Category Archives: Gardening

Rosa rugosa is one hardy garden performer. Any plant that can hold its own against salt spray and the ravages of coastal weather is inherently rugged, but that doesn’t always translate into a garden situation. It also means that if not pruned or properly cared for, it can grow a little rough around the edges. Thankfully, I have one specimen by our pool – a substitute of solace for not being able to make it to Ogunquit in the past few years – and it has reliably bloomed and produced a healthy fountain of foliage each season. 

This plant has at least four seasons of splendor in it – the first flush of fresh and bright green foliage, the main summer show of pink, sweetly-perfumed rose blooms, the small persimmon-like fruits of late summer, and the spectacular golden fireworks exploding right now. 

That’s a powerhouse performer, and more than makes up for its thornier aspects (it would seem that no other rose has as many barbs on a single stem). I like a plant that’s a little prickly; I can totally relate. 

Having put the gardens to bed a while ago, and the pool to sleep just a few days ago, a surprise morning glory bloom (before the snowstorm and hard freeze we had) deigned to remind us of the not-so-distant past, yet it already feels so far away. Both Andy and I are entertaining a countdown until spring, and maybe it’s a little soon for that, but time is flying these days, and a chart of weeks for the next four to five months – something to bring us into March – may be the tonic to bring us a happy and surmountable schedule of anticipation. 

In one of the more dreary months of the calendar year, remembering summer mornings filled with these glorious blooms is one lovely way to past a gray day. Spring will come again. And summer will be right behind it. In the meantime, a trove of memories exists, here and in our minds, to bring a little bit of summer to every day. 

Not content to let the fall go out without a blaze of glory, this lovely lace-leafed Japanese maple set itself on gorgeous fire these past few days, illuminating its backyard space for a finale fit for a queen. This little tree is approaching two decades of reliable performance, a long time span over which it has slowly but steadily increased its spread and weeping beauty. It started off about two feet in circumference, and now extends its elegantly drooping branches a good ten feet beyond that.

It was a bargain buy at the end of a summer season sale at Hewitt’s, and it came in a tight burlap root sack that was cutting into its bark. I wasn’t sure it would survive, and for the first few years it didn’t do much in the way of top growth, but underneath the amended ground something was working. It began to gradually increase its width and the girth of its trunk, imperceptibly at first, and only in the past couple of years did I take true notice of its extensive expansion, and quite happily at that. There’s nothing quite like the loveliness of a plant finally finding comfort in its home.

This climbing hydrangea usually claims its glory in late spring when it’s covered in lace-like umbrellas of sweetly-scented blooms. They sprinkle their lovely perfume about the backyard just as we are usually opening the pool – the most magical and hopeful time of the year. Their show lasts a good while, it not usually being too terribly hot at that point to quickly wilt and diminish the delicate blossoms – and then the handsome foliage remains lush and green for the duration of the summer. They will appreciate regular watering if conditions get hot and dry (there is such a long way for the water to travel, and the vines wind their way up a good forty feet). 

Happily, their show doesn’t end then – this one likes to go out in a column of fiery sunlight, golden yellow flames licking all the way up the length of its commingling with an ancient pine tree. When the afternoon sunlight pours through the bright foliage, it could be argued that this is a greater show than its late spring bloom. Fall has its powers too, and they are not to be underestimated. 

Some might say there is more magic and enchantment to be found in the unexpected beauty at hand this late in the season. I don’t have a strong argument against that, and it is always the present moment that seems to have the most pull. 

These beautiful Japanese painted ferns overcame their own 2020 horror story, as early on in the summer season some animal ate them down to the ground. As evidenced here, they recovered in a valiant, and gorgeous, show of defiance and resilience. The afternoon sun of October shows them off to great splendor, and is a reminder that somehow nature endures, no matter how much awfulness humans, and non-humans, may attempt to inflict.

The Japanese painted fern’s delicate beauty belies its hardiness. From a single small specimen planted several years ago, this clumps has expanded, notably by spores – popping up in damp unexpected places (such as around the pool pump) and I’ve managed to transplant them successfully. A couple now populate the side yard garden, lending an additional Japanese element to a space now planted with bamboo, Japanese aralia, and a Japanese maple. It is the peaceful portion of our yard, shaded from the hot afternoon sun, filled with subtle performers who express themselves in soft shades of green and architectural interest rather than boffo-blooms of hot pink or fiery orange. That sort of quiet and respite is necessary in the summer months.

The flowers always come more vibrantly at this time of the year, as if sensing their limited time before a hard frost kills them off permanently. Such is the case with these volunteer morning glories. They’ve been self-seeding so prolifically and for so long that they’ve become a bit of a nuisance, so this year I pulled most of them out in part of the clearing and editing process that marked much of our garden efforts. I left a few vines to climb through the Korean lilac and Joe Pye Weed, and here are some of the results. 

For better or worse, morning glories remind me of the earliest bit of fall – that tense time when school is about to begin and we plunge into the routine of routine again, returning to schedules and time constraints that seemed so much more bearable under the sun of summer. This year fall looks a little different, and we are all still adjusting.

In the meantime, the morning glories are giving out one final show, reminding us that there is beauty in the world, even as we approach winter…

This magnificent lace-leaf philodendron was a quick, unplanned purchase in late spring. After several less-than-stellar investments in this large pot (failed junipers, evergreens, and red-twigged dogwoods) I didn’t bother with anything other than a common home-improvement store specimen, which was only about a foot and a half tall.

Now it’s about three feet high and five to six feet wide after a successful summer on the sunny front porch, lots of water and plant food, and just a touch of love. I texted around and finally found someone willing to take it in before the first hard frost withers it to the ground. My pal Heath picked it up and will try to transition it into indoor life. I’m just thankful it has a chance. We don’t have the room or the light for it, and it’s too beautiful and doing too well to simply give up on it. 

It’s also rather valuable – I saw two philodendrons at Faddegon’s of roughly the same size and stature – one was $187 and the other was $247! That means this will double as Heath’s birthday present, whether he knows it or not. 

Though we have a few more days of August, the Sedum ‘Autumn Joy’ plants won’t hold their bloom, and as the cup plants have begun their decline, it’s a welcome arrival of new blossoms. They are just about on schedule, unlike the Seven Sons Flower tree, which has been in bud for weeks but hasn’t quite begun to spread its sweet perfume and bee-attracting pollen. But we aren’t going to hijack this joyful post with the waywardness of this season/year. 

Like the hosta and the hydrangea, the ubiquitousness of Sedum  ‘Autumn Joy’ – overused by far too many landscaping plans – had caused it to fall out of favor for a number of years. The three plants we had in our garden were ignored and almost abused. I didn’t tend to them with any manure or mulch, I didn’t divide or pamper, and to be honest I didn’t even bother to water them all that much. 

A couple of years ago, however, I noticed a Sedum that has seeded itself outside of our fenced-in pool area, growing in the wild section of the yard. Amused, I watched it intermittently over few years. It kept coming back, and getting larger, all without care, and as it evolved into a handsome plant all by its lonesome, I decided to reward it with a prominent place in the garden bed, with a deep amendment of manure, a thick layer of mulch, and a strong dose of full sunlight. 

This marks its second year in its new space, and it has settled in beautifully. More than that, it’s reminded me of the practically perfect form and behavior of the Sedum family, illuminating the three original plants in a new light. 

Notoriously difficult to photograph well, at least with my amateurish abilities, the beauty of the angel’s trumpet has never quite translated completely here. Coupled with its magnificent and potent fragrance, the majesty of these potted plants must be seen and experienced in person to do it true justice. 

Towering over all of our container plants – and the fig trees have definitely given it a run for its money – this Brugmansia specimen is only in its second year, but they grow so quickly in the heat and humidity we’ve had this summer that it exudes the stature of an elder plantsman. 

Its magic is most wondrous as night falls, and its flowers glow in the gloaming as they begin to emit a perfume that scents the entire yard, floating over the pool in enchanting fashion. It will linger into the first light of day, and if you get up early enough and tip-toe into the backyard, you can find the intoxicated bees still languidly buzzing about, drawn to its sweet aroma. 

Alluring and captivating, it casts a summer spell unrivaled by any of the other container plants we have growing. 

Many plants don’t like their leaves wet, especially if they’re the slightest bit furry or hairy. Cases in point include tomatoes, clematis, and the begonia seen in these pictures. When possible, I water only the soil around these beauties, to keep them happy. It’s generally a good rule for all plants, as wet leaves in the humid months can lead to mildew and mold, something that is currently afflicting all the peonies. Their otherwise-handsome foliage has been ravaged with powdery mildew, lending a gray, ashen appearance to them, and marring the entire garden. Such things are largely out of control, however, and one of the lessons of the garden is in letting go of that over which we have no say. Such as day-long tropical storm events.

There is just so much shielding one can do for plants in the path of a deluge of wind and rain. And in the natural world, they wouldn’t have a patio for protection anyway, so I try not to stress to much about that. A little rain, while certain plants may not like it on a regular basis, is always good for cleaning things up, getting dust and dirt off the leaves, and refreshing the landscape. 

It’s also pretty, especially when the sun first comes up after a day of gray and loneliness. The rain still clings to these dropping begonia blooms, as if they had to shed a few tears to get over everything. Some storm days are like a release. And then it comes time to dry the tears and get on with the summer. 

I forget if I planted this tree hydrangea at my parents’ home or if I simply advised my Mom to plant one many years ago, but it has since come a long way and grown into the grand specimen seen here. If you have the space (they grow bigger than most people realize) and want a proven performer, check out some of the tree hydrangeas available now – there are a ton. There are also some smaller varieties, though eventually without pruning these all get larger than their more herbaceous cousins. 

They are also great for their blooming period – it comes later in the season and lasts even beyond fall, as the flower heads dry intact and form architectural interest for the winter garden. Don’t discount that in the giddy heat of summer – you will be starved for such echoes come next February and March. 

For now, enjoy the splendid display, and all the bees and butterflies fluttering about their blooms. Summer is high and summer is here.