It was a gray and rainy day...........................
madgard
that you could feel as you inhaled. As you exhaled, the cloud of warmed air
drifted heavily just past your chin. As I walked around the wet ground in
insufficient shoes, Rose was doing her happy dawg impersonation. Ripping
past me, tearing up the ground where there was ground to tear up, she shot
past me, bumping against me with that lunatic look on her face as her tongue
hung out and her eyes were almost glazed over. These spurts are somewhat
similar to the feline's bouts of momentary madness as they rip and tear thru
the house at a moment's notice. I stood amused and laughed at her in my
maniacal way that she loves and that encourages her to expend the last bits
of energy she has for her fat ass.
The leaves all around me are trying to decide which shades of color to put
on this fall. With the long summer drought that lasted well into the edges
of fall, the only colors I see are the seasonal markers that refuse to let a
little drought stop them. The burgandy's and the blood maroons of the
summacs and the dogwoods. The summacs are first. You can see them crouching
all along the country roadsides, not quite beckoning your eyes, but drawing
them towards them like some dark thing trying to get you to come closer. In
certain lights, they light up and are more drawing, but today they were dark
and brooding.
The burgandy's of the dogwoods are more pronounced than they were last week,
but the intense contrast of the pure red of the berries still pull your gaze
towards them if you're close enough and have the eyesight. The hills are
trying to color up, but at the moment, the last gasping greens are holding
tight with that tired look about them.
The little nuthatch finch in the front beds is shaking the raindrops onto
her as she scavanges for hidden seeds in places where only little tiny fairy
birds are able to go. I see her feasting on the Blue Egnima salvia seeds
that the hummer was so kind to make in her supping of the nectars deep in
the brooding sky blue lips of the thousands of flowers. The Egnima blooms
still, but now the hummers are long gone, winging southward towards Mexico
and South America to winter out their time in their seasonal retreats. I
miss them tremendously despite that they stayed longer this year in my yard
than usual.
The colors outside today are intense with the overcasting clouds and mysts
lying low here on the ridge across from the Smokies and English Mountain.
Living here where we do, I realize that I have the best of all micro
climates. I get the mysts and fogs and pasture clouds that lay low in the
early hours of the new days, and when the humidity and temperatures are just
exactly right, when I can't see the mountains southward, the plants almost
breath a sign of content with the additional gift of moisture.
The evenings sometimes tell me of these brief times with the choruses of the
crickets and the harmony of the peeps. Sometimes the cicada's add their
rasping alto's and I know the night and returning day will be less dry and
more weather intent.
Plodding up the rocky driveway, the overwhelming smell of a familiar bloom
has me puzzled, I stopped and looked around me. At this time of October,
there aren't many smells left to enjoy except for the damp soil and leaves
smells, and as I stood there, my eyesight was overwhelmed and held at gun
point to LOOK, LOOK AT US!!!! the screaming orange red of Jerry's Wally
World dumpster firethorns that somehow survived after he planted them along
the much lusted and desired south yard he has across from the driveway and
my house. Not only survived, but flourished. And presently, their branches
are loaded with the berries in great clusters, and it's then that I realize
that what I am smelling are tons of BLOSSOMS of the firethorns. The
pyrocantha's are not only loaded with fall berries, but they are blooming
along side them as well. Totally out of the normal. But then again, the
plants don't read the books, now, do they?? <g>
I turn and go back to the house, intent on capturing a picture before the
dampness washes out the delicate white crape paper blossoms, and Rose hangs
on my heels, almost knocking me over as I go into the nook and get the
digital camera. I am moving too fast for her dawg mind, but she is hot in
pursuit of me as I turn and go back out the screen door that Damon hung for
me to keep out the winged warriors this spring and summer. I am still
painting the wood blue...........Squire will have to deal with it.
Back outside, I cross quickly to the October contradictions and capture the
image on the digital, and turn off the camera to preserve the battery and
start looking for the colorful fall crayons. Ahhhh, I don't remember
planting this......it a soft apricot mum blooming thru the varigated sedum
that I shoved into the narrow opening of the unusual bricko block. I will
plant anything that resembles a hole or pot, be it an actual cooking pot, a
flower pot or a bricko block. There is no hope with me now. I have totally
crossed over to the "beyond obsessive gardeners" league.
I look at the brightness of the soft orange of the perfect mum and decide I
will capture it on the camera. The varigation of the fat little sedum leaves
beneath the rising mum was almost planned. But the fairies had a hand in it.
I planted the mum last year. The sedum was shoved into the hole of the block
because I needed a hot, sunny spot to put it and this was the best I could
do. The mum plug was an afterthought. That it returned for me is still
amazing, and I attribute it to the fairies and their care and nurturing thru
the winter months. All spring and summer, I recognized the emergance as
something more than just a weed, so I was careful that it never dried out
during the onset of the droughts we had. For my perseverance I was rewarded
with the perfect little soft apricot mum that is blooming now.
I am getting conflicting emotions as I look at the flowerbeds stretched
before me. Spent tan canes of the cleome "cats whiskers" are all twisted and
almost lying down on the ground. The few seeds that I was able to save for
Dian will be sent soon in one of my "hodge podge" seed packs. The rest of
the seeds were lost to me to ensure next years crop of "marijuana" flowers.
Speaking of "marijuana flowers", I have gathered seeds to some of my
"marijuana daisies" and added them to the jar of seeds that will go to
Oregon. These I have identified as swamp sunflowers. But that's as far as
the resemblance goes. The leaves are long and lancelot with serrated edges,
the stems are stiff and hollow, and the daisies are more like overgrown
coreopsis flowers of the moonbeam variety. Then pull the stems upwards to
at least six feet or a good five foot and you have the "swamp sunflower"
plant that I had dug up from the roadside two years ago.
The stroll took me past the tired beds where the remaining yellow 4's and a
few magenta ones are still putting out random bursts of colors. The yellow
ones more than the magenta's, but the magenta's are the ones with the most
seeds still remaining.
An explosion of bright pink tells me there is one remaining cat's whisker
making one last stand, even if it won't have time to set seeds. Another
reminder as to why I allow them to take the whole little patch of "yard"
that is in front of the beds on the west side of my southern gardens, only
now they've been joined by the zealous Zebrina sisters and a few stray
mirabelis plants. The color combinations work for me and they bloom
effortlessly and way past the normal bloom time. It seems that the old
fashioned passalong plants are hardier than some of the newer ones by a long
shot. The Zebrina malvacea's bloom for almost two months, then the tops die
back after the hundreds of seeds sprout beneath it's skirts, and as they
grow into large leafy daughter, the mother resprouts new leaves and a few
shorter stems and reblooms all the way until hard frost burns the ends.
Once winter has settled in, I usually go back out and cut these remaining
plants to the ground and encourage their daughters come springtime and
summer.
Lesson learned though, this year about encouragements on the malvacea's.
There were nine healthy plants that came up around the well spigot and in
one of the two paths leading into the side west yard. I allowed them to
bloom, and then decided to extend the bed and plant Mary Emma's discarded
asters and plug some of Virginia Davis' daylilies into the expanded bed, and
I had to remove the Zebrina's. Not an easy task. Even with my grubbing hoe,
the Zebrina's resisted the digging, I was only able to remove two, so I had
to water the other six before I could even get them out of the tight red
clay soil. The roots were like old horseradish roots.
Looking past the beds, to where the turning leaves of the old forsythia's
are showing the neat deep burnt red colors now, I see my mysterious mum that
returned for me in the large black nursery pot has finally started opening
it's flowers. I see now the mum that I bought last year but that only gave
me a small showing. This year's return was a total surprise, and the
returning plants grew larger and were more covered in blossoms than I could
imagine. I will leave it alone and hope that she returns for me next year as
well, only I will wheel her pot around to another location to enjoy the
growth in another spot. For now, resting against the striped leaves of the
Zebra miscanthus is more than enough.
As I stand in the "doorway" of the other entrance to the western yard, my
eyes catch the textures and shapes of familiar plants and leaves. This year,
my fig took too long to form it's treasures of sweet, succulent figs, and I
have only tasted three of them in full ripeness. The rest will be lost to
me, as the cooler days and nights will restrict their ripening and making
sugars and the first hard freeze will blacken them on the stems. But at
least the large leaves are georgous and I can cut back the old stems for the
newer ones to give me another new crop next year. Each year is a surprise
for me from this small tree. Had I realized that the tree was going to do
just fine, I wouldn't have pruned it back so severely a few years ago. But
live and learn is what I find is rule of green thumb in the gardening
experiences.
Beneath the limbs of the fig, are the other perennials I have tucked into
the "fig" bed. The sprawled out limbs of the amsonia montana haven't turned
yet. That lives at the point of the fig bed that is triangular in shape.
There are various other plants, iris, lilies, arum roots that are now making
their varigated arrow shaped leaves, a lime spirea in the other corner with
a white baptismia next to it shoulder to shoulder.
On the opposite side at the other point is an Autumn Joy sedum that just
gets enough light and is already bronze/brownish red and starting to die to
the ground in preparation of a winter's slumber. At the front of this point
resides the hellianthus I rescued from the bulldozers when they were razing
Deloras' back perennial gardens when she put her property in town up for
sale. So far it has returned for me since then, but I have to stake the
branches each time because they are so happy they fling themselves wide
almost to the ground like alot of my taller plants tend to do.
Around the corner from the fig bed, the bog sages are still cranking out
random blue sky blossoms, and the bees and bumblies are cramming in as much
knosching on the warm part of the day as they can before they all go crawl
off to a shelter to sleep themselves. This is not a time to mess with the
red wasps with the black wings. They are intent on feeding on whatever they
find and are just as agressive as in the first waking spring when they have
to find their own home to set up. I don't provoke them, and I just avoid a
sting from a fat bumble bee or it could be a three eight's wood bee, I can't
tell. I just hear the warning buzz and step out of the way of the drooping
branches of the bog sage.
The new bed I build around the old brick BBQ is settling in and I see that I
need to replant the corms of the Liatris, so I look for my old trusty Crafty
and oblige the remains and quickly plug them into a deeper hole. Hopefully
it will grace me with returning next year. Time will tell.
The feverfew still has beautiful ferny leaves lying against the black mulchy
soil I used to fill up the new bed, and the asters I tucked into spots here
and there are still blooming their pirkle double daisy flowers. This bed
will soon get some select fall bulbs when those arrive in the mail from
Dutch Gardens, and I want to put special ones into this bed and not pack
them like I have in the past in other beds.
As I wandered down the steepening slope towards the lower part of the side
yard, I see that the Vitex bed is in dire need of sides and more soil. This
will be a winter project for me, I already know what I will use as sides.
The huge trunk pieces of the cut jack pine that were left last year. Those
are thick, and will rot slowly enough until I can get more permanent sides
for this odd shaped bed I made from where the first compost pile was.
Just down at the first terrace level, is a varigated hydrangea. The tag says
it was a blue lacecap, but as of yet I have yet to see her bloom. I was
almost ready to cut her down or dig her up and move her to some out of the
way spot when I spied her white edges and saw that quietly she had grown new
stems that were worthy of keeping her where she was. She lives under the
overhang of the two old fashioned spirea's I planted at the opening that
Squire set paving stones that you can walk down to this narrow strip of land
before you get to the tomato boxes. One spirea is the bouquet type and the
other one is the button type. They live together and one flowers first, the
other one later.
Over above the sitting rock on this ledge, I have planted in the middle of
the daylily patch that Joyce had planted here decades ago a Korea spirea
shoot that eventually will grow into a wierd bush that will bear neat pink
fuzzy catapillar like flowers at the ends of the stems. It took three tries
to get a piece to take from the many that snuck in from Mary Emma's somehow
and are living up front on the east end of the southern beds.
Next to that piece, resides a happy corydalis bush. Just a baby, but it is
obviously pleased with the spot I put it temporairly, so there might be a
conflict later on with the two bushes. And just behind that about two foot
up is a viburnum that will deffinatly have to move now as I have realized
that the viburnum will get quite tall and wide.
Standing there looking at the perfect rock that hangs out at the top of the
dropping slope, I had unearthed it years ago in a hyper moment and
discovered it was scooped perfectly to accomodate a butt rather comfortably.
On the floor just below it beside the tomato boxes is another bounder that
is flatter and has a curve in it that given time I will reveal more with my
shovel.
The tomato boxes have delivered their own fate this year. The richness of
the ammended and added soils and leaves is just not enough for tomato's so I
am planting perennials and bushes upwards in time in these raised, deep beds
and will make another box or two for tomato's somewhere else that gets more
sunlight. The plantings will be carefully considered, not haphazardly done
in haste like I tend to do sometimes. I am very spontanious sometimes, and
my plantings reflect that way too much. I suspect it's the fairies
influences but it's me as well....<g>
I took the Snowflake viburnum I discovered two of up in Greeneville and
shared one with Mary Emma and planted it at the back of a plastic bed that
she had given me a few years back. These beds will need topping off too,
but I have tucked the viburnum against the back west corner of one of these
beds, in hopes that it doesn't get too tall too quickly. I have lots of
cleaning out to do and these bushes will later be moved to permanent spots
to grow unrestricted and unpruned.
The walk was almost complete, with notations in my mind to think about later
on colder days, pictures were in the camera waiting to be transferred onto
the program in my computer, and the rains had increased enough that my
insignificent shoes were getting soaked. And unlike welcome spring and
summer rains, these rains were cold and have a nasty habit of encouraging
little colds, so I climbed up the slippery slope and gazed at the Bengal
Tiger canna's that are still ablaze with their orange flowers atop
brilliantly lit up leaves of lime yellow striped edged with burgandy red.
Next to them, my dad's old fashioned banana leafed green canna's with the
red flowers are still green, but the spent shoots of flowers bear the other
common name of the plant, Indian shot. the seeds are so hard they were used
as shot in muzzel loading rifles in older times.
A side note about this plant....my former boss I worked with in Nashville
at the school elementary kitchen/cafeteria wanted some of my dad's canna's
badly. This was before my dad had passed away. So I went over to his house
and dug some tubers from the huge swath of them at his house, telling him
who they were for. He dug up more for me while I was digging hers. I
planted mine under the spigot of the new water source, and he warned me I
was making a grave mistake. That I'd never be able to move these plants once
they settled in the soil because of the water dripping over them.
She planted her rhizomes at the corner of her front yard and when I moved to
East Tennessee in 1992, two years after he had passed away, I was unable to
tell him he was almost right about not being able to dig them up. They were
the last thing I was able to dig a small piece of from my tens and tens of
perennials i took from my yard. Mrs. Hesses plants thrived, and because she
had planted them two shovels deep like he told her, formed a most impressive
clump of canna's that neighbors who didn't know her noticed.
The time passed, and there came the tornado that tore East Nashville up
quite seriously. It destroyed hundreds of old 100+ year old houses, leveled
or distroyed thousands of old established hackberry and maple trees, and
came down the street Mrs. Hess lived on. It left her newly rebuilt house
(her house had burned to the ground the year before) but took out all her
purple leafed plum trees, her old maple and her new back deck along with her
double garage and 15 full grown trees in her back yard. It also took her
canna's. A year later, she had people knocking on her door she didn't know
who identified themselves as neighbor's down the road or on the street
behind her. They wanted to know if hers was the house with the canna's that
used to be in the front corner yard. When she inquired why, they informed
her every one that that spring they couldn't understand where or why, but
they had canna shoots come up in their yards. Apparently the tornado had
not only destroyed the canna's and pulled them out of the ground where they
had been for 6-7 years, but the seeds that were still in the pods were
stratified in the abusive winds and once they fell, they germinated in
whatever place they rested. She got some back from one man who didn't like
canna's to replace those that she lost, and she sent me a clump of those as
replacements to the tiny clump I had moved eastward but had lost during the
blizzard of 1993.
Mom's Nature always provides..........
Thanks for allowing me to share these rambles and reflections with you,
madgardener up on the ridge, back in fairy holler, overlooking a myst
shrouded English Mountain in Eastern Tennessee, zone 6b
Shepherd
www.writersdigest.com/specialoffers.asp?ss101702
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The first is a writing contest for short short stories.
The second is the Writer's Digest newsletter.
Shepherd
"madgard" <mad...@bellsouth.net> wrote in message
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madgard
Stone editor of "Weeders Digest"...........(I haven't since he rejected a
couple of writings I sent him years ago, but he printed my first and that
was enough to get me writing) madgardener
"Shepherd" <sticksnorstones@.att.net> wrote in message
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