Macro Lens Gardens

‘Tis A Season

As I notice the red buckets and ringing bells when I leave a store, I reflect on the essence of being a volunteer. With no specific prodding or straightforward request or demand of me, I can freely give my time or effort in any manner that best serves, like the annual sale at the Garden Club. My Nana was a volunteer for Meals on Wheels for years. And she never held a driver’s license in her life! But she enjoyed the time spent there and never once begrudged the effort it took to get to the Salvation Army on behalf of others.

It’s recognition of this effort, the wherewithal, the drive to be yourself that honors the plants in this blog: the volunteers. We know the usual suspects: tomatoes cropping up from a still fresh compost layer, or perhaps it’s an acorn squash this time, right next to the hostas in the front yard, that perhaps you didn’t even notice until the squash was ripe!! (Some gardens just don’t need to be weeded right now!)

Dill out of control, sunflowers under the winter birdfeeder. Not sure if this seed fell from the feeder or rode squirrel-back into town, the bee doesn’t seem to care.

While I have lambs ear or lavender offer volunteers pretty frequently, I don’t think I ever had sage give of itself quite as joyfully as this past year. There is a full score plants here- and that’s after I potted a half-dozen for the Plant Sale! Any one need a sage?

One herb that is often overlooked is borage. But not in its madcap self-sowing second season!

The bees adore this herb with its intriguing flower. I must have thanked two dozen of the volunteers while making room for the remaining mob that was maintained and harvested.

Borage fought its way up through the insanity that is the perpetuating cosmo. Aptly named- they just go on and on and on. Luckily, they don’t mind being shoved around the galaxy. Although to be fair, six inches to the right is hardly even a half light-year.

Some are unexpected, like the delicate-looking larkspur.

But not delicate in behavior! They hardly grew the year I planted by seed so I stopped watering the bed. The hardy self-sowers this year were simply beautiful. Had I known they were going to be there, I might have selected another location for the bright orange gladiolas about to bloom! Just one pixel shy of day-glow. (But no plant in this bed was shot, so that’s good.)

Some are tenacious, like chicory- growing on the side of the road and mowed by public works time and again. I had to go to a cornfield in western Illinois to give you this grand perspective.

Of course our personal culvert looks like the mower was miserably failing a sobriety test (never mind if you pass our house and see me trying to avoid a honey bee with the mower) but who can chew down such a beautiful blue? I love our little patches of emergency coffee!

Some are a demonstration of determination: my unknown Japanese maple variety. My baby came to me via a Styrofoam cup from Dad’s house in Massachusetts. (Must be Yankee determination, as I think that was also the trip that the bottle of 151 rum broke in the trunk- and still it thrives!)

Now, the red-hued beauty has a baby- not so much red yet, still, the leaves are as captivating as a new puppy.

And speaking of unknown parentage, here’s Mom- a beautiful white Rose of Sharon.

And maybe it was the surrounding passel of pinks that influenced this volunteer, (you can see the single stalk behind the climbing rose on the right) or the desire to be different we all have in our turbulent teens,

I just hope the smokebush has some influence next year on this youngster’s shade-y attitude in its new surroundings- what a luscious lavender.

Yet another purple volunteer is this ornamental silver pepper. Again, established through a lack of weeding in the front beds where I had some experimental mini tulips. Because they apparently thrive so readily, I started to care for them once I noticed the foot-tall plants. Seeds were harvested and hopefully we can collaborate next season.

It was great to have them show up, my husband really liked it and I couldn’t find it at the nursery this year. It probably wasn’t that I found so much other great stuff that I forgot to keep looking!

To me, any plant will get a chance to freely show off its stuff. I do have criteria, it doesn’t need to be big or showy, but it does need to be an individual. After all, that’s where our fancy hybrids come from; some common plant growing right under our nose. (With a few steroids to beef up the flower muscles) That must be why this grass is actually encouraged to remain under the cypress, although it does get mowed in the yard. Luckily, I know my own criteria and do not need anyone else to understand the whims therein!

Who can resist that spiky haircut come mid-summer? Refreshing and unique- that’s the spirit!

And also among my blades of grass, I found this orphaned little beauty, which finally made its way into a flower bed (next to the trés populaire volontaire: snapdragon), with some coaxing. Plus, some replanting the couple times I forgot what it was (and, still don’t know!) and weeded the poor baby.

With a flower like that, happy to be, happy to sit in the sun another day, offering up a smile to you- who can resist a smile right back. Couldn’t everyone enjoy the bounty of volunteering and freely giving of the self?  It should be the reason of every season.

A Simpler Thanksgiving

dateline: November 26, 2011

We find ourselves at Mt. Hood, Oregon, where Lewis & Clark happened to also arrive in 1805. What they found bears more scrutiny, more respect. It was a crossroads settlement, some 10,000 years old in that year. Yes, the Chinook tribe had lived and died by the generations virtually unchanged. The roads we traversed were indeed paved prior to our arrival, and lacking mule trains or horses. A mere two steps from the tar-blended gravel however, drives us back in time.

Mountains must be approached reverently to have a thoroughfare revealed.

Sentinel evergreens surrounded by mobs of moss and ferns.

Leaves still fall, familiar shapes- rich in yellow and golds.

But not familiar sizes!

Scores of waterfalls, after wanton snowfall gluttony, now sluicing a path of tumbling thunder, radiant rainbows; precipitously running, jumping, falling hundreds of feet to meet creeks, streams and river.

And in consideration of the Chinook settlement, what is the majesty of their ways in that simplicity of that time, to allow a culture to prosper not hundreds, but thousands of years? Was it the deliberate pace, a lack of curiosity or a peaceful acceptance of the glorious surroundings that encouraged the cycle? What did our foregatherers look for, and find, amongst the giant leaves? What fed their soul deep in these woods, integral to a daily life- devoid of TV, soccer practice or rhinoplasty? What drew each generation back again and again to the same land, same lakes, same mountains? Are our blessings still before us?

There is something in their lifestyle, some acceptance that should be incorporated back into our microwave existence. I can’t hurry any more than I am already. And even if I can, I don’t want to- I want to focus on each day in minute detail.

I am a reluctant operator of technology (case in point: this blog is not yet posted because I keep losing my internet connection and can’t upload pictures!), but am not adverse to some positive impact (Heck, I am wondrously watching a spacecraft blast off to Mars on a plastic block the size of a Mesopotamian child’s slate tablet.)  In these 10 thousand years there are some definite improvements to a life expectancy of 35. Growing crops, harnessing energy, learning about the true nature of the world in which we live. Can we realize the specific goods that really are for the better? I honestly hope this current civilization makes it another millennium, never mind a ten of them.

Still, it is words I love most to share, and absorb from others. Ideas have been written and exchanged for eons by use of letters. So even though the style of scribing changes almost daily, it is worth learning these new tricks in order to have my reflections preserved. Words, that upon closer inspection, deeper reflection, may prove worth another thought, another ideal. And could even be found again in 10,000 years!

P.S. The Mars Curiosity rover is already 4.2 million miles from earth, traveling at 7,500 mph. Safe trip!

O Rose, wherefore art thou?

It started simply. A wedding gift was being prepared, then a more perfect Prince Charming came along. So the bride had a different gift and we planted the “Purple Hearts” rose. And this rose was beautiful, even with, or especially with, delicate strands of silver web weaved amongst the passionate petals.

My girlfriend was impressed with the story of Dr. Pottshmidt’s All American grandiflora “Dream Come True” rose and “Purple Hearts” found a new BFF.

Personally, I fell in love with the warmth and spice that makes “Hot Cocoa” such a welcome addition to my rose bed. Every picture delivers a perfect bouquet!

And while it seems I find photo opportunities only at morning dew, that’s not true! I do accomplish more in the morning- but have been known be still be on the prowl come the flight of the firefly. How else would the glow of the aptly named “Moonbeam” be so intensely captured? If only I could share the mesmerizing scent, as well!

At first, it seemed my rose garden could do no wrong. Every “Oranges-n-Lemons” bloom was a delightful zinger that encouraged the curve of a smile to linger,

every “Citrus Splash” flower show put the peacock to shame in all its admirable glory as hands were clapped in delight,

each evening we could not wait to be together to show off all that had been accomplished that day,

and against all the other flowers in June, it seemed no other plant could compete against this showoff that always had the muscle to back up its defiant “Blaze” of glory.

But alas, something breeds something, but my poor roses ain’t got nothin’ no more. I am not sure what happened this year. Well, I know a bunch of stuff came along: a very cold June, blackspot and of course, the dreaded japanese beetles. Still, roses are a hardy bunch and when the beetles are being hand-picked off every bush every morning, is that really an excuse? When the Morgan manure was hand troweled and water issued from the rainbarrel, where could we go wrong? What happened to the plants I knew and adored?

If it was one pathetic rose, that would be perhaps acceptable. But each and every shrub this year looks like an entire season did not even happen. I’m doing my part, where’s your participation?

No roses were brought into work to the envy of co-workers; almost every bud that opened was sacrificed to remove the attraction to the japanese beetles. I do not use baits, being of the school it only brings another charge. A harsh warlord, though, I put each insect found in the plastic jar dungeon- there is no weakness in this beetle battle. But as I find the iridescent green creatures now munching on our Harry Lauder Walking Stick, painful choices must be addressed. My dears, what am I to do with you?

The plants must go. After all, the roses have gone already. It is a tortuous time for me- perhaps a retribution of bug kingdom? Nonetheless, I mourn the loss of even my spring sprouts that do not make it to the garden, so imagine the grief of a garden now gone. It is a certain consolation to begin the search for plants that will have to bring glorious displays of summer colors to the front yard. Still, as the cliche goes; it will be a tough act to follow.

Requiescat in pace, my darlings. You will be gone, but the mementos of my lens will always reflect the sheer perfection of a rose. 

Tomato Delight

When I posted my first entry about flowers in my gardens with no frost in sight, I included a picure of the pretty pink cosmos. I tried to crop it so the tomatoes weren’t noticeable. At the end of this season they are shriveled and sparse- it did not look like anything that could produce the best fruit ever:

A closer look, though, reveals little round planets of red floating in the brown leaf galaxy:

My tomatoes are the delight of my summer.  I don’t even buy a supermarket tomato anymore, I don’t know what other continent it has been flown in from, or how long ago, or how many fish hormones have been pumped into the plant. Ick.

Like many gardeners, my tomatoes are an annual therapeutic ritual. From the very last fruit of the autumn, seeds are harvested for the next season. The plot does not lay idle, layers of manure and compost are on it before the snow flies. And during spring cleaning, broken branches are busted on the bed to be burned before bedding plants are set.

As I notice days are getting longer, even as snow is on the ground, seeds are planted in the vermiculite along with the broken egg shells. I can’t prove they are a helpful nutrient, still I believe that the roots have to work harder to get around the dense shell and ultimately that makes my plants stronger- a sturdy stock. The young plants are hardened off in the coldframe and long before the Mother’s Day planting frenzy, my plants are set in the prepared soil, right up to the first set of leaves.

Then I sit and wait.

OK, I don’t sit; there are hundreds of yard tasks to distract me while waiting for the first yellow flowers to appear:

Each plant is watered by hand, even with my rain gauge measurements, I want to be sure the plants get attention every week; gallons and gallons at a time to ensure the deep root drink that promises to be beneficial. This gives me an excuse to be near the heady scent of green tomato leaves and watch the drastic changes.

Finally, the first yellow-to-orange-to-red fruit of the vine. And before the first of August again this year! Even today, my mouth waters at the thought of a vine-ripened tomato and I have been eating them for three straight months:

This year, we have two kinds of heirloom tomatoes from El dorado seeds: Marglobe and Rutgers, plants from seeds gifted by my tomato-driven buddy, Val (who recently died at age 93; I promise to keep your Val-red tomato going next year, Val!), a lovely patio tomato by seeds from Dad and a cheery cherry tomato that is in its third year of harvested seeds.

Unfortunately we don’t know the name of the cherry tomato, when we bought it at the nursery, it was labeled ‘Better Boy’. Oops, but a hardy & enduring tasty mistake.

And now, again, on the second-to-last day of October, I am astounded by my gardens.  The weather definitely plays into the late production, perhaps also my new ploy helped. Not the cutting of the suckers or leaving only the center stem or letting the vine spread on the ground; that’s all been tried with no appreciable results. (In fact, I plant a row of sunflowers between my rows of tomatoes. They are very pretty, they help support our very tall tomatoes, and birds visiting the flowers find the unnecessary bugs). This year for a new technique, on the last week of August, all the branches with flowers were cut back in hopes the plant could focus energy on getting the last green tomatoes to a full red. Well, they sure are:

So, guess what’s for dinner tonight?

Let me share my recipe. Begin with basil sourdough bread, made, of course, with fresh basil from the herb garden and my husband’s two-year old starter. Have slices of a super sharp cheddar cheese at hand. Lightly toast the bread, so the crust is crispy, the bread is crunchy and the depth of the slice is still chewy. As soon as the warm pieces are out of the toaster, blanket the cheese between them! If you’re in the mood, now is the time to add a couple pieces of bacon. (If you’re in the mood- isn’t that hilarious?!) Now take your awesomely red ripe tomato and cut fat, fat wedges. When you have enough to cover the bread, uncover the melted cheese and plop on the pieces. Crack plenty of black peppercorn on top. And on the top piece of bread, spread your favorite mayonnaise. (I import Cains from Boston.) Cover and cut in half, so the tomato, cheese and mayo juice runs all over your plate. Serve with the last of the Leinenkugel Summer Shandy or the start of the Leinenkugel Oktoberfest. And that’s Tomato Delight:

Gotta go, this picture is the reality show playing on my dinner table!

It’s Not Winter Yet

My husband was viewing the Bloom Bar on our garden app and remarked, “Wait- it’s not Winter!” And indeed, it is not even close this last week of October in the west Chicago suburbs. Time passes so quickly while our heads are bowed to daily tasks. It was a perfect excuse to lift my eyes and wander barefoot in the garden with my faithful camera.

I can’t quite believe it is almost Halloween even as jack o’lantern colors abound. On the outside perimeter, this Gladiola is putting out a last burst of energy. These bulbs are nowhere near ready to be lifted and stored.

Staying with the bright orange theme, the matchstick mum, the vigorous Globe Amaranth, the geometric Gazania, and this year’s never-ending Daylily are insisting the show must go on amidst the fallen leaves. 

The Gazania is so charming! The brown dabs on the vivid petals are like brush strokes by a master painter in the midst of a prolific sunny period. 

The hummingbird bed is now loaded with bees and more autumn tones. I have not seen hummingbirds for a few weeks now, actually. This is strange because they usually are at their feeder long after a frost!

My Nasturtiums went crazy in late August, and oh, so pretty! I harvest as many plant varieties as possible each year with hopes of perpetuating heirloom plants. This variegated flower is gorgeous. The trouble is, as an amateur gardener, I know it will not repeat next year. This is why the camera sits right next to the trowel!

Taking advantage of the blooming “Lady In Black” Aster, this bee was ignoring the clicking camera with all his might. We buy our honey locally, so are grateful for the single-mindedness. 

Cosmos are also harvested each year. The seeds are so easy- the seedlings are often shared with co-workers for Mother’s Day. And it sounds crazy, but the maroon flowers are on a broken stem from the main pink plant. I’ve never seen anything like it! Plus, you can see the Chili Pepper and Swiss Chard still producing side dishes for dinner. 

You know it is a crazy season in Illinois if a Coleus is around long enough to produce flowers! This is a Sultana variety our Bloomingdale Garden Club was favored with from Ball Horticultural Company. 

There is also the “Send in the Clowns” Dahlia that took forever to get going and is slightly bedraggled after being run over by both my husband and daughter! Still, it is blooming profusely in gradual yellows, and I am perfectly accepting of this lingering Fall. It’s true, Winter is necessary to give the gardens a rest but, like waiting for that first tomato, I am willing to be patient!

P.S. Back to our iphone ‘Dig My Garden’ app for a moment. Seeing Winter on the garden was not a glitch. The app is designed for gardeners and the first frost is much the same as the start of Winter for us! I am quite certain it will be inevitable in the next week or so. Then, it will be up to Father Time to pass as quickly through nippy snowstorms as it did lazy summer days.