Category: gardening

I had the privilege recently of reading a garden review that a retired landscape designer had written about a private garden we had both visited just hours prior. The garden was jaw-dropping amazing, as was the review. Seriously. The review was just as lovely as the garden.

I love horticulture vocabulary. Physical layout. Site analysis. Colorful perennial entrance bed. Now that being said… As much as I can appreciate those features in another gardener’s garden, it just isn’t going to happen in my own. I garden for my personal pleasure, not to please the neighbors or to grace the cover of any formal garden magazine. You know the quote… Be yourself; everyone else is taken. That very much applies to me and my garden. I am myself. Quirks and all. Garden rules and design principles just bring out my inner rebel.

In all art forms, gardening included, there are standard design principles which can either be followed, challenged or completely and unapologetically tossed out the window. Horticulturalist Felder Rushing wrote the book on the latter two types of gardeners. Maverick Gardeners. What a great name for those of us who think – garden – outside the box. (A book review will be forthcoming. Spoiler alert: It’s a great book!) Indeed, one of Mr. Rushing’s radio program listeners came up with an apt name for just us gardeners: Determined Independent Gardeners. Determined and Independent I am. I am myself; everyone else is taken.

The only Unity – one of several horticulture design principles – found in my garden is that anything goes. My garden style could perhaps best be described as a mix of There Appears To Have Been A Struggle and Diary Of A Madman, with a touch of She Wanted It All. And I am good with that. It is me. And my gardens are a reflection of that.

Sequence, Simplicity and Rhythm – more horticulture design principles – may be goals of other gardeners. Drifts of three? I am more a “drift of one” gardener. Now a well-placed solo shrub or a lone large perennial can be considered an accent plant, but in my garden most every plant could then be considered “an accent.” Buying plants as “one of this and one of that” allows for more diversity and experiments, as well as more whimsy. (…I say…trying to justify my plant buying strategy…) I can often be found walking around the garden, plant in one hand, trowel in the other, searching for just a few bare inches of ground to squeeze yet another plant in. Some might say that I garden much the way a child would toss confetti at a birthday party. Reckless abandon. They wouldn’t be too far wrong.

I rarely photograph large areas of my garden, in part because it comes across as “busy,” too much to take in at once. Mine is a strolling garden, one to meander through, pausing to take in the details, reflecting on the story behind a certain plant or garden accruement. I also seem to always have some project going on, a wheelbarrow left out, junk trees popping up somewhere or garden hoses stretched across the property. (We don’t have a sprinkler system, which I am perfectly fine with. But more on that at a later date.) It also feels much too personal to show the garden as a whole, so revealing. It would be akin to me walking down a fashion runway in a bikini. Which isn’t going to happen anytime soon. (You are welcome.) But this year, I am challenging myself to stop and look at the larger picture and embrace it. Garden hoses, drifts of one and all!

The photograph below shows the front flower beds, much as one would see while out for a neighborhood stroll. The winecups (Callirhoe involucrata) and red yucca (Hesperaloe parviflor) are blooming quite nicely this week. But… If you look closely…

… You will see… A junk tree. (Photograph below.) To me, a junk tree is any tree that I did not plant, one that arrived in my garden via bird, squirrel or wind. The one shown below happens to be a pecan tree, compliments of our neighbor’s tree, planted by a squirrel who was sure they would have time to come back and retrieve the stored nut before it decided to set down roots in my garden. In addition to junk pecan trees, I constantly battle junk bur oak trees, planted by squirrels or gravity, and junk elm trees, which arrive via the wind.

Keeping the garden free of weeds is, as every gardener knows, an endless struggle. Keeping the garden free of junk trees is that times ten. I can walk the garden and dig out or cut down every junk tree, then turn around to find one that has grown knee high in the blink of an eye. At some point, all gardeners know this: The garden will never be free of weeds. Nature simply moves faster than any gardener ever could.

“Ignore the weeds,” I always tell garden visitors. “Oh, and ignore that hose.”

The garden hose is often stretched from faucet to whatever area I am working on that day, then most often lapped back around because there is no sense in only tripping over the hose once if you can trip over it two or three times. I am sure there is an app that removes garden hoses from photographs and, if not, there should be. Until then, my choices are to either coil up the garden hose prior to taking photographs, closely cropping photographs to remove any evidence of said garden hose or to make peace with the hose. I generally opt for the close cropping of photographs. Oddly enough, I wouldn’t think twice about a pair of pruners or a pitchfork being in a garden photograph, for all gardeners know and appreciate what a working garden looks like. But a garden hose left out? Not so much.

I am not sure where garden hoses and junk trees fit in horticulture design principles – perhaps Focalization? – but every gardener knows that… to every good garden weeds grow and garden hoses must be dealt with.

Keep Calm and Garden On, Uniquely Yourself.

May. Sweet month of May.

Perhaps the most poetic – and floriferous – of months.

(Yarrow, above)

“May! Queen of blossoms and fulfilling flowers,” penned Lord Edward Thurlow. Not to be outdone, Heinrich Heine wrote, “In the marvelous month of May when all the buds were bursting…” Two centuries and an ocean away, my melodious garden basks in the glory of their poetry, with buds bursting open and fulfilling flowers, capturing the early May sunshine.

(Larkspur and evening primrose, above)

Yes, May is here once again. And with it, perhaps, a new chapter of my life. My melodious garden was a vision 28 years ago. A suburban garden overflowing with flowers and alive with wildlife. Life has taken a lot of twists and turns since I first put down roots in this Texas soil. But the garden has been my constant. My ever present companion. My journey. My mission. The garden and the gardener have evolved and changed with the years and with the seasons. But now, for the first time, I think I can possibly say, The garden is perfect. Perhaps not perfect for everyone. Perhaps not perfect as in complete, finished, done, for is there ever such a thing? But for the first time in 28 years, it is perfect in my eyes. My garden is complete. I am fulfilled. Edits and adjustments will continue, for don’t they always? Yes, there are still weeds. Yes, there are still plants that need planted and paths that need swept and trees that need pruned. But. My vision. It is perfect. This morning, the first day of May, I walked about the garden, camera in hand, knowing that it had all come together. Perhaps I have been here before. My memory fails me at times. Perhaps my younger self knew this same sense of accomplishment. The garden has been in a state of upheaval for so long now, as losing 100plus antique roses – some the size of a VW bug – has a way upheaving the garden. And the gardener. The past eight years have been filled with challenges. Removing well established roses, diseased from rose rosette virus. Extreme temperatures – record setting lows and record setting highs – and drought. Neurological issues and chronic health challenges. But here we are! We pulled through, didn’t we? “The only constant in life is change,” Heraclitus said. I am quite sure he had the garden in mind at the time, for gardens – and gardeners – are constantly changing. Gone are my beloved roses. Vibrant, healing foods, medicine for this gardener’s body, have taken their place. Ah. Sweet May. “All things seem possible in May,” said Edwin Way Teale. Even healing. For as I walk barefoot about the garden, I know that this garden gives me life. It gives me purpose. It gives me happiness. It gives me food, literal food for my body and figurative food for my soul. No garden is complete without flowers to attract the pollinating insects needed for good food production. Photographs are just a few of the buds bursting forth today, this first day of May.

(Candytuft, above)

“May and June. Soft syllables, gentle names for the two best months in the garden year: cool, misty mornings gently burned away with a warming spring sun, followed by breezy afternoons and chilly nights.” Peter Loewer

(Hardy amaryllis, above)

(Louisiana iris, above)

(Poppy, above)

“When April steps aside for May, like diamonds all the rain-drops glisten; Fresh violets open every day: To some new bird each hour we listen.” Lucy Larcom

(Chive blossom, above)

(Red yucca, above)

“April! April! is it you?
See how fair the flowers are springing!
Sun is warm and brooks are clear,
Oh, how glad the birds are singing!
April! April! is it you?” Poem by Dora Read Goodale

“Spring translates earth’s happiness into colorful flowers.” Terri Guillemets

The pale pink roses, shown above, are reminders of my garden past, beautiful blossoms this first day of April. The strawberry, shown below, embodies the hope and possibilities of the season ahead.

“It was such a pleasure to sink one’s hands into the warm earth – to feel at one’s fingertips the possibilities of the new season.” Kate Morton

One question that has been asked dozens of times the past few weeks has been, “Is it safe to plant now?” That translates to: Have we seen our last freeze of the year? Old-timers will tell you that we aren’t out of the woods for a late freeze until Easter. True enough, this gardener remembers an Easter snow many years ago. Mid-March is Dallas-Fort Worth’s average last freeze date. Average meaning: Our last freeze may come in February. Or it may come at Easter. This year the last freeze came early. Or so it appears.

Is it safe to plant now? This gardener will generally answer that question with another question. Is it ever truly safe to plant? One never knows what Mother Nature may throw at us. Late freezes. Hail. Intense heat. Record breaking cold. Prolonged drought. Relentless rain. This week’s weather brought us intense winds, leaving many of the tall bearded irises listing wayward. (Below photograph.) In 28 years of gardening this plot of earth, I have seen the extremes. It is never really safe to plant. To garden is to take chances. One learns quickly to roll with the punches and to always have a backup plan.

This suburban food forest is coming together, nourishing the gardener’s body and soul. To wander about, barefoot, harvesting herbs for a lunchtime salad. The onions and potatoes, planted in January and February, are coming along nicely. Tomatoes and peppers have been planted. Succession plantings of beans has begun. The possibilities truly seem limitless in the springtime garden.

“The glory of gardening: hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature. To nurture a garden is to feed not just the body, but the soul.” Alfred Austin

Despite the winds, the tall bearded irises, shown below, have been especially delightful this week, nurturing my soul.

“Flowers always make people better, happier and more helpful; they are sunshine, food and medicine for the soul.” Luther Burbank

Scented geraniums are best known for their intoxicating scents, though this gardener finds the flowers equally charming. (Shown below.)

Bridal’s wreath spirea, shown below, is aptly named. Ah, spring! See how fair the flowers are springing!

“If I could be a fairy now, I’d learn a lot of things, what flowers find to talk about and what the birdie sings. I’d fly around the garden with the butterflies for hours, I’d find out if the honey-bee says “thank you” to the flowers.” Source unknown

“Come fairies, take me out of this dull world. For I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame.” W.B. Yeats in The Land of Heart’s Desire

“She was always doing funny things – for a grown-up. Like running through woodland trails or climbing and jumping out of trees. Perhaps, it was because she had just a drop of fairy in her blood, that kept her wild and free.” Source unknown

“Few humans see fairies or hear their music, but many find fairy rings of dark grass, scattered with toadstools, left by their dancing feet.” Judy Allen, Fantasy Encyclopedia

If one needs proof of fairies dancing about the garden, they only need to kneel down and gaze upon the Leucojum blossoms, for the fairies have left little dots of green on every dainty flower.

Leucojum, like daffodils and tulips, are planted in the fall for spring time blooms. They naturalize quite nicely in zone 8a, North Texas, returning year after year with ease. Botanically speaking, they are in the amaryllis family with just two species, both commonly referred to as “snowflakes.” Leucojum vernum is the spring blooming bulb and the variety I have growing in my melodious garden. These bulbs were initially planted 20-plus years ago and have received no additional care, sans trimming off the leaves after they have dried and dividing and thinning out every few years. As you can see in the photograph below, this patch is due for dividing, which I will do as soon as they are done flowering.

Leucojum add a bit of whimsy and charm to the spring garden, as they are proof that fairies are indeed real and dance about the garden.

“And spring arose on the garden fair, like the spirit of love felt everywhere; and each flower and herb on Earth’s dark breast rose from the dreams of it’s wintery rest.” Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Sensitive Plant

Spring has been popping up for several weeks now in my melodious garden. Daylilies that go dormant in winter have been emerging through the leaves I let blanket the garden. (Shown above.) Spring blooming shrubs are having their moment of glory, as are the bulbs – daffodils and leucojum. (Bridal’s wreath spirea, shown below.)

“She turned to the sunlight and shook her yellow head, and whispered to her neighbor: Winter is dead.” A.A. Milne, When We Were Very Young

Winter is dead. Or so we can hope. The Dallas-Fort Worth area saw overnight low temperatures down to freezing over the weekend but the ten day forecast shows that winter weather may be gone now and spring weather here to stay. Happy Vernal Equinox, indeed. The sun is shining bright this morning and the garden and the gardener are basking in its rays. The gardener is, as usual on days like this, full of garden dreams.

The garden last year was plotted and planned out on the pages of an old school notebook. Late in the season, a downloadable, printable garden journal was purchased through Etsy, fully customizable, where I could add or subtract sections as needed. One section that was subtracted – The Garden Budget. Who has time for things like gardening within the constraints of a budget? Alas. Sometimes a garden budget may be necessary as one large purchase that kept getting tossed aside in favor of more plants was the acquisition of a new wheelbarrow.

Having not shopped for a wheelbarrow in 28 years, I was rather shocked that the entry level price for a decent one is around $150, which equals roughly three to four fruit trees or 37.5 four inch herb plants. Give or take a few. This gardener, you see, is always on team More Plants instead of New Wheelbarrow.

A good wheelbarrow is often one of the first major purchases a gardener will make, as it is handy for moving soil, mulch, rocks, plants and dreams. I don’t remember when or where I bought my first wheelbarrow – or how much it cost! – but I know it has been by my side in the garden for 28 years now. It has hauled a great many cubic yards of compost and mulch. It has hauled tons of rocks and bricks. It has hauled countless plants and garden tools and bags of fertilizer. But years of digging in with a shovel to scoop out its load and years of rocks and bricks jostling about have worn away at its metal. A few small holes here and there over the years gradually grew until – by last fall – the bottom was rusted through in large spots and talk of purchasing a new wheelbarrow ensued. (Just one of the large holes in the old wheelbarrow, shown in photograph above.)

“Talk of purchasing a new wheelbarrow…” generally went like this…

The non-gardener: What do you want for our anniversary? The gardener: A new wheelbarrow.

Which was followed a few weeks later by… The non-gardener: What do you want for Christmas? The gardener: A new wheelbarrow.

Which was immediately followed by… The non-gardener: What do you want for your birthday? The gardener: A new wheelbarrow.

Last month, the talks turned serious. Real serious. The gardener, to the non-gardener: Hey, I bought myself a new wheelbarrow today. Well. It is new to me. Technically, it is probably older than I am. But it doesn’t have any holes in it. Oh. And it is teal.

You see, sometimes the older things are the best things. Wheelbarrows being no exception. Especially when they happen to be teal.

“I love the first tingling of spring when sunlight lingers just a little bit longer and you can almost feel the whole world soften as birds chirp nearby, puddles take slowly to the sky and you gently wake up to what’s growing inside.” M.L. Cole

And so it is. The first tingling days of spring, when the sunlight lingers just a little bit longer, that my trusty old wheelbarrow will be carted off to the great wheelbarrow heaven in the sky. It lived a great, though laborious, life here at the melodious garden. I am forever in its gratitude for the burdens it carried to make my garden chores just a little bit lighter.

Oh. And did I mention the new-to-me wheelbarrow is teal?

I may well someday lead up a Gardeners Anonymous group with, “Hi. My name is Suzie Linn and I own a teal wheelbarrow.” Oh. And she only cost me 5.5 four inch herb plants. Give or take a few. Perhaps most importantly, I didn’t have to figure out a budget to buy myself a new wheelbarrow.

“All through the long winter, I dream of my garden. On the first day of spring, I dig my fingers deep into the soft earth. I can feel its energy, and my spirits soar.” Helen Hayes

I am again at a crossroads in my life. I feel the energy of another spring, though don’t yet know which path to take from here. I long to spend my days puttering about my garden, blocking out the news of the world and the demands to make money. I long to dig my fingers deep into the soft earth and know that this is santosha, my contentment, right here in the garden. I am not yet sure where to go from here, but in the meantime I have bulbs to plant and seeds to sow, new garden gloves to wear out and dreams to dream and miles to go before I sleep.