Gardening: Mum Mum's Day!

It is a generally accepted rule of thumb that it is not a good idea to buy women gifts that represent work. Vacuum cleaners, stoves and the like are generally frowned upon. To a woman who enjoys gardening, however, a live, plantable flower is far superior to the gift of the kind that dies slowly in a vase. My children did well in purchasing a beautiful flowering mum (or, since I am traditionally called "Mum Mum," a beautiful flowering mumumumumum) as my Mother's Day gift.


After enjoying my breakfast in bed(with company), I went straight to work on it. Sunshine is scarce here in the woods, so the only available sunny bed outside the herb and vegetable gardens is at the base of the so-called "mother-in-law rock" at the end of my driveway. (Mother-in-Law Rocks are so called because of the propensity of visiting relatives to knick the marker boulders with their bumpers when they cut the corner too close when departing.) The rock, however, had not been painted in years, and was faded, dirty, and covered with mold. Likewise, the small bed was full of small stones, weeds, and roots from a nearby tree. There was a lot to be done.

I started by repainting the rock. I scrubbed the mold off with a brush and bucket, and I knocked off as much of the old, flaking paint as possible. Mr. Farmer located a small can of leftover white paint from some previous project, but other supplies were lacking. So, like with most spur-of-the-moment projects, I improvised. A disposable takeout container from some Chinese food made a suitable paint tray. There were no large paintbrushes available, so I used a rag made from an old towel. In no time, the rock was sparkling white on the flat side that faced the road.

Next I had to see to the bed itself. I dug out what seemed like miles of roots and sifted out the driveway stones that had been splashed into the bed. I repaired the stone wall. I dug a deep hole on one side of the bed, and lined the bottom with straw, as suggested by Mr. Farmer. I set in the beautiful, flowering mum(mum) and backfilled it with aged pig manure. I leveled the dirt, touched up the paint, and the job was done.

Now this is the beautiful sight that greets me when I come home from work in the evening:

I Can't Wait to Choose the Flowers for
the Other Side of the Bed!

Gardening: Birthday Lilies

It just so happens that my favorite flowers are tiger lilies. These bright orange beauties have been a part of my life as long as I can remember. Tall, wild bunches of almost blindingly bright flowers explode open on country highways and side roads. The many giant blossoms are reminiscent of summer fireworks in the night sky. Best of all, there are new flowers every morning, so even though these flowers- also called "day lilies" because of this trait- die every night, there is always a new bunch every morning.

To those who know me personally, my other online persona might be a bit misleading. Daffodils are actually my second favorite flower. As much as I enjoy these spring beauties, they can't stand up to the wild and wonderful tiger lily. However, when setting up my very first email address all those years back, "tiger lily" just seemed too long to be practical. So, daffodils it was.

I must not dismiss, however, the possibility that the reason I enjoy tiger lilies so much is because of my summer birthday (today). I don't know if that's just a coincidence, or if it's emotional. My dream, however, has been to wake up on the morning of my birthday, go outside, gaze upon my very own patch of orange and green jungle, and cut a few for my table. Thanks to my boss last fall (who moved on from that position a few months back), this year is the first that I am able to actually do it.

Tiger Lily From My Bulb Garden

Oh, what are those lovely yellow lilies in the background, you ask? They were a gift from my brother-in-law, who loves me and who meant well when he brought them, thinking they were orange, not yellow. I like them, too. They smell heavenly.

Yellow Lily from my Brother-In-Law

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!

Gardening: "My Garden" - Part Three, Hosta Garden

I already wrote a post about the reasons behind, and the planning of, my hosta garden here. So let's be honest here: I just wanted to show off how well the whole thing turned out. After all, there is a lot of heart in this garden, and it took me weeks worth of time and two growing seasons to complete.

I finally completed the back walls of the garden. I ran many loads of soil to fill in. And the weather in April this year was just perfect for plants. It was mostly warm, and alternated rain and partial sun frequently throughout the month. The hostas are thriving! Look how gorgeous!

Gardening: "My Garden" - Part Two, Annual Beds

There is a certain natural symmetry to the one side of my driveway. That it is natural is an assumption on my part, but it certainly is symmetrical. Two trees of identical height and girth stand parallel to one another. The space between them is just wide enough for a man to pass through with arms spread. The two trees just begged to be part of some landscaping setup.

We always figured that these two trees would mark the entrance to the side yard. We planned for white stone surrounding a stepping-stone walkway. That walkway would lead to an English garden with a bench for relaxing and perhaps sipping iced tea on warm summer afternoons.

The evolution of the side yard, however, has developed quite differently. The English garden has not materialized so far, but a fire-pit has. The resting bench is now beside a fern garden at the base of a big oak tree, and instead of gazing at lavender, we stare out into the woods. The stone walkway is instead a tarp-covered storage tent. But those two trees are still a gateway.

A few years back, my brother-in-law brought us two bronze-painted, five-foot (plus one foot base) Hindu Temple Guard Statues made of concrete. Each has four arms and an ornate outfit. We can't stand the idea of parting with them, unless someone offered a huge amount of money. They fit perfectly at that natural-looking entrance - one in front of each tree.

At the base of each tree, following the contour of the larger roots, is a round annual bed. I built them several years ago out of local stone. With some help, I filled them with dirt and mulch. Each year I choose flowers to fill them. Most years I purchase impatiens, and match the two beds to each other. One year I planted impatiens in one and petunias in the other, but both of the same color.

These two beds were the first that I built for myself. I have maintained them the longest of all our little gardens, even if Mr. Farmer still handles most of the watering. I would have to say that they are the gardens that I first felt were "mine".

Neil (on the Left)

Bob (on the Right)

Gardening: Barb's Hostas

I first heard Barb's name shortly after we moved here. I was an Avon Lady back then, so naturally I asked a new friend and neighbor if she wanted to see a catalogue. She told me that her friend, Barb from across the street, sold Avon. I knew the protocol was to leave other reps clientele alone, so I did not mention it again. One doesn't always think about the first time she hears a person's name unless that person really changes her - and Barb did just that.

The next spring Barb's husband was doing some cleanup around the yard while Mr. Farmer was visiting across the street. He was thinning and removing some overwhelming hostas, and he asked if we wanted them. Mr. Farmer brought home a huge, root-bound clump of them and set them in the side yard. When fall came and we had not yet found a home for the monstrosity, he dumped it unceremoniously into one of my annual beds. It stayed there for a few years.

In the winter of 2008, I was assigned as the emergency chairperson of a community activities committee. I have always been more of a natural workhorse than a leader (though I am working on those skills), and I really did not want the position. Barb, however, did. She came in and took over quickly. She poured her heart and soul into that committee and the two of us became inseparable. The group was in trouble, and we felt like it was us against the world, but she kept me motivated day after day, week after week, as we made the best of a bad situation and smiled through it all. We worked together, we suffered together, and we even worked out together.

But Barb was fighting a personal battle as well. In addition to some issues resulting from her recent hysterectomy, she had migraines that no doctor seemed to be able to cure or even help. She was missing a lot of work. She gave up her Avon business to focus on her health and her community duties. She even spent some time in the hospital, desperate for answers to why the migraines would not improve. One night in November 2009 she confused her many medicines prescribed by several different doctors and took too many. She did not wake up the following morning.

***

I am not the kind of person to get sentimental over a plant, especially a hosta. After all, these things grew up by the roadside where I grew up. They needed no tending or care. They almost seemed to appear here and there out of nowhere, and I've never been particularly fond of them. When they removed the big, dead tree from my best friend's yard when I was a girl, I mourned the tree and its shade (briefly), but not the beautiful, full ring of hostas that surrounded it like a halo.

Barb's hostas are different. Barb was the first friend I ever lost, and she was only 45. We became close so quickly, and she was gone so suddenly. The hosta that was carelessly tossed into my annual bed and cursed year after year that I didn't move it became my personal shrine for her. It's a living shrine, and it means more to me than any of my other plants.

So, late last summer, I rebuilt the wall running down my driveway. I dug up the hosta and carefully washed the tangled roots. I separated it into 5 manageable sized plants, and replanted them behind that wall. I moved load after load of dirt to cover them, but ran out of steam before they were fully covered. So I buried them in the last of our mulch and prayed they lasted the winter. They became covered with snow and the chips and sawdust from the winter's fire wood cutting. I removed all the wood two weeks ago, but I still wasn't sure if they survived.

I found Barb's hostas this week. They were popping up green shoots just above the ground, and I was elated. I rebuilt the rock wall (again). I started a back wall to make a bed for them, as Mr. Farmer suggested. And, once again, I moved load after load of dirt to fill in and make a proper bed. I even added a stone path (also Mr. Farmer's idea) so that the bed won't be desecrated by children and dogs seeking access to the side yard.

There is much left to do. The rear wall is only half finished, as is the fill. The entire bed needs mulch. I will no doubt need to tend it all summer, and in future years I will surely need to thin them again. This garden, however, is not a matter of pride or pleasure. It is a labor of love.

The Hosta Garden So Far