powdered clay.  Chemicals will be added before mixing.

      Also, chloride compounds are bad, but are there any safe levels?

      The plant needs a lot of chemicals in the soil, but which are soluble and need to be replaced regularly as they wash away? Which are stable, but if added continuously will lead to toxic levels?

The final composition of “Dirt”, suitable for framing, will never be realized as the formula will be constantly modified to achieve better results. In some future spring when many plants in “Dirt”'s latest iteration are thriving, there will still be the question of what changes would be necessary to make all the azalea variations happy. Evergreen and deciduous. Early blooming and late. Kurume as well as Southern Indian. The list of possible tweaks to the formula is almost endless.

      An interesting side note about this dirt problem: it is a rare problem, the result of self-selection. People do what comes easily for them. How many 5' tall adults practice basketball enough to dream of getting into the NBA? We have the same situation in the azalea society. People who can stick any plant into their dirt (sorry, soil) and have it grow well will likely buy more plants. People who stick them in and see the plants die in a year are convinced that they have a brown thumb and stop paying attention to greenery. Garden societies are filled with people who can stick a pencil in the ground and see a large pine there the next year. Self-selection. No one there wants to talk to me about the relative solubilities of calcium and magnesium. I'll just have to talk to myself (quietly, when no one's around ...)

      For years I've been trying to get my flower beds to look as good as those of other gardeners. An uncountable number of experiments, producing poorly growing plants and puzzling results, have finally lead to a satisfying collection that puts on a great display.

Stepping into the back yard on a nice spring morning I won't be hefting the cup of coffee that others will enjoy. I'll have a pickax on my shoulder, a bag of humus at my feet and stand tall as would Paul Bunyan. This “Dirt” is mine!