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MANIFESTO

  • Convinced that gardening MATTERS

     

    We Are:

     

    Convinced that gardening MATTERS.

     

    Bored with perfect magazine gardens.

     

    In love with real, rambling, chaotic, dirty, bug-ridden gardens.

     

    Suspicious of the “horticultural industry.”

     

    Delighted by people with a passion for plants.

     

    Appalled by chemical warfare in the garden.

     

    Turned off by any activities that involve “landscaping” with “plant materials.”

     

    Flabbergasted at the idea of a “no maintenance garden.”

     

    Gardening our asses off.

     

    Having a hell of a lot of fun.

     

     

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  • Copyright 2006. All rights reserved. Amy Stewart, Michele Owens, Elizabeth Licata, Susan Harris.

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Real Gardens

Why Most Gardening Advice Is Worthless

Violet_edging

Violets as Dr. Jekyll

Elizabeth's valentine this week to sweet violet--and the yes, no, yes comments that followed--reminded me why one-size-fits-all gardening advice is such a crock. Two years ago, I wrote a post defending viola odorata as "the world's prettiest edging plant." Which it remains in my front yard, blooming with the tulips and looking charming and declining to interfere with the front flower bed's deeper regions, while still filling out the hell strip nicely.

Choke

Violets as Mr. Hyde

In the back, however, which is slightly shadier, it is inserting itself parasitically into other perennials, seeding at a scary rate, and threatening to turn the whole place into a sweet little monoculture. Two years ago, the front-yard gardener said, "They're lovely.  Not at all invasive."  But if you spoke this year to the woman who gardens in the backyard, she'd say, "I think they'd be really nice...in the alley next to the garbage can."

The only advice that's worth anything is local.  Really, really local. 

Big Foot

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Hubbard Hall Plant Sale April 26

Is this just a northern gardener's problem?  Where we're constantly trying to fit a full-sized gardening experience into a half-sized growing season?

Or do those wonderful Texas gardeners, too, wind up stomping on their half-emerged perennials? 

Here, stuff is not always identifiably up until early May. But I'm inevitably forced to step into the bed and plant earlier than that. The catalogs always ship things in April, and Hubbard Hall, the amazing Cambridge, NY arts center, always holds its plant sale fundraiser before the hostas have even shown their noses. 

The plant sale is a particular problem.  First, I'm out there tromping over everything, trying to dig up stuff to contribute. (Pretty clever--you get to shop an hour early and snag the unusual stuff if you contribute plants. Of course, this year I put my tray down for an instant, and when I returned, somebody had swiped the uvularia right off it. Next year, I'm hiring a caddy.) 

Then I wind up tromping over more perennials, trying to get the dozen things I've bought into the ground. Last night, I turned around and realized I'd decimated a Sarah Bernhardt peony. I'm ambivalent about peonies in general, but not Sarah Bernhardt, who is very tall, very double, and a very interesting silvery pink.

Of course, some gardening books actually tell you not to make perennial beds deeper than three feet, so you can reach in without stepping in. Ridiculous.  There's no such thing as beauty, proportion, or wretched excess without risk.   

Straw Bale Vegetable Gardens

Straw_bale_garden Okay, I'm in.  I had stopped putting in a real vegetable garden in favor of perennial culinary plants like artichokes and fruit trees, but after I saw Michele's vegetable garden (pictured at right), all composted and ready for its spring planting, I started jonesing for a proper vegetable garden again.

Tomatoes and other heat loving vegetable crops are very hard to grow here because temperatures rarely get above 70 degrees. The warmest, sunniest spot in my garden is overrun by tough weeds, and I knew that I would lose the battle over the course of the summer if I just tried to put an ordinary vegetable bed there.

So I decided to try this straw bale gardening thing.  There's no digging involved and even the nastiest weeds should be smothered. The idea is that you soak bales of rice straw with water and liquid fertilizer toMichele_garden get a little fermentation going.  Give it about a week, top it off with compost, and plant right into it.

In this case, I formed a little square with four bales and left an opening in the middle that I filled with compost. I'm feeding and watering it every day for a week or so, and I've run soaker hoses across the top so that it won't be such a chore to water.  I've got 36 square feet of planting space here, enough for some cherry tomatoes, some squash, a few annual herbs, and maybe some peas and beans that can climb the side of the chicken coop.

I got the idea from Seattle Tilth, and there is another good article with some photos here. It suggests using wheat straw because it will be weed-free, but I've always used rice straw instead of wheat straw for that reason.  At the end of the season, I plan to cut the strings that hold the bales together and turn the whole thing into a compost pile for the winter.  Oh, and although you can't see it here, there's a little wire fence around the thing that I hope will keep the chickens out.

Anybody tried this?  Got any words of wisdom?

Re-Wright

Wright

You may remember I posted here about the gorgeous conservatory designed by Frank Lloyd Wright for Darwin Martin’s estate in Buffalo. After being demolished, it has recently been rebuilt. If you’re interested, you can read more about it in this month’s Garden Design, in an article written by no other than fellow Ranter Amy Stewart.

As Jim/Art of Gardening relates in his post, Amy’s article is fascinating because it includes the correspondence between Wright and Martin, who had one of those great dysfunctional relationships that can only happen between architect and client, and that can only rise to such heights when the architect in question is one of our favorite egomaniacal geniuses.

I can’t link to the article, but it’s in the May GD. (Sorry, I know you can’t read it from the tiny image above.)

P.S. Buffalo gardens have been making the rounds in many garden magazines lately, largely because of all the visits we got last summer during Garden Walk. There is a six-page spread on a Buffalo garden in the May/June Garden Gate, as well. Again, no linkie! These guys don’t put their stuff online.


What Global Warming Means to Me

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Amy Stewart was amazed, when she came to visit me two weeks ago, that we still had snow on the ground.  Since then, we've had an unbroken run of sunny, hot weather. What global warming means to us is no spring. We go straight from dirty glaciers to July in a matter of days.

This year, we're doing it without April showers. I can accept a drought at the end of the summer, such as we had last year. I can accept the fact that I was an idiot to give in to the impulse to buy a tree peony in July, and another $29 purchase is now dead as a doornail.

But it is really upsetting me that I left my vegetable garden behind last Monday morning in the country without watering it, and my pea seedlings are probably burning up. I've never once set up my sprinkler in April.

Even more freakish, my bulbs seem to be messed up, and instead of the slow unfurling I've planted for, they all seem to be popping off at once. Bulbs--more reliable than an atomic clock. But this year, my Single Early Tulips are blooming before my species tulips, tulipa tarda.  That's not how I remember the order going in previous years. 

If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that the species tulips are sensitive to absolute measures of the season, such as day length. And that the hybrid tulips, which have been bred to be forced in a greenhouse, are more sensitive to temperature. They've woken up early, but think they're late. They're also smaller than normal in their haste to catch up. "My God, did we miss May?" they are saying.

Borrowed Landscape

Magnolia

This magnificent Queen Anne house and magnificent magnolia soulangeana are right across the street from me in Saratoga Springs, NY.  Not a day goes by that I don't feel grateful for the sight of both of them.

I've always wanted a magnolia soulangeana, and it's only since I moved to Saratoga Springs, a balmy Zone 5, that I've lived somewhere warm enough for one.  But I have a small city yard, and no right place for such a big square tree.

My husband says that ownership is not important and to simply enjoy the neighborhood magnolia. I get only limited satisfaction from this National Park Service idea of shared landscape.  I'm stewing about whether, if I take out a miserable crabapple, I could shoehorn one of my own into a shady corner.

Guess which one of us is the gardener?

Tiny Garden Retreat, Anyone?

Coop Katie Hutchison of House Enthusiast just inked a book deal with Taunton Press for a book on small retreats.  Cabana?  Garden folly?  Tree house?  If you have one, check out her submission guidelines. She says she'd love to hear from Friends of Rant.

Wonder if chicken coops count?

The greenhouse vs. the conservatory

Nike

I’ve always longed for a conservatory—maybe like this one (above). The one (recently rebuilt) Frank Lloyd Wright made for the Darwin Martin estate in Buffalo. You very rarely hear talk about conservatories these days, but the middle and upper middle classes in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries were very fond of them. All trailing skirts, palm fronds, and clandestine flirtations.

Of course, often the idea of greenhouse and conservatory were combined; there were such things as “succession houses” where out-of-season fruits and flowers were raised. These would be the province of the staff gardener, where the actual conservatory (containing mainly such house plants as forced bulbs, orchids, and other tropicals) might receive the personal attention of the lady of the house.

In the world of twenty-first century gardening, one doesn’t hear much of conservatories. It’s all about lawns, perennials, annuals, and maintenance (high or low). Hardly anyone has this sort of middle area—not inside or outside—where you can just hang out, surrounded by greenery. I would, if I could, because this is exactly why I got into gardening. I like to hang out, surrounded by plants. One has to garden in order to achieve that, so I garden. But wouldn’t it be lovely to have a year-round area where one could hang out, surrounded by plants? The greenhouse is the closest most get to this these days, but a greenhouse is more about work, not recreation, and the products of a greenhouse generally end up in the garden, where a conservatory is a goal in of itself.

Plants

Traditional conservatory plants don’t get a lot of respect on this blog, so I won’t spend too much time discussing them, but you can see from the Martin House images which ones they are—the usual ferny, leafy tropicals, with orchids providing most of the floral display. This summer, after I’ve moved most of my “plant room” plants (jasmine, gardenia, banana, orange) outside, that’s what I’ll be left with. I’m thinking of buying a really comfortable chair so I can lounge/read in the plant room, maybe on a rainy day. It’s not a conservatory—too tiny for one thing—but it seems to call for something like that, where one can take advantage of the moist, plant-enhanced, air. Unlike the garden, what tasks there are in a conservatory are quickly finished, so you can enjoy it as a place more often. (In my garden, there’s generally something needing attention, even during a party, which is how my other blog got its name.)

This is probably why, of all the Ranters, I am the most favorably disposed toward indoor gardening. I like how the Victorians and Edwardians did it—there was always a place to hang out with plants.

Photos by Chastity Taber.

Addendum: There is a ton of information about the Darwin Martin complex on the web, so I didn’t reiterate it, but the conservatory and some other buildings belonging to the estate were demolished in the fifties (not a decade known for respect of great architecture). The reconstruction of these buildings was completed in 2007. Wright’s client was initially disappointed by the size of the conservatory, so he installed a 60-foot greenhouse (not designed by Wright, so it won't be rebuilt) between the conservatory and the gardener’s cottage (which was not demolished), in order to supply plants and flowers for the complex. The first statue of Nike was a plaster cast of the original—the one in the Louvre. That statue fell apart during the long period of general neglect of the complex. This one was created through computer imaging of other plaster casts and is made of resin. It is the same size as the original—9’6”. (Michele, is this an acceptable resin object?)

Bloom Day in Buffalo

Hellebores2

Hellebores. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

It's time to see tulips by the million

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At this time of year, one does not think of visiting Kashmir to see a tulip garden—at least I don’t. My pedestrian imaginings dwell more on expected Tulip Centrals like, I dunno, Holland, where our friend Jim/Art of Gardening is cavorting at this very moment.

But for those who like to visit India at this time of year, here’s another reason to go: one of the the largest tulip gardens in Asia (there is another contender in Shanghai) now exists at Srinagar, the summer capital of Kashmir. The site has almost a million tulips, with about 60 varieties represented (yeah, a bit disappointing in terms of cultivars), and covers 50 acres. All the bulbs were brought from Holland, so one can assume these are all the most popular hybrids, as indeed it appears from the images I’ve managed to google. Bollywood producers are already lining up for the chance to use these fields of brilliant color as a backdrop for their films. Officially named the Indira Gandhi Tulip Garden (some controversy over that), the site was inaugurated this year as part of efforts to win tourists back to a beautiful area that has been less popular for the usual sad reasons.

I guess it must be working, as I see a number of YouTube and Flickr documentations of visits to the garden. Of course, the largest tulip display is still at the Keukenhof Gardens in Holland. (Anyone going to see those besides Jim?)

I have always longed to see the spring flowers of India, though these wouldn’t strictly fit into that category. A conservancy devoted to the wild tulips of the Near East would be more interesting, though I doubt such a place exists.

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