Summer lessons learned: It's A Mystery To Me

I love a good mystery.  Give me a book by Martha Grimes or Sara Paretsky or Debra Crombie, and you won't hear a peep out of me all evening.  In fact, you probably won't see me very early in the morning either, because I invariably stay up way too late as I turn page after page, caught up in what is going to happen next.  But novels aren't the only forms of mystery; there are mysteries in the garden as well.  This summer I often was bewildered about what was happening in my garden.  Some of those mysteries were eventually solved, like the tidy conclusions with no loose ends I prefer in novels, but other situations still have me puzzled.

Salvia Azurea, also known as Pitcher Sage

Every year I have some mystery plants, plants that I can't identify and wonder if they're a weed or something I will welcome in my garden .This year was no exception.  I've already mentioned the sneezeweed that I initially had no memory of planting and the Salvia azurea that I almost pulled, thinking it was a weed.

One mystery daylily identified as a passalong

Then there were the daylily mysteries.  I always try to record any new daylily purchases I make and  place a marker next to each one when I plant them.  But two of my tags disappeared over the winter or were buried deeply under the compost, and when lily season began, I found I had not the five new daylilies I remembered buying, but six!  And then, to make me feel even more like I'd lost my mind, there was another new daylily that appeared in the butterfly garden!  The latter was solved when a fellow gardening volunteer reminded me that she had given me a division of one of her daylilies last year.  I probably planted it in the butterfly garden because I had simply run out of room everywhere else.

The six-not-five new hybrids were still a mystery until a week ago when I discovered my receipt from last summer while doing some cleaning.  (Amazing what things you can find when you do a little cleaning.)  It turns out I did buy six lilies--besides the five names I remembered, I also bought an unnamed hybrid--an experimental plant that the growers have decided not to continue growing.  But there is still a little mystery--is the daylily above 'Susan Weber' or L09-021?

Or is this one L09-021 or 'Susan Weber'??

Another thing that has had me scratching my head this year is what happened to my clematis?  I had only one clematis until last year, 'Nelly Moser,' which bloomed faithfully and profusely every May/June.  But this year not a single bloom!  Last year I planted a new clematis, 'Roguchi,' which I was very excited about because I love these bell-shaped purple blooms and it did very well in its first year.  But again, not a sign of it this year!

Clematis 'Roguchi' growing in the nursing home garden

I haven't quite come up with a satisfactory resolution to either of these mysteries, but my hunch is that my poor little 'Roguchi' may have fallen victim to some over-zealous weeding on my part this spring. Or perhaps it was strangled by the Cardinal vine that grew up the same side of the trellis and into the coneflowers and the lilies and just about any place it could sneak in.  And my 'Nelly Moser'--well, I'm not sure, but I may have pruned it too early and too vigorously in the spring.  It's growing up its trellis (minus blooms), so I'm hoping it will recover and bloom again next year.  As for poor 'Roguchi,' I'll be on the lookout for a replacement next spring.

A few blooms earlier on the yellow Knockouts; the red ones are too puny to even photograph.

I'm not taking any blame for two other puzzles, though.  My 'Knockout' roses were an absolute failure this year, producing only a few measly blooms.  I gave them a moderate pruning in the spring, but nothing different from previous years.  Last year everyone's 'Knockouts' in the area looked terrible, which everyone attributed to the bad winter.  But this past winter wasn't quite so bad--although we didn't have much snow cover--so I don't know why mine especially look so awful this year.  I didn't think you could kill 'Knockouts,' but I'm beginning to think I'm a homicidal rose killer.

Another no-show this year were the Macrophylla Hydrangeas.  Oh, they grew and grew with very healthy green foliage, but only one blossom appeared on three plants--only one all summer!  After a couple of people told me their Macrophyllas were doing the same thing and asked for my advice, I did a little sleuthing.  Improper pruning or lack of water or fertilizer could cause problems with blooming, but none of those were the problems here.  A late winter cold snap that occurred just as the hydrangeas were setting blooms seems the most likely cause.  If that is the case, then I don't have to feel guilty about doing something wrong, and I can only hope that blooms will return again next year.

If the weather was the culprit in my flower-less Macrophyllas, it had no effect on the Hydrangea Paniculatas, fortunately.  'Vanilla Strawberry' bloomed up a storm, and the 'Limelight' is becoming a flowering autumn tree.

Ascelpias curassavica, Tropical milkweed, is still blooming in the garden.  But it's not the best choice of milkweeds for Monarchs.

One of just a small patch of zinnias that grew this year.

Do you remember the old folk song "Where Have All the Flowers Gone?"  My last mystery concerns all the plants that never appeared this year.  From the Turkish lilies to all the milkweed seed I planted last fall or late winter, I am confused and disappointed at many no-shows. Besides the milkweed seeds, which really disappointed me because I was hoping to attract more Monarchs to my garden, there were other seeds that didn't germinate.  I always have good luck with zinnia and cosmos seeds, which are so easy to grow.  But very few of them appeared this year.  I suspect some of the seeds in my arbor bed were covered up with too much mulch when I had some helpers early in the season and forgot to mention where the seeds were planted.

But that doesn't explain the lack of flowers in my roadside garden, where I also planted some zinnias and cosmos.  Only one little cosmos plant survived to bloom. Correct that--I notice yesterday I have a second plant blooming!  I could blame Mr. P and his lawnmower, but I don't think he's a suspect.  In fact, there were several mysterious goings-on in this roadside garden all season, starting with some of the new tulips that never appeared.

Pot with hot pink annuals peeking out to the left of photo.

 Probably the most puzzling incident was the case of the empty pot.  In May I planted some petunias and 'Diamond Frost' euphorbia in a pot lying on its side at the front of the garden.  A few weeks later, the pot was empty!  Not a dried-up stem was in sight--everything had disappeared.  When summer annuals went on clearance in mid-June, I tried again and filled the pot with other petunias and bright annuals.  A week or two later, when I went to water the pot again, the same thing--not a plant in sight!

A fall mum now planted in the pot next to the sedum--I dare a thief to make off with this one!

Could it be fairies who stole my plants to decorate their fairy homes?  Or is there some marauding varmint that likes tasty annuals and is digging them out for dinner?  There are no clues and thus no suspects, so the mystery of the disappearing roadside plants will remain unsolved for now.  I could assign the investigation to Capt. Sophie, but with this garden's proximity to the busy road, it's out of her jurisdiction.


From both the mysteries that were solved and from the ones that remain open investigations, I have learned a few lessons this summer:

• I need to be more diligent about recording all new plantings in my garden journal.
• I need to find a better, more permanent type of plant label, one whose printing won't disappear over the winter and one that can't be pulled out by dogs looking for toys.
• I need to follow proper pruning instructions--when in doubt, do some research first!

But most of all, I've learned once again that gardening can be unpredictable, and that a little mystery just adds some spice to it--gardening is never boring!

I am very late, but I'm joining in with Beth's quarterly Lessons Learned in the Garden posted at the end of each season.

Garden Lessons Learned in 2013

Happy New Year, everyone!  I hope that you enjoyed the holidays and were able to spend time with friends and family.  I noticed a considerable drop in blogging the past month, myself included.  Besides the usual rush of Christmas activities, I was hit with a respiratory virus right before Christmas that kept me down for more than a week.  Thanks to some antibiotics, I'm finally on the mend. Now that I've finally got a little more energy and with the holiday rush over, I plan to catch up on reading blogs as well as posting a little more often.

I had planned to join Plant Postings' seasonal meme on lessons learned in the garden this past autumn.  Since I didn't make the December 20 deadline, I'm going to look back at the year overall and focus on one special aspect of the garden that has become more and more appealing to me.

I've learned that a garden isn't just for me--it supports a host of wildlife who enjoy it--and need it--just as much as I do. The creatures who inhabit or visit the garden have taught me as many valuable lessons as planting and weeding have.

 Lesson #1:  Even the seemingly ordinary can contain small miracles.  I was pruning the Knockout roses this spring when I noticed this strange growth on one of the branches.  A quick photo was taken and compared to internet images; sure enough, this is a mantis egg case, the first I'd ever seen.  Unfortunately, I didn't notice an abundance of praying mantises this year, compared to past years, but I'm sure they were around, had I continued to pay more careful attention.

Another small miracle that I did pay more careful attention to was this dove nesting in the old lilac. My husband first noticed her while mowing, and pointed out her nest to me as well as to the grandkids when they visited. 

She seemed unperturbed by our attention, and since her nest was just a foot above eye level,  it was easy to see. We watched the amazing miracle over the next few weeks as she cared for the babies who emerged until they became fledglings who eventually left the nest.

Lesson #2: Sometimes we're too busy focusing on the task at hand to notice what is right in front of our faces.  I know I'm not the only one who has photographed a flower only to discover when I downloaded my pictures a little winged creature I hadn't even noticed at the time. 



I enjoy watching the bees busily flying about in my garden, but they're not the easiest creatures to photograph, especially honeybees and the smaller bees. I always think it's serendipity when one pauses at just the right second as the camera shutter clicks.

Lesson #3: Just as with the garden, there is always something new to be learned when it comes to wildlife.  While I know we have had foxes around our farm before, this summer was the first time one ventured close enough for me to see it on a regular basis.  For a month or two, she/he (and oftentimes with its mate) would stroll across the front yard every evening before disappearing into the cornfield.

Despite the fox's often unsavory reputation in fables and fairy tales, I think they're beautiful creatures.  I spent many a summer evening watching her as she watched me, each keeping our distance.

Lesson #4: Even the smallest of creatures often knows more about Nature than I do.  The woolly worm is a weather prognosticator for many of us.  When I saw several of these this fall, I decided I'd better be prepared for a bad winter--the black head and tail, according to folklore, means a cold beginning and end to winter with a lot of snow in between.  So far, his forecast has been accurate.

Lesson #5: There is a reason I leave most of the garden standing over the winter instead of cutting back everything in the fall. 

Fall is always such a busy time that I never complete all my projects anyway, but I often consider doing some cutting back just to make things look a little tidier through the cold months.  The goldfinches, however, confirmed my decision--dried seedheads have their own usefulness and beauty.

Lesson #6: Patience.  Although this lesson is taught over and over again in the garden, there is nothing quite like trying to photograph a hummingbird to teach you patience.  I've tried for years to get a decent photo of a hummingbird in flight and finally managed to get a couple this year. The pictures weren't that great, but I was happy.

These little birds just fascinate me.  It was a great year for hummingbirds, and I spent many hours watching them dance in the air and holding one-sided conversations with them.  We had a warm fall, and they stayed longer than usual--into late September.  I hope they arrived safely at their winter homes, and I hope they remembered the chatty lady on the porch who will have the feeders ready for them again this summer.

Lesson #7: Optimism.  While it was a great year for hummingbirds, it wasn't such a great year for butterflies.

So few appeared this summer that I was beginning to worry what had happened to them all.  Finally, as summer turned into fall, Painted Ladies, Red Admirals, and Buckeyes came to visit the garden, reminding me to never give up hope.

Fall also brought visits from my favorite butterfly and my favorite photo from 2013.  What is it about the majestic Monarch that fascinates us so?  The scientific research about its life cycle and yearly migration is certainly interesting, but even without that, I am in awe of its beauty.  Nothing makes me stop to really live in the moment as does the appearance of a Monarch.

The wildlife that visited my garden this past season taught me many lessons, but most of all they taught me to appreciate all the little miracles of Nature and to really live in the moment.  I look forward to their return this spring, but in the meantime there are the winter birds to watch . . .

. . . and, of course, the "wildlife" that live here year-round.  

Wishing you all a year filled with new experiences in your garden and the joy and peace that Nature can bring.

Lessons Learned From the Vegetable Garden

“The more you know, the more you know you don't know.”(Aristotle)

I'd like to paraphrase Aristotle just a little:  "The more I learn about gardening, the more I realize how much more I have to learn." I've often said that I still consider myself somewhat of a newbie gardener. Just when I'm feeling rather smug that I have acquired enough knowledge to call myself a true gardener, I learn some new things that make me realize how little I really know.  In thinking about lessons learned this past season, the most memorable lessons came from my vegetable garden.  That's rather ironic considering I have been growing vegetables far longer than growing flowers or other ornamentals.  It just goes to show that learning never stops.

Photo taken in early July when everything still looked green!

Lesson 1:  Newspapers and straw make an excellent mulch.  My vegetable garden isn't very big--somewhere between 120-150 square feet--but it's big enough to produce enough for us, and it's as much as I can handle.  This is probably the only time you'll see a photo of it, because usually by mid-summer it's a weedy mess.  (Yes, I know, you can spot some weedy grass in the foreground, but let's just ignore that for now, shall we?)  I vowed--once again--not to let it get out of control this year and put down a layer of newspapers between all the rows, and then covered that with straw.  Most years I put down straw around the tomatoes, but this was the first time I used both coverings in the whole garden.  Weedy grasses are my nemesis here, and they still managed to find a place to grow in the rows of vegetables.  But I would pull them out as I harvested beans or greens, and I was pleased that they didn't pop up between the rows as usual.  Both the straw and newspapers eventually decompose and add more nutrients to the soil, an added benefit.  Using this type of mulch is certainly not a new idea, but I finally learned my lesson that taking the time to put down mulch immediately after weeding is well worth the effort in the long run.

Lesson 2:  Squash bugs have won the battle in my garden.  See this pretty blossom and baby yellow squash?  This was early July; fast forward two weeks, and this pretty picture had turned into wilting leaves and shriveled fruit, telltale signs of a squash bug invasion.  Sure enough, those nasty little creatures were swarming all over the leaves; I sprayed them off with a diluted soap mixture, but the damage had been done.

Years ago, I would have sprayed these plants with Carbaryl at the first sign of these pests, but since I've gone pesticide-free, that isn't an option anymore.  I've tried several organic methods of pest control, though admittedly not very diligently, but nothing has worked.  I've learned that some adults can overwinter in the garden; because of this, it's a good idea to rotate placement of cucurbits from year to year or even to avoid planting them the following year.  So, I'm waving the white flag in surrender--no squash in my garden next year!  These little pests will have to find a new place for dinner . . . I just hope it's not in my friend's garden. You see, if a friend has a successful harvest, you don't have to worry--she will be more than happy to share all those extra zucchinis and summer squash with you:)

'Golden Guardian' marigolds, touted to be especially good at keeping insect pests away.

Lesson 3:  Pay attention to spacing recommendations and heights given on seed packets. Hmm, this seems to be a recurring theme with me . . .  whether I have 100 square feet or 1000 to plant in, I always seem to want to pack in more plants than I should.  Aside from the green beans which sprawled over the gap between rows or the cucumbers that sprawled everywhere, the specific problem I'm referring to here were the marigolds.  I usually plant a row or two of marigolds at the front of the vegetable garden, partly as a pest deterrent, but also for ornamental purposes.    But this spring I did a little research in companion planting and decided to plant the marigolds in the middle of the plot, nearer the squashes and other plants they were supposed to protect. 

My first--and only--pepper just now ripening.

Obviously, they didn't discourage the squash bugs one bit.  But they also grew so tall and spread in width that my few pepper plants were lost beneath them!  I reluctantly pulled a few of the marigolds to give the peppers some sunlight, but it may have been too late.  Only one of three pepper plants has gotten big enough to produce some fruit.  Next year the marigolds are going back to being a front border.

'Rainbow Lights' Swiss Chard

Lesson 4: Don't be afraid to try something new.  With a small garden, I don't have room for everything and have to make choices about what to plant.  Fresh tomatoes are the whole reason for vegetable gardening, in my husband's opinion, and they take up a lot of room. By the time I plant green beans--another family favorite--spinach, leaf lettuces, carrots, cucumbers for my son, and the aforementioned doomed squashes, there isn't a lot of space left.  For the past few years I had some flowering kale that came back each year, but I removed it this year to make room for the tomatoes that had to be rotated to the south side.  Instead of that ornamental kale, I decided to plant swiss chard and a smaller kale, 'Dwarf Blue Curled.'

My daughter was on a juicing kick earlier this spring and brought home bunches of kale to put into her smoothies. Why not grow this new "super food" myself, I thought?  Well, both the chard and kale plantings were a success, but I must be honest that I've only admired the chard for its pretty looks and haven't actually tried to eat it.  As for the kale, I did make some kale chips, which my older daughter recommended, but I don't think I'll recommend my recipe . . .  I did put some in the freezer and plan to freeze some more before the end of the season.  Winter sounds like a good time to try some of the many recipes for kale I added to
my Pinterest board over the summer:)   The juicer, by the way, is collecting dust at the bottom of my pantry.

Swallowtail caterpillar on fennel--taken in 2009.

Lesson 5:  Nature can be cruel. Every year I make sure to leave a little space in the vegetable garden for the butterflies.  Dill and fennel are host plants for the swallowtails, and my grandkids enjoy finding the caterpillars crawling on them in late summer.  Earlier this summer, I was delighted to find many tiny black creatures--the first instar larvae--on the dill one day.  When I thought to check them again a few days later, though, they were all gone.  What had happened to them??  It wasn't until I read someone's blog about raising caterpillars, too, that I realized all these little catts had probably become dinner for the birds.  I like birds, too, of course, and they're welcome to most of the insects they can find here, but not the swallowtail catts!  It made me sad, especially since we've had so few butterflies this year, but unfortunately, that is all part of the cycle of nature. Perhaps next year I'll put some netting over the dill and fennel to protect these delicate little creatures.

One lesson that I learn every year from the vegetable garden, more so than any other place, is that gardening is unpredictable.  One year I have an explosion of zucchini, and the next year the fruit shrivels on the vine.  One year the tomatoes get blight, and the next--like this one--I have so many that I'm making tomato juice and sauce for the freezer twice a week just to keep up with all the tomatoes!  The vegetable garden reminds me each year that some things are out of my control, and that nature has the ultimate upper hand. I've learned to roll with the punches and shrug off one year's disasters--after all, there's always a clean slate to start with next spring.

Finally, I can't resist one last lesson that has nothing to do with vegetable gardening whatsoever.  Though the butterflies have been missing this year, there has been a flurry of hummingbird activity here.  For years I purchased hummingbird nectar mix at a local big box store, thinking the red nectar added some extra attraction for the birds.  But mid-summer I started making my own nectar--1 part sugar to 4 parts water--and the hummers love it!  No more red dye for my sweet little visitors!  I'm glad they're getting fueled up for the long flight south they will soon make.

Thanks as always to Beth of Plant Postings for hosting this quarterly meme on Lessons Learned in the Garden. It's always helpful to reflect on the past season's successes and failures, not only to keep from making the same mistakes again, but also to appreciate and take satisfaction in all that went well in the garden.

Reflections on 2012

Happy New Year, everyone!  For the past week, the media has been highlighting the top stories of the past year, as they always do.  I usually like to recap the past year in my garden as well, but this year seemed rather uneventful for me, other than the excitement of attending Spring Fling in Asheville in May.  Instead, I thought I would start off the new year by looking back at some of the lessons I learned in the garden in 2012.

'Victoria' blues and whites taking over the front of the arbor bed.

There is always something new to be learned about gardening, and I certainly learned some practical lessons this past year such as how attractive foliage can be in containers, that amsonia has very long, stubborn roots,  or that cats and houseplants don't always go together.  One of the hardest lessons to learn for this stubborn tightwad thrifty gardener was that just because a volunteer plant is providing free blooms doesn't mean you have to keep it.  Due to last year's mild winter, I had many more volunteers than usual.  I dug up many nicotania seedlings to give away in the spring and eventually became ruthless enough to pull the tall plants, even though they were blooming beautifully, because they were crowding out many of the perennials.  But I couldn't bring myself to do the same for the 'Victoria Blue' and 'White' salvias, even though they eventually encroached upon new and tender perennials as well.  If this year's winter is as cold as predicted, I may not have the same problem this coming season.  But if I do, I vow to be more selective and weed out unwanted volunteers.

Aside from these practical lessons, however, most of the lessons I learned this year were more significant and changed some of my perspectives on gardening and even life:

A new double tulip, 'Montreux,' was one of the delights of spring.

Mother Nature has the final say.  In what has to be one of the weirdest weather years in my memory, 2012 began with a mild winter that turned into an unusually early and warm spring.  Indoor projects were quickly cast aside as I eagerly jumped into garden work in March.   As I marvelled at blooms appearing much earlier than usual, I began to worry what the summer might bring, but that thought was pushed to the back of my mind as I delighted in masses of brightly-colored tulips and daffodils. A joyous spring turned into summer, and the worry surfaced again when the rain clouds disappeared.  For two months, not an appreciable drop of rain fell, and I despaired along with gardeners all over the country that my garden would not survive, as I trekked out each day in the heat to drag water hoses around the garden.

Despite the drought, bees and butterflies were abundant.  Natives and tough annuals like zinnias were unfazed by the weather.

But then in August and into the fall, the rain returned.  Words like "severe drought" and "extreme drought" were no longer headlines in the local news.  The drought had taken its toll, to be sure--I did lose a few plants, and many local farmers reported one of the most dismal harvests they had ever had.  But my garden perked up with the welcome moisture, and surprisingly, the harvest on our farm produced normal yields. We were much luckier than many.  I learned that I shouldn't complain so much because there is always someone much worse off than I--at least we don't have hurricanes in Illinois.  And I was reminded that Nature has the ultimate power in my garden and cannot be controlled.  Like life, I must work with what I am given and accept the ups and downs as inevitable and keep moving forward.

The Rose Garden at the Biltmore Estate--my garden looks nothing like this!

Every garden is special, no matter its size or style.  Readers of this blog may think I have a huge garden, judging by the number of different blooms I show from month to month.  But nothing could be further from the truth--in reality, my garden is quite small by most standards and is actually  several flowerbeds without any cohesive design whatsoever.  Each bed started out with a planned design and a color scheme, but in a short amount of time each grew into a crowded riot of clashing colors, fueled by my ever-growing plant addiction and habit of filling in every available inch of bare soil.  My little garden makes me happy, but at the same time I'm never quite satisfied.  If a visitor stops by and wants to "tour" the garden, I look even more critically at it and can't help wondering what they must be thinking--"Sheesh, you call this a garden??"

One of the more unusual garden features in Asheville--Christopher Mello's "Dump Truck Park."

But my trip to Asheville with tours of so many different gardens opened my eyes and my mind to a different philosophy.  My garden may not be as big or tidy as I would like it, and it's certainly not magazine centerfold-worthy, but it brings me great joy, and that is all that matters.

There is never enough time.  I think this has been my life's mantra; rushing to meet one deadline after another, I sometimes think my life has been one big blur.  I thought that would all change with retirement, and to a certain extent, it has, but then I keep adding new activities and new interests at the same time my body has slowed down, saying, "whoa, take it easy!"  I realize there will never be enough time to get all the weeding done or all the projects I have planned in the garden.  There will never be enough time to get my house completely de-cluttered, organized, and spotless (well, maybe if I hire a professional organizer and a cleaning lady!).  There will never be enough time to read every book I have on my constantly growing "to-read" list.

If you don't take the time to look closely, you might miss this busy little bee in the poppy.

There is a quote I've always loved: "Life is short; eat dessert first!"  As much as I like this sentiment, however, I have trouble following it.  Perhaps it's the work ethic instilled in me by my parents and their German ancestry, but I've always believed you must finish your chores before you play.   However, I've come to realize that putting work first sometimes means you miss some special moments. If you are focusing on finding weeds, you might miss the first blooms of the larkspur you thought would never grow in your garden.  If you are always looking downward, you might not see the Monarch floating through the air above you.   There will never be enough time to get everything done, so enjoy the time you have--take those precious moments to enjoy the beauty around you, whether it's the flight of a butterfly, the sudden whirr of a hummingbird, or the laughter of children.  This is a lesson I haven't quite mastered yet, but it's going to be my only New Year's resolution this year--I'm going to practice enjoying the moment.

Garden Lessons Learned is a meme sponsored each season by Beth at Plant Postings.  I had planned to finish this post in time for her Winter Solstice collection, but I missed the deadline.   I decided to finish this post anyway; after all, what better way to start the new year than to remember some valuable lessons from 2012 and strive to do better in 2013.

Wishing you all a Happy and Healthy New Year and time to enjoy your garden!