Lessons Learned From the Back Porch

The autumnal equinox arrived this past Thursday without much fanfare.  The weatherman on the local TV station talked about it, of course, but then apologized for the continuing heat in the forecast.  I did go out and buy some pansies and a few other fall annuals to replace the awful-looking dead petunias next to my front door, but  I didn't get carried away.  It's hard to think of pumpkins and mums when it's 90 degrees outside.

The asters and goldenrod apparently got the notice that it is autumn.

By the time I get this posted, however, the weather is supposed to change, with more reasonable temperatures in the 70's this week, and I won't have anything to complain about anymore--ha!  While I wait for those welcome cooler days, it's a good time to sit down and reflect on the past season for Beth's seasonal meme "Lessons Learned in the Garden."

While I'm sure I learned many new things this past season, my mind is drawing a blank.  The problem is that by mid-July, I lost all my motivation for serious gardening.  By that time I was tired of constantly pulling weeds: the consistent rain this season was a blessing, but at the same time it meant the weeds flourished, too.  After an hour or two of weeding or trimming or picking green beans, the sweat was rolling into my eyes, and I gave up.  I guess that means I've learned that I am a fair-weather gardener--if it's hot and buggy, I'm staying indoors.

Instead of doing much actual garden work for the past two months, I have spent a lot of time on my front porch noting all that has to be done and making plans for those perfect "somedays" when the temps are are in the 70's, the bugs have stopped biting, and I'm full of energy.

From my shady perch on the porch swing, I can easily see the coneflowers when they're in full bloom and get a partial view of the lily bed and even the arbor bed beyond that.

If I stand up and crane my neck a little, I can even see parts of the shade garden as well.  The best part about this viewing at a distance is that I don't really see the weeds or the deadheading that needs to be done, and I can just relax and procrastinate to my heart's content.

With several planters on or near the front porch, I have much to enjoy close-up as well, such as this hibiscus.  Fortunately, the only upkeep these planters require is frequent watering, which I do pretty faithfully since it doesn't mean working up a sweat.

Besides looking at what is blooming, my place on the porch gives me a great vantage point for watching all the visitors to my garden.  When the coneflowers bloom, the nearby sidewalk garden is alive with butterflies.  And with only a few short steps, I can get up close to observe and photograph them.

Once the coneflowers have faded, the butterflies are replaced by the goldfinches who are constantly feeding on their seedheads.  From the porch's front step I can zoom out with the camera to get a photo if I'm lucky.

The porch gives me a great vantage point, too, for observing all kinds of bird activity throughout the seasons besides the goldfinches, from hawks swooping through the air looking for prey to cardinals feasting on the tiny crabapples.  But my favorite bird activity is only a few feet away as the hummingbirds visit the feeder just beyond the swing.

I love watching them hover in the air and then battle each other for rights to the feeder.  And if I happen to have my camera and am very, very quick, I might just get lucky enough to get one decent photo of them all summer feeding at one of their favorites, the 'Black and Blue' Salvia.

Sometimes I don't even have to look very far as bees visit the planters on the porch or even more fascinating creatures come for a short while.  Yes, you never know who will come to visit!

Tiny syrphid flies are just one of the many pollinating insects to be found in the garden.

Looking through all these photos, I am reminded that I have learned another lesson this summer--I have learned much more about pollinators.  I took a few hours' training to become a "Pollinator Pocket" presenter, a program developed by our local Extension Office.  I learned so much about different insects and other pollinators and their life cycles.

I also learned more about the needs of these different pollinators, including plants that will help to feed them.  I already knew that asters and other late-blooming plants provide a valuable food source in the fall.  But a local beekeeper at the workshop reminded everyone that bees need food in the early spring as well, and he encouraged us all to plant more crocuses because they are one of the few sources of food very early in the spring.  You can be sure when I placed my bulb orders this past week that I ordered plenty of crocuses!

Not sure what type of bumble this big guy is.

Earlier in the summer I also attended a talk by Dr. Sydney Cameron, an entomologist specializing in bumblebees, on the rare Rusty-patched Bumblebee Bombus affinis.  We watched a short but fascinating documentary on this bee called "A Ghost in the Making," which you can find here on YouTube.  The rusty-patched bumblebee was once very common in parts of the U.S., but for reasons unknown its numbers have dwindled, and it is now being considered as an endangered species.

This talk inspired me to look more closely at the bumblebees in my own garden, and while I can't identify them by type, I know that my visitors are the much more common species normally seen throughout this area.  Still, I am searching for that elusive rusty-patched bumblebee!

Linda of Each Little World and Lisa of Greenbow enjoy chatting with Susan.

One of the places where this rare bumblebee has been spotted in recent years is at the University of Wisconsin Arboretum.  On a visit to Madison earlier this month to meet up with a few fellow bloggers,  Beth introduced us to Susan Carpenter, Native Plant Gardener at the Arboretum.  As she was talking about her work here, she happened to bring up the rusty-patched bumblebee and mentioned that part of the film I had seen was filmed at the Arboretum.  Talk about coincidence!

We didn't find any rusty-patched bumblebees on this day, but we did see many other species, and Susan mentioned that one of their favorite plants this time of year is the native thistle.

Looking back, I realize that maybe I did learn more this summer than I realized.  I know I'm going to be more conscious of pollinators and do what I can to increase their numbers in my garden.  And while I've enjoyed the past two months on the porch, this morning is much cooler and pleasant, so it's time to get off that swing and get to work!


For more reflections on lessons learned in the garden this past season, be sure to stop by Beth's at Plant Postings.

Moving Forward

It's been a rough winter for me.  As many of you know, my mother passed away in early January.  Although we knew this day was coming, I just didn't expect it to be so soon.  Grieving has been a much slower process than I thought it would be.  I have been busy with all the usual little activities of life in addition to helping my Dad learn to cope on his own. And then out of the blue, I'll think of something I want to tell Mom or a question I have for her, and it hits me anew that she isn't here to share things with.

Mom and Dad with seven of the great-grandkids in 2008.
Two more were born after this, and Mom made a quilt for every one of them.

There were other moments of sadness in January, too.  Shortly after the first of the year, we lost my garden buddy Tarzan, who had been suffering from diabetes.

At the end of the month, we also lost our granddog Bear. A Mastiff, he was a rather intimidating sight to strangers at the door, but in reality he was a gentle giant.

Youngest grandson loved his big old Teddy Bear.

All in all, it was a lousy January.


And here it is March...

Weather-wise, we haven't had a bad winter.  January was one of the warmest Januarys on record, and I don't think we've had a day below zero (-18 C) all winter.  We had only one really bad day when the wind, more than the few inches of snow, caused hazardous driving conditions and forced all the schools to close.

Snowy days like those are the best time to hunker down indoors and enjoy a little bird-watching from the comfort of a warm living room.  The usual feathered friends appeared at the feeders, like this white-breasted nuthatch.

And the friendly tufted titmouse.

Even the red-tailed hawk decided to come in for a closer look, though I don't think he was interested in the feeders.  He stuck around for awhile, and I certainly hope he didn't find any little birds for his lunch here.

The male downy-headed woodpecker came by for his favorite suet treat, and then the female also appeared.

They weren't the only couples to visit, however.  On one snowy day, we counted at least 5 pairs of cardinals foraging on the ground and at the feeders.  Perhaps they were checking out the premises for suitable nesting places soon?

The cardinal is our state bird and my personal favorite. 

 I love their bright red coloring, especially against a backdrop of snow.

The red-bellied woodpecker, once a rare sight here, has now become a permanent resident, I think.

There have been many other visitors, too, including the blue jays that I wasn't quick enough to capture in a photograph.  But the sweet little chickadee is a cooperative photo model.

Since the beginning of February, the weather has been fluctuating wildly, to say the least.  One day the temps hit 70 for a new record, and daffodils could be seen poking up through the soil all over the place.

And just a few days later, we were back in full-blown winter.  And no, I know this isn't a stand of daffodils--it's sedum--but the daffodils were nowhere to be found on this snowy day.  I think my poor daffodils are confused, thinking one day that spring is here, only to hide away and go into hibernation the next.

The weather experts are predicting an early spring, and I, for one, would be so happy if they are right.
Spring is my favorite season, and I always find my spirits lifting this time of year no matter what the winter has been like.

In the past week, we have seen signs of its imminent appearance, first with my small stand of snowdrops that appeared suddenly through all the leaf debris.

And just a few days later, the first crocuses opened up.  All happy signs of so much more to come--I can't wait!


Usually, at this time of year I join in with Beth at Plant Postings for her Lessons Learned meme. I haven't had much time to think about gardening this past winter, so I can't say I've learned much about it recently.  But I certainly have learned some life lessons these past few months, and there is one in particular about my mother that I always want to remember.  My mother was a typical woman of the 50's--a housewife who put family first.  She cooked three meals a day from scratch, sewed most of my clothes, tended a large garden and canned enough produce for the winter, and drove a tractor when my Dad needed her help.  She never wrote a book, built a building, or was famous in any way.  Yet when friends and neighbors came to offer their condolences after she passed, they all commented how she had helped them at one time or another, always with a smile on her face.  The comment I heard over and over again was that they had never heard my mother say an unkind word about anyone.  I know they were sincere, because I honestly never heard my mother say anything negative or unkind about anyone either. What a wonderful legacy! I only hope I can follow my mother's example more in the coming years. This world could certainly use a little more kindness.

Remember there's no such thing as a small act of kindness.

 Every act creates a ripple with no logical end.

Scott Adams

A Reflection on 2015

Happy New Year everyone!  I just put up my new calendar and like seeing all those clean white spaces--I know they will fill up quickly, but for now they suggest so many possibilities and opportunities.  Before I plunge into 2016, however, I would like to reflect on the past year and think about some of the lessons I learned in 2015.

2015 started off on a high note: a new grandson was born right before Christmas, our first grandchild to live too far away to see immediately.  So we counted the days until early January when we could make the trip to Texas to hold this precious little addition to our family.

We left on a snowy day and returned to more snow and icy roads. But unlike the previous winter, snow was not a problem this year--in fact, there were times I wished we had had more to provide some insulation for the garden on the cold, cold days.

I'm not sure what I did all winter.  There's a lesson for this year--I need to take advantage of the downtime from the garden and get some much-needed housework done!  But I did enjoy the slower pace of winter to take time and watch the birds.

By March I was ready for spring. Typical of the Midwest, spring teased us with a few warm days here and there, but it was slow in coming.  By mid-April there were crocuses, daffodils, and some hyacinths, but I was still waiting for the first of many tulips to appear. We left for another week in Texas in mid-April, and while we were gone, warm weather arrived and the garden went into overdrive.

Imagine waking up after a late arrival home the night before and finding masses of tulips and daffodils in bloom that weren't there the last time you saw your garden.  It was as if the garden had suddenly exploded into full color!

I was reminded once again how much I love spring. More than the New Year, spring represents a fresh start to me, a renewal and re-birth, and a promise that life goes on, no matter what dark days may have lain in the past.

In May my world changed, as my mother was rushed to the hospital one day.  Gardening chores were pushed to the bottom of my priority list as I made daily trips to the hospital and then longer trips to the nursing home where she was sent for rehab.  I learned some valuable lessons during this time, including the reminder that you can't do it all, and that it's okay to ask for help, which I did.

But most importantly, I learned even more the benefit of "garden therapy."  After several days spent sitting by Mom's bedside, it was a joy to get out one morning and just play in the garden for awhile. As someone once said, "You can bury a lot of troubles digging in the dirt."

While I often was nagged by thoughts of weeding and all the other chores that needed to be done, the garden became my sanctuary this past summer.  What could be more uplifting than seeing a multitude of coneflowers open their blooms, drawing butterflies by the dozens?

And then there was Lily season.  Each day I would stroll through the garden, 

enjoying the latest bloom to open.

We had plenty of rain through most of the summer, resulting in a profusion of blooms.  I learned to ignore the weeds--for the most part--and focus instead on all the beauty around me.

As summer wound down, many blooms began to fade, but there was always something to enjoy and lift my spirits as I looked at the garden.

From the goldfinches to the hummingbirds to the butterflies and bees, 

I was reminded that the garden isn't just for me.

Butterflies were more abundant this year than last, which made me happy, and I was glad that I had planted some of their favorite things.

Fall finally arrived, and a beautiful season it was!  We had no rain the entire month of October which was rather worrisome, but other than making bulb-planting difficult for awhile, it gave me plenty of sunny days to prepare the garden for winter.  A light frost in late October killed most of the annuals, but the rest of the garden carried on until a killing frost in mid-November.  Autumn is usually the shortest season in Illinois, but this year I can't complain as we enjoyed extended warm weather.

By December I was consumed with Christmas preparations and plans for another trip to Texas to celebrate Grandson's first birthday.  But I probably could have worked in the garden at times if I had wanted--it was one of the warmest Decembers on record.  It was also the wettest December on record, with torrential rains right after Christmas that flooded the streets and highways.  I think the drought is officially over!

Our first snowfall arrived on November 21, but since then the only precipitation has been rain and more rain!

As I look back at the past year, I realize how much gardening is a metaphor for life.  From May onward, my mother's health has been my top concern as she went from one health crisis to another.  She is now permanently (barring some miracle) residing in a nursing home, and we have learned to accept that we don't know what the future will bring.  In the same way, we never know what Mother Nature might have in store for us.  As gardeners, we can nurture plants and try our best to eradicate weeds and pests, but there are some things that are just out of our control.  The garden, like life, has its ups and downs which we simply must accept. Over the years, the garden has taught me again and again how important it is to embrace those good days and to enjoy the moment.  One thing I do know, however--spring will eventually return, and the cycle of life will begin again.

During this past year, especially the last eight months, I have really slowed down on blogging.  I appreciate all of you who have taken the time to visit and leave a comment, even when I haven't had time to read your own posts in awhile.  Blogging friends are the best!  I wish you all--

Health, happiness, and a beautiful garden in the New Year!

Although I am very, very late, I'm linking this post to Plant Postings' Garden Lessons Learned. I'm looking forward to participating--in a more timely fashion, I hope--in this quarterly meme in the coming year, as there is always something to be learned in the garden.

Change Is Inevitable: Lessons From the Garden

Change is a part of life; we all know that. But while some changes are good, some are not so pleasant.  I like a change of scenery, a new hairdo, a new paint color on the walls,  But there are other situations where I'm perfectly content with the way things are, and when things begin to go in another direction, I become unsettled or stressed out.

My favorite flowering crabapple in full bloom in early May.

There are so many lessons learned from the garden, and the inevitability of change is one of the major ones.  Every spring I am a little sad to see the early blooms I enjoy so much fade away, and yet I know their end signals the beginning of something new as summer blooms slowly begin to take their place.  I am also consoled by the knowledge that they will return again next spring and delight me once again.

Every year, too, the gardener is faced the realization that she has lost some plants, whether to disease, pests, or the harshness of winter.  I lost several plants due to heaving, I think, because we had so little snow until late in the winter to protect them from the thawing/freezing cycle.  My Knockout roses, which I planted before I called myself a "gardener" and brought with me to this house eleven years ago, look half-dead this year.  Why?  I have no idea--I mean, how can you kill a Knockout rose??

'Brindisi' lily in previous years

The first Asiatic lily I planted, which had grown so huge in recent years and was definitely my favorite, is also a no-show this year.  I found it uprooted in the soil when I was cleaning up the garden back in early April.  I suspect it may have been a victim of a vole, since Sophie caught one nearby (after digging up a huge hole to find it).  I planted the pieces of bulb I could find, and I think a few little shoots are growing again.  But it will be a long time before this plant will grow to be the prolific bloomer it once was, if it ever will.

Not every change in the garden is a negative one, of course.  Plants grow, sometimes surpassing one's expectations.  Hostas in my shade garden have continued to grow by leaps and bounds.  Even after moving some to another area, the main shade garden is a jungle of green once again, to the point of taking over some of my favorite heucheras.  The same is true in the lily bed, where there suddenly is room for little else.

'Empress Wu' blooming for the first time.

The biggest change this spring for me, however, has not been in the garden, but with my mother. During the past year, we noticed she was having trouble with balance, and we were happy when she finally relented and began using a cane.  Other changes were more subtle, and it wasn't until she nearly collapsed one day and had to be taken to the hospital by ambulance, that we realized just how much her health had deteriorated.

Hollyhocks in the "wrong place," but I won't cut them down--they're a fond memory of my childhood, and the original plants came from my parents' home.

I know that many of you have experienced the same issues with aging parents, and I am thankful that my mother has recovered enough to return home.  But still it's difficult to see someone once so vibrant and always busy, whether quilting or putting up produce from her garden for the freezer, unable to do so many of the things she once enjoyed.  It's hard, too, to see my father suddenly becoming the caregiver, trying to mask his worry with a brave face for my mother.  At the same time, the love he has for my mother and the bond that these two have shared for nearly sixty-seven years is a true inspiration for all of us.

I try to ignore the weeds and the plants that badly need dividing or moving here and focus on the bright red poppies.

And so I am adjusting, too.  The garden, which once was my main obsession during the spring and summer, has been relegated to a lower priority.  I am letting go of the need for perfection--not that my garden was ever, ever anywhere near perfection!  The weeds are growing and growing, especially with all the rain, and I try to look past them to focus on the pretty blooms instead.  A few big projects I had planned for this year will just have to wait--after all, there will be another gardening season.

A coleus, a begonia, and a few leftover Profusion daisies thrown together in a pot.

I used to spend a lot of time planning the combinations of plants I wanted to plant in my containers. But when I found myself driving to visit my mother in the morning instead of leisurely mulling over all the plants I had purchased, I started just throwing things together in pots whether they color-coordinated or not.  And you know what--I like some of these just as much as those I planned!

The miniature Japanese garden still needs the dry garden completed and a little more tweaking, but I'll get to that one of these days.

I have always done every chore in the garden myself, except for the occasional help from the grandchildren.  But this year, I'm accepting more help.  Best friend Beckie came one morning to finish planting all the containers.  My granddaughter has been so busy this spring with various activities, but she came over one evening to help get the mini-Japanese garden in order once again.

She also created this simple little fairy garden in another area where nothing would grow in the rocky soil but sedums.  And whenever the rain finally stops, I'm hiring my friend's two granddaughters to help me weed and mulch the garden.

Do fairies like dogs?  I don't know, but I couldn't resist this addition to the fairy garden.  It's Sophie-approved and makes me smile every time I look at it.

As I am slowly learning to accept the changes over which I have no control, I have a new-found appreciation for the constants in my life and those small moments that can bring joy.

A little Zen time in the garden does wonders for the soul.

 Spending some time in the garden, for example, is one of the best therapies there is.  After a particularly stressful few days, I took a morning to work in the shade garden.  Nothing major, just a little weeding and planting.  But those few hours spent digging in the dirt on a beautiful day, listening to the birdsong with my faithful canine companions supervising at my side, did wonders for my spirits.

Ever so tiny, there's the beginning of a bloom here.

The garden reminds me,too, that there is always hope.  The Indian Pinks that I was so excited to find last year were a no-show this year, and I had resigned myself to accepting that they didn't like it here.  But just this past week, I noticed these--yes, they are tiny, but they are back and they will bloom!

And when it comes to constants, there is no plant that is as reliable as my beloved coneflowers.  Every year they return in greater numbers,  to the point that I have begun thinning them out a little.  But I can't bear to pull too many, because they are so faithful, a reminder that while the world around me may change, some things will always remain the same.  To me they represent the roots I have in this prairie soil, the land that my ancestors first tilled over 150 years ago.  They remind me that we are caretakers of this land for our short time here, but the land will be here for future generations. Change is inevitable, but life does go on.


I'm linking this post to Beth at Plant Postings' quarterly review of Lessons Learned in the Garden.