Remind me of summer days

Now that we are headed into the darkness of winter, I need reminders of summer and my gardens to bring brightness to my days.

Early in the summer, I picked and pressed a collections of blossoms and leaves from my garden.  My son-in-law created a fabulous press for me that gives me the ability to press large quantities at the same time.  It is interesting to see how petals retain their colors and identities through the pressing process.  When the pressing process is completed, I enjoy the creative process of using the flowers.  While I'm not an artist, I enjoy crafting with them.  This year, I mounted the petals and leaves on wood letters, painted white.  They made lovely Christmas gifts. 


Of course, I also made one for myself, so while I'm working at my computer on cold winter days, I can gaze at reminders of the blooms that were and that will bloom again when summer returns.

One of my favorite garden annuals is an acutangula luffa vine.  I plant some of these vines on my less than lovely chain link fence each summer because they always perform with very little assistance from me.

This summer, the acutangula vines outdid themselves.  They covered the entire south side of the fence and quietly invaded the nearby shrubbery, as well as my cozy shady hideaway table and chairs. 

I started picking the vegetable form in mid-August.  This year, I mixed them in with the pipianes that my neighbor's vines produced for a unique and delicious mix of Asian and Central American cuisine. 

Of course, with vines this large, I often missed a vegetable and it would quickly grow beyond the eating size.  I ended up with more than 50 luffa sized acutangula to pick when the first frost reached central Alabama in November.

Peeling 50 luffas took some serious effort.  The only down-side to this year's crop was that the same wet summer that produced the massive vines and bumper crop also allowed mildew to grow on the luffas, resulting in some serious stains on them which required an extra step of bleaching.

If anyone wants some seeds, I have collected thousands.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

At 7:00am

This is the first December snowfall I remember in Alabama.  I decorate with a real snow shovel, a toy sled, and a sign that says "we believe" in snow, but I never have any real hope of actually seeing snow in my backyard for Christmas. 

At noon

It started snowing before sunrise this morning with a total of 1-2 inches in the forecast.  I went to work but when the roads started closing at 10:00am, they sent us home.  I was shocked to see more than two inches of snow on my car; the drive home was an exercise in prayer and caution.  I've been away from Minnesota for too many years to enjoy driving in the snow. 

By the time we finished eating lunch, there were a good four to five inches of snow in the back yard.  The only activity that made sense to me was to go outside to build the biggest snowman I could manage.  I soaked through three pairs of gloves but I'm pretty impressed with my handiwork.

My poor southern plants are less impressed with God's largesse.  I went around the garden shaking wet snow off branches burdened to the breaking point and I'm pretty sure the orange tree was begging me to bring it into the garage.

We won't discuss how I stepped into my own garden pond;  the snow had covered the screening I placed over it to keep leaves from falling into it and I was busy framing a photo and not thinking about where that pond was (sigh loudly here). 

Of course, the snow will all be gone tomorrow, this is Alabama after all.

Outrageous oranges

This year's satsuma crop can only be described as outrageous.  It was just as if our little tree felt badly for the abysmal crop of three last year and wished to make up for itself.

I picked 77 oranges right before the first frost.  Although they are not pretty like the ones you might purchase at the grocery store, there is nothing quite like the flavor of a fresh orange picked from your own tree.

Ready for frost

For gardeners in central Alabama, the first frost of the season is a major event.  I've spent the last several weeks making plans and preparations for that date when most of the green, growing things will say "good-bye" for the winter.

Tonight is the big night with temperatures forecast to drop into the upper 20s for the first time this fall. It was hard to imagine this fact yesterday afternoon while it was in the mid-70s, warm enough for shirt sleeves and for our tortoise to play in the backyard while I worked.

However, we are ready.  The fruit is all harvested, the remaining veggies are all picked, and the tropical plants are relocated to their indoor winter windows.  My two-year old grandson, James, was quite delighted to be told that he could pick the peppers and toss them in the bucket.  He proudly counted them as he dropped them in.

We are ready for frost and the beginning of winter.  (Of course, we live in Alabama so winter for us will be frost today and 65 degrees for Thanksgiving!)

Homage to royalty

While choosing flowers to make a bouquet for my daughter, I noticed that there was a cluster of late-blooming purple cone flowers in the back corner of the garden.  I headed over to cut them to mix in with the red roses, ivy, and diamond frost. 

Suddenly, a large brown butterfly flew over my shoulder to land on the blossoms.  Much to my amazement, I realized that it was a monarch butterfly!  I haven't seen a monarch in my backyard in many years.  I immediately ran back into the house for my camera, praying that his (or her) royal highness would wait for me to return.

Not only did she (he) wait, but she posed long enough for me to take some lovely photographs.  I continued to watch her as she tasted several flowers in my backyard before flying on.

There was no way I was going to cut those cone flowers after such a royal visitation.  The bouquet will look just fine without them.

Happy Halloween

We love the fun American traditions of the holiday; who doesn't love to play dress up and acquire huge quantities of candy that you can measure in pounds!

The loss of our cedar tree and Alabama Power's aggressive pruning on our oak tree created a new challenge for our Halloween traditions; where could we hang our happy ghosts?  With a little ingenuity and some fishing line we discovered that we could suspend our ghosts under a street light in such a way that the ghosts appear to be free-floating rather than dancing under the trees. 

Since I no longer have young children to dress up, I've turned to playing dress up with our long suffering pets. 

Happy Halloween from our front yard to yours!

Starting over

Losing my massive silver maple tree in June was stressful to my gardener's heart.  I think I actually went through a grieving process.  My sadness was profound enough that for the first few weeks, I could not even bring myself to stroll through that part of the garden.

New beginnings

Finally, as summer drew to a close, I knew it was time to begin anew in those beds around the tree stump.  Much to my surprise, there were many plants that had recovered well from the shock of the tree removal and were actually thriving in their new sun-filled environment.  Seeing those happy, healthy plants gave me the impetus I needed to begin again.

Loss

Of course, the first order of business had to be the removal of weeds and small trees that had joined the garden in an opportunistic frenzy.  I added some swamp sun flowers that a friend had shared with me, they are going to be VERY happy in that sunny spot.  Two other friends shared rooted shrubbery from their gardens which are now nestled at the base of the old tree stump.

Original shade garden

It still isn't beautiful, but I can envision a future in that space now.  It feels good to start over.

Worth the wait

I saw and tasted my first persimmon when our Master Gardener class took a tour of Auburn's experimental station in Jemison 10 years ago.  The fruit tasted like nothing I had ever experienced before. 

When I went hunting for them in the grocery store, I discovered them in a small basket in the exotic produce section, for $1.00 each.  This was not going to work for my frugal soul so the next logical step was to grow my own.  Persimmon trees were not available at the local big box store.  The first nursery I searched had a potted tree for (drum roll sound) $80.  I was seriously disappointed but not defeated.

At the time, Cedar Creek Nursery was just a new start-up but the folks there were (and still are) willing to help.  They had a source for persimmon trees for $25 but there were none available at the time.  I waited for six months but finally the call came, there was a shipment of persimmon trees for me to choose from!  I chose the perfect little tree, brought it home and lovingly planted it using all the good techniques for tree-planting that I learned in my Master Gardener classes.

I was told that it would take just three years for my Fuyu persimmon to begin bearing fruit.  When three years passed, I began looking for persimmons--no joy that year, or for the four years after that.  I began to wonder if I had purchased the one dud in the crop. 

This spring, after the worse drought in my lifetime, the persimmon tree decided it was time.  All summer, I watched and waited while the persimmons grew.  When the first two ripened in late September I was crushed to discover that the birds had been waiting too.  How did they know how wonderful persimmons taste?

I learned that persimmons can be picked a little early and allowed to ripen indoors.  This works but it takes days longer to ripen than if they were on the tree (but I don't have to share with those pesky birds).

I wish I could tell you exactly what a persimmon tastes like.  It has the texture of an apple, and the color of a ripe peach but the flavor is uniquely its own.  Now that I will have a tree full of persimmons each year, I will have to discover creative ways to incorporate them into my diet. 

For now, they are just amazingly delicious!  They are worth the wait.

My heart's-a-bustin'

Tucked in the back of my native shade garden grows a thinly leaved, leggy-looking shrub that merely disappears into the background for most of the year.
However, when late September rolls around, this nondescript little shrub literally bursts into show-stopping glory.

Its Latin name is Euonymus americanus but it goes by a plethora of common names:  strawberry bush, bursting-heart, hearts-bustin-with-love, or my favorite, heart's-a-bustin. 

These berries are irresistible to deer so you won't find this display in the woods from which my plants originally came.  It takes a protected suburban garden to show off its magnificence.

My heart's just a bustin' with joy!

When my neighbors come calling

This spring my neighbor cleverly terraced the ditch the borders both our backyards and used it to plant a vegetable garden for her family.  This was even more impressive to me because this young Salvadoran woman is the mother of six adorable children.  I wondered how well her ambitious attempt at using every available tillable space would pan out. 

Her terraced, ditch garden was so successful that not only is she feeding her own family, she is feeding mine too.  These squash-like vines have filled the ditch and came calling in my backyard.  The photos do not demonstrate the size of the vines and their leaves, which have come running 15 feet through the chain link fence, through my garden and out across the lawn.

With the help of Yolanda's daughters, we enjoy discussing the successes and failures of our respective gardening ideas.  This squash is called a pipian (plural is pipianes).   Although they look similar to our traditional yellow squash, they have the firmness and a similar flavor to zucchini. 

I no longer attempt to grow yellow squash or zucchini in my gardens because my gardens are invested with squash vine borers.  I don't know whether  the borers avoid the ditch or pipian vines are resistant but I'm delighted to host these delicious neighbors in my backyard.

Peppers, picked and pickled

It's impossible to pick a peck of pickled peppers; however, you may pickle a peck of peppers picked from the prolific pepper plants growing in my pepper patch.

This summer has been perfect for growing peppers of all kinds.  I grow sweet banana peppers from seed that I have saved from year to year.  This year's patch of twelve plants have outdone themselves. 

We have peppers on salads, in soup, roasted, and added to just about every dish I make.  I have cut and frozen a whopping eight quarts of them.  I've sent them to Minnesota for my mom and siblings.  I have carried so many of them to school that the staff are beginning to hide when they see me coming. 

Then I discovered that my new son-in-law loves to make pickled peppers.  He is taking every picked pepper and producing jar after jar of beautiful and tasty pickles.

As the weather begins to cool down, the pepper patch will slowly fade away and the first frost will finish them off but we are still picking peppers to pickle from the pepper patch.

In case you are wondering (as I did), a peck of peppers is the equivalent to eight quarts--I have a peck of peppers in my freezer!

Running wild

Do you see the chair?

Every summer, an enthusiastic purple hyacinth bean vine reseeds near our back deck.  The deck becomes a trellis for this vine which is much loved by hummingbirds and butterflies.  Since we enjoy watching the wildlife along with the flowers and bean pods, I let this vine have (almost) complete reign of the deck by the end of the summer.  Usually it follows the deck railings, but this year, it grew straight over the railing, burying the bench and completely draping the patio chair.  We will take possession of our deck again as soon as we have our first frost. . . but I'm not in any hurry.

Container of the Year--2017

You would think that a gentle summer with a abundant rainfall would be the perfect recipe for outstanding containers, but it hasn't been a great year for containers in my backyard.

This year, I decided to use annual dahlia's as the filler plant and pop of color in most of my containers.  This turned out to be a serious error in planning.  While the dahlia blooms are bright and beautiful, the plants just weren't happy in the confined spaces of mixed containers and didn't bloom frequently enough to make a consistently attractive single plant.

The best container planting of 2017 turned out to be literally because it was the best container.  I purchased an old chair for $1 at the thrift store, knocked out the faded padded seat, and set a container in the opening after painting it with deck stain.  The dahlia I planted in it promptly died (this happens) so I just stuck a sprig of reed and a leftover diamond frost cutting in the soil and let it go. The resulting contrast between the dark chair and the bright white flowers worked.

Sometimes the best ideas are the ones that just happen!

August beauty

My gardens are rather drab in August.  The annuals are flagging as they reach the end of their growing cycle, the summer veggies are winding down their production, and the perennials are wilting in the intense heat and humidity that characterizes our August weather.

However, tucked in next to the compost heap, there is one shrub that shines in August, the August Beauty gardenia bush. 

The original plan was that gardenias would function as foundation plants in the partial shade on the west side of my back deck.  This plan was a flaming disaster; the gardenias got sick, infested with bugs and covered in sooty mold.  Of the three shrubs I planted, one died almost immediately and the other two died back to spikey sticks.  I gave one of them to a friend with a fabulous shade garden and I planted the other next to the compost heap and told it to grow or die on its own.

Five years later, my beautiful gardenia shrub is thriving, producing lovely fragrant blooms throughout the month of August.  There is no disease, no bugs and no sooty mold.  Apparently this August beauty just wanted to live by a nutritious compost heap, bringing joy to my backyard.

Every body at our house loves cream peas

We have a mixed marriage; while I'm from the far north (Minnesota), my precious husband, Bob, is from the deep south (north Florida).  Food and cooking styles from these two regions are vastly different so over the years we have had some interesting discussions about what we are going to eat and how it will be prepared.

One southern food that no one at our house argues about(I mean, discusses) is southern field peas.  Everyone loves field peas--they are easy to grow and simple to prepare.  Our favorite variety is the cream pea. 

The humans at our house love them a little green, and simmered gently with some bacon crumbles thrown in.

Mordecai, the sulcata tortoise (look him up on Facebook--he has is own page) loves the pods, but is always looking for the pea I might have missed while shelling them.

This year, there is another body that has developed a taste for fresh cream peas.  Whenever I harvest the peas, I always find several pods that have been split neatly with every single pea devoured.   Only a bird could reach some of these pods without cutting them down or disturbing the vines in any way.  The pea patch is within sight of my kitchen window but I have been unable to observe the culprit at work.  I suspect a pair of rufous-sided towhees that took up residence in our backyard this spring.  I caught them raiding the blueberry bushes in June so I know they love berries and are undeterred by my typical bird repelling activities. 

At the end of the season, we will all stop eating the cream peas (except the birds) to allow some pods to go to seed so that next spring we can grow our favorite southern vegetable once again.