Category Archives: my garden

Waiting for Queen Lime Orange.

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After seeing the beautiful zinnias that several of my fellow bloggers have showed on their sites, I was plotting  through the winter how I could create my own display, featuring my favorite colors that I rarely find in the local nurseries anymore. Others have told me that they have had a similar experience to mine, of ending up with mostly magenta flowers, when they buy a mix of zinnia starts in a six-pack.

So I bought four packets of seeds, and started most of them in the greenhouse. When many of those seedlings mysteriously died, I bought single plants in the nurseries, 4-inch pots in which the buds were beginning to open, and didn’t appear to be magenta. Two coral colored to begin with, and later, true orange. And I planted seeds again, at the end of June, directly into the ground or pots.

The seeds I planted the most of were called Fruity Beauty mix. They came in a clear cellophane packet, but online they are advertised to look like this:

Now various of the seed-started are beginning to bloom.  I’m not sure which are which, I think I got a little mixed up, and lost some tags. Maybe when they have fully opened and all bloomed I will be able to tell more. But I think I am still waiting for the Queen Lime Orange ones. Every day there is a new flower to look at and rejoice over.

I’m also thrilled to have eggplant this summer; and true Echinacea Purpurea, Purple Coneflower, which flourished for years and years in my old garden. The interesting subspecies of echinacea in various colors that were installed in my new landscape have mostly died out. It took me a few years to find good plants of the “regular” type at the right time, but now I those are in bloom, too.

The white echinacea are very enduring, too. They are in the front garden, and faithfully grow up tall and elegant every summer. They seem to make more flowers every season.

This last picture I think of as Lovely Layers. There is a whole community of plants at their peak here, from the echinacea on the right to the volunteer sunflower poking out from under the asparagus fronds on the left… yellow abutilon against the fence and golden marguerite in front of that, and even lamb’s ears and salvia sticking up. My cup runneth over with these sunny gifts of high summer.

Deadheading Gazania

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This morning I visited some church friends to see their vermiculture setup. Before I ever started my remodeling project almost four years ago, I knew that I wanted to raise worms, but I have put it off until such time as I could make mental and physical space for the project.

When I got home I did some online shopping for various styles of premade stacking trays designed for this kind of farming, and I ran across a video of a man who has quite a large operation and thousands of worms in a giant bin. I took a picture as the video was running, when I saw the sign on the end of this long container of vermiculture:

It’s hard to read, so I will tell you that it says, “Be still and know that I am God.”

After lunch, I found myself in the garden where the gazanias have been needing deadheading for months; suddenly I decided to settle down and just do it. These plants  have been proliferating since I freed them from being crammed in a pot. It’s hard to believe all of them had been in that one pot… well, maybe it was two or three pots. But they do multiply! They are constantly making “drop-ins,” as my long-ago neighbor called the self-sown volunteers.

There is so much variety in the colors and designs of the flowers, it’s always a joy to take a good look at them, in the back corner of the yard where they are easily seen when you’re sitting at the umbrella table. Here you can see them in front of the Jerusalem Sage and the Hopbush.

I had a quiet and peaceful day, even with my morning worm research outing, and then Vespers in the evening. There was plenty of stillness in which to remember God, and there was COLOR!

We could dance and sing.

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Windows above my kitchen sink and near my computer look out on the garden. When the evening sun’s slanting rays make flower stalks shimmer, it is my favorite sort of painting to gaze at, and I can hardly believe it is right here in my back yard — especially in spring when swaths of those blooms are popping up in turn and in overlapping layers, first the white ixia, then blue penstemon and the palest yellow-white California poppies, now the lavender and the rusty yarrow, and banks of little daisies I can never remember the name of.

Probably I should go back and read some of Elizabeth Von Arnim’s descriptions of gardens, to teach me how to convey the scene that makes me so happy. Not only in Elizabeth and Her German Garden but even more in The Enchanted April she expresses her love for this kind of overflowing, colorful and scented landscape, and gardens that are so prolific with blooms that bowls of them bless the rooms of the Italian castle in April (in April, too).

I don’t have a cutting garden most of the time, but right now I am still getting a few heavenly-sweet sweet peas with short stems. When I was snipping them to stick into a tiny vase today, I spied a Cabbage White in the patch of chives. As I understand, those caterpillars eat just about anything, and some years I have seen evidence of that behavior. I wonder how this year will be….

I just discovered that I have never once reviewed a book by Elizabeth von Arnim, or posted a quote by her, on my blog. I guess this is because my relationship with her as a person and writer is about much more than any one of her books; and isn’t it always somewhat of a mystery why we connect with particular authors? Mary Kathryn says it is the writer’s voice that she connects with, and it doesn’t matter what they write about, if one loves that particular voice.

The distance in time and culture between Elizabeth and me seems vast, though it is “only” 100 years. Our life experiences are worlds apart, but as I’ve listened to her voice and her stories, rich with humor that makes me laugh out loud, I’ve been comforted again and again. Today, I didn’t know her name would even come up. Since it has, and while it is yet springtime, here are some words from her that express the feelings of us both:

“Oh, I could dance and sing for joy that the spring is here!
What a resurrection of beauty there is in my garden,
and of brightest hope in my heart.”

Today when I went out to try for a picture of the Lambs Ears, I discovered that the Narrow-Leaf Milkweed flowers have started to open. These are the plants from which I collected Monarch butterfly eggs to incubate indoors, a few years ago. Aphids always decimate the plants, and after that first year’s destruction I realized that any hatched caterpillars would run out of food fast, because the leaves are literally slim pickings to begin with, and then the aphids suck all the life out of them. (By the way, you don’t want to bring in ladybugs to eat the aphids on your milkweed plants because ladybugs also eat Monarch eggs!!) Back then I had to feed my Monarch caterpillars from my Showy Milkweed plants which have large leaves and which the aphids don’t bother so much.

So far the aphids have not arrived — or at least, not noticeably. And the two plants of this species of milkweed come up bigger every spring. I see in the photo enlarged here that ants are among the insects hanging out there, so maybe the aphids will come soon. But for now, their delicate flower crowns are pristine. The bees will soon be “dancing” around them for joy.