What do my car, the accent walls in my house, the wallpaper in the dining area, and most of my clothes have in common? The tints, tones and shades of green.
A harmonious vignette in green
Pre-mid-80s, my favorite color flipped between blue (main high school color) and red (OH-IO!). But as gardening became the way for me to find that calm place in a busy life filled with young children and my job, I found myself drawn to green. I didn’t notice it at first, but I remember the day I looked at my closet and realized that red and blue had given way to green accessorized with brown and purple.
In April, these native plants begin to cover the ground in my small wooded area; wild ginger, goldenseal, and waterleaf.
Green is the color of life: renewal, growth, nature, and energy. For many, it symbolizes harmony, fertility and the environment. Traditionally, green is the color of money – in the US – and envy!
Wishing you harmony and growth.
Yellow for Michael:
Children’s drawings almost always show the sun as a yellow circle, usually with straight lines for rays shining in all directions. As a child this was my go-to symbol for sunshine, which somehow connoted happiness, too.
Maybe that’s because one of the earliest memories in the garden involves yellow crocus. Mother’s plump yellow crocus flowers were a symbol that the stifling house arrest of dreary, winter and the endless weeks of too-cold-to-play-outside were ending. The bees sought the crocus blossoms, too. They clambered inside the flowers until it looked as if they wore bulging bloomers of orange pollen.
No wonder Mother, my sister and I looked so intently for those first signs of the needle-like green tips of crocus. Only Ponce de Leon’s passion for the mythical fountain of youth excelled ours. Next came frequent checks for signs of buds. At last the flowers, always gone too quickly. Eventually daffodils, iris, sunflowers and mums were added to Mother’s flower beds. Sunshine bloomed almost everyday from spring into autumn.
Yellow holds the top spot on my color popularity chart, but just a fraction below is lavender and then pink. My garden color scheme is the three primary colors, but in pastels. (Even yellow is best as butter, not taxi cab.)
The solar connection to yellow is probably why I had the house painted “jonquil” a few years ago. No matter how gloomy the Midwest weather, there’s always sunshine and spring’s promise waiting outside.
Red for Teresa
Yes, red is my favorite color. I first embraced its boldness as a rebellious teenager trying to make a statement. I regularly sported crimson shoes and chose ‘Laser Red’ for my first car. I accumulated a closet of all things red, and slowly learned too much of this intense color can overwhelm. Could ‘less is more’ apply to my favorite color?
Later as I began gardening, I discovered the power of red in small doses – a pot of red begonias on the front porch, red tulips planted along a walkway with grape hyacinth, and ‘Lucifer’ crocosmia tucked in a perennial border. For winter interest, I added red-twig dogwoods and red-fruited hollies. For Mother’s Day, I was thoughtfully gifted with various red roses but never became a fan for their high maintenance and nasty thorns. Tucked away in my cutting garden, I finally realized I could defiantly break the ‘less is more’ rule and plant with abandon red zinnias, gladiolas and cockscomb.
Gladiolia
‘Canary Wings’ begonia
‘Lucifer’ Crocosmia
More Colors
What are your favorite colors in the garden? For more inspiration, check out these books on garden color.
Snowdrops, as their name implies, aren’t afraid of being among the first blooms of the year.
By Michael Leach
My garden spends months waiting to exhale into green tips and tiny blossoms. This breath of life is held captive all winter beneath a crust of cold, wet soil, dull brown leaves and leaden clouds.
Despite the seeming dormancy, daffodils, crocus, snowdrops and other early bloomers have little patience with this situation. They make the best of it for weeks, by growing roots. But eventually the time comes to send up pinpoints of green. Timid at first, they grow bolder in the warmer, longer days.
Bees enjoy the early flowers of snow crocus, too.
More and more plants join them. With this breath of life called spring, the earth is transformed, almost as we watch, into green everywhere, swelling flower buds, blossoms opening. In just a few weeks, this part of the Midwest will be filled with a chartreuse haze, softer than a whisper, that seems to hover over every branch and twig. Hillsides become fluffy, pale green clouds, accented with tufts of redbud and dogwood flowers.
Daffodils push their way through the cold soil and old leaves. Flowers will soon appear.
Even as those first tiny shoots begin sticking it to winter’s backside, cardinals sing again in early morning. They are probably only marking territory, but I prefer to think they’re heralding the coming spring.
Redwing blackbirds do the same thing, singing brightly. Spring is coming, along with those migrating birds. True, bitter winds, snow and ice can make an appearance anytime in March — usually after a couple of balmy days — but their return is short lived. No wonder birds sing with hope.
Adding to the effect, is a powerful artificial construct — daylight savings time returns not long after the redwings.
There are downsides to this. One, the inevitable poor man’s jet lag of getting the body adjusted to a new time zone — without leaving home to visit a different place. And for a few weeks, morning coffee will revert to waiting for signs of dawn, instead of marveling at the play of light on the white sycamore branches. Evening, however, suddenly grows longer, hinting at summertime.
This gift of evening light from the government could mean a bit of weeding after supper. Or I could gaze at the charming, ever-changing scene. The latter choice is wisest, for spring vanishes almost as quickly as the last note of a cardinal’s cheery trill.
Two years ago, Debra and I had the opportunity to revamp an outdated 85-foot border with a natural-style one at the entrance of Hidden Creek, a 600-acre conservation development west of Columbus. While the charming entry with its stone wall and brick-trimmed gatehouse originally had a border of zebra grasses, daylilies, shrub roses and taxus, the plants had become overgrown and dated. We were challenged to bring a fresh look more in keeping with the development’s conservation purpose. The border also needed to be aesthetically pleasing with four seasons of interest, require minimal maintenance, offer pollinator appeal, tolerate a heavy deer population and survive with no supplemental water beyond the first year.
Together, we designed a densely planted mix of 400 natives, native cultivars and pollinator-friendly plants. The tight planting scheme meant less mulch, while producing more color impact and structural support for the plants.
The best part of the project was the sense of community it created. Neighbors joined in helping with the installation and used the opportunity to learn more about the plants. One neighbor even volunteered to water the new plants as they became established during the first season.
Now starting its third year, the border shines each season and attracts a host of bees, birds and butterflies. In spring, alliums, nepata, amsonia, baptisia and salvia begin the show.
In summer, the border peaks with purple and white coneflowers, liatris, agastache, Joe Pye weed and globe thistle. In fall, coneflower seedheads, purple asters, little bluestem, prairie dropseed and amsonia’s gold foliage bring a season finale. Neighbors often stop to offer compliments and call to ask about for plant IDs. Others have added similar plantings in their own landscape. A few even had fun spray painting the border’s allium seed heads for the July 4th holidays.
Plant list:
Try planting some of these natives, native cultivars and pollinator-friendly plants in your own backyard. The list includes prairie dropseed (Sporobolus heterolepis), little bluestem (Schizachyrium ‘Standing Ovation’), coneflower (echinacea purpurea ‘White Swan’ and ‘Ruby Star’), false indigo (Baptisia ‘Indigo Spires’), Joe Pye weed (‘Baby Joe’ Eupatorium), salvia (Salvia nemorosa ‘May Night’), gayfeather (Liatris spicata), globe thistle (Echinops ritro), catmint (Nepata ‘Walker’s Low’), Carex pensylvanica, Amsonia hubrichtii, Agastache ‘Blue Fortune’), Aster ‘October Skies’ and Allium.
Asters, globe thistle, Joe Pye weed and agastache.
Hidden Creek is a 600-acre conservation residential community along the Little Darby River, a National Wild and Scenic River west of Columbus, Ohio.
So often you hear books are a thing of the past, but there is no sign of that in my home. Winter – quiescent garden, staying indoors, wearing soft sweaters – sparks the need to settle into a good book while holding a cup of tea.
Books are not only for the gathering of information. They open a window into someone else’s life and passion. I find that I am drawn to those books that not only tell me about a subject, but also introduce me to or reacquaint me with a friend who happens to be the author.
What I am reading, perusing and enjoying this week:
Orchid Modern: Living and Designing with the World’s Most Elegant Houseplants by Marc Hachadourian offers a broad, yet concise overview of the addictive world of orchids. Beginner to intermediate orchid enthusiasts will find what they need to grow and create an orchid collection. The orchid calendar is the best synopsis I have seen for what needs to happen when with your orchids. The Orchid Projects chapter was a pleasant surprise. It made me think about what I could create with my orchids and the materials I have on hand. Soon I will have an orchid kokedama – the Japanese art of growing plants in moss covered balls – in my living room. Finally, there is a short encyclopedia of species and hybrids that are available and tend to be easier to grow which is followed by a resource list.
I have been growing orchids since 1980. Can’t call myself an expert – there are about 25,000 orchid species and countless hybrids and cultivars, but I’ve grown a few hundred of these beautiful plants. If someone asked me for a book recommendation on orchids, this book is in the top three for accessibility, attractiveness and personality.
Wild about Weeds: Garden Design with Rebel Plants by Jack Wallington proposes a different way to look at the plants that some consider to be weeds or too aggressive to allow into the well-mannered garden. Wallington’s explanation of why plants can become weeds is on target. Plants that have been transplanted to new places may not have the competition that keeps them in check, and then there is that great garden soil that the gardener has worked so hard to improve. Wallington stresses that what may be weedy in one location can be invasive in another, so check local noxious weed and invasive plant lists before you bring a potential problem into your garden. Most of the book is taken up with plant descriptions and where each species works best within a design framework: sunny gardens, dry and poor soils; shade, containers and more.
Overall this is an attractive book and it does make you consider that one person’s weed may be another person’s favorite plant. I have grown many of the plants listed, but there is one that I could never recommend to anyone, anywhere. (There is always one, isn’t there?). Even with all of the cautions in the book, giant hogweed – Heracleum mantegazzianum – should be avoided. It’s not worth finding out that you are indeed sensitive to the furanocoumarins contained in the plant.
Succulents: choosing, growing and caring for cactuses and other succulents by John Bagnasco and Bob Reidmuller. Succulents have been hot for years and their allure shows no sign of diminishing. When I first started caring for these architectural plants, most references were primarily monographs on different genera or books with mostly black and white pictures – we are very spoiled with the access we now have to good pictures. The introduction covers the usual cultural information – liberally salted with beautiful pictures – that we have been trained to expect in our plant books. I did find a cool tip for watering: check out page 83 for a low-tech hack for determining soil moisture.
The plant encyclopedia portion covers a wide variety of succulents and the plant information is concise for growing inside, and occasionally, for outside. John Bagnasco lives in San Diego and can grow many of these succulents outside. Please ignore the note of envy you may have picked up there. My only small complaint is that one of my favorite genera – Gasteria – was left out. But I’m sure that the authors had a tough time trying to decide what to leave out of the book.
Now I need to stop writing and continue reading in preparation for my next post of winter reading.
A selection of succulents in my greenhouse from one of my favorite garden destinations — Groovy Plants Ranch.
This year I resolve to give up vegetable gardening.
Too often I’ve been victimized by foolish, optimistic voices (usually the loudest and most persistent is in my head). But no more.
This chorus promises that growing your own food is rewarding. You can: try varieties unavailable at the supermarket, harvest at peak flavor, save money, share with friends, take pride in doing it yourself, and preserve the surplus to savor summer in bleak January.
While I have had success in one and sometimes all these areas, it’s only because the plants grew to harvest stage. Hardly a given.
Misconceptions about the ease of productivity are fueled in part by our quest to become more proficient gardeners. We turn to books, fact sheets, websites and articles. As with other how-to manuals and user guides, the ideal world of the information rarely matches the messy reality of withering foliage and moldy spots. “What caused this?” we cry, but to no avail.
That’s because gardening sources usually divide various aspects of our delightful addiction into specific sections: Water, Light, Temperature, Weeds, Pests, Pruning, and so forth. Such broad topics are further divided into specific issues, topped with bold-type subheads: Prune for More Bloom, Fertilizing Containers, … . Peppered throughout are bits of jargon such as bones, texture and evenly moist.
We learn about a host of insect, animal, bacterial, fungicidal and even alien pests in tidy, bulleted lists under subheads in smaller bold type.
It’s as if all these things are independent agents acting alone.
Nature behaves differently. Nature conspires against us with diverse enemies acting in concert, not neatly defined issues treated rationally in a book or article. How else to explain those withering leaves and moldy spots when you followed the bulleted how-to list to a T?
I have ignored this conspiracy theory for the last time.
On August 20, 2019, I tallied a range of woes and a couple successes:
No leaves on the sweet potatoes; tomatoes eaten off, one plant pushed over; fresh sowings of basil, kale, cosmos failed to sprout due to heat and drought.
Garlic, a runaway success, unlike 2018 when monsoons rains dissolved most heads, leaving barely enough “seed” for a new crop.
Brussels sprouts have lacy foliage due to countless generations of cabbage worms.
The asparagus died out.
Turnip greens riddled with flea beetle holes and leathery due to scorching weather.
The last straw — the groundhog ate off the zinnias, leaving nearly leafless stumps.
Unlike Scarlett O’Hara, who confronted a similar scene of dismal ruin, I headed to the farmers market for fresh, local produce and hoped for better things to come.
That’s because Ohio gardening sources say cooler and moister weather usually returns in September. It didn’t turn cooler and moister for weeks. The parched brussels sprouts became bonsais, complete with miniature cabbage heads.
Remarkably leaves emerged for the second (or third?) time on the sweet potatoes, sufficient to produce a few fist-sized tubers. Some were pocked by a combo of subhead issues concerning pests and soil.
Two of the scraggly tomato plants (worthy of Charlie Brown’s garden) were imbued with survival instincts rivaling cockroaches. These managed to produce a handful of cherry tomatoes before frost. Scant inspiration for planting toms again.
Cooler-moister arrived just in time to induce planting of the choicest garlic cloves for harvest next summer, and jump-start the turnips into lush, spot-free top growth. By then frost had forced the flea beetles to scurry for winter digs.
Floating Row Covers and Turnip Greens
Come mid-February, when days grow longer, the leaves should resume growth, assuming my paltry efforts to protect with floating row cover shields them from harsh winds and rapid temperature swings. (I don’t think rollercoaster temperatures are found under any chapter subheads, but it’s a fact of Midwest gardening life.)
Some will argue that turnip greens and garlic make me a vegetable gardener in 2020, thus breaking my resolution. Technically though, these were planted in 2019, well ahead of the resolution-making season.
OK! I’m waffling as usual. Tomatoes have been grown by my family for generations. Can I halt such a tradition for a silly snit on a blazing August afternoon?
