Friday, January 22, 2016

On the Seedy Side of Town

I’m browsing through the seed catalogues that have been appearing in my mailbox since December. Apparently, the people at William Dam, McFayden, McKenzie, Stokes, Dominion, OSC, and Veseys all believe I have a greenhouse the size of an arena, or at least a chain of grow ops. 

I usually order a few packets of stuff that look interesting, but I doubt my order would cover the postage on the catalogue; nevertheless, they keep coming. 

I’m always overwhelmed by the range of seeds offered: twenty seven varieties of lettuce or green stuff that looks like lettuce and seventeen types of carrots in all shapes and colours. I don’t have a sophisticated palate, so to me I’m afraid it all tastes like, well, lettuce or carrots; however, I’m happy to try different ones, and besides, some of the more colourful lettuce makes attractive filler in the flowerbed.


As for the flowers, I’m a sucker for anything labelled as new. Is it new, or is it just a new name? The trend of labelling things with something catchy to attract the consumer has spread to plants. Names like Berry Smoothie, Tiki Torch, and Black Negligee make it sound more like an interesting evening than a trip to the garden center. It could be so embarrassing — PA announcing that a gentleman at the cash would like a flat of Black Negligees. That plant is actually a new variety of Actaea simplex. 
The common name is bugbane, which I admit isn’t likely to get the same attention as lingerie.


The Berry Smoothie is not a refreshing drink; it’s another new Heuchera, while the Tiki Torch is yet another new echinacea. This type of labelling isn’t likely to change as marketers have taken over the industry and if catchy names are what sell, then that’s what we’ll get. In fact, I read in a trade magazine that a garden center in Ireland has abolished the use of botanical terms.

No doubt the idea will spread. Granted, botanical names are challenging, but at least they keep order in the plant world. Poor Carl Linnaeus, father of binomial nomenclature, must be turning in his grave. 


On the other hand, if goofy names get more people out of the mall and into the garden, it may not be a bad thing, except a shopping mall, preferably one that resembles a greenhouse, is more attractive than most gardens at this time of year.

Friday, January 15, 2016

Spring is Coming -- But

I just heard the snowplough go rattling down my street, which means the driveway awaits my attention. There's no denying it, despite a late start, winter is here and the garden season of 2015 is finally over. 

It was the longest I've known in this area. I actually worked in my garden for a full nine months beginning with a little pruning in early March and ending with bulb planting in December.

Now that's something that needs to be changed — the idea that gardening is work. Sure, mowing a lawn or digging a hole might be considered work by some, but really, gardening is anything but work. To me, it's a joy-filled pastime with huge benefits. 

But now, deep in this world of muffled senses, ice scrapers, and salt stained pants, the garden is in hibernation and I'm feeling the withdrawal a little more than usual. Shoveling snow may be good exercise, but I'd much rather be pottering about the back yard.

But what's a poor gardener to do at this time of year? I browse seed catalogues or draw up plans for a landscaping project, I attend garden conferences, read garden books, pamper the philodendron a little more than normal, and on occasion, I'll loiter in the greenhouse at one of our local garden centres, but these things don't quite make up for my garden. 

What's really missing is the spiritual connection I have with the old place, the total stress busting transformation that takes place when I'm surrounded by the life affirming growth of living things.

As calm as he appears, I'm sure my garden Buddha is wishing he was some place else too.

It's a good thing spring is only weeks away -- hah!

Friday, January 8, 2016

Your Garden -- Planned or Evolved?

These are the planning days, planning for the season ahead, but my planning is limited to a few new plants and shifting old ones around. My current garden has been established for almost thirty years and didn’t have much planning in the first place days, more a case of adaptation as requirements changed. The front yard received more consideration, but the back had to evolve somewhat on its own as it passed through a number of unavoidable stages.

It started out as an unfenced, blank palette, then once enclosed by a solid barn board fence it held a small vegetable plot. It was a children's playground with equipment for a while, then after the addition of flowerbeds along the fence, followed by patios, pathways, and a pond, it gradually filled in until the lawn is barely large enough park a wheelbarrow.

The flowerbeds expanded drastically, trees grew, many shrubs and perennials were tried and died over the years. I made many mistakes, but most things have worked out, despite deviations due to the eccentricities of the head gardener, and more than anything, it brought me a lot of joy in the process. Certainly, had I planned it more directly, it would probably look like a different garden, but then any blank space can be designed in a million different ways to create a garden.

If you are in the early stages of developing a garden, either by design, evolution, or adaptation, there are a few things that are best considered that will prove helpful, and at the same time will avoid costly or annoying errors, especially with trees and shrubs.

Choosing the right one for the right location is essential. I have one tree that could have been better placed, and although it's not entirely without merit, I could do without it, but any change now would require drastic action, as in a chainsaw and shrieks of dismay from bystanders.

Apart from felling, trees and large shrubs are like heavy furniture that isn’t easily moved, and unlike a couch they improve with age, making them even harder to part with. And they grow, slowly maybe, but a small suburban yard isn’t the place for a monster maple. Too often, trees are planted much too close to the house where they can interfere with drainage or even cause structural damage, so before planting any tree, seriously consider the location and potential size of that skinny sapling in the pot. For a large tree, four or five meters from a building is a good guideline.

A lot of work has been done in creating smaller, compact trees and shrubs in recent years, which are much more suited to a smaller garden. An advantage of incorporating smaller trees and shrubs into a design means there’s room for more plants. And if you do find you’ve planted one of these smaller shrubs in the wrong place, they’re a lot easier to dig out and move.

Good planning is important, but it’s only part of the final result as a garden is a living thing, never static, and will constantly attempt to thwart the designer. I’ll leave you with the words of  Scottish poet, Rabbie Burns, whose birthday is on the 25th: "The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley". (go often askew).

Friday, January 1, 2016

New or Not

Gardening in Canada, eh? There’s nothing but snow and slush in the garden and I’m going crazy, cooped up, poring over old seed catalogues. I briefly considered opening a sanctuary for abandoned poinsettias, but I’ve seen quite enough of them this past month.

There's an old saying that goes as follows — people want one of two things: something that everyone else has, or something that no one else has. That's why some love to grow petunias, impatiens, or geraniums and little else, while others become obsessed with possessing the rarest plant in the world.

In this consumer culture, we are encouraged, even, dare I say it, conditioned to go for the new and exciting, except the object of our desire only remains something that no one else has for a very short time. Before you know it, it's ubiquitous.

When Joel Roberts Poinsett returned from Mexico in 1828 with Euphorbia pulcherrima and plunked it on his dining room table, I imagine all his dinner guests said, Wow, Joel, that is so cool, man. Where can I get me one? That's why, for the last month, poinsettias have been disrupting dinner table conversation in every home in the country.

What's your choice, commonplace or unique? Are you adventurous or do you tend to stick with the familiar? Are you a golden oldies fan or are you into indie rock? Is it reruns of The Beverly Hillbillies for you or do you prefer to be on the edge of your seat (or rolling on the floor) with the latest episode of (fill in the blank)? There's nothing wrong with the familiar — it's soothing, comforting, and it brings back happy memories. Nostalgia is a powerful emotion.

I like to see familiar plants thriving, yet I'm always keen to find something different, rare, or difficult to grow. I'll often grow something out of pure curiosity.

Rare doesn't necessarily mean hard to grow or difficult to propagate. It could be a newly discovered plant, a new hybrid, or one that's been neglected, almost forgotten until rediscovered and reintroduced, sometimes with a new name. For instance, I saw Maltese Cross (Lychnis chalcedonica) listed in an online catalogue as "New". New? It's been growing in my garden since at least 1992 and elsewhere forever. 

I guess nothing sells better than new and improved, and if it's new to you, it probably doesn't matter, especially when you consider there are three or four hundred thousand plant species to work your way through.

The variety of seed and plants available each spring, however, is largely dependent on what the growers choose to produce and market. If a particular plant has not been popular, then there's the possibility the variety could disappear.

Many new and even improved plants will appear this spring. I’m afraid I don’t need another waving petunia, or a new variety that's a slightly more intense pink than one introduced last year, but as the old familiars sprout in my garden for the umpteenth time, I’ll be out there planting something rare or unique. I'll also be wearing my ancient but comfortable, one of a kind gardening coat, the one no one else could possibly desire. 

Saturday, December 26, 2015

Talking Turkey in the Garden

Don’t forget the cranberry sauce. It’s absolutely essential with turkey and, like the turkey, cranberries are native to North America. It’s not surprising then they go so well together. In fact, if I had to eat one without the other, it would be the cranberry sauce. 

Cranberries were an important staple for Native Americans, who used the berries mixed with grains, meat, and animal fat to produce cakes of pemmican, traditional travelling food. Aboriginal people shared their turkeys with the first pilgrims, but I don’t know if there was cranberry sauce on hand.

The pilgrims, however, came up with the name cranberry, or rather crane berry, apparently because they thought the blossom resembled a crane. I suppose it could just as easily have been called the heron berry or stork berry. It wasn’t long before early settlers were using the berries to make sauces and supply seafarers with scurvy fighting vitamin C.

 I’d grow them in my garden if I could, but the conditions aren’t suitable. One of the tricks to growing cranberries successfully was discovered in 1816 by Captain Henry Hall, a veteran of the war of independence in the US. He discovered that spreading sand over the bogs where the cranberries grew naturally increased the berry yield.

Commercial growers take advantage of ideal conditions in the Muskoka region of Ontario where the soil is sandy and moist with layers of peat, which makes it acidic. My soil, like most around the here, is clay with a pH value that is neutral to alkaline. Cranberry grows as a sprawling vine and needs little pruning. Once planted, they rarely need replacing and continue to produce berries providing the flowers are pollinated, primarily by honey bees.

Thanks to popular photographs showing lakes covered with berries, it’s understandable that many believe they are grown in water, or cranberry paddies, I suppose. Not so. The photos are taken during harvesting when the fields are purposely flooded. A small air pocket inside each berry causes it to pop to the water surface when shaken from the stem. The shaking, or raking, once done by hand with special rakes, is now accomplished by machines that gently comb the vines releasing the berries. They are then corralled and it’s off to the processor.

Unless you have a suitable boggy area in your garden, the only alternative is to grow them in a large container.  The turkey sauce cranberry is Vaccinium macrocarpon, not to be confused with the Highbush cranberry (Viburnam trilobum), better known as viburnum, the spring flowering shrub. It also produces fruit which, like the true cranberry, can be used to make wines, sauces, and jellies.

Although these plants are not related, growing conditions are much the same. The viburnum is also extremely winter hardy, as it should be, being a native Canadian. It’s the ideal shrub for shady, moist places alongside a stream or in a boggy river bottom, where moist soil ensures it grows well as its shallow roots make it susceptible to drought.

Planting the right plant in the right place is the key to success in gardening. To help the gardener in your life and take care of that last minute gift, consider The Toronto Gardener’s Journal by Margaret Bennet-Alder. This is the twenty-fourth year Margaret has produced this very useful source of information for gardeners in the Golden Horseshoe. Now, let me at that leftover turkey — AND the cranberry sauce, please.

Friday, December 18, 2015

An Exceptional Gift any True Gardener Will Love

It arrived last weekend by special delivery, my first gift of the season. I was puttering around the house when the doorbell rang. Standing on the doorstep, looking a little uncertain in his role as courier, was Jeff, my daughter's boyfriend (now husband).

He'd been called upon to make the delivery — perhaps as a test — something along the lines of, "Look, you don't have to slay a dragon, just take this over to my dad's place and you may win the hand of the princess."

I followed Jeff down to the driveway where he quickly unloaded my gift from the trunk of his car. He looked relieved, especially when he saw my face light up. I recognized the bag immediately — it wasn't gift-wrapped.

The stamp on the side read High Quality, Organic Horse Feed, except both Jeff and I knew that was not what was in the bag (obvious olfactory clues were emanating).

In the bag was high quality, organic horse feed after it has been recycled into organic fertilizer by the finest of thoroughbred race horses. Perfectly aged like a fine wine, it came from a farm down the highway that regularly places bags for sale at the roadside — same concept as a fruit stand.

My daughter had been along one time when I picked up a few bags and she knew how much I'd appreciate even more of the stuff. I thanked Jeff profusely and asked him if he knew what the stuff he'd delivered would do for lazy roses?

I'm not sure he understood. When he drove off he did have the windows down, even though it was cold out, but I suspect that if it had been a big white charger he'd been riding, he would have been sitting a little taller in the saddle.

Not all gardeners can expect to receive Christmas gifts of this remarkable quality. If you're looking for the perfect gift for the gardener in your family, it shouldn't be too difficult.

The secret is in knowing what will be appreciated and what will vanish to the back of the shed. Mine is spread across my rose garden for everyone to admire. It's the gift that keeps on giving (you should see my roses).

Friday, December 4, 2015

You Gotta Love the Things

Bracts of red and leaves of green — first line of a poinsettia poem.  I was hoping to celebrate this amazingly popular Christmas decoration in rhyme, but that’s all I came up with. I tried, but once I had the image in my head I couldn’t go any further.


Regular readers know of my difficulty accepting the poinsettia as a plant, even though it is one, yet each year at this time I feel compelled to provide a little information that, if nothing else, might help keep everyone’s favourite centerpiece alive long enough to contribute to the spirit of the season.

I wrote last December of how I felt I’d come to grips with my phobia, of how I’d turned a corner, learned at last to accept the omnipresence of poinsettias, but by Boxing Day my usual disaffection had returned. 

I just can’t help it. I mean, who else has been quoted in the Wall Street Journal in an article glorifying the plant’s qualities as someone with an opposing opinion?

That bit of negative exposure sure ruled out any thought of Christmas shopping trips to Buffalo. I had visions of wanted posters at the border with me holding a poinsettia in one hand and a can of Roundup in the other.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy everything else about Christmas. The joy, the goodwill to all, and especially my mother-in-law’s mince pies, but I just can’t bring myself to embrace the poinsettia. It isn’t easy. 

Just last weekend I was at a Christmas dance and had to leave the dance floor in a hurry when the DJ began awarding you know what as spot prizes.

Regardless, I have a duty here, so despite any misgivings on my part, and the fact that at this very moment there is a poinsettia within arms reach of practically every person on this continent, here is everything you need to know to keep them looking happy and healthy, at least until Boxing Day.

First remove the garish foil from around the pot or at least poke holes in the bottom and set the pot on a saucer otherwise excess water can rot the roots. Locate in a sunny window, but not against the glass. Maintain at a daytime temperature of 18 to 21C and if possible move to a cooler place at night, but no cooler than 15C, again to avoid root rot. Water well when the surface is dry to the touch. Poinsettias don’t tolerate drafts so keep them away from air registers and doorways.


Bracts of red and leaves of green . . . take em away, they shouldn’t be seen — not bad.