Capturing the Glow

When I arrive home after work every day, I park my car as close to the garage as possible. As I walk back toward the house, I am often struck by the way this corner of the front garden looks in the slanting rays of late afternoon sun. It tempts me with jewel-like colors, inviting me to rush into the house and run back outside with the camera...

But my efforts to take a picture that does this corner justice have all proved futile. Maybe these plants just don't want to look too pretty. Maybe they all know that they were placed here for their toughness so they're afraid to ruin their image. Whatever the reason, it frustrates me.

In the best of these insufficient pictures, you get a mere hint of the rich ruby embers provided by the 'Purple Knockout' salvia lyrata, a taste of the hearty amber glow of the carex buchanii, and a suggestion of the smooth silvery backdrop of sea kale leaves.

What I really want to know is this: Is my camera failing me... or do my eyes see this bed through "gardener's glasses"--similar to rose-colored glasses, but showing the whole garden in a full, lush state of what it was intended to be?

Gardening With Birds and Dogs

After a second year in which I did not get nearly as many blueberries as I knew were produced in my garden, I decided that certain measures needed to be taken. As my blackberries began to mature, I put up some fruit netting to foil birds, chipmunks, neighbor kids, and all other manner of fruit-stealing varmints. The netting is easy for me to get up and under, but it's going to be heck to remove from the shrub later--I was in too much of a hurry to build a proper frame for it, which would have made removal much easier.

Right now, though, that's the furthest thing from my mind. This morning, I harvested my first ripe blackberry! Well, okay, so it was almost ripe--not quite as sweet as it would have been had I waited until it was ready for me, but I was certainly ready for it. (For the record, the first two actual ripe blackberries went to the little girls next door this evening. Fruit netting does not help protect the harvest from a softy gardener.)

A less combative coexisting-with-animals story can be found in my front garden. When we're in the front yard I hook Coco up to one of the infamous lions with her 6ft. leash. She checks out the new smells and then usually lays down in a spot that allows her to survey the street while I putter. If someone has the audacity to walk down our side of the street, or if Another Dog appears within sight of the house at all, Coco must immediately jump up and investigate. Her front paws generally land within a 3ft by 18in semicircle as she barks a few times, then strains to get her nose close enough to the interloper to get a good sniff. As you can imagine, this semicircle is a tough place for any plant to live.

Coco has been trained pretty well in terms of staying out of the rest of the garden--except when she steals tomatoes and beans to eat--but frankly I don't mind her letting people know she's here with one or two barks. I don't want to hook her up to anything else, either. If I put her up on the porch, she'd be out of range of the occasional ear scratch or tummy rub as I walk past... where's the fun in that?!

So I took a flat rock from the backyard and placed it in the part of the semicircle where she tends to land most often. Then I dug out several chunks from the golden oregano that I've been using as groundcover in other parts of this bed, and used it to fill in the rest of the area. Golden oregano seems to spread in a rather mannerly way for me in this western exposure, and its bright acid yellow spring color gives way to a nice fresh chartreuse in the summer.

The golden oregano is working out wonderfully there, as it has now spread to fill in its little area and easily handles the occasionally trampling by my 90lb. dog. As a bonus, when she does crush a few leaves underfoot the lemony smell of golden oregano perfumes the air.

And if a parade of dogs should happen to march down our street, and cause her to completely ruin the clump? Well, I have more to dig up and replace it--but if I didn't, then it would cost me all of $2 at my local garden center to buy another pot of golden oregano next spring. And I get to have my gardening assistant at my side while I mess about in the front yard. In my mind, you can't beat that deal any way you look at it.

As I write this post, I can't help but think that I should be taking a look at using more herbs--maybe in more unconventional ways--in my garden. They're already go-to plants for me in many situations, but I'm sure that there are other design and decorative uses that I have yet to dream up. If you're reading this and you have used herbs in particularly imaginative ways, please share! I would love a few more ideas... especially if they could relieve me of having to deal with fruit netting. (I know. Pipe dream there. But it's a lovely thought, isn't it?!)

The Bitty Garden

I admit that I have a little crush--the harmless schoolgirl kind--on Frank Ronan. The columns that he writes for the back page of Gardens Illustrated often leave my wheels spinning in circles... and I will always have a soft spot for a man who makes me think. In the June issue, Frank related the experience of having an (unidentified) expert visit his garden. As this guru walked around, one of his compliments sent Frank into a tailspin. To his horror, he realized that what the gentleman meant was that his garden was bitty. Bitty. You know, "A little bit of this, a little bit of that..."

Well, reading Frank's words put me into a tailspin of my own. Could my garden be bitty, too? Even thinking the word made me irritated because of its stingy connotations, but I couldn't shake the feeling that Frank had put his finger on the reason I have been largely unsatisfied with some areas of my yard. And why "thickly planted" wasn't always translating to "lush and generous" as I had wanted.

For the past couple of years, since moving to a small urban plot, my aim had been high contrast. I figured that I needed to maximize the impact of every individual plant in the yard by showing off the leaf texture, habit, and flowers of each against a foil. Some plants were repeated throughout the garden in an effort to achieve some sense of rhythm and continuity, but always they were surrounded with different, contrasting colors and textures.

After chewing on its implications for several weeks, I reread Frank's article last night and then walked around my yard. My dawning understanding that combining areas of high contrast and areas of low contrast are... well, a good contrast... made me want to make at least a few minor adjustments yet this year. I tried to think about it in terms of allowing some plant combinations to be the main attraction, and making others lead your eye to that painting--or at least serve as a complimentary mat around it.

One of the first things that I did was a relatively easy fix. The retaining block wall that I had built planting pockets into this spring had a jumble of things planted on its upper edge. The gray creeping germander and the wooly thyme are at least the same shade of gray-blue, but there was also a green sedum between the little bluestem grasses and a cascading rosemary smack dab in the middle of the wall. These greens interrupted the repetition and line of the brick wall and just kind of felt awkward and jumbled.

So I relocated the rosemary and the sedum, moved the germander over in front of the little bluestem in spit of my concerns about too much of the same color there, and filled in the rest of the space with more wooly thyme. The second picture was taken when I was midway through the project, but I think you can already tell that it is going to be an improvement.

Then I went over to the driveway bed, which I had optimistically been thinking of as "a funky riot of color, Pacific Northwest style." Yup. Definitely lots of bitty going on there. A solitary 'Brise d'Anjou' jacob's ladder was moved next to a scaly Brackler fern to echo the leaf shape, and was thus made to seem more "unique" and less "orphan." Two of my cimicifugas were sited about three feet apart, but the third was located about 8 feet down the same bed... now all three are living more closely together, with room in between for a couple of large leaf plants (maybe green brunnera or hardy begonia) of the same kind to tie them together.

As the sun started to set, I quickly pulled out all of my 'Whiskey' wax begonias for one last fix. Instead of planting them in drifts or clumps, I had used them singly to fill in empty spaces. Eek. This might have worked better with a spreading plant like petunias that would eventually give the impression of groundcover, but with wax begonias it just made the garden look... well, you know. So after they were all out and laid neatly in a row on the driveway, I went back through and found a half dozen places were I could clump 3 or 4 of them together, then replanted. You can see three of those clumps next to the fern and polemonium combination in the third picture.

There are a few more things to move, and a few more things to think about moving before I actually go at it again with a shovel. There may be things that I decide not to move at all, to keep some repetition in the garden and make sure I don't lose all of the contrast. But I have a good feeling that my efforts thus far--and just keeping in mind that I want to avoid being bitty--are going to help the garden look much better in the long run. It may take another 3 or 4 years and quite a few more mistakes, but I hope to get there.

Corporate Landscaping

Generally, when I think of "corporate" or "public" landscaping I think rows of Japanese barberry and burning bushes, with tons of daylilies--mostly Stella D'Oro--stuffed in for summer color. Recently, some places have gone a bit trendier and started to mix in ornamental grasses as well. But a few places I haunt in the Cleveland area have really put some thought and imagination into their landscaping, and I admit to being inspired.

The city of Brecksville, which is near where I work, does interesting containers like this one. Orange celosia, Non-Stop begonias, variegated geraniums, and orange-edged acalypha stuff this container full of warm color. Its two smaller companion pots feature a bronze cordyline, more of the celosia, and silver trailing lotus vine. I like how the fine textures of the lotus vine and the asparagus fern used as filler in the larger center pot echo each other nicely.

It's not just containers that the Brecksville public works department does well, either. In their town square they have annual beds featuring dark-leaf cannas paired with ornamental grasses, bronze- and purple-leaf dahlias, and even "lowly" marigolds and salvias. Similar combinations grace the ends of long berm beds that split several 4 lane roads through town. In between the annual beds these berms still show 3+ seasons of color thanks to a low-maintenance mix of euphorbias, Russian sage, spring bulbs and various grasses.

Another place that does annual color well is Crocker Park, and upscale "shopping community" in Westlake. Some of their great containers include large bronze-glazed ceramics planted with just one type of orange- and yellow-flecked coleus, and huge pots with forest-worthy stands of dark-leaf cannas underplanted with enough cascading pineapple mint to keep me in tea for a decade.

The adjacent (and older) Promenade shopping center has long boasted wonderful landscaping in small beds that had been inset in the sidewalks, as well as a large burst of color in the fountain area that separates my favorite Borders bookstore from a large cineplex. Hardy hibiscus, various roses, and large mugo pines have formed the backbones of this area for the past few years, but the annuals really make the area special during the summer months. (You can click on any of the pictures to see details.)

In the first picture you see the hibiscus tucked in amongst a red-flowering, red-leaf celosia and a red-and-yellow flowering lantana. The silvery carpet underneath it is 'Silver Falls' dichondra. In the second picture, you see another bed with hibiscus and red celosia, but this one includes white geraniums, dark purple angelonia, and the refreshing combination of 'Cerveza 'n Lime' plectranthus and blue fescue.


A nearby bed goes more for the cool end of the color wheel with blue fescues, bronze cordyline, white petunias, Mexican heather, some kind of dark purple alternanthera, yellow-variegated grass, and 'Black Pearl' ornamental pepper. The black-eyed susan appears to be a self-seeded accident at first glance, but it adds some much-needed height there and a great leaf contrast as well so I believe that it was an intentional addition.

See the yellow coleus edging the separate bed further back in picture two? It compliments the yellows and purples in this front bed so nicely, and also leads your eye past the edge of the bed and over the sidewalk into the next area of color. That's another thing they do particularly well in this maze of beds around the fountain.

I am learning a few tricks from both of these public landscaping examples. From Brecksville, I am learning how to work with annuals that have interesting leaves and artfully combine them. From Crocker Park, I am learning to better use annuals to fill in my regular planting beds. I don't really know why, but I tend to keep my annual color in containers instead of putting them directly in the ground... now I see what I've been missing!

And from both, I'm getting ideas on how better to echo the colors and textures of key plants to make for a cohesive look in the garden. Hopefully learning these lessons will help keep my garden from being too "bitty"... but I'll have more thoughts to share on that score tomorrow.

Drought Effects

Allow me to preface this by saying that I am relatively mean to my plants. The vast majority of them--especially those which do not produce food for me--exist here on a "survival of the fittest" agreement. During a plant's first year, I will supplemental water it as it gets used to its new home and not being on a nursery watering schedule. I begin with several good soakings a week that gradually taper off to once per week, and the latter only happens when Ma Nature fails to pitch in and water it for me.

This summer, I did have to break my own rule and water a few extra things--namely, the 'Hillside Black Beauty' cimicifuga and the lobelia cardinalis in the full shade bed. They were sprawled horizontal across the mulch and neighboring plants when I came home from work one day, so I thought that was probably a sign they needed some water. (I don't miss a thing, do I?!) Since our drought this year is fairly extreme, I'll give them a second chance before I do any shovel pruning on these two. But I do have a little black mark against them in my mental plant Rolodex.

There are many things chosen for their toughness that have gotten along fine without any extra water from my hose, however. Take this golden variegated sage that brightens up my front bed. I don't use it for eating (the traditional silver culinary sages taste much better, IMHO) but I love its coloring so I have a few clumps of it. It seems oblivious to the fact that this summer's conditions are stressing many plants in my garden. If you look hard enough, though, even these plants are showing some drought effects.

Compare the picture above, taken this evening, with the picture on the left that shows the entire front bed just after planting last year. In the 2006 picture, you can see that this same clump of golden sage (the one to the right of the blue sea kale foliage, behind the lavender) was already as tall as the path light by early June. In comparison, Golden Sage version 2007 has another inch or so to grow in order to reach that benchmark. It is also not as wide yet as it was last year in June.

I also noticed that the sage leaves are more compact this year. That makes sense, as less leaf area = less loss of water due to transpiration. There is not a good closeup of last year's leaves, but even at a distance you can tell that there is either 1) A lot less golden variegation, or 2) More pronounced, darker green on the inner part of each leaf this year. I wouldn't have guessed this one, but it may either be a drought coping method or a reflection of how a higher number of sunny, no rain/no clouds days can bring out different coloring. Anyone know which it could be?

Whatever its coping methods are, I'll take them. It's definitely nice not to have too many prima donnas (as lovely as some of them are) that need constant attention with the hose... both for environmental and practical reasons. And when they not only cope but look as full and happy (at first glance) as this golden sage does, I suppose I can't really ask for more.