Category Archives: Gardening

This scarlet bloom looks like a warning signal of distress, as our small patch of petunias has been rendered practically bare by the baby rabbit who is growing up in our backyard. But the bunny is so cute we can’t bring ourselves to get that mad, even as it strips our sugar snap peas a little more each night. 

For now, I have to come up with a new plan for this rather prominent garden space, which I wanted to be filled with color but is thus far filled only with bare dirt and the beginnings of weeds which the rabbit naturally doesn’t seem to like.  

My childhood hero Lee Bailey once described June as the month in which the roses were practically tumbling off the trellises. Bailey’s book ‘Country Flowers’ turned me into a gardener at the ripe old age of twelve, and it’s been a comforting passion of mine ever since. In much of that time, however, roses were not something I grew very often. Andy had a rose garden when I met him, back when he had a yard of good air circulation, and summers seemed less hot and humid. We’ve tried a few roses in our current backyard – a Peace rose that came back but never quite produced what it had promised, a couple of Knockouts that did produce, but inexplicably refused to come back after one difficult winter, and a Rosa rugosa which is doing a little too well and must not be reined in. In gardening there is often no happy medium, but still we try… and a rose is worth the effort.

The preponderance of petunias I’ve planted in various places is popping its pulchritude as these poofs preen and pose. Pink and peppy, they pop their eye-catching color in hanging baskets for now, while other varieties in the beds are just beginning to sprawl out in bud. 

After ignoring their ubiquitous omni-presence in all sorts of garden centers for quite literally decades, I’ve come around the power of the annual in recent years, and no annual gives quite as much bang for the buck as the simple yet spectacular petunia. Plant them, water them, feed them, and stand back for the show. 

Like lilacs, the Chinese dogwood trees in our yard have big years of blooms, and smaller years of blooms. This is one of the smaller years, making the blooms a little more precious. The last two years have seen boffo bloom shows, absolutely covering their branches with the creamy white bracts (the actual flowers are small and inconspicuous). 

I used to be downhearted on the off years, but I’ve come to appreciate them as a natural part of the ebb and flow of life. They also make the floriferous and showy years that much more impressive, and appreciated. More lessons from the garden…

Bridging the blooming periods (and genetics) of the tree peony and the herbaceous peony, this is the Itoh Peony. Its hybrid form combines elements of both, though outwardly it veers closer to its tree cousins. (The manner in which it dies down to the ground each year is where it shows, or doesn’t show, its herbaceous roots.) 

These are also smaller in form than the typical tree peony, and they manage to stand upright without staking – an improvement on the herbaceous forms that often require support or cages. The only tree peony I grow is a variety that absolutely does not stand up on its own, and as such it’s hidden away in a side-garden nook. Love the blooms, don’t love the form. These have improved on that, proof that hybrids aren’t all bad.

I’ve planted two varieties – one yellow, one white and fuchsia – in the front yard, which is where the strongest sun lands. This is not without some drawbacks. While they love the sun, their blooms would enjoy some shade, which I found out as the white variety lasted about three days in the high heat we had this past week. 

That’s ok – it makes me love them all the more. Also, their fine and handsome foliage stays mildew-free all season, even in the heat and humidity of an upstate New York summer. 

While these originally sold for anywhere from $500 to $1000 (hello tulipmania), hybridizers have made them available for $50 to $75. Yes, a bit of an investment for a plant, but who can put a price on such beauty?

The Korean lilacs are in glorious bloom right now, perfuming the yard with their pretty fragrance. It’s a slightly less potent variation of the sweet Korean spice viburnum that finished up a little while back. These little lilacs extend the fragrant season, picking up where their American counterparts leave off. Nature knows what she’s doing, bridging the transitory weeks in such sweetly-scented fashion. 

These easy bushes have taken off in landscaping over the past few years. Usually that waters down their appeal, but these are such high-performing shrubs that I can’t be mad about everyone else wanting them. The foliage remains fresh and mildew-free until the fall, something our American lilacs have yet to achieve thanks to our humid and hot summers. Some years I prune them back hard, some years not at all. (Pruning should always and only be done immediately after this first bloom to ensure you don’t nip off future buds.) While the American lilacs tend to take every other year off when it comes to prolific blooming, the Korean version blooms reliably and heavily every year, and they often repeat bloom in the late summer when the weather mirrors these spring days. 

Yesterday hit 82 degrees, instantly bringing out the first blooms of the season – and they happened to be blue. These little Scilla bulbs are usually the first into blossom after winter, and often they’re ragged and torn from wind and snow and ice. This year they’ve been largely unscathed, though I’m not holding out hope that such pristine delicacy will last (there were whispers of snow in the forecast sometime in the next few days). For now, they are a welcome beacon of spring – and the one spot of color in a brown and barren yard. Even the Lenten rose has delayed its arrival, still huddled close to the ground and slumbering beneath a layer of oak leaves. 

The photos give a greatly exaggerated idea of their size and stature, but in my mind this is how big and impressive they feel, especially when nothing else is brave enough to be in bloom at this stage. The largest bloom in actual size is about the size of a dime. That such a tiny thing can have such an impact will always impress my mind and thrill my heart. 

Andy and I have been happily watching the bright chartreuse emergence of the fig leaves in our potted plants that have been overwintering in the garage. They are the very first signifiers of spring, starting well before anything outdoor feels safe enough to emerge. March is dangerous business for an outdoor plant in upstate New York. 

We enjoy the delicate first flush of leaves close-up, taking the time to examine and appreciate them, because they will not last. In the dim windless protection of the garage, they come into the world to cheer us momentarily, but as soon as they get brought out into the wilderness of the backyard, where there is no shade and no buffer from the wind and colder nights, these leaves will shrivel and drop before the real summer crop begins. 

For now, they give us hope. I know Andy is getting antsy for the warmer weather, for the time when his back will ease a bit with the heat and the pool and the extended sunlight. He has eyes on opening the pool at the earliest opportunity, a happy thought not very far away.

I yearn for that too. 

Behold the Ficus umbellata!

Emboldened by the recent success of this Ficus ‘Audrey’, I’m trying my hand at the predicted plant superstar of 2022, the Ficus umbellata. Supposedly its care falls somewhere between the ease of ‘Audrey’ and the difficulty of the infamous fiddle-leaf fig. Unimpressed by the wrinkled form of the latter, I never bothered trying the fiddle-leaf, and I’ve had mixed success with the common Ficus benjamina (I currently have a variegated version of the weeping fig doing relatively well. It loses some leaves, but soon grows new ones.) 

As for the Ficus umbellata, its big, bright and beautiful leaves are the main attraction, getting larger the happier it is with its surroundings. Hopefully we can find enough light and humidity to keep it content. My finger are crossed.