Category Archives: Gardening

“Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.” ~ Buddha

Behold the burgeoning beauty of Ficus benghalensis ‘Audrey’ – a specimen I procured a little over a year ago which has done decently in our front window, and marked the ticking of time in miraculous fashion. I only just noticed how much it had grown over the last year when I revisited the original post announcing its arrival. Back then, it was only a couple of inches high, with about six leaves held tightly  to a central stem. As it became comfortable in its new home, it would unfurl a new leaf every month or two, until it arrived where we find it today – well over a foot tall with 17 full leaves (and a new arriving as seen below, indicating the start of another growing season. 

I am usually better at keeping track of such growth, waiting with anxious anticipation and measuring growth in inches and leaves and blooms with annoyingly Virgo-like precision. For the Buddha tree, I’ve merely enjoyed its company, pausing beside it as I do my daily meditation – inspired into a calmer state simply from its pretty and peaceful countenance. Such a gorgeous green keeps me inspired during the dullest winter days. It also reminds me to be present in the moment, grounding my thoughts and worries, seeking to find a similar peace as the Buddha, seeking some state of enlightenment through the practice of mindfulness. 

And so this happy little guy grew right before my eyes, and I didn’t even notice it. I don’t know if that’s because I was being more or less mindful, or whether my mindfulness was focused on what did or didn’t matter. Like the mangled roots these trees sometimes develop, some entanglements are best left alone. 

As for the future plans for Miss Audrey, I’m going to allow him to grow a bit taller and see how well it attains a single-trunk tree form. At some point it may require staking to stabilize it, depending on high high and heavy it gets, and how thick the trunk develops. But these are thoughts and worries for another day. 

For now, I’m offering gratitude for how far this plant has come in the past year – a journey that can only be seen in hindsight, if it needs to be seen at all. (Below is where we began a year ago.)

“If you forget the joy of life and get caught in the pleasures of the world, you will come to envy those who put meditation first.” ~ Buddha

The Australian tree fern has proved impossibly elusive as far as growing in my home goes. I’ve given two of them a try, even installing special lights and a humidifier to make it happier, all to no avail – both gave up entirely, shriveling away into sad and brittle shells of the glory you see in a greenhouse here. At approximately $60 a pop, it became an expensive trial, error, and failure times two. 

For now, until the big lottery win and a garden room, I will admire these beauties from afar, in a proper greenhouse or the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. 

Throughout my 46 years, I’ve had a love/hate relationship with the arborvitae. My earliest memory is a rather sour one, based on its initially off-putting aroma coupled with a neighbor’s harsh and ugly pruning technique on the bush that stood between our yards. That first impression stuck, and when I saw it used so ubiquitously in yards and landscapes around the world, the distaste was only re-enforced. 

Over the years, however, my taste changed. My assessment evolved. The usefulness of the arborvitae began to change my mind. Coupled with a re-examination of its form and attributes, the transformation was complete when I watched a hedge of it going up in Ogunquit, Maine, and upon closer study I noticed its beautiful scale-like foliage, and the way it could so gorgeously accentuate its chartreuse overtones in the afternoon sunlight.

It is possible to change, to refine taste, to offer another chance at something you once disliked. I like that lesson. I like that possibility. 

This Cornus kousa ‘Wolf’s Eye’ tree easily wins the contest for longest season of beauty and interest, thanks to its incredibly extended ‘blooms’ (more accurately bracts) in this rainy summer of 2021. They lasted well into August – an unheard-of length of time to be in bloom, faux or not. Followed by these pretty pink berries (so delectable to the birds and squirrels), the variegated Chinese dogwood in our backyard has made the otherwise-disappointing summer this much prettier. 

This particular specimen also housed a robin’s nest earlier, with its gorgeously-shaded eggs and territorial red-breasted birds, and is now providing much food ad fodder for the roving bands of squirrels and not-so-finicky finches, which have moved from the cup plant seed heads to these speckled fruits. Taken altogether, the Chinese dogwood provides almost four full seasons of beauty and interest. 

The fig trees sent out their fruit early this summer, and then simply stalled while the hot weather they favor stalled and then utterly failed to arrive. That didn’t stop them entirely – only delayed their magnificence until this moment, when they suddenly started ripening all at once. I’ve been picking them off as I pass by, popping them into my mouth and enjoying their sweet goodness, as I’ve done with our cherry tomatoes. 

They’ve been abundant enough to provide for an appetizer for our last family gathering – served with a drizzle of honey and some goat cheese, they made for a perfect starter, and I could point out to everyone exactly where they came from. We overwinter these in the garage – they’re hardy to one 5 but such fine specimens the produce so well don’t deserve the risk of overwintering them outside. Besides, it’s always a thrill to see them start putting forth early green growth in March when it’s still snowy and blowy outside. That sort of magic wouldn’t happen if they were left to fend for themselves against the ravages of a upstate New York winter. 

Little bright suns in the form of this Helianthus hover at eye level, bringing some of the celestial down into our land-bound existence. These beauties are backed right up against a cup plant which towers above them, so they lean forward, straining for their own space in the sun, their own spot in the world. They are carrying the garden this week, as the sedum and anemone put on a quieter show in muted shades of pink and salmon. Soon, all this color will drain as well, as much from the sky as from the garden. I’ve been avoiding that, pretending it’s not happening in a vain effort to keep this summer going, but nature needs her rest. When these go to seed, the finches will have one last chance to fatten up and sustain themselves through the winter. We will get through it together. 

Sedum ‘Autumn Joy’ is a mainstay in many gardens, thanks to its late blooming time and handsome form and structure year round – and I do mean year. Come fall and winter, its dried flowerheads form one of the few lovely spots that carry the garden through to spring. They look especially striking when topped with the first few inches of snow. 

Maintaining fall and winter interest is not especially of note among most gardeners, but we do a disservice to ourselves when we think that just because the growing season is in suspension we don’t still look out at the yard. Plants like this Sedum keep the garden alive until we get back out there in the spring. 

Late summer is at hand, as evidenced by the blooming of the seven-son flower tree. The buds to this form much earlier in the summer – usually peeking out at the end of June, and then slowly developing into these small and unspectacular blooms that are more fragrant than anything else, produced in enough abundance to appear as loose clouds. 

Beloved by bees, who have been buzzing around en masse and eliciting all the sweet nectar they can, the perfume of this tree is its most intoxicating aspect, though the papery bark of its trunk, when allowed to develop fully, may give such intoxication a run for its money. 

The birds have found a haven in this tree too, with cardinals using its branches as a perch between flights, and finches finding safety in its leaves whenever someone gets too close to their preferred cup plants. It’s a focal point of the poolside garden, and its charms mostly outweigh the peskiness of its falling blooms, which I’ll scoop out as much as possible before they sink to the bottom. 

The finches have been having a daily party at our stand of cup plants, joining the masses of bees and a couple of butterflies, and now and then an iridescent dragonfly. If you want to see the one in the opening GIF, you’ll have to look fast, because it’s gone in a flash. The finches are even more flighty than the hummingbirds we’ve had lately, disappearing with the first movement of the door or the opening of a window. As such, we treasure their golden beauty all the more, because it is so fleeting. They will stick around until well into the fall, as the cup plant’s seed-heads continue to ripen. Doing their part to ensure the proliferation of future cup plants around the yard, the finches work on their picking and pecking to disperse the seeds far and wide. It’s not exactly welcome at this point as we have enough cup plants to last for a lifetime, and their roots reach down early and intractably, but I cannot begrudge the finches their food and their fun. 

As if to say this summer is not yet over, and assembling for a party is the best way to prove it, the birds and bees and butterflies have been having a field day in our clumps of cup plants, buzzing and chirping and fluttering about their pollination work, and so our summer continues onward. Not content to throw it all away just yet, despite the wonky and rainy extended start, they seem to have congregated in the backyard as proof that the work is not yet done. This also marks the first few days of the unfurling blooms of the seven sons’ flower tree – two specimens of which now rise twenty feet in our back and side yards. 

It’s been nice having the sun back in our lives these past few days, reminding us that August and September are mostly about summer, and that the season is still high when it chooses to be. Autumn may be creeping into the nights, and the light lasts a little less every day, but it’s still summer. Hold into it…

Behold the Hibiscus! 

Bold, enormous, and somehow delicate, these gigantic blooms are finally putting on their annual show in the backyard, with little to no help from yours truly. Their super-late emergence typically means they get lost in the spring shuffle, and by the time their stalks appear, I’ve usually moved on to other concerns. It’s totally unfair, especially considering how well they perform, how stunning their show, and how consistent they’ve been. 

With blooms the size of dinner plates, in shades striking and soft, with foliage bright and light or sultry and dark, the Hibiscus – also hardy in Zone 5 – makes for a magnificent addition to the garden, and I may make room for a few more.

They can be shy and demure, or brash and loud, depending on the stage of their blossoms, and the colors of their petals and leaves. Such changeability and flexibility is a boon in a world that demands versatility.

This little stand of cleome in our front yard is what remains after a swath of volunteers popped up this year. They’ve steadily been increasing their numbers in the very-limited space of our front square, and this year I did a drastic editing of their army, allowing these few to prosper and grow. 

They start out deceptively small – both the actual plant itself, as well as the blooms. The latter begins in shades of pink and cream, just a small little puff of petals at the top, and then it begins to elongate and fill out until a large pom-pom of floriferous wonder sets atop a three-foot stem. The lower stems start going to seed before they even finish the flowering at the top, creating a fascinating display of the full life cycle at one glance. 

I’ll let these sew next year’s volunteers because it’s good to have such color at this time of the year.