Archives for November 2010

Winter Coats

The coarse woven jute fabric known as burlap is a familiar, essential,  and serviceable material- well known to gardeners. B and B, to the trade, refers to the process of digging, and protecting the integrity of a rootball, so a plant can be successfully transplanted.  A broken rootball can kill a tree.  Sizing a ball properly, and fitting the burlap snug and secure with nursery nails requires a good eye, and some skill.  An expertly burlapped rootball is a handsome thing to behold.  The natural jute will rot over time, freeing the roots in the ball to establish in the surrounding soil.   A burlap fence protect new plants, and  salt-sensitive evergreens; burlap provides enclosure and protection.   

I am in the process of the holiday and winter dressing of the shop.  My landscape crews, under Steve’s direction, have no problem shifting from planting balled and burlapped in the ground to dressing the shop windows with burlap drapes.  The drapery workroom is open for the season.      

The drapes over the shop windows-my crew got every move right. The swags are just so, and securely wired.  We will keep them up all winter, so a weather resistant installation is important.  Burlap drapes do not keep anything warm, but they look warm  I like the idea that my shop is getting its winter coat. The Eupatorium capillifolium in the roof boxes is aptly described by its common name-elegant feather grass.  It was graceful and gorgeous all summer.  I was not prepared for how beautiful and durable the fall color would be; the needle-like foliage shows no signs of dropping. 

Why not try keeping that grass hedge in the boxes all winter?  These small dried magnolia wreath drapery tiebacks repeat that rich cinnamon-brown color in evidence on the roof.   Holiday decor that takes its cue from the garden-this I like.  Every landscape, garden, and garden shed has raw materials that can be transformed into a celebration. 

The lindens on the drive are in the process of having their winter coats fitted.  Wrapping the trunks of trees to prevent injury from the cold is common practice in many gardening cultures.  Tree trunks in Japanese gardens and cities are beautifully wrapped with rice straw matting for the winter.  Cold climate afficianados of cycads hoping to overwinter their plants in the ground will wrap the trunks. The lindens on the drive are getting winter coats of the strictly ornamental kind. 

A fabric reminiscent of moss comprises the first layer; the open weave burlap goes over top.   Each layer is temporarily secured with jute string; the seams are blanket stitched with wire.  The loose ends of the burlap are rolled over and tucked into a wide band of multiple strands of jute twine.    

kFrom the street, the two layers of fabric are neatly secured.  The lindens look warmer already. 


A jute bow will complete the look. Though these tree trunks are unlikely to suffer any sun scald over the winter, they look protected, and dressed for cold weather. 


We swagged a light garland through the canopy of the tree to provide some interest to the display at night.  The bows need adjusting, the drapes need some branches secured on the insides to fluff them out-the finishing details are yet to come. More on that later.

Potted

By no means have I left the dirt in my dust-my gardening season is not yet over.  I still have projects in process.  But one of my fall gardening projects did come to a close today.  We’re all potted up.  I was determined to pot spring bulbs in containers this year-I ordered scads of them.  Even Steve started to complain about the sheer numbers.  OK, he and his crews are tired-it has been a busy season, and the holidays are yet to come.  But he did oblige-and he obliged in a significant way with his home-composted and sand-leavened bulb soil-does it not look scrumptious? 

Bags full of that precious and special compost found its way to the shop.  There was much discussion about what bulbs would seem good together, what bulbs asked for a simple mass, what mixes of the same type bulb might make for interesting spring color.

The tulipa are the Sarah Bernhardts of the spring garden. Lush leaves, dramatically thin stalks and large showy flowers-what gardener is not longing for them come spring?  It is indeed a natural miracle that a flowering plant that can top out at better than 30 inches is programmed and ready to go inside these 2″ diameter brown orbs.   

These World Expression tulips in my window boxes were drop dead gorgeous for weeks.  Potting bulbs in window boxes that put the roots above ground is a dicey move-in a bitterly cold winter they could have frozen solid, and rotted by spring.  But why not try?  That effort paid off; my spring at the shop was beautiful. 

It is not so easy to keep that picture of those tulips in mind, when the fall is cold, and the planting circumstances less than charming.  Putting little brown bits into the soil is just about the most unsatisfying garden chore of all-there will be nothing to show for all of that effort for the next six months. 

But when April comes around, I will be happy for today’s effort.  The daffodils blooming set every gardening heart to beating a little faster; spring is on the way.     

I chose a variety of  standard containers.  Fiber pots, made from recycled cardboard, are a good choice. Though they will degrade, they degrade slowly. Kept from any contact with a hard surface, you might get three years out of them. The trick to getting long life from a fiber pot is to elevate it off the hard surface.  This allows the bottom to dry out, and stay intact.  Unlike a cardboard box, a fiber pot that dries out is just as strong as it was originally.  In the spring, they can be dropped into a more dressy container with ease.  When the bulbs bloom, the news will be all about what is inside-not the container.

Bulbs are beautiful in containers.  Diminuitive bulbs show and grow best in shallow containers.  The low large classic terra cotta shape is known as a bulb pan.  Too large a pot for any plant can encourage rot; the larger the soil mass, the slower it will drain and dry out.  These concrete faux bois planters are no more than 8 inches deep. 

These grape hyacinths were planted in very small pots-3″ containers.  That made transplanting them into a larger planter of lettuce and violas easy.  Muscari bloom a long time in the spring, especially should the night temperatures stay chilly.


I am sure this is the third time I have talked about bulbs in containers this fall-why am I still talking about it?  The chances are good that there are still bulbs available; at this time of year, they are priced to go.  If you are like me, you have a stack or a stash of pots available to you.  So why not fill them with bulbs?


I have not counted how many pots there are here, but my instinct says I will have a very good show come April. Even if you did not plant one bulb in ground this fall, no need to do without them.  What are you doing Sunday?  Rumor has it that nature has decided to do 60 degrees that day-perfect for a little spring gardening.

At A Glance: Silvery

Sunday Opinion: The Promise

My life as a professional gardener is very much different than my home gardening life.  When I am at home gardening, I can stop every hour for an iced tea, or go take a nap, if I so desire.  I can make messes that have lifespans. I can leave a pile of sod in the driveway that I need to steer around for weeks.  I can leave a dead tree long enough for it to become a snag.  Once I finally take it down, that empty space might sit and stew for a year; it is my privilege to live with that tooth missing. I can throw around the French word deshabille with authority.

I can skip the fall cleanup; I can let everything lay in the spring and call it a composting day.  5 years running I can look at a clump of daffodils no longer blooming and resolve once again to divide them, and move on.  I can ignore the faded flowers on the rhododendrons long enough that the new growth breaks-shoot.  I can order five pounds of alyssum seed, and save instead of sow it.  I can trip over a brick that has heaved up in the walk every day long enough to be irritated, but never long enough to reset it. I can leave a perennial in its pot, in the spot where I want to plant it, until it perishes from lack of water.  I can leave my tools out, and scattered about, until they dull, rust and splinter-and call it my as yet uncollected vintage collection.

I can rip the leaves off the dandelions, and stuff the flowers in my pocket.  I can leave my roses unpruned-experimentally.  Unplanted cell packs and 4 inch pots of annuals strewn all over the deck in May- I can call that process. I can put my pruners away, in favor of that natural look. Or I can saw everything down to the ground, and call it revitalization. I can advise Buck to consider a new parking place on the street when a maple in the tree lawn is obviously hollow and punk-wooded.  I can count on the new growth of the sweet autumn clematis to cover the tangled mess of last year’s dead stems. 

I can walk by a weed until it falls over into my path. I can step over that fallen weed for a long time thereafter.  I can let colonies of weeds run amok, and put edges to their spread-as if that meant something.  I can walk up hill, and then down hill, and unexpectedly step into a corgi digout-and call that exercise good for me.  I can persist in my unwillingness to get rid of that Russian sage hedge-as no doubt it will be better next year. I can make a note to come back and reassess on a day and a time yet to be determined.

A new fence that needs to be installed in my fountain garden-this is a given.  It has been a given for an embarrassingly long time. On those days I need to blame, I blame the need for a permit for my delay.  Any gardener dealing with a self imposed delay understands this; any blip on the screen will do.  My work schedule is always good for an extended delay.  I work 7 days a week, and have done so for better than twenty years.  This said, no one is questioning me or faulting me about my propensity to delay on my home turf.  My delay days-I permit myself a less than perfect, a less than organized, home gardening life.  

It may be that the best I that I deliver to my clients is not the design, but the promise to help them treat their garden differently than I treat my own.