Archive for the 'garden snapshots' category
long time no see
9:43 amI gotta tell you, I was hardly in the old garden at all through August, for one reason or another. Mostly it was the weather, but it’s also because I didn’t have much going on in the garden itself. Now things are getting exciting again. It’s coming on time to rip things out, shake things up, move things around, plant bulbs, and whatnot.
We had Fens Fest last weekend. There’s food and music, a “white elephant table” and a raffle, and awards are given for the best gardens in various categories, and recognition is given for those who’ve pitched in. I was locked out again this year. My fellow gardener, Steve, who got not one, but TWO awards this year, kept calling me the Rene Zellweger of the Fens, likening my being snubbed by the FGS for two years running to Rene’s treatment at the hands of the Academy in 2003.
Well, I have decided to budget a couple hundred bucks for bulbs to blow them all away next Spring, and then, guess what? I’m not even gonna show up at next year’s Fens Fest to collect my bevy of awards. See how they like getting snubbed.
Anyway, the weather’s cooled off in the last couple days–it’s been gorgeous–and I’ve started making notes and sketches about what’s going where, and am limbering up for moving day.
I’ll order my tulips soon. Some of these flowers are so beautiful they just blow my mind:
The varieties here are all from Breck’s online catalog, and are, from least to most fabulous (although all are fabulous): angelique, chinatown, orange princess, and queen of the congo.
You can see I kind of like these frilly peony-looking tulips. But this is only a garden thing, I can assure you. I am not one of these blokey-looking blokes who you go home with and he all the sudden turns into a Laura Ashley queen. No, what you see is what you get with me. I just like these tulips, is all. That’s as far as it goes. There is nothing frilly about me otherwise.
Dog Days
5:04 pm
We’ve had a rollercoaster of a year so far, weatherwise, but the dog days have most definitely arrived. Things are getting overgrown and sticky, and all kudzu-looking.
I like that phrase, “dog days.” Do you know where it came from? Sirius, the dog star, rises and sets with the sun this time of year. The ancients actually thought, because of its brightness, that it played a role in the particularly hot, sultry weather from late July to late August. Speaking of hot and sultry, here are a couple of pics of your gardener in the state of nature (well, almost)…
I know some of you are rolling your eyes right now, and I don’t care. “Love the garden, love the gardener,” right? That’s what Serpico said in the movie. You remember that?
“I like your garden,” that chick says.
Serpico’s like, “Love my garden.”
She’s like, “Okay. I love your garden.”
“You know what they say, don’t you?”
“No. What do they say?”
“If you love a man’s garden, you gotta love the man.”
(Between you and me, I think that second “love” was the euphemistic one. Didn’t he go on to say something like: “I got some zucchini planted. You love zucchini, too, right?”)
Anyway. I’m not sure if it works the other way around or not. This is one of those riddles of deductive reasoning. It’s like the great martini debate. Because you know what they say about martinis: if it’s not in a martini glass it’s not a martini, right? Well, does that mean that everything in a martini glass has to be a martini, then? Many bars and restaurants around town seem to think so.
So the question is: if you love a man, must you love his garden, too? I think you could love the man and just sort of like the garden, or maybe even just tolerate it, like when you have a new boyfriend or girlfriend who has a pet you really can’t stand, and it’s always like, “here, pet Tinkerbell! hold Tinkerbell! Love Tinkerbell!” And you can’t come right out and say, I freakin hate that freakin furball! because then you might not get your scooby snack at the end of the night if you do. You set about silently plotting Tinkerbell’s demise.
I hope no one feels that way about me and my garden. Honestly, I have not been there nearly as much as I would like. The dog days are definitely here, and, if you want to know the truth, right about now, it’s become a bit of a slog.
The flowers popping up now are pretty hardy, and you can tell by looking at them:
Craggy Old New England
7:34 pm
Helped a buddy do some landscaping today, at his place out in the boondocks.
I love craggy old New England. When I first came Out East from the midwest, almost fifteen years ago, it was like I’d found a landscape that looked like my soul. The severe beauty of the brutal coast of Maine, just like Winslow Homer depicted it. I spent that first summer in and around Baxter State Park, on the Appalachian Trail, then came down to Boston for six very rough weeks, and headed back north to new Hampshire to work in an orchard there. Went back year after year for seven years for the harvest. The green, rolling hills. The austere architecture. Those stone walls in the woods.
And all the craggy old New Englanders, when I wintered in the little farmhouse in ‘95.
Anyway, in some respects, there’s nowhere I would rather be. The coast of Maine is incomparable. And regardless of what those armchair patriots in the red states may think, this is where it’s at.
Despite the mosquitos. And Mosquitos love me. I mean, LOVE me. What’s up with that? I remember when I was first up in the wilds of Maine, I was actually working for the AT conference up there, and there were ten or twelve of us doing trail reconstruction, erosion control, and maintenance, and living on-site in the woods, or at a place called Packard Farm outside of the god-forsaken little town of Monson (apologies to any Monsonians out there, but yee-ikes).
So, of the whole group of us only, like, two of us were bug-magnets. A guy named Scotty and me. And it was not just the mosquitos. Deer flies. I remember being out in the middle of a lake in a canoe trying to escape one of those menacing, pint-size bullies.
And when black fly season came it was…indescribable. You could easily go stark-raving mad. Easily. Any part of my body that was not completely covered was made a meal of–and those black fly bites scarred me for months. I used to have to wear one of those hats with the netting, and gloves, and long-sleeves in the muggy height of summer. And still they got me. There were bites on top of bites.
Scotty and I tried swallowing cloves of garlic, but it didn’t do either of us a bit of good, as far as I could tell. There’s apparently some research that says that the profile of the perfect human prey for mosquitos is male, overweight, with type ‘O’, only one of which applies to me. I’m male, that is. Every inch of me. And don’t you forget it. Scotty was kind of overweight, though. I don’t know what blood type, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was ‘O’.
There’s been some serious research on this recently, I guess, but still nothing conclusive. One article in US News describes a horrible, horrible study–can you imagine agreeing to participate in a study where they put you in some kind of chamber and let mosquitos feast on you? Only 28 people did, apparently. And what they found was: “There was a consistent difference in who was least attractive and who was most attractive. Some people simply produce more of compound X than compound Z.” Whatever. Some Australian study says it might be genes. This is why we need more stem cell research, people!
I am one of those people who’s deadly allergic to bees, too. But bees are much more reasonable than mosquitos, deer flies or black flies. Because bees are workers. You understand that, and try not to be a drama queen (it’s not ALWAYS about YOU, you know), and they’re about their business and leave you to yours. They don’t want any trouble. They don’t have the time. Plus, you know, they know that if they have to take you, it’s a suicide mission. And they’d rather not. Wasps are into it. Those mothers will sting you again and again out of the pure giddy pleasure of inflicting pain. But bees, knowing what’s at stake, are only going to do it if you’re acting the fool.
I’ve worked in orchards, like I said, for years, and never had the least trouble. I used to carry my anaphylaxis kit out with me, but I like bees, and respect them, and we just sort of reached an understanding. Mosquitos are blood suckers, and everyone knows once it gets that far, you can’t reason with them. I mean, somebody who wants to drink your blood–what kind of understanding can you reach with them?
Anyway, non sequitur: saw this little frog below as I was pulling some weeds. He could have balanced on my fingertip. I chased him around a little trying to get him to pose for me. I got a couple of shots, and he hopped under some dead leaves. Then my buddy shows up with the weed whacker cutting this huge swath of destruction, without the least regard for Nature’s hidden little wonders. It was like that old Pixie’s song “Wave of Mutilation.” I don’t know what happened to Mr. Frog, but I imagine he managed to clear out in time.
And check out those mating moths! They look a little bored to me. Nature’s funny.
6/22/06
the greening of the garden
10:17 amWell, it looks like the deluge is over, for now. We’re supposed to get some more scattered thunder showers soon, but in the meantime, in the brief pause between weedings, it’s a nice time to admire the greening of the garden:
My wild strawberries are about the size of pinheads, but that’s OK.
6/17/06
between showers
6:58 pm
All the peonies are popping. I guess my tree peony was pretty early, because none of the others bloomed until last week. Unfortunately, it was during the monsoons, so by the time I was able to get in the garden yesterday, mine were all past their expiration dates. It’s a shame, but there’s always next year. there’s a lot of delayed gratification in a garden. That’s the nature of the beast.
Tony’s poppies are popping, too, now:
He’s got a couple different kinds, and we were just admiring how the pollen seems to come in a variety of colors–from a rich olive green to a deep purple–there’s even a good deal of variation in the same species, seems like.
And the roses are out all over the Fens:
And one last little surprise I somehow failed to post last week, a jack-in-the-pulpit growing out in front of my neighbor Rob’s fence, sort of nestled under some ferns. Try not to get too excited, now…
6/12/06
soggy daze
7:16 pm
6/4/06
From Tony’s Garden
7:49 am
6/2/06
more poppies, and columbines
6:01 amThese poppies are from the truly magnificent gardens of the legendary Yuri and Leo. This rustic garden gate opens onto their garden, which runs along Boylston Street.
These are some columbines from my garden, a gift from my neighbor Tony late last year. Columbines, or Aquilegias, are unusual flowers. I think they look like sea creatures–or those things from The Matrix. There’s something a little sinister about these:
5/31/06
My neighbor Rob’s poppies have all popped now (top pic):
That lone poppy above is Tony’s. He’s my neighbor on the Boylston side. We had a little Memorial Day picnic in his garden yesterday, and as twilight approached I noticed that just as the party was starting in the Fens, his poppy was zipping up for the night.
His variety’s different from Rob’s, as you can see. Tony’s poppy has far fewer petals, but bigger bits (reminds me of that old Aubrey Beardsley cartoon).
Tony’s also got a lovely climatis:
My tree peony is finished for the season:
But I’ve got other peonies about ready to pop sometime probably late next week, so more peony porn to come! Stay tuned!
5/29/06
MORE Big, Fabulous, Gay Flowers!
6:27 amSome critter came and gnawed off one of my poppies, just as it was about to pop. But that’s part of the heartbreak of gardening, particularly in the public gardens. Of course, there are always critters to contend with. When I was gardening out in suburbia I had rabbits. I don’t even want to know what kind of critters are partying in my plot here when I’m not around.
My neighbor’s poppies have started to bloom, though, and I’ve got a nice view of them:
5/24/06
