You know its August in Alabama . . .

You know its August in Alabama . . .when the outdoor plants try to come inside for some relief from the heat and humidity.

This confederate jasmine lives in a large container on the driveway between our garage doors.  Although it officially blooms in the spring, there are usually a few fragrant blooms on it most of the year. 

This summer's weather has been characterized by high humidity and frequent rain showers, stimulating the jasmine to extraordinary growth.  It has sent out extremely long runners that began wrapping around the garage door facing and into the garage. 

While I thought this was fantastic fun, Bob was beginning to feel like he was in one of those plant horror films in which the plants begin to overrun the universe.  He was sure the jasmine was reaching out for his car every time he drove through the doorway. 

I trimmed the runners back about a week ago but when I watered yesterday, I noticed two or three runners on their way back into the garage.  The poor vine is just trying to find some shade and relief from the August heat.  Don't tell Bob.

Learning to landscape

When we purchased our home 28 years ago, the foundation planting consisted of overgrown holly that literally prevented the use of the front steps.  After several years of trying to contain those monster shrubs, I realized that a new landscape plan was definitely in order. 

My first try was barberry because I loved the nearly true red foliage.  This turned out to be a disaster, I just replaced sticky bushes for a thorny ones.  Even though they are semi-evergreen, in my front yard, they were totally deciduous.  For several months each winter, my foundation planting looked like Sleeping Beauty's bramble patch, not very inviting and seriously painful if you happened to bump into them.

It became obvious that I needed to make another try at landscaping the front of my house.  This time, I carefully researched and decided on Ruby Chang loropetalum, red evergreen foliage but without any thorns.  Since my house has two levels, I wanted to create a little vertical interest so I picked out two dwarf crepe myrtles that the tag said would have dark pink flowers and whose height would max out at about 10 feet.

The loropetalum have performed beautifully.  They have filled out the space and require only an annual trim to keep them from growing too tall.  The new growth is dark red and each spring we are treated to masses of bright pink blossoms.

The crepe myrtles have not done so well.  Once again, my choice didn't grow in the manner I had envisioned.  They grew and grew and grew some more until they towered over the house.  At eye level the only part of the shrubs we could see were naked stems.  The shrub on the side of the house grew into a full grown tree, requiring me to carefully keep a section pruned out of the center to accommodate our power lines.  I even tried a version of crepe "murder" in a attempt to return these overgrown monsters back to the dwarf size I was promised.

I finally resigned myself to removing them entirely.  My long-suffering son-in-law, Skip, spent a couple of hours with me yesterday to cut them down.  The landscape looks better already.  I must fight the urge to replace them with anything, although I may propagate one more loropetalum to wrap around the side of the house.

Professional landscape designers use the phrase "right plant, right place" to remind all of us to make sure we think first, then plant.  Maybe someday I will learn my lesson.

Following in the footsteps of greatness

My son, Rob, recently visited Monticello, the home of Thomas Jefferson, in Virginia.  He brought me a book about this historic plantation and some seeds that were harvested there. 

While we all studied Thomas Jefferson in school as the writer of our Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson considered himself a farmer and Monticello as his opportunity to learn as much as he could about growing plants.

I was amazed to read that Jefferson was passionate about farming and gardening concepts that we think of as quite modern ideas.  He developed good soil through the application of mulch and compost (manure), loved native plants, used the topography of the land to extend growing seasons, and was willing to try new ideas and plants even if that meant failure occasionally.  He journaled all of his gardening experiences to keep track of his efforts. 

While my backyard is not an Alabama Monticello, I love the idea that I am following in the footsteps of a great American gardener.  I am already looking forward to growing some of his seeds in my backyard.

The "new" crocosmia garden

In its previous incarnation as a shade garden, the only plants that seemed to thrive among the matted root system of the silver maple tree were the crocosmias.  They balanced their bulbs on the roots and managed to send tendrils through the mats but their bloom stalks tended to fall over when they were fully blooming.  I left them in place after the tree was cut down last summer but wondered how they would do in the new full-sun garden.

The wondering is over.  I am proud to report that the crocosmias love their new sun garden!  They are already thicker, are standing completely upright, and are covered in orange-red blooms that remind me of fireworks.

It's a jungle out there

For the past several years, whenever I acquired a new plant for which I didn't have a planned location, I would plant it along the back fence line.  The fence line is my most recent cultivation so it always seems like the right place for any plant.

With the loss of the silver maple tree, the sun hours for the fence line garden have increased significantly, changing the growing dynamics proportionately.  Add to that, the near tropical nature of this summer's weather patterns and suddenly it feels like a jungle out there.

While very little is blooming at the moment, the plants are bursting with energy and the cream peas I planted in the "empty" spaces are over running their trellis poles and crawling onto the shrubs and taller perennials.  It will soon be a challenge to navigate the pathway.  Who knew I would have jungle in July?

When God has other plans

After several years without experiencing any significant severe weather, my backyard was slammed with two major wind events on two consecutive days.  The weather station at the airport registered 35 mph gusts but in our neighborhood the winds were much, much stronger. 

The wind filled our backyard with debris, pruned a multitude of branches from a dead tree on our neighbor's property, and a huge branch high in the canopy of our sweet gum tree crashed through the canopy of the nearby southern long leaf pine, creating a major disaster in the middle of our yard.  Unlike some of our neighbors, we were fortunate that none of the branches fell on our home.

Saturday was clean up day in our backyard.  My sweet husband purchased a small chain saw and we spent the bulk of a hot, summer day, sawing up branches and dragging them to the curb.

The garden that was buried under the debris looks very sad today, but nothing was completely destroyed.  Amazingly, not a single branch landed on our garden bench, and not a single container was damaged.  We will just have a little more sunshine in the shade garden.

As we worked on our backyard yesterday, I was reminded that we often have expectations for our gardens that change in moment because of unforeseen changes in the weather, events that we can't anticipate or change.  Life is often the same way.  We plan and have expectations that change in a moment because of events that we cannot control.  We have to depend on our heavenly Father who knows what is coming, and who will make the journey with us.

One of the truths from the Bible that I keep in mind is written in Proverbs:  Trust in the LORD with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding.  In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight. (3:5-6)

Wild about wild petunias

Some of my favorite flowers come from ditches.  When I walk or ride (car or horse) down small roads and streets, I always pay attention to what is growing in the ditches.  Amid the weeds, grass, and trash there are always wildflowers thriving in the mess. 

Much to the embarrassment of my husband and friends, I will stop to rescue a wildflower specimen for my garden.  Those ditch flowers are extremely hardy, exactly the characteristic I am looking for.

Many years ago, I introduced wild petunias to my front garden.  I chose to plant mine in the filtered shade because that is the environment from which I rescued it.  While it has reseeded and spread gently throughout the garden, it has definitely migrated over to the sunnier side of the flower bed, interspersing itself in the liriope border. 


I hope to capture some seeds in order to transfer it to my sunnier gardens in the backyard.  I love observing the way the garden naturally redesigns itself.

Gardens are my heritage

Some of my earliest memories are from my Grandma's garden.  My grandparents were so poor that they still didn't have plumbing in their home and electricity was a new addition to their home.  In spite of her challenging existence, my grandma created beauty in her home and in her gardens with lovely flowers.  While I'm sure she grew others, the flowers I remember as a preschooler were the snap dragons into which I would poke my fingers to be "bitten" by the dragon mouths, and the gladiolas which towered above my tiny stature.

Snap dragons are a winter flower in Alabama and even then I don't have much success growing them.  However the gladiola bulbs from my grandmother's last garden have thrived in Alabama and cross polinated with the other varieties I've purchased.  They have spread themselves across the sunny spots in my backyard.

Of course, now that I'm grown, they no longer tower over my head, but they remind me of the glad days of my gardening heritage in my grandmother's backyard.

A hot mess

One of the solutions for a wet place in a landscape is to create a rain garden.  The idea is that you should embrace the low place, dig it out a little deeper and introduce plants that thrive in a feast or famine environment. 

It seemed like a good idea for the low place in my side yard so I started planting the area with natives that I literally dug from road sides and pass-a-longs from other gardeners. 

At first it was a huge mess because I had to keep it weeded since I couldn't really mulch the area that I wanted to spread and/or reseed. 

Then it became even messier because the plants wouldn't reseed according to my vision of swaths of bright colors.  They continued to insist on reseeding and spreading in random directions all through the bed.

After nearly 10 years the plants have happily spread randomly all through the rain garden according to their own plan.  I've decided to embrace the idea of a brightly colored hot mess.   The color pallet changes almost daily.  Sadly, the photos do not do it justice.

Pink is also a flavor

Roses should be a basic element in every southern garden.  I wish I could say that I have really tried to grow them but the truth is I am a careless gardener.  My roses get mulched and pruned once a year and then they are on their own.  My rosarian friends will tell you that my roses look exactly like I should expect from this consistent neglect. 

This time of year, though, my roses look very pretty with their fresh new green leaves and the first flush of blooms.  I'm particularly proud of this pretty posy that I picked this afternoon.

Roses blossoms are also considered a food source for my sulcata tortoise.  I often present him with spent blooms for "dessert" after a hearty meal of weeds and grass.  I noticed that he seemed to like the flavor of some roses better than others so I decided to conduct an experiment to see if I was right about his preferences.

I lined up perfect blooms from all four of my rose bushes: white Sir Thomas Lipton, deep red Don Juan, pastel pink Mutabulis, and my nameless red heritage rose.  Without a moments hesitation, Mordecai hastened to the Mutabulis and chomped all the petals in short order.  He only checked out the Don Juan petals after he had cruised the entire kitchen floor for food scraps.

According to Mordecai, pink is also a fabulous flavor.

Easter in May

I've always been told that we can transplant those traditional Easter lilies from pots to the garden but I never tried it until last Easter.  I was given a couple of Easter lilies left over from some church decorations so I planted them in a sunny space and then pretty much forgot that I planted them.

This spring I remembered them as they poked up through the mulch (and weeds).  They didn't bloom in April but they are glowing brightly outside my back door for the month of May.

When Easter rolls around next year, I'm going to "collect" some more Easter lilies to add to the garden.  I think a planting of Easter lilies in May could be a show stopper in my backyard.

Sometimes the experts are a little wrong

At a seed swap about seven years ago, I picked up a packet of seeds marked "larkspur."  I had no idea what they were but no one else was picking them up so I thought I would give them a home. 

Without doing any research, I started them indoors in pots, transplanted them outdoors in April and experienced lovely bright blue blooms on tall stalks in early summer.  I was quite pleased with the result.

Then, of course, I did some research on my lovely early summer flowers and was shocked to discover I had done everything wrong.  Larkspurs must have chilling hours to germinate, don't like to be transplanted, must be thinned, possibly staked, and hate hot weather conditions.

My larkspurs have made liars of all the experts.  They have reseeded in my gardens with abandon, in every shade of blue, pink, and white.  I give them no special attention whatsoever, never thin them or stake them, and they start blooming in April and continue to bloom through May (which can be pretty hot in central Alabama).

Not only are do they put on a stunning show in the garden but they cut well for bouquets (though I usually just enjoy them through my windows), and retain their color when pressed and dried.  The only downside to these fabulous plants is that when they are young they are quite toxic so I have to make sure the tortoise doesn't graze on them.

I'm glad that this time I didn't research before planting because sometimes the experts are wrong.

Past, present, . . . .

The shaded "past"

Last year at this time I faced the realization that it was time to remove our elderly, drought-stressed, and diseased silver maple tree.  I knew that the loss of the tree would mean major changes in the future design of a large portion of my backyard.  Not only did the tree create a large shaded canopy, its root system consisted of an extremely shallow mat that choked out nearly every other plant in its proximity.  I was dependent on just a few hardy shade lovers and the strategic use of planters.

After a summer of shocking sunshine with a composting tree root system, the plants in that part of the garden recovered with bursting enthusiasm, including a healthy crop of weeds. 

The weedy "before"

When this spring arrived, my former shade garden was a confused mess of weeds.  Where was my garden?  It was time to move forward, embracing the changes that had to be made. 

The "present"

I took a day off from work to clean it up and make some decisions about the future.  What a difference one day made for my back yard!  You can't see them in this photo of the present garden, but there are some new shrubs taking root that will completely change the dynamic, along with some sun loving annuals and perennials for the borders.

I'm eagerly waiting for my future garden to begin to mature. 

Everyone loves fresh peas

I picked this season's first snap peas of this evening.  These snap peas are my favorite peas; Bob prefers field peas, which grow later in the summer.  Mordecai loves all the peas but we selfishly only give him the pea pods.  What he doesn't eat goes on the compost heap--no part of our garden is wasted.  Time for supper; fresh snap peas, anyone?

No lice in my garden

It took me awhile to discover the name of the strange plant I found growing in a horse pasture about 10 years ago.  The leaves are fern-like but it has a blooming stalk with whorls of small, beaked red and pink flowers.  I dug up a small section for my own shade garden, where it has quietly thrived.

Eventually I learned that the common name for this quirky plant is lousewort.  The old English word for "plant" is "wort," but who in their right mind would name a plant after a nasty insect?  Research on the National Native Plant database website (I love the internet) revealed that at one time farmers believed cattle that grazed on this plant became infected with lice.

Another interesting discovery is that louse wort is semi-parasitic, feeding partially on the roots of other plants.  In the 10 years I've been growing lousewort, I have never noticed any damage to the plants growing near it so I assume its parasitic habits are very mild.  Since it prefers a shady environment, I am guessing its favorite host would be tree roots.

I'm pleased to report that, although lousewort thrives in my garden, I do not have any lice.

Redefining spring

My sister's front yard

My parents' apartment garden

My Alabama front yard

I just returned home from a visit with my family in southern Minnesota.  I grew up there and I understood that in early April spring is more about wishful thinking than an event.  However, this year in Minnesota spring is still in the distant future.  It snowed twice while I was there and they had another significant snowfall this morning (April 14th).  It has been a record breaking snow season for them.  I was overjoyed to return to my blooming (and warm!) spring season.

Shocking pink

One of the most amazing sights in the springtime Alabama woodlands are the native azaleas.  The nearly neon pink blooms seem to float effortlessly among the dark trunks and budding leaves of the canopy.  The color seems to explode upon the senses.

These azaleas are slow growing so clear cutting forests forces them to the ground to start over, meaning it is years before they bloom again.  The rest of the year, the shrub is virtually unnoticeable so they often go un-rescued when a woodland is scheduled for harvesting.

While I have many woodland rescues in my garden, I never take a native azalea from the woods.  They are available for purchase at specialty nurseries.  I purchased a tiny, 6 inch speciman of a piedmont azalea about 8 years ago.  I've waited and waited for my own display of shocking pink flowers floating in my landscape.

It was well worth the wait.  My piedmont baby has been randomly blooming for the last three years, but this year there are about 15 blooms, enough to create that ephemeral, double take explosion of pink I've been waiting for.

It just isn't pretty

The growing mound of weeds

Not every day in my garden is a pretty day.  There are some days that merely involve wheel barrel loads of weeds, dirty finger nails and muddy knees.  In the weeks while I wait for the last frost of spring, it is time to pull weeds, dig up invasives (i.e. planting mistakes) and spread mulch.  There is nothing lovely or glamorous about it.  I keep reminding myself that all this hard work will please me in a just a few weeks, when I won't be trying to pull up weeds around tender new perennial growth or digging up weeds when I would rather be planting annuals. 

Another bed that needs weeding

Of course, we won't discuss the fact the these are merely the winter and early spring weeds, summer weeds are yet to come.

It's official

It is difficult to determine the beginning of spring in central Alabama because we have plants that thrive and bloom all year long.  The daffodils often begin blooming in January which is definitely not springtime.  I've been enjoying the early bloomers for several weeks now, even though frost is a common morning event and it could still snow in the right (or wrong) circumstances.

For me, it is the spring woodland flowers that are the true harbingers of spring:  trillium, trout lilies, rue anemone, wild geranium, and wood violets.  I've been watching them bud out for the last week and I'm pleased to announce that spring has officially arrived. 

For the next month, my backyard will be bursting with energy as the perennials begin their spring show and prepare for another glorious summer.  Everyday, a stroll through the garden will reveal something new and lovely.  I am SO excited to see what each day will bring this spring.

Looking forward

Like my gardens, my life is an ever changing and growing affair.  This past year, at a time when I had thought the pace of my life would slow down, I chose to take on a full-time job that would provide much needed health insurance for our family.  While I enjoy my new job and the benefits it provides, time management has become an important factor in all of my decision making, including decisions about my gardens.

One of my first decisions was to move most of my container plants directly into the ground where maintenance is much simpler.  I tried to choose wise locations for each of my treasured plants and as spring approaches, we will see how wisely I actually chose.

I also decided not to use my cold frame this winter, which meant that all the containers which were not cold hardy had to find a place somewhere near a window in my house.  Some plants have fared well but there were some that missed the bright sun of the cold frame and are hoping I will put them back outdoors soon.

The other major decision was to cut back on germinating my own starter plants for the garden.  I have been playing with my own version of sweet banana peppers for several years so I decided to keep them going.  This spring, I will let the garden centers start my tomatoes and annual flowers for me.  I found an old packet of basil seed and since there was room in my single starter flat, I decided to see how many would grow.  Basil is a great filler plant both in the vegetable garden and in the flower beds too.

I'm looking forward to the future of my more laid back gardening style.

The garden awakens

One of the best seasons in Alabama is springtime.   While many places in the USA are still struggling with snow, ice, and cold temperatures, February in Alabama is when the daffodils and forsythia bloom and the buds on the trees begin to swell in anticipation of summer.

I enjoy the daffodils and forsythia and eagerly await the first crocus blooms near my front steps, but there is also a sense of great excitement in the air as the spring growth begins to emerge from its winter sleep.  I can almost feel the ground quiver as my garden awakens to spring.

As I strolled through my backyard, I found flowers and tender green shoots rising to meet the spring sunshine.  Enjoy the bright daffodils, but also take the time to look for the quieter signs that the garden is waking.

Henbit heaven

In Alabama, weeds are seasonal.  We have summer weeds, spring weeds, fall weeds and even winter weeds. 

The winter weed that plagues my backyard in the worst way is henbit.  No matter how diligently I weed and mulch during each previous winter, the henbit comes back enthusiastically the following winter.

This year is no exception.  My henbit crop is absolutely heavenly.  In its defense, I must remind myself that henbit is highly prized by honey bees as an early source of pollen.  This year, we also discovered that our African sulcata tortoise, Mordecai, thinks it is a delicious treat too.