Haters Gonna Hate

I stare at my garden sometimes and wonder how much time and money I've thrown at it. Every fall I redesign the previous years redesign only to have to do it again the next year. I'm tired of it. Each summer the trees grow larger and the shadows sneak quietly across the yard, engulfing sunny beds into the ever expanding desert of dry shade. Perennials that were happy for a few years lie prostrate on the soil, desperate for sun while the sunniest bed bulges with too many plants.

Doubt begins to replace my sassy self confidence and I wonder how long it will take me to finally create a garden that doesn't need to be recreated every fall. But doubt is no match for stubborn optimism so I take a deep breath and give myself a pep talk.

Damn, girl, why are you so hard on your self?

Oh, please, don't even give me the "my garden isn't as fabulous as so and so's garden."

This garden isn't done! Instead of seeing mistakes or disasters, just think of it as editing a story. It's done when it feels right, not when it looks like someone else's garden. And as for all that shade, so what? Just go with it. At least you've always got a cool spot to park your butt in that hammock. It could be worse. Seriously. Just get over it.

Oh, and as for having to redesign your redesign, who ran all over northern Virginia buying plants last Sunday? Damn straight, girlie! You know it was you. You loved every minute of it.

So quit all that blubbering about 'not getting it right'. You know you love a challenge. You could have just stuck with a few pots of petunias, but noooo..... You had to go full bore batshitcrazy into gardening and this is what it's all about.

So quit being a hater and feel the love, darlin'. You've chosen a challenge over complacency so get your butt out there and make it happen.

Haters gonna hate but cheerleaders gotta cheer, even if we are occasionally the same person.

I've started my shade garden resign but still have a ton of work ahead of me. It's been too dry for me to make much progress but I've started extending the beds by several feet to create a deep curve. Many of the plants are cramped or need to be moved to moister, sunnier spots in the garden. Ordering a truck load of compost isn't practical for me so I use a locally produced leaf mold sold in bags instead.

The 'Ava' agastache and zinnias are still blooming.

Learning to Listen

Have you ever had a conversation with someone that went a bit like this?

I'm quite confident that most of my conversations with Mother Nature follow that plot line exactly. As a matter of fact, I'm convinced I've spent most of the last 19 years only hearing every third word she was saying. She doesn't like it. She doesn't like it all.

Despite her gentle words of advice to me in the spring that perhaps the mistflowers near the river birch needed more sun, the phlox needed more water, and that leaves with spots were a sure sign of disease, that's not what I heard and I failed to follow her guidance.

While this is probably the spot in the post where you expect me to insert a photo of a benevolent green spirit covered with butterflies and leaves, that's not how I view Mother Nature. She may be beautiful and tender but she's a badass momma whose tired of my selective hearing.

Dear Tammy, I got this ink just for you. Mother Nature

I'm not sure if it was the blackspot on the roses, athracnose on the liatris, rudbeckia, and silene, or the mysterious spots on the trumpet creeper leaves, but somewhere along the way, my ass began to hurt and I had this amazing thought that perhaps if I learned to observe my garden and see exactly what was in front of me instead of what I wanted to see, she just might remove her foot for a while. Whispering hadn't worked and I was ignoring all the yelling. While I didn't appreciate the foot-to-ass approach, I can't argue with her methods. It was a definite attention-getter.

"YES! I hear you loud and clear! I will transplant you somewhere moister/drier/sunnier/shadier!"

I occasionally get it right in my garden. 'Starman' geraniums bloom in the late summer with white mistflower. Blue mistflower, on the run from the shade under the river birch, has planted itself at the front of this bed. It's being transplanted to the rain garden with the rest of the free seeding mistflower commune. 

I bought these off the sale table at our local garden center a few years ago. They love moist soil and partial bright shade.

I have a weird spot next to my highly decorative air conditioning units that was choked with weeds and scraggly wood anemones. I decided to fight fire with fire and filled the spot with native pink obedient plant, a vigorous spreader. It overtook the weeds and added a carefree cottagey look to the side of the house. Plus, the bees love it. When it spreads too much, I can just pull up the shoots and compost them or share them with other unsuspecting gardeners.

These remind me of penstemon flowers. 

Sedum grows along the stepping stones that form a short cut between the patio and the lawn.

Blue plumbago and white heart leafed aster divarcatus grow in the bone dry shade under my Rose of Sharon. I'm adding more of both plants to that bed this fall to help fill it out.

I'm linking this post to the Lesson's Learned meme at Plant Postings.

An Artful Muse

The Kiss by Gutav Klimt

Shovel in hand, I bend and dig, soil sliding from the edge like ice cream from a cone. Grass tumbles to the ground in clumps as I follow the curve, invisible to all but me. No paint or hose marks the grass. I dig and stop, dig and stop, watching the curve widen and stretch. The tips of the riverbed point inward, arms reaching to embrace and I imagine a garden as affectionate as the gardener. 

The Prairie is My Garden by Harvey Dunn 

A framed copy of this print hangs in my dining room. It's one of my favorite paintings. 

Dry clay soil lay piled along the mulch before dropping into the rocks of the river bed. Cramped plants flop and sigh into the freshly turned loam, as I plan and dream. The trowel sinks deep, small Swiss cheese gouges dotting the surface as I check for moisture. Damp soil lines the edge of the rain garden, an oasis in a desert. Flowers thrive, pushing forward in a cramped bed and I imagine a garden resilient and beautiful. 

Clinque Cheron by Theophile Steinlen

I also have a framed copy of this popular print. I wanted to be a vet or writer before becoming a teacher.

The squirrel runs along the fence, zigzagging between the trees and the bird feeder as the dogs bark, racing across the rocks and into the garden. I stop digging to yell, the shovel thrown to the ground as I chase them back into the grass. Safe in the neighbors yard, the squirrel scolds, its tail twitching with irritation. Bent stems lie at odd angles, broken and torn and I grab the remains as I fuss at the dogs. They sit at my feet, tails wagging, tongues hanging to the side. I throw the dying plants in a pile and sink into the grass, 100 pounds of dog jostling for lap space. I imagine a garden straight and square, pinched and pruned, small hedges keeping everyone in line but I haven't imagined my garden. I close my eyes and try again, seeing my garden as a painting, unpredictable and unfinished but full of potential. 

This section of my garden is dry and unfabulous in this photo but it shows a part of the newly expanded rain garden. The new garden bed lies above the riverbed. I'm not done with this project and still  have a lot of work to do.

Meeting the Teacher

I was recently asked by writer Kristy Gillespie of Keep Calm and Write On  to reveal a few facts about myself. Normally, I would save a post like this for winter when my garden is dormant and I don't have much to write about. But since my sixth grade science students will soon be learning all about me, I thought I'd share a few facts about myself with you, too.

1. All the horrible rumors about me are true. Yes, I will give you a bathroom pass but no, you can't have one every 10 minutes. No, I don't give homework over the weekend and yes, I will call your parents if you poke him one more time. Yes, you must write in complete sentences at all times in my class and no, you may not play with your cell phone lest you experience my Lightening Fast Cell Phone Snatch. You can have it back at the end of the day. Here's a tissue for your tears. Go sit down.

2. I have a ridiculous memory. I can remember events from five years ago in absolute detail but can't remember why I'm in the kitchen. I'm only 44 but expect full blown dementia to strike at any moment. If you find me wandering down the road buck naked and mumbling, just put a bell on me and bring me back home. Thank you in advance.

3.  I would spend all day in my pajamas if I could. If it were socially appropriate, I would wear them to work. I cannot reconcile my love of pajamas with my love of fashion and often find myself in a "What should I wear?" quandary. It's painful.

These will be the perfect compliment to my garden gnome pajamas.

4. Never having been down a road before is all the motivation I need to give it a try. If I don't like where I end up, I'll just make a U-turn. Quite simple, really.

5. I avoid all plants that are stabby, with the exception of my roses, those beautiful sadists intent on impaling me at every turn.

6. I am an outgoing, social person swirled with a need for solitude. I will occasionally retreat into my turtle shell and close the doors behind me. I'm never gone for long. Just knock if you're worried.

7. It's hard to beat me at Scrabble, my favorite game. However, I'm fairly non-competitive and we play by house rules, meaning the less tiles we have, the looser the "rules" become. Naughty words in foreign languages? Absolutely!

8. A friend and I once had a very deep, philosophical discussion on what type of flower our personalities most resembled. I am anything that resembles a daisy: What you see is what you get. I like to think I'm full of mystery and intrigue but I'm not. I need to work on that.

9. I'm a kamikaze shopper. I go in, find what I need, and leave. The idea of spending all day wandering around a shopping mall is not my idea of fun. But I love online shopping because I can do it in my pajamas. Because I occasionally forget what I've ordered, it's an excellent way to surprise myself.

10. I have no desire to be a copy of anybody else. I am my own authentic, unique self.  I was born original. Why die a clone?

A Bit of a Ramble

 Mystery bug on white mist flower

This summer has been mostly kind to my garden. Despite the bunnies and various fungal diseases, it's been a good season. I have two big projects underway for the fall that involved removing a lot of grass and bringing in about 600 lbs of rocks that I slowly hauled myself. But right now the rock pile and naked soil are simply accessories to a happy garden.

Toad lily take over by the Big Daddy rain barrel

These were given to me by a friend and I have no idea what the cultivar's name is. They thrive in bright, moist shade. I love how weird the flowers are.

Despite still suffering from black spot, my 'Graham Thomas' rose has made a come back and is covered in flowers. Yay! This late fall/early winter, I'll be implementing my Rose Rescue Plan to reduce black spot in my garden.

This picture is too bright, but shows my light pink crape myrtles in full bloom.

Pink and frothy, crape myrtles grow across the southeast.

A friend gave me a chunk of blue mist flowers that she dug out of her meadow. They're tough and have spread across my garden but I don't mind. They planted themselves in my rain garden and have thrived so well I'm adding more seedlings this fall.

This is the same plant as the top photo, just in blue. I like them both.

I bought this as a half dead zinnia that seemed like it just needed a little love. A lot of water and fertilizer later, it's filled out and is covered with these cool orange flowers. The older the flower, the greater the difference in color saturation between the edges of the petals and the interior. I'm going to save some seeds and grow these again next summer.

Believe it or not, these 'Goldsturm' rudbeckia grow in half day shade. The mountain mint in the back is taking over and I've decided to give it free reign. Whatever I plant next to it will always have to fight for space, anyway. The mountain mint is easy to grow and is much loved by the pollinators.

Verbena and oregano

I winter sowed these malva 'Zebrina' and they're thriving in the rain garden. They were badly chewed by the bunnies but have made a fabulous come back. I'm planning on growing them again next year.

Mason bee covered in pollen

'Blue Fortune' agastache and the trumpet creeper

I am enormously talented at killing all purple sedum. I've managed to keep this one alive the whole summer by just ignoring it. The bees are grateful.

These 'Button Box' zinnias were supposed to be a foot tall but are almost two feet tall instead. No worries! They bloom non-stop and are super easy to grow. All of my zinnias have surprised me this summer, which I think is a bit funny.

Zinnias and tomatoes on a windowsill

I was playing around with the exposure when I took this picture. I love the way it turned out. I almost looks like I knew what I was doing instead of clicking buttons like a monkey.