Spring Pruning

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The day you put a plant in the ground is the first day of a relationship.  If you plant cosmos, that relationship constitutes one season.  If you plant a tree, that relationship might survive for generations.  If you plant shrubs, you could have a good many years of pleasure ahead of you-provided you prune.  Woody shrubs, left to their own devices, go to rack and ruin.   They spend no end of effort piling on enough wood to send the tips of their branches to the sky.  What is the big attraction of the sky?  No competition for light, air, and rain. No shrub feels any inclination to bloom where you want to see blooms-at eye level, that is.  Plants grow with survival in mind.  Should you have another idea in mind, wade in.  Participate.

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Shrubs will grow sideways, around an obstacle.  They will sprout back, if cut to the ground.  They will survive the indignity of a homeowner with a hedge trimmer gone amok.  They will survive, even though the overall shape may be ungainly, or sheared to within an inch of its life.  The instinct to live is strong.  Lucky for me, and every other gardener who has learned on the job.  Pruning a hydrangea is not hard-it just requires the patience to consider every branch, before you cut.  I prune each branch, one at a time.

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A well pruned hydrangea looks like it has had a shag haircut. Every branch has its our airspace. This means some branches get last year’s flowers cut off-only. Other branches get 8″ removed. Others get 16″ removed. Some old and thick branches in the middle get cut even harder, so air and light can reach down in to as many branches as possible.  Some gardeners prune their Limelight hydrangeas to within 14″ to 24″ of the ground, forcing them to produce basal shoots which originate underground. This method tends to produce a shorter shrub, with fewer and larger flowers.  I dislike cutting this hard-it takes so long for the shrub to regain a natural and airy shape.  I would rather have lots of flowers, than a few gigantic flowers.  I would rather plant the shorter growing version of Limelight- “Little Lime” – than prune a Limelight too hard.

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I like my Limelight hydrangeas tall, and I like lots of flowers. My yews are 48″ tall at this end of the garden, and the arborvitae are 14′ tall.  The hydrangeas grown 6′ to 8′ tall-perfect for this spot. For good flowering from top to bottom, the lower branches need to be left long, and the top branches need to be shorter. The finished shape should be very loosely pyramidal, or like an egg on its side.  Step back frequently, to see how things are shaping up.  This hydrangea blooms on new wood, so no matter how you prune, you will get flowers.  Shearing a branch will encourage that branch to produce multiple shoots below the cut.  Thicken up, and out.  As long as the exterior shape is loosely described, the shrub will prosper.  Shearing deciduous flowering shrubs may take less time, but produces less than desirable results.  Renovating shrubs that have been sheared takes a long time.  One cut at a time-this is my advice.  Invest in a great pair of pruners-this makes the work easier.  The moment that all I can hear is the birds, and the action of the pruner blades bypassing each other, is a spring gardening moment I treasure.

pruning-roses.jpgI do grow a few shrub roses.  Sally Holmes, Carefree Beauty and Earthsong.  I have read lots of articles about pruning roses, none of which I have paid much mind to.  I stop dead heading my roses in mid-August.  I actually love the rose hips in the fall and winter.  In the spring, when the buds swell, I prune. The swelling of the buds?  You will recognize swelling buds when you see them.  My roses bloom on the new shoots.  I never cut a branch back by more than 1/3rd.  I prune the entire collection of roses as if they were a single plant.  I leave them loose. Last fall I secured the summer’s growth of the climbing roses to the wall-not much needs to be done to them now.

rose-hips.jpgOccasionally I will hard prune an old climbing rose cane low to the ground.  This keeps new growth coming from the bottom. Pruning stimulates growth.  Pruning a climbing rose cane 6 feet off the ground will result in a rash of shoots.  A long stalk with a tuft of shoots on the top-not the best look. Any cane which you can train to grow horizontally will flower more heavily.  If you think about the where the sun and rain comes from, this makes sense.  Is the afore mentioned a guide to pruning roses-not really.  Every gardener has to deal with their roses one to one.  Look at them, and decide how to prune. I prune my roses so they have the best possible overall shape.  Most roses are very ungainly growers, so pruning for a good shape is not always so easy.  That’s why I grow asparagus with my roses.  The  ferny fronds conceal those awkward and ungainly branches.  Do I prune my asparagus over the summer-oh yes.  I keep them at a height which conceals those legs.  Does this affect my asparagus crop?  Maybe.  But everything in the garden is about choices.  I want great roses more than I want home grown asparagus.

beech-ferns.jpgI do not cut back my beech ferns in the fall.  The dead fronds mulch and protect the European ginger over the winter.  By April 1st, those fronds have cut loose from the crown.  I do not need to prune.  I rake them off.  A rubber rake does a great job.  My fingers do the best job.

european-ginger.jpgThe European ginger has already been busy, sending out new shoots.  A steel rake, or a size 8 boot can damage these tender new shoots.  One of the pleasures of the spring-the new growth.  Friable soil.  My housekeeping inside-rather rude and abrupt.  I just want to get the job done.  When I am cleaning the garden in the spring, I take my time.  I do it-gently.  I have a relationship with this garden that I intend to nurture.

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Lifting a lower branch of a spruce, I see icy snow. The transition from winter to spring has been incredibly slow this year. Really shady spots in my garden are still frozen. The night temperatures are still below freezing.  Frozen ground, frozen branches-my advice is to let them be.

April 2 2013 (40)The hellebores are awake.  Last years foliage has collapsed in a heap on the ground.  Every day I think about cutting that old foliage away.  Clean and bare is not always the best situation.  The newly emerging flowers benefit from all that fluff. The transition from winter to spring can be a rocky journey.   Sometimes, the best thing to do is to do nothing.

hellebore-flowers.jpgLast year’s foliage protects those flowering stalks, ready to emerge.  A warm spell in March proved to be damaging.  The buds sensed it was time to grow.  Nature had a different idea in mind.  We have had a run of really cold weather, the past 3 weeks.  Some of the exposed buds on this plant are black with the rot produced by freezing temperatures.

uncovered-hellebore.jpgCutting away last years foliage  exposes new flower buds.  Very tender flower buds.  Just to look at them, you would know they are not armed against the cold.  I cut the dead leaves away, and put them back over the top of these buds.  It is too soon to clean here.  What constitutes better days?  Warmer nights.  The ground is still very cold.  It will be 2 months before the soil really warms up in my zone. Hellebores do not require warm soil, but the flowers will be damaged by night air temperatures in the mid to low 20’s.  They need all that litter on the ground over them.  It’s not time yet to wash and put away the blanket.

hellebore-seedlings.jpgI am shocked and pleased to see that I have hellebore seedlings sprouting.  I spent a few moments taking this in, before I covered them up.  I am not sure how long it will be, before I expose them to the light of the new season.  The pruning and the cleaning-all in good time.  A slow spring-this is what we have now.

At A Glance: Easter Sunday

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Holed Up

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I expected to feel exasperated-but this scene made me laugh. The cut pussy willows are representing for all the world as if it were spring.  At their feet, the remnants of hard packed snow and frozen ground tell a different story.  Though it is late March, our weather is quite February-like.  This is the late winter hand we have been dealt.  We have not been able to do so much outside the shop, as everything is frozen to the ground.  Some espaliers breaking bud when the arrived went in the garage.  Other, unquestionably dormant, we placed outside-and we hope for the best.

prairie-willow.jpgPrairie willow-I am confident it is tough as nails.  It grows in the prairies-this means that weather extremes are the norm.  I had no problem placing the bunches outdoors; they will shrug off the cold.  But what would anyone do with them?  Pots, and the soil in them, are still frozen solid.  A vase full of prairie willow inside-that would not only be beautiful, it’s just about all we can do.  The prairie willow may be fine outside given night temperatures in the teens, but we are holed up, pending a shift of the season.  Plants and animals have great mechanisms for dealing with untoward weather.  The bears hibernate.  The bats congregate deep in caves.  The plants go dormant, and stay that way.  Lichens go dull in color when dormant.  A heavy rain brings them roaring back to an interactive life.  Some pine cone seeds will not germinate, unless there is a fire. Other seeds will not germinate unless they have a cold period, or a good soaking.  The perennials die back to the ground.  They endure the winter, their life on hold- underground.

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The first truly warm day of spring-insects hatch, and swarm. The grass puts on a green outfit. The bulbs, long silent underground, push up towards the sun.  The process by which the natural world wakes up after a winter is an extraordinary event to witness.  Who knows what day will signal sweet release from the dormant season.  No doubt, every northern gardener is waiting. Given that people do not hibernate, they are witness to every moment of the winter.

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I am a natural organism that does not go dormant.  My winter life involves heat and shelter.  This means I live through the winter, like it or not. I am not a skier or a snow shoe afficianado-I endure.  My experience of the dormant season involves lots of winter gear-coat, boots, gloves, and hat.  And the time it takes to get dressed.  No doubt, I am a hothouse variety.  In Victorian times, miniature greenhouses known as Wardian cases would protect tropical plants from any hint of cold.  Rob’s placement of these cyclamen in a Wardian case-his dry and subtle humor at work.  Cyclamen cleave to the cold. No need to heat them up.   What really needs a place in this Wardian case-all of us gardeners living in northern climates.

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The late winter weather aside, we have plants.  Potted bulbs.  Hellebores.  Delivered just today, topiary plants, big and small.  Bulb pans overflowing with angelina.  Tiny euonymus topiaries.  We have had to make a place for the plants under glass, and inside.  We heat this space to 50 degrees.  Any amount of sunshine will quickly warm it up.  From now until the middle of May, this room will be stuffed with plants.  The moment the winter weather breaks, every gardener will be looking for plants.

greenhouse-space.jpgThe plants make the space smell great.  The hyacinths blooming fill the entire space with their fragrance.  Rob washes down the floor almost every day.  The resulting humidity is a welcome break from the dry winter air.

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Even this stoneware cat has an aura opf contentment, given a sunny spot on a bench.

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These double ball boxwood-leaved honeysuckle topiaries are charming in their stump pots.  The moss on the surface tells the story.  These plants have been grown with heat, water, and some shade.

topiaries-in-pots.jpgEuonymus trained into a topiary standard is a great plant for a small space.  It is the most luscious shade of green imaginable.

rosemary-topiary.jpgRosemary on standard, and tubs of lavender have that warm Mediterranean look-not to mention the fragrance.

rhubarb-and-lemon-cypress.jpgRob starts rhubarb in pots early-they make such great centerpieces in spring pots.  The large leaves atop red stalks-you can’t miss them.  Nothing could be further in color and texture from rhubarb than a lemon cypress. This lime foliaged version of an Italian cypress is not hardy in our zone, though it will tolerate fairly low temperatures.  They also look great in spring containers.  Plants wintered in a space that stays above freezing grow fast.

ivy-topiaries.jpgIvy topiaries are great for shady locations outdoors, and they are fairly easy to winter indoors.  The vines grow fast if they are happy.  Regular snipping to hold the shape is one of those garden chores that is actually a pleasure.  How Rob has paired them will simple terra cotta cylinders is handsome.

bulbs-in-a-basket.jpgThe shop has a few other places that get good light, and a fair amount of sun on a sunny day.  Forced bulbs are good for low light spots indoors.  They come already programmed to bloom.  If the light is too low, the green of the foliage will fade, and the leaves will stretch and flop over.  It’s only natural that plants seek the light-it is essential to their well being.

ivy-pots.jpgEven low light tolerant plants will struggle if that low light goes on for too long.  We rotate our plants in and out of low light areas, in a effort to keep them happy.  Plants placed in the dark too long look as grumpy as gardeners who are stuck indoors.

white-hyacinths.jpgHyacinths forced in pots provide a lot of late winter pleasure.  The leaves are good looking.  The buds are good looking.  The flowers will last quite a while, provided they have a well lit spot that is not too hot.  Potting them low in a container provides a little support for the big leaves and large flowering stalks.

spring-plants.jpgSpring plants indoors-a way to make the best of the worst of it.

 

Budded

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If you garden, March is an acutely disappointing month.  If March feels like an illness to you, it is. That late winter gardener’s fever–entirely predictable.  The hope that spring is almost here when it is in fact many weeks away-a normal symptom of said illness.  Once March arrives, no matter what constitutes likely and reasonable, I am over the winter.  I have eyes, ears and a nose for spring.  Though I have written this in countless ways for the last month, this time I really mean it!  The thought that spring is near has been much on my mind- for weeks.  What the gardening heart hopes for bears no remote resemblance to reality-that conflict would be a good definition of a Michigan March.  Hope versus reality-game on.

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My yard is a trashed by the winter.The grass is the color of hay.  That hay has been pounded into the ground by the corgis, so the color is actually dirty hay.  How many gallons of paint do you suppose a paint manufacturer might sell if they names a color dirty hay?  Well, ok, gardeners might warm up to it.  But the idea of dirty hay is pretty unappetizing.  Just like March in Michigan.

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The isotoma around my fountain at home looks dead.  The leaves are brown and black, accented by a glaze of rot.  Who knows if or how much of it has survived this winter.  Some of the coldest days of the winter are courtesy of this March.  How it looks right now-horrifying.  The clematis are but brittle sticks, and the boxwood are burned.  My moss stuffed cow-known as Lady Miss Bunny, has dead weeds sticking out of her side.  Dead rotting leaves are sprinkled all over the yard.  Could my garden possibly look worse than it does right now?

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The European ginger?  The leaves are limp, and lay flat on the ground-exhausted.  I so understand this feeling.  The look of it-I try not to look.  Many of the leaves have those large black patches gardeners know as decomposition.  I do not dare clean them up yet-we have night forecasts in the 20’s for the next week.  Most of the snow was gone, meaning really cold night temperatures could hurt.

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My hopes for March are always unrealistic.  Last year’s March was warm-enticing.  Though it satisfied my need for an early spring, it made me uneasy.  April confirmed that unease.  Freezing temperatures over an extended period of April days was destructive to early spring flowering trees, maples, and birch.  No spring for us, last year.  The 2012 spring disaster- every gardener in my zone remembers.  The nights covering vulnerable plants to no avail. All of the hellebores blooming collapsed in pathetic heaps on the ground. Such shock-realizing that our spring would be erased by deadly low temperatures.  Gardeners far away wrote to me, their voices charged with grief and irritation very much like mine.  Gardeners in my zone and in many other regions have been waiting for a glorious spring for close to 2 years.

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March is anything but a spring month; March is in fact the last of the winter season.  We have has snow more days these first 2 weeks of March, than not.   A single oddball 62 degree day made me believe the winter was over-I truly believed that the crocus, eranthis and hellebores were but days away.  But one day does not a spring season make. The utter cold has returned; just this morning, four inches of fresh snow.  I m shoveling, not gardening.  March is a month marked by the tumultuous transition from one season to another.  Sometimes that transition is easy and sensible.  Other times that transition is so slow, boring, and treacherous,  one could weep.

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The trees and shrubs have no such angst.  They go dormant given the day length and temperatures.  They set buds for spring season, months ahead.  They prepare.  They have no expectation of mercy.  They wait.  The urge to emerge revolves around a complex set of conditions.  Natural relationships that culminate in the OK to grow.

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A bud is an undeveloped shoot.  A leaf or a flower shoot.  Once formed, that bud may lay dormant for months, waiting for the moment when conditions favor growth.  When woody plants form buds, the exterior of that bud is tough-encapsulating.  Breaking dormancy is a very vulnerable state-best not to do so, unless there is a reasonable expectation of success.  Nature provides mechanisms by which that tender stage we call growth is protected from its enemies, until the time is right.   Many plant buds are covered in scales.  These modified leaves protect the life brewing within that bud from cold, wind,and physical insult.

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Many buds are covered in a gummy substance that further protects them from untoward conditions.  These magnolia flower buds have a remarkably rigid hinged casing that is covered in soft downy hair.  This magnolia is always the first plant to bloom in my yard. The buds are swelling, meaning that spring will arrive. Everywhere in my zone the buds are beginning to swell.  They anticipate spring in a very different way than I do.  They intuit the natural shift of the season. They respond to that subtle change in conditions, in a slow and subtle way.  These buds may swell, but they won’t break dormancy until there is a more extended period of moderate weather.

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The buds can hold a very long time, if the weather does not take a more friendly turn. Most perennials have naked buds. What you see in this picture is the remains of my asparagus.  The spring shoots are still safely ensconced below ground. They have little defense against bitter cold. They stay dormant, buds and all, until they have the all clear. The leaf buds of the roses, encased in the same waxy substance as the stems.  They are ready, but holding their cards close.

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The cream colored knobs on this yew-the flowers that will hardly be noticed.  The flowering stage is remarkable, the day a gust of wind throws a cloud of yellow pollen into the air.  At the tip of each branch, an elongated bud known as a candle.  Named for its resemblance to a candle, this growth tip is comprised of the countless needles which will populate the new shoots.  These needles lay flat against the stem, until the spring weather encourages them to spread out and grow.  The buds do a better job of predicting the arrival of spring than my winter weary heart.