The first predicted frost is always frightening.  We weren’t confident enough to leave the garden as it was, so we prepared for the worst and filled the greenhouses, basement, and cold frames with our tenderest plants.  Two frosty nights were expected, so we covered the cold frames both nights and were delighted to see that the frost touched only a few plants in the garden.  Now we are in the midst of planting spring annuals.  Although it is sad to pull up vigorous, healthy plants in order to plant seeds of our spring annuals, we do it now and hope to finish the job by week’s end.  

Crocus medius

All is not work at this moment for fall crocuses are blooming and we take time to explore the garden.  The rock garden blooms with Crocus tommasinianus, which have flowers in many shades of blue as well as white.  The early, white flowering C. boryi has just about finished brightening up the metasequoia garden, white C. caspius appears all through the lawn near the deodara cedar.  This is a delicately colored crocus with backs of their outer petals a shade of pale pink and the inner ones white.  Showy purple C. tournefortii, growing nearby, is a vigorous species, which is the only one that remains open at night.  Beneath a metasequoia and in the lawn nearby C. laevigatus covers the ground and brightens the lawn with flowers in many shades of purple.  The latest crocus to open so far this fall is C. medius, a small, but intensely colored purple species.  These plants increase from corms and seeds and multiply readily throughout the woods as well as in brighter, sunny places.  Crocuses have a fascinating way of reproducing by seed.  Bees do the necessary pollination and the ovary is  below ground.  Nothing more is visible until later when the seeds ripen at which time the ripe pod  appears above ground with oblong pods filled with seeds.  From that we could produce many more plants; however, more often we just let them fall where they are and leave them where the ants take them.  Part of the excitement of this season is the discovery of where they have germinated in prior years.  In addition to the lawn and in the places where we planted them, the seedlings fill the dianthus walk and bloom along the cyclamen walk in the woods. As if this weren’t enough, this past weekend we found two Iris unguicularis in bloom—I. u. ‘Mary Barnard’ and ‘Walter Butt’—and a species Narcissus panizzianus, grown from seeds many years ago, and planted near the little greenhouse.  A walk through the woods reveals masses of snowdrops blooming in the SnowDrop Woods and along the Ridge near the Cyclamen Walk.  What season is this?

We are well into fall with leaves turning color and falling, days growing shorter, and mornings darker. The garden has turned a corner.  The Aster Border lives up to its name with masses of flowers in shades of blue/purple and pink and tall Aster tataricus, at the edge of the Blue and Yellow garden, bears large heads of medium lilac flowers on tall, upright stems.  Chrysanthemums bloom here and there, but instead of considering that these late summer flowers indicate that the garden is about to go down for winter, we believe this is the beginning of a new year. 

Cyclamen cilicium

We have an increase in the number of flowering plants, especially in the woods where bulbs bloom where we expect to find them and even where we don’t.  Cyclamen hederifolium, which grows from a tuber, not a bulb, sent up a flower or two all summer, but now they cover large areas.  In some places we have similar strains of this species, such as darker flowers or patches of all white ones, mostly pale green leaves, or silver ones.  C. graecum blooms best for us in the south shade of a Cedrus deodara where, because the sun appears at a lower angle in the sky, it gets some sun.  For the first time ever, a cluster of C. cilicium produced delicate, smaller blooms, which are white or shades of pink, and unlike its cousin, small leaves often marked with white. Even smaller, C. intaminatum blooms with even smaller, but delicate pink or white flowers.  C. coum reveals its remarkably variable leaves while holding back the flowers, which will open in December.  Growing alongside these plants, Crocus speciosus blooms with blue/purple or white cup-like blooms and delicate C. kotschyanus blooms at the north end of the Metasequoia Garden not far from  spectacular clumps of yellow flowered Sternbergia lutea, which is at its annual peak of bloom.  We have several different forms of this endangered bulb and are fortunate that it grows well here, best in full sun but still successful in light shade.  As colchicums begin to fade, we linger to admire the cultivar ‘Waterlily’ and a delicate white form of C. speciosum. Although we have had Rhodophiala in bloom since early September, we collected seeds from our one fertile plant this morning, just as the final flower faded.  We see the emerging leaves of the earliest narcissus along the cyclamen walk.  Too early for that?  Not at all.  We even expect the first flower on a snowdrop before this month is over.  In 2017, the leader was Galanthus reginae-olgae on October 16.  This season is just as exciting as spring and will continue until we finally admit it is spring.

Where do they come from?  We spent this summer going around in circles, trying to keep each section of the garden as we believe it should be.  We trimmed back the plants that get too tall to support themselves.  We pulled and dug out (by the roots) superfluous seedlings of desirable plants as well as known and expected weeds.  We thinned out the plants that spread too far too quickly. As each part of the garden was thoroughly weeded, we put down a mulch of leaves we gathered and mulched last fall.  This is by far the best mulch we have ever had.  We ground the leaves before we picked them up, and drove to the end of the field where we dumped them.  The rains of last fall, winter, and spring, kept them moist and they were in perfect condition.  As we completed each section we looked back at our previous border and discovered the weeds were back plus new ones that appeared after we mulched.  Around and around we have gone from bed after bed.  Fortunately, the soil has been moist enough to make much of this just an exercise in futility; however, there is no question that we were having fun.  Weeding is a necessary part of the joy of gardening.  No one should garden unless he or she enjoys pulling undesirable plants out of the soil, and loves the sounds of the soil releasing their roots.  I will admit that I hope for at least one week by the end of summer, the entire sunny garden will be weed free.  Until then, we will continue weeding through the garden bed by bed and day after day.

We have reluctantly agreed that because of COVID19 we will not be able to have a garden open day this fall; however, we plan to have sales of plants in our nursery by appointment with limited numbers of people here at the same time.  We will send notices to those on our mailing list and hope to see you, a few at a time, this fall.

We live near a forest—a forest with many creatures we seldom see and many which leave their marks so we can identify them.  We see their footprints, know their habits, their food choices, and whether they are aware of us.  We also have a dog and a cat that live with us, in the house at night and outside in the garden and woods during the day.  Most of our four legged friends know our habits.  The deer, which somehow get into the garden primarily for a meal of rare plants or a place on which to rub their antlers, are among the most destructive.  They like what we like, the most valuable plants.  We have a deer fence over which they can leap, unappetising mixtures to spray on the most valuable and vulnerable plants, and a dog whose primary job is to herd them away from the gardens but which occasionally brings them back and closer to the house.  We have woodchucks that tunnel through the ground thus allowing them to travel unseen from building to building, den to den, or plant to plant.  Although woodchucks are seldom seen during the day, our damaged plants seldom escape our notice.  They like rare plants!  Skunks are seldom seen, but often smelled and their contribution to the garden is mostly shallow holes dug in the lawns.  They are tolerated and easily avoided by people, but are sometimes too tempting to a dog protecting her territory.  A dog’s encounter with a skunk leaves a lasting reminder to those who live with dogs!  Cats are different.  A cat knows just the right place to use as a latrine, a place just weeded, and sometimes a plant just set into the ground.  Many cats entertain us by their ability to make a game of hiding and jumping out to attack a weed just pulled or a person deep in thought as she looks for a lost tool.  All of our four-legged friends  give us great pleasure especially when there is little to cheer about 90° weather and dry soil. 

Butterflies calm us down as they go from flower to flower, although we are concerned this year because we see fewer than usual.  They are accompanied by dragonflies, wasps, mosquitoes and many other flying creatures. The music of the birds accompany us wherever we go and give us an excuse to stop, try to see and identify them by sight or sound.  Frogs brighten every day, although we often see those which jump from place to place, finding a tree frog is an excuse to pause in wonder.  Turtles turn a dull day into a delightful one as they find and hide in cool places so we pause to admire them and don’t disturb them.  Life under the soil remains somewhat unknown, but we are happy to find earthworms wherever we dig. 

Although most of our snakes are harmless but all are somewhat startling, however, we draw the line at copperheads, which are seen infrequently and always avoided and we enjoy the green ones.  Spiders, praying mantises, and beetles often stop us to bring out the camera, and we respect but avoid most caterpillars, especially the hairy ones.  Fireflies, which appear as the evening darkens and remind us that we are never alone on this land.

June brought with it several more days of cool, clear weather.  Flower colors were crisp; no plants were gasping for water; no gardeners were complaining about heat.  It was glorious.  The first of the summer daphnes bloomed with their delicate fragrance, not enough to detect when passing by quickly, but a delightful, clean smell like an early spring morning.  Yucca season arrived.  We have a trio of spikes on an unidentified yucca, obtained by us as Y. rostrata but when compared to our towering plant in the scree makes us suspect a mistake in labeling.  The earlier, shorter one bows to us each morning while the taller one looks down from a great height.  Many roses continue to bloom while masses of once-blooming plants have settled into their normal purpose as “just shrubs”.  Late spring annuals including larkspur and love-in-a-mist, are still at their peak.  Chinese lilies, unnamed and purchased at “big box” stores, bloom profusely while the more delicate, fragrant regal lilies, Lilium regale’, put them to shame with their elegant, restrained beauty.

Yucca rostrata

We are planting annuals and perennials, mulching with last fall’s shredded leaves, and weeding.  We love the rain but so do the weeds and this year will see another battle to protect our smaller, slower growing summer plants and young perennials from their neighboring,  aggressive weeds.  Where does so much crabgrass come from?  We find it next to the lawns but also in the middle of the garden far away from mown or wild places. 

Rain lilies have begun and will be with us from now through summer, even until frost, so we have our annual challenge of keeping them in their places.  Some appear in the field next to the nursery while others appear in gravel or color gardens, and other species’ pots.  One might think it is autumn with Prospero autumnale and Cyclamen hederifolium blooming ahead of schedule. Daylilies are well-budded and remind us of generous friends, who have shared their special forms. I always think of my mother, who never left a spent bloom on a plant.  She went through her garden each day and picked off the old blooms while saying their names.  Gardens are filled with memories.

We were disappointed that we couldn’t have our open day this spring; however, we found lots to do in the garden.  We paused weeding and clearing off the paths and took time to look critically at each section.  We chose about half of the sunny gardens to alter, not so much in character, but rather to fit into the character we had given to them. 

For example Jo’s Bed, an area which comes to a peak in July and August, Jo’s birth and death months.  We designated colors, primarily white and many shades of blue and pink and selected bulbs, shrubs, perennials, and annuals with these colors.  Salvia guaranitica had become a bully, insinuating its roots throughout the entire garden.  They were under the roots of shrubs and over the bulbs, and they were large, heavy, and rapidly filled buckets and carts.  They were also unsuited for compost piles where they could quickly settle in and grow instead of decomposing.  Ruellia has a similar habit and we dug deeply and widely in order to remove what we could.  As with the salvia, ruellia also grew into, over, and under its neighbors.  We showed no mercy as we dug, pried, and pulled out every scrap of root we could reach, knowing we will have to make a similar attack next spring.  The result is satisfying.  Roses that were stretching for the light; small perennials, used to tie many sections together; and rain lilies, which will lead us into summer all responded to their new space and light.  Suddenly each plant revealed its character, and all blended comfortably together.

We have never seen a more beautiful spring.  There were few late frosts, moderate temperatures, and adequate moisture, so the primulas opened slowly and remained in pristine condition for viewing and pollinating.  Hellebores lingered with fresh flowers and slowly ripening seeds and throughout the woods aroids of many sorts opened as ferns began to appear.  The snowdrops began to fade but left more seeds than we have seen before.  Species peonies bloomed early followed by hybrid ones, many of which perfumed the air.  All of this is now accompanied by flowering irises, early roses, and nigellas, and larkspur. 

Consolida ajacis

Both fringe trees, Chionanthus virginicus and chinense bloomed for weeks accompanied by styrax with widely varying flowers.  We are weeding, cutting back growth from last summer, planting woody and herbaceous plants, pruning, and now mowing.  Views through the woods are obscured by fresh new leaves in all shade of green and tree seedlings seem to appear from nowhere.  Life is good and we are happy as we enjoy the relative silence of those around us, while we rejoice in the small voices of birds, frogs, insects, and even slithering snakes.  We miss our visitors and regret that we will not be able to have an Open Day this spring; however, we are already planning to have our usual event in October and the Snowdrop Walk in winter depending how this country deals with Covid-19.  

Recent days brought forth flowers ahead of time.  The dianthus walk has many plants in bloom—enough to smell as we walk down the path.  In fact I hadn’t realized they had flowers open until I entered the garden early one morning before dawn more than a week ago and was greeted by their fragrance.  To have both Phlox subulata and dianthus at the same time is a special treat. Seeds on the hellebores are ripe now—both species and hybrid forms, many of which we hand pollinated selecting either wild species or our favorite hybrids.  We rush to get to the seeds before they fall. When all of the seeds of one plant have been collected, we plant them in pots and set them into cold frames where we expect to see germination late next winter. Many primulas have been in bloom for more than a month, and that gave us time to pollinate our favorites—the old fashioned, wild Primula vulgaris and P. x polyantha.  These are some of the most successful forms we grow, so we go out with our paintbrushes and select a “male” and “female” of each form or color and transfer the pollen from a male to a receptive female.  We will collect and sow the seeds as soon as they are ripe in about a month and sow them immediately. We are working with species daffodils that have swollen seed pods now and must be visited everyday to collect the seeds before they fall.  These, too, we will plant quickly and wait patiently for gemination next year. So the end of each season is the beginning of the next year. We don’t look back. We look forward.

We, the gardeners, are the lucky ones.  We get to stay outside, where there are no lines, and little or no probability of getting closer than six feet from another person.  We wear gloves all the time without worrying about anything except how long they will last. Our friends and companions are others interested in the natural world, one where we are most excited by a germinating seed, or the first bloom on a plant watched for years.  We are the ultimate optimists. If not this year, we believe it will happen next year. We are able to focus on a small area of soil from which we pull unwanted seedlings, or plant newly divided plants and we live with visions of how it will look in the future—maybe this summer, or fall, or next year or 10 years later. 

We live and work surrounded by small miracles. A long awaited flower appears without warning. We get seed set on rare narcissuses, cyclamen, and unusual species or crosses of hellebores. Our lives are filled with hopes and promises—hope that the weather will cooperate and the promise of future plants. We come in to hear frightening accounts of this new disease—one which selectively attacks the elderly, and are reminded that we, or rather I, am the target. We are not discouraged but are cautious, not depressed but are invigorated about the world around us and its daily miracles.

Sanguinaria canadensis

The weather this winter has been so spring-like that our plants didn’t know when to bloom and we hardly knew how to dress.  We had many days in the 60s and nights above freezing. On Thursday evening last week, the 20th of February, large, fluffy snowflakes fell for several hours leaving a carpet of snow and trees and shrubs clothed in white. The temperature dropped to its lowest level this year and we had proof that winter is here.  Gardeners aren’t comfortable in seasons like this. We watched early narcissus join snowdrops and hellebores and bloom in late January, but worried when Prunus mumes, Magnolias denudata and M. x loebneri opened fully.  More magnolias bloomed and we knew their flowers were doomed.  As expected, those blooms went from white to brown on Thursday just as the rest of the garden was clothed in white.  The garden survived. We survived. We spent the day after the snowfall gently removing the snow from our boxwoods and by Saturday afternoon the snow had begun to melt enough to reveal the garden. We went slowly from place to place and found irises, cyclamen, crocuses, and snowdrops just as we left them. Even most daffodils, which had bent to the ground with the snow, recovered and stood upright. We found a few trilliums in bloom and others just breaking through the soil; even bloodroot, Sanguinaria canadensis, had produced a few flowers. The primulas are blooming and  Spring really is here again although just a little early. We came out of the woods and began to clear off and revise the sunny gardens.  

Helleborus niger

What season is this?  We have just had about three weeks of balmy spring weather.  Most gardeners can’t relax when a warm spell in winter lingers.  The good side is that we see flowers, which are often frozen just as they are about to open.  This year was an exception. The garden is fragrant with Prunus mumes blooming throughout the woods, along the driveway and near the house.  Iris unguicularis blooms better than in recent years and, although we must kneel to it, is worth every bend and creak of the knees. Mahonias delight us with their subtler fragrance while Chimonanthus fragrans welcomes us as we approach the parking lot.  Even Edgeworthia chrysantha commanded us to stop and smell the delicious fragrance in its yellow centered flowers.  But all is not peaceful when the weather is unseasonal. Edgeworthia did not complete its display; the top of the largest plant is withered and gray.  Nights in the 20s will turn the apricots brown and shrivel the irises. Narcissus will bend to the ground in the early mornings, but most will recover.  We rejoice that we got a glimpse of spring at the beginning of winter and we will enjoy the tough hardy flowers that can take such cold.

Hellebores will continue to beckon us to the woods where we select our favorite flowers and hand pollinate them with visions of new forms and masses of our most beautiful ones in future years. I finally learned to accept what comes and enjoy it when we have it.  After all next year will be different—maybe more “normal” but maybe even worse! In the meantime, we won’t miss a day looking for new buds to open and old friends to welcome back above ground.

Even the most committed gardener occasionally has to leave the garden.  It is always a struggle to leave a bud about to open. Flowers will open, fade, and disappear while she is away.  She will miss the thrill of an emerging shoot of the first narcissus, crocus, snowdrop. A year will pass before a similar moment returns and even then, it won’t be the same.  If this seems a little personal, it is. I had to leave Montrose for two weeks shortly before Thanksgiving. The big display of Galanthus elwesii var. monostictus was just around the corner and the quantity and quality seemed greater than ever. I left without looking back and returned to find the display just past it’s peak but still thrilling.  A large hackberry in the snowdrop woods came down in a wind storm while I was away and, as if by magic, fell on a large branch which saved the snowdrops beneath. The morning I returned home, I went to see this garden and was comforted to realize I hadn’t missed everything.  In fact, there were even more clumps of bulbs with flowers than I had remembered as well as young seedlings, which had settled into new spaces where they grew well and produced their first flowers. An unexpected seedling is an affirmation that the soil, light, and neighbors are appropriate.  My goal was to be able to do the Christmas walk, when I list flowers and berries in the garden. To make the list a flower has to be open wide enough to show its stigma and stamens; the berry just has to be visible and worth mentioning.

Christmas Day 2019

Flowers

Helleborus niger

Helleborus x hybridus

Jasminum nudiflorum

Loropetalum chinensis

Mahonia x media ‘Lionel Fortescue’

Mahonia x media ‘Arthur Menzies’

Mahonia japonica seedlings

Mahonia x media ‘Charity’

Narcissus albidus

Narcissus papyraceus

Prunus subhirtella ‘Autumnalis

Spiraea prunifolia ‘Plena’

Verbena canadensis, white, pink

Viburnum farreri, pink

Viburnum plicatum f. tomentosum ‘Summer Snowflake’

Viola cornuta

Camellia japonica

Chaenomeles x superba ‘Crimson and Gold’

Chimonanthus fragrans

Crocus species

Crocus laevigatus

Crocus sieberi

Crocus tournefortii

Cyclamen cilicium

Cyclamen coum

Cyclamen hederifolium

Enemion biternatum

Erica carnea, pink or white flowers

Erica x darleyensis ‘Arthur Johnson’

Erica x darleyensis ‘Schneewittchen’

Euphorbia species

Galanthus elwesii

Galanthus elwesii var. monostictus

Galanthus e. ‘Potter’s Prelude’

Galanthus elwesii “Sandra Lutz”

Berries

Ilex vomitoria

Osmanthus heterophyllus

Nandina domestica, red and yellow berries

Rohdea japonica

Ruscus aculeata

Sarcoccoca ruscifolia

Symphoricarpos orbiculatus

Viburnum farreri, pink

Viburnum tomentosum

Belamcanda chinensis

Danae racemosa

Hedera helix f. poetarum ‘Poetica Arborea’

Ilex x ‘Nellie R. Stevens’

Ilex cornuta

Ilex decidua seedlings

Ilex decidua ‘Finch’s Yellow’

Ilex decidua ‘Pocahontas’

Ilex opaca

Photography by Ellie Meade

What a glorious season. The aster border is finally in bloom. Cool, even cold, nights, rain, shorter days and longer nights confirm it; summer is finally over and we are into another year filled with color in the woods garden. During this recent dry, early October cyclamen managed only a few flowers accompanied by crocuses with only a few wispy flowers, but by the end of the month the woods were filled with Cyclamen hederifolium interspersed with crocuses flowering in shades of blue, purple, as well as pure white. Each day brought forth more flowers in places where we expected to see them as well as throughout the adjacent areas where ants had carried their seeds.

Snowdrops appeared in their expected and a few unexpected places. We can see Galanthus reginae-olgae, G. peshmenii, and even the emerging buds of G. elwesii var. monostictus without our bending to the ground. We also came back to life with optimism and plans for more plantings. We dug hundreds of Lycoris radiata and planted them on a slope below the cyclamen walk, knowing that their vivid red flowers would have faded before the cyclamens’ pink ones opened. We set each bulb into its own hole and by the end of the day the area looked like a small field of onions, collapsed and limp; however, within the week the leaves were upright and this area looked as if it had been there for a while. We watched the long-range temperature forecasts, knowing a killing frost was in our future but not knowing exactly when it would come. Our primary goal during the past two weeks has been to save our favorite tender plants for next year. We brought in plants, some within their planters, repotted those which needed it and filled the greenhouses and basement. We collected seeds of our favorite annuals. We are ready!

Crocus kotschyanus

Even the word brings fear and dread to gardeners. We hope we are at the end of a prolonged drought combined with record-breaking heat. The flowers we expected to peak in early fall look stressed instead of in their glory and many haven’t bloomed yet. Crocus flowers cheer us up in the scree now, and the C. speciosus flowers are smaller than usual, while C. kotschyanus, under the metasequoia look as they should. We have hoses out along the paths, and although we are not watering the beds generally, we keep the plants in pots and urns moist and we give in and water plants drooping in distress. The nursery and propagation areas are carefully watched and regularly watered but the lack of moisture distresses all of us, and we check the forecasts many times a day, always hoping for some promise of rain. It came this weekend—not the rain, but a forecast of a real soaking rain in a few more days. Suddenly, our mood changes and we begin to think of new plantings of bulbs, some from nurseries, and others from division of thick clumps planted here years ago. Young trees, and hardy perennials will go into their prepared sites and our focus turns to the woods. In the past we have seen the first snowdrop flower by now, so perhaps, by the end of this week we will find a nodding snowdrop as a sign of the new season. I had just finished writing this when the rain began to fall, first as mist and by the end of the day, a real shower.

Photo by Ellie Meade

Photo by Ellie Meade

We have record-breaking heat and drought but maintain our optimistic hope for rain; however, even without our much-needed moisture, there is activity below ground.  Summer flowers begin to droop and new flower buds fail to appear, but a few signs declare the arrival of fall.  The light changes.  No longer does the sun shine from directly above us but instead comes at an angle, giving us more shade.  Summer dormant bulbs appear just above the soil, first as bulges, then as tips of green, and finally as a flowering plants.  Lycoris radiata var. pumila, appeared more than a month ago and is now ripening seeds just as its larger, later relative, L. radiata is in full bloom.  Between the peaks of these two red-flowered bulbs, we celebrate every flower on Rhodophiala bifida.  We have one fertile bulb so finally can increase our collection from seeds.  Starting from seed is always best, for although the plants are slow to grow to blooming size, we get variations in size and color of the flowers.  Masses of colchicums bloom in the Colchicum Garden, producing flowers in various sizes, shapes and colors from white to shades of violet-pink.  This is always an eagerly awaited sight and a sure sign that summer is about to end. Although the first autumn colchicum flower appears in late August, the last one won’t open until October.  This is an amazing performance, for when the flowers open, there are no roots on the corms and that gives us the perfect time to divide and move them without disturbance.  

Photo by Ellie Meade

Cyclamen anticipate fall in mid-summer with a flower here and there in the woods.  Why this one and not that one?  The first one this year wasn’t the first one last year and that is part of the mystery of plants.  Sternbergias appeared in August with their bright yellow cup-like flowers that look comfortable in our heat.  The later, larger ones are just now blooming in the woods and in sunny places in the front gardens.  We dig, divide, and move the bulbs as soon as we see them poking up through the soil. As we dig to remove weeds in the rock garden we come across crocuses with extended bloom stalks, but no roots, and, of course, we impatiently await the sight of the first snowdrop!

The garden never looks the same two days in a row much less two years in a row. Indeed, itdoesn’t look in the evening as it did in the morning. Most daylilies open each day and lookfresh throughout the daylight hours but exhausted by night; but there are some that would bemore correctly called night lilies—Hemerocallis citrina (syn. H. altissima) bloom at night and lookexhausted by morning. Either way, none of my daylily plants look the same two days in a row.Rain lilies are in full bloom now and each morning the areas where they grow look different because most forms and species have flowers that last only a day.

Photography by Ellie Meade

Zephyranthes smallii, a medium yellow reblooming species, has flowers that stay open all the night and the next day. Not only that, they continue to produce new flowers throughout late summer. The dianthus walk contains many clumps of this species making that garden a cheerful early morning welcome for several months.

Verbascum chaixii blooms from spring through summer; however, it isn’t always at its best. In the early morning listen the flowers glisten with dew but by late afternoon, they droop from the heat and by the next morning they have recovered their glory. After they ripen their seeds, we cut the stalks to the ground and have only a few weeks to wait until they are back in bloom.

Often, we plant small trees, such as styrax, which give us flowers in mid-spring, only to discover in a few years that they have outgrown their allotted space and after a brief display of flowers, we have dense shade and greedy roots, which take up the moisture we had counted on for our summer display of annuals and perennials. We remember that special spring when they were the right size for their space. Daffodils, carefully planted and spaced, eventually grow into thick clumps and no longer bloom. Rescuing daffodils is one of our favorite winter tasks as we change this year’s plea for help into a broad mass of recently divided bulbs and eventually a spectacular display of flowers. Whether plants live or die, they present us with challenges, the most delightful of which is a mass planting of a something, which came to our garden as a single specimen. The worst of which is a mass of weeds, from an unexpected bully.

Photography by Ellie Meade

Spring annuals are over, their seeds collected and cleaned, and the old stalks pulled out to

make room for summer plantings. We go from bed to bed weeding, planting many of the

annuals and tender perennials we had in place last year, while we remember what didn’t work.

Some of the colors just don’t go together. There were bullies, which took up more space than they deserved or, more importantly, than we were willing to give them. The dahlias receive a weekly pruning even though sometimes it means we have to cut away promising buds ready to open.

We cut back most of our summer phloxes knowing that the new growth will be fresh and healthy and the flowers, though delayed, will bloom just as the summer reaches its peak.

We inspect all plants in the nursery, looking for those that need dividing, repotting, or tossing into the compost pile, while we look for desirable plants in the garden to propagate in order to make them available to interested gardeners. After a thorough reexamination of the deep not-for-sale cold frame, we found nearly forgotten plants, including Cypella plumbea, and Clematis acuminata. It is just about impossible to stay ahead of grass, which has seeded into the dianthus walk. As we remove the grass, we scatter the seeds of Omphalodes linifolia, cut back Geranium sanguineum, and remove excess self-sown seedlings of Hibiscus trionum. Adequate rains mean the soil is still moist, relatively cool considering our 90° days, and we plant hoping that with a minimum of care, our tender perennials will settle in quickly. This is a time of great expectations!

We experienced a dreadful period of heat and drought during the last three weeks of May.  Most of our late spring annuals managed to put on their annual show, but the flowers were small and plants looked stressed.  Large fissures appeared throughout the gardens but we continued our policy of watering only when we feared death for small, recently planted trees and beds.  When we saw forecasts promising abundant rain, we planted the soft color garden concentrating on plants with pale flowers.  Now there are Salvias ‘Wendy’s Wish’, pale yellow and orange lantanas, and verbenas, pink-tinged ricinus.  Costus speciosus and Breynea disticha came out from the basement and went into the aster border.  Xanthosomas went into the soil beneath the metasequoia near the smoke house. Suddenly the summer garden began to return.  Mid-summer annuals began to bloom in the sunny gardens, but the garden looked unkempt with dying annuals.  We have no choice but to leave poppies, larkspur, nigella, calendulas, and eschscholzias to ripen their seeds.  By the end of the first week in June, the large crevices had closed, and we began daily trips to collect seeds.  We always visit the areas with plants that had the most special colored flowers lured there by the joyous sounds of goldfinches that have little to do except eat and sing. Rain lilies responded, as they should—with masses of flowers on Habranthus tubispathus var. roseus in the dianthus walk.

Photography by Ellie Meade

We usually consider the last half of May the peak of our spring display of spring annuals, some of which grow from self-sown seeds that fall when and where they ripen. Others grow from seed carefully selected by us in early June.  This is the time when we are most critical of the sections of the gardens where we have masses of nigella, larkspur, and poppies.  We search for the brightest colors—scarlet, red, purple, and raspberry.  

We look for larkspur with flowers that are white or in shades of pink, lavender, or blue. We constantly look for groups of blue or white nigella (love-in-a-mist).  Years ago we had pink as well, but lost our strain of that color.  When we find just the shades we prefer we mark them with strings or tape so we will know which seeds to collect.  

The perfect person would probably pull out the plants with discordant colors but that is very difficult for us to do, because, if the truth be known, we like them all.  Now we are thinking of next year while we enjoy the fruits of last year’s labor. There are two gardens where we finally have the preferred colors in masses—the south of the boxwood border, and the little garden at the back of the house.  All we have to do is make an early morning visit and pull out the freshly opened wrong-colored flowers before the bees get to them.  We will now dry, store the seeds as they ripen, clean them, and sow them in November with visions of next spring’s display in our imagination.

When I open the front door during the first week in May, a flood of fragrances greets me.  Even without knowing the date, I realize this special time has come.  Many sections of the garden vary in their peak times, but the Dianthus Walk is always right on schedule.  Short plants growing in well drained, gravely soil make up this border.  Many old dianthus from previous gardens here and from other old gardens give it the name.  They aren’t fancy but they are all fragrant and in the humidity of early May the scent is powerful.  Pastel shades of pink to white dominate the picture but there are other colors and forms. All winter I saw mounds of silver on moonlit mornings and one by one crocuses, then tiny narcissus, and then masses of Phlox subulata announced the approach of spring.  A few volunteer verbenas with brilliant white flowers bloomed throughout the winter. The verbenas have to go—too big, too smothering when they settle down into summer growth—but they add just the right amount of height for right now.  To appreciate fully the intricate plantings of this garden one must walk along the brick path to see tiny forms of chives with blue flowers, low-growing veronicas Vv. peducularis ‘Georgia Blue’,‘Waterperry Blue’, and prostrata. A few sedums and orostachys provide a base of leaves above the gravel and below that we have thymes.  The thymes, some of which have spread onto the brick path, were carefully selected for color, heat tolerance, and fragrance and they bloom with delicate pink or white flowers. The real treasure in this low garden is Omphalodes linifolia, grown from seed sown every fall. Pure white flowers above gray foliage almost 1 foot high provide an airy delicacy not often seen. This garden, as most, has presented us with problems as it aged.  In the 1980s, when we first made it, we planted Tulipa clusiana, which blooms in spring, is an appropriate color, and heat tolerant.  The seeds, which germinated easily, have produced mature, flowering size bulbs and now, we have a real show of these lovely, yellow flowers.  The problem is that as their foliage dies down, they smother whatever grows (or grew) beneath them.   When summer approaches the character of the Dianthus Walk changes with bolder colors, especially on Geranium sanguineum, and in August, masses of tall, fragrant Lilium formosanum underplanted with rain lilies bearing white, pink, or yellow flowers greet me as I head down to the gate to retrieve the paper. A stroll down the Dianthus Walk is a wonderful way to start the day.