20: Two Views on the Ornamental Cherry

Posted on March 22, 2020 by Mary Gray

Here in northern VA, the cherry blossoms are at their splendid best. Down at the Tidal Basin, at least some tourists are showing up to view the iconic Yoshino cherries (check the Bloom Cam to monitor the social distancing).

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There are a couple of different ways to view the cherry trees:

a) that they are to be revered as symbols of ephemeral beauty, that they should be contemplated in the spirit of hanami to remind us that life is short and we should make the most of it (this view courtesy of the Japanese)

b) that they are a nuisance and “messy as hell” (this view courtesy of my dad)

The topic of spring blooming cherries came up when I visited my dad this weekend. Since we both have mature Yoshino cherry trees growing right next to our driveways, we bonded over the pros and cons of the tree. While I tried to tout the merits of the pale pink blossoms as a wondrous harbinger of spring, Dad was more circumspect:

“The petals fall on the cars and stick like hell,” he said. When I pointed out that the Japanese celebrate the beauty of the delicate blossoms scattered on the ground as the flowers fade, my dad had a different take: “It looks like an army of birds has shat on everything.”

I envision families in Japan gathered to contemplate the fleeting nature of life as they gaze upon the white-pink petals fluttering to the ground. Meanwhile, my dad scrapes the petals up with his snow shovel and dumps them into a trash can.

Dad’s getting older though. He’s nearly 84, moving slowly these days, and I realize that one day I will miss his cranky takes on cherry trees.

Hanami. Life is fleeting.

It’s February 4 and 62 Degrees

Posted on February 4, 2019 by Mary Gray

Days like this always lull me into a state of blissful delusion. Well, that’s it. Winter is over. The daffodils will be blooming any second now. I can put the snow shovel back in the shed, get the salt washed off my car, resolve to clean and sharpen my garden tools but then fail to do so — all signs of spring!

Time to go out and take stock of the backyard. I’m in shirtsleeves!

The ground that was rock hard 36 hours ago from the “Polar Vortex” is now thawing into a semi-marshland. With each step my boot sinks into the brown ooze; I know I should stay out of the garden beds, but I can’t help myself. Winter weeds: somehow they survived the sub zero wind chill looking fresher than ever, and I’m going after them.

Little rosettes of shot weed are popping up all over the place, and the ground is soft enough to pluck them out. I move through the beds, remembering a blog I’d read last spring saying that shot weed is edible; there was a photo of a carefully arranged tuft of the weed on top of an open-faced roast beef sandwich on a pretzel roll with mustard.

I hold up one of the weeds. A glob of mud clings to its roots. I will probably stick with romaine, but it’s always good to know I can forage for food in my own yard should society unexpectedly collapse.

I continue to remove the shot weed, plus some dead nettle, wild strawberry, and creeping Charlie. Hmmmm, should I be doing this? I look back and see I’ve squashed a bunch of soil. Damn. Now I’ve gone and destroyed the soil structure and deprived the plants’ roots of oxygen. What would my local extension agent have to say about this? Nothing good, surely. Here I am, always trying to teach the young people in my life about the virtues of delayed gratification, and yet at the first sign of spring I can’t keep myself from traipsing all over the delicate, exposed beds.

I tip-toe out of the garden bed back to some stepping stones. The sky is turning a deeper blue, tinged with orange. The hint of warmth that had settled into the garden at noon is quietly dissipating as the sun sets. I pull off my mud-caked boots and head back inside.

Still a bit giddy from this blissful taste of spring, I decide to check the weather forecast. 66…50….68!!…64….hmmm, 38. Well, that’s days away….the weathermen are probably just guessing. After that, who knows? Punxsutawney Phil predicted an early spring after all. And nothing says science like a group of elderly men in top hats leaning in to hear the pronouncement of a giant rodent-oracle and then reciting it from a scroll. I think that more scientific discoveries should be delivered to the public in this milieu.

Later that evening, I retire to the couch with a glass of wine and a gardening magazine. As garden activities go, it’s not as satisfying as doing stuff in the dirt under the sun, but it’s not half bad.

July 5, 2018

Posted on July 5, 2018 by Mary Gray

Today I went outside early in the morning while others slept. I swept the ash from last night’s fireworks from the concrete pool deck into the garden beds. Is fireworks ash good for the soil? I’ll pretend it is so that I don’t have to go inside and get a dustpan. I toss the cardboard remnants of “Fat Cat”, “World’s Tallest Fountain!”, and “Peacock Junior” into a black trash bag. Even at 8 a.m. the air is thick and hot. As I carry the trash bag out front to the waste bin I stop in my tracks. A platter-sized pink bloom hovers at about knee-level. Yesterday, it had been a tight, racquetball-sized bud encased by pale green bracts, but overnight, BAM! it exploded into this ludicrously gigantic cotton-candy pink blossom. My hardy hibiscus! Last fall I transplanted it from a too-shady, too-remote spot to this sunnier bed and now, on July 5 2018, I am reaping my reward. The flower is bigger than my face, bubble-gum pink, ready for a party. The best part: at least twelve more walnut sized buds adorn the plant, ready to swell and lend cheer through the remainder of July. Yes, July will be sweltering and oppressive, but there will be giant pink hibiscus!

It takes considerable willpower to stop myself from waking up the household to announce their arrival.

Care for a Black Walnut?

Posted on September 30, 2017 by Mary Gray

I’ve got plenty.

And plenty still to come:

This is a nifty nut collector made by the folks at Garden Weasel. What a treat to discover a yard device that requires no engine and makes no noise, that is so simply designed and yet works beautifully.

Just roll it along the ground and the nuts become trapped in the wire cage. To release them you push a doohickey on the handle (like when you squeeze out a mop) that spreads the wires so the nuts can fall out again. The only trouble is that there SO MANY NUTS and collectively they are very heavy. A plastic trash can should only be filled about a quarter full; otherwise, there is risk of it busting wide open as it’s dragged (ask me how I know).

Still, I never tire of this canopy:

And there are some other pleasant distractions from the tyranny of the black walnut trees. Some toad lily and sedum:

The Winterberry holly never disappoints:

Bottlebrush Buckeye fruit:

Some white wood aster:

Zigzag goldenrod, now fading:

This cute little bottle gentian that I nearly ripped out over the summer thinking it was a weed:

A Japanese combo — bloodgrass and anemone:

Blackberry lily:

This year’s crown jewel — a Red Abissynian Banana. I adore it so much! The leaves are insane!

This lantana and bloodgrass was a good combo:

This lantana was so exuberant this year that it shaded out my herbs:

Elephant ear and celosia refusing to back down in the face of autumn:

No Longer Winter

Posted on January 28, 2017 by Mary Gray

Is there anything more miraculous than taking a walk on a late January afternoon in zone 7a and encountering masses of flowers? Not “winter interest”, no, but full-on, voluptuous, lipstick-colored blossoms?

This is Camellia ‘Autumn Pink Icicle’ — thriving at Green Spring Gardens — which is a hybrid of the already cold hardy ‘Pink Icicle’, an Ackerman hybrid.

Anyway, as I walked along with the sun shining overhead and these hot pink blooms reaching out to say hello, well for a minute it was no longer winter.

Winter Red, Green Panda, Blue Trout

Posted on January 1, 2017 by Mary Gray

Ilex verticillata ‘Winter Red’

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Garden Trout

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Imperata cylindrica ‘Red Baron’

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Fargesia rufa ‘Green Panda’; Aspidistra elatior ‘Alahi’; Danae racemosa

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Confused forsythia bloom

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Gah!

Posted on August 27, 2016 by Mary Gray

I’m all for celebrating insect life in the garden, except when it’s something like this:

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My son enjoys jumping past these azalea bushes in our front yard on the way to the front door. Luckily he spotted this behemoth before he brushed past it and angered its occupants.

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Removing the hive was a scary process, but the denizens (which we surmised were Bald-faced Hornets) weren’t overly aggressive and luckily I didn’t get a single sting.

Later, my son opened it up to investigate, and we discovered the architecture of the hive: layers upon layers of thin walls protecting the eggs in the middle. We felt a bit guilty at having laid waste to this tiny society.

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