Crocosmia--Late Summer Sunshine

Crocosmia naturalized on a hillside

Crocosmia is a plant that captures colors straight from the sun, and brings them to the late summer garden.   The tiny bulbs naturalize easily on slopes or fringe areas of the garden.  And once established, they need no extra water.  For some reason, they are blooming really profusely this year.  I can only guess that they have liked our cooler than normal summer weather.  But whatever the reason, they are definitely catching my eye right now.

Bright yellow centers glow in the sunlight

The foliage is sword-shaped, and almost resembles a clump of grass.  In the spring, the new shoots emerge pale-green, and are a welcome sight after a long winter.

Crocosmia comes in shades of yellow, orange and red

This is a plant that is very easy to divide and is common to a lot of Northwest gardens.  It's readily available in all of the nurseries, but if you have a friend who loves to garden, chances are they would be happy to share a few crocosmia bulbs.

Hibiscus in Seattle?

It is sad to watch a plant suffer.  And plants which are clearly out of their eco-system, are especially sad cases.  I have a plant that is in need of Plant Amnesty--a one way ticket to Honolulu to be precise.

My very unhappy hibiscus plant

My plant's journey through suffering began last May.  It was a birthday gift to me from a good friend who loves plants as much as I do.  And when it was given to me, it was stunning.  It's leaves were thick and glossy, and it was covered in beautiful golden yellow Hawaii blossoms.  No doubt it was started in a nice warm nursery, coddled with simulated south pacific island air.  I've never had a hibiscus before, but I was excited about creating a tropical container for our summer patio.  My plan was to combine the hibiscus with some other tropical looking plants--maybe an interesting coleus, with a lime-green sweet potato vine and some bright pink impatiens.

My enthusiasm waned however, after I did a bit of research on this plant family.  I found out that hibiscus' like temperatures in the range of 70-80 degrees Fahrenheit.  In May, we were a long way from that type of warmth!  And so I began the work of trying to keep the little hibiscus happy until summer appeared.  I kept it in its little plastic pot in a sunny spot in our dining room.  And when the temperature got warm enough outside, I moved it to a warm spot on our deck.  If you've seen any weather data about Seattle this year, you will find that up until August, my plant's outside time could be measured in hours, not days.

Finally....a bloom!

My plan of a tropical container ended as I watched the hibiscus shrink to about half its size.  It was withering away! I focused instead on trying to keep it happy.  I misted it with water, I put it in the warmest parts of the garden, and finally last week it bloomed again!  Such a sunny flower, but I'm not sure it was worth the effort.  The plant is still clearly miserable, and summer--what summer we had--is on its way out. This was just not the summer for hibiscus in Seattle.

Because I am still harboring fantasies about tropical plants, I may try to overwinter the hibiscus in the dining room and try again for next year.  But if the plant keeps shrinking, this may not end well.  Unless of course Plant Amnesty steps in and saves my little hibiscus with a one-way ticket to Hawaii.

Fresh Garden Veggies

Our row of broccoli, ready for harvest

We are finally starting to harvest food from our garden.  The broccoli, though late, has been incredible this year.  Those thick green leaves have loved our cool spring and summer.  Likewise with the lettuces and swiss chard.  I can't remember a year where we have had such lush lettuce crops.  The downside is that my family is tired of eating salad.

We don't have a very big garden, but I like to grow enough for a few summer meals. Mostly we use the garden for 'grazing'.   When the berries start to ripen, the girls will head up to the garden to snack.  I try to get a handful of blueberries, strawberries or raspberries for my cereal, but I have to beat both the birds and the girls to the berries!  And some of our crops, like broccoli, produce just enough for a few meals. Not really enough to even call a crop! But even so, it is deeply satisfying to walk into the garden and gather dinner.

Our veggies grow nice and big on aged goat manure

With the weather being so cold all spring, our garden is oriented this year toward cool weather crops.  I decided not to take a chance on growing heat-loving plants like pumpkins, cucumbers or peppers.  And the tomato starts I bought are all of the coolest, short-season variety.  (They have names like 'Northern Delight')  The basil starts I planted a month ago have been sitting in the ground looking rather glum up until this past week. And the zucchini plants, purchased when a rare sunny day gave me hope for a summer, are just now setting tiny zucchini.

Our harvest is small, but even so, a vegetable garden is a worthwhile undertaking.  Nothing tastes better than food plucked fresh from the garden.  In fact, our girls eat some vegetables from the garden that they normally might not try.  Broccoli, for example, was a vegetable they learned to like only after eating it from the garden. And when they were little, they would eat green beans right off the stalk--followed, of course, by generous amounts of candy.  But at least they were grazing on some fresh food.

fresh garden broccoli covered in cheese!

My biggest hope for this season is that we get enough sunshine to ripen the tomatoes.  Right now I have plants covered in green tomatoes and I'm dying to see how 'Mr. Stripey' and 'Japanese Black Trifele' turn out.  Who wouldn't want to sample a pink and green striped tomato?  I've also got some purple, blue and yellow potatoes that I'll be excited to dig up this Fall.  Insects, disease and deer all attempt to bring disappointment into the garden.  And they frequently succeed.  But the seasoned gardener knows that the garden always holds promise in the harvest.

Our Solar Powered Friends

A bumble bee on the herb Nepeta (also known as catmint)

The garden has brought me so much joy this past month.  After an incredibly long and cold winter, I have been soaking up the sweet smells of flowers and the long hours of daylight.  We are still in an odd weather pattern and haven't quite gotten to our normal summer drought, but I'm glad to have shed some of my thinsulate and fleece layers!  And I am thrilled to once again share my garden work with bees.

Our climate is home to the sweetest, most docile little bumble bees.  Right now they are busy working away, gathering pollen and nectar.  Sometimes I see them resting on a branch or flower, no doubt taking a much needed break to recharge.  Occasionally, they even land on my arm to rest!

A bee waiting for the sun to warm her for flying.

But my joy in working with them is coupled with concern.  We, and by we I mean our planet, are facing a serious shortage of bees.  The honey bee population has been in decline; and in fact, if it weren't for bee keepers, there would most likely be no honey bees left.  The wild honey bee has all but disappeared.  Many factors are playing into the collapse of honey bee hives, but no one really knows the exact cause.  The list of possible contributing factors includes the bee mite, pollution and pesticide use, climate change, and development.  It's not known which of these is the most serious threat, or if it is a combination of all of them.

I haven't seen any honey bees in my garden for years.  A friend of mine who is a beekeeper explained that the reason is because there are no bee keepers near my garden.  So unless I, or one of my neighbors decides to keep bees, we are out of luck.  I am thankful for the other varieties of bees who pollinate for me, but none of them are nearly as efficient as the honey bee.

This year it became very apparent to me just how important bees are for food production.  I have two asian pear trees which normally have high fruit yields.  But this year we had an exceptionally cold spring--too cold for our solar powered bee friends.  I hovered around my asian pear trees every day during blossom time, listening for the sounds of flying insects.  It was dead silent.  One particularly nice day I went up hoping it was warm enough for the bees to move, but nothing.  Not one flying, pollinating creature was able to work in the cold temperatures.  And as spring moved along and the blossoms faded and fell, it was quickly apparent that I would have no asian pears this year.  Thankfully, it warmed in time for a few apples to set.  But the bee problem translates into a food problem very quickly.

A bumble bee deep inside a rhododendron flower

I am once again thankful for the hard working farmers who manage to produce food in spite of weather and insect problems.  And I'm grateful for scientists who are researching and trying to find solutions to our honey bee problem.  You can join in as a "citizen scientist" with the The Great Sunflower Project if you are interested in helping find solutions.  Check out their website as it has great information on bees and how you can help.  Tomorrow, July 16th, is their Great Bee Count.  They are asking for gardeners around the country to spend a small amount of time in their garden, counting bees.  Sounds like a good time to enjoy a cup of tea, and a perfect project for a possibly bored school child!  I'd love to hear from anyone who takes part in this project.

My Exbury Love Affair

Some plants dazzle us with their brilliant Fall color.  Some are alluring with their full Summer blossoms.  Still others brighten our winter views with interesting and colorful winter branches or berries. And of course we have the spring charmers with their delicate, fragrant flowers that pull us out of winter.  Filling your garden with seasonal show-stoppers is one way to make sure your landscape is always interesting and beautiful.

However, there is another category of plants:  the Plants Who Have It All.  Some plants are so amazing they offer color and interest in EVERY season.  The Exbury azalea is one of those plants.   In the Spring, the blossoms are so luscious, full and colorful, they will literally stop you in your tracks.  And most of these plants are sweetly scented too.  One Exbury azalea will add a soft, subtle fragrance to your spring garden.

After the flowers fade and fall away, the light green leaves make for a beautiful summer plant.  And as summer gives way to Fall, the leaves turn from green to rich shades of copper, orange and scarlet.

It is true that this plant is a bare branched plant through the winter, being that it is deciduous.  But the branches are interesting, and the flower buds begin to swell as early as January.  So it is a fairly year-round performer.

I have one Exbury azalea in my garden and it is front and center.  It is blooming right now and I am just as smitten with it's pretty flowers now as I was when I first bought it 15 years ago.  Oh, and if you asked me it's name, I'm afraid I'd have to give you it's made up name.  I bought it after my first baby was born and my brain, being so sleep-deprived and smitten with my new daughter, had no room left for cataloging plant names.  Most of the time, I simply call it "Beautiful".  

   

What's in a Name?

The "Pretty Red One"

In the Pacific Northwest, rhododendrons are a plant family that inspires collectors.  These beautiful shrubs come in many sizes and colors, and are perfectly suited to our climate.  I've been to several rhododendron gardens and I am always amazed at the diversity of this plant family. Bloedel Reserve on Bainbridge Island has a beautiful rhododendron garden and many of the plants are still blooming.  It's worth a visit.

Many collectors will have a tag on each plant, noting the variety name and age.  I admire this sort of organization, but I don't follow it in my garden.  If I remember a plant's name it's because for some reason, the name stuck with me.  I remember the names of a few of my rhododendrons simply because they look like their name.  My 'Moonstone' is easy because it's pale yellow color glows in the exact shade of moonlight.  And my bright red 'Vulcan' was too fun of a name not to remember.  The rest of my rhodies have been blessed with my own made-up names, which would bring about a lot of eye-rolling from the serious collector.

This one is called "The one I bought at the special nursery on Day Rd. for $8 when it was just a tiny thing."  It smells heavenly by the way.

This one is called, "The beauty I picked up at Central Market 15 years ago that is twice the size the tag said it would be, and blooms happily with little care from me."

This one is my favorite, though I try not to let the other's hear me say that.  It's name is "The one with the beautiful orange bell flowers that the bees love".   I also love that when the blossoms fall off, they create a bright orange pool on the ground below.

Another photo of "the one I bought at the special nursery on Day Rd....."

And finally, the itty-bitty 'impeditum' rhododendron, who's name I remember but I prefer  the name, "The tiny purplish-blue one"

Unfinished Thoughts...

This past month has been one in which I haven't been able to finish a sentence...or even a thought.  I have started several blog posts, and written notes about random observations, but so far, I haven't been able to complete anything.  And I believe the problem lies in too much multi-tasking.  May is a multi-tasking month.  The garden begs for weeding, pruning, planting and mulching.  The children have end-of-year projects, spring sports and endless lunches to be made and clothes to be washed.  Even the goats have extra needs right now!  We recently trimmed their hooves, gave them medications for worms and mites, and cleaned their barn.  I have begun posts about all of these adventures, but haven't finished any of them.

Here is a post I started the first week of May:

It's taken much longer than usual, but I can finally say with some certainty, that Spring is here!  It isn't warm, and doesn't exactly feel like spring, (especially as I am still wearing my thinsulate lined boots and gloves on most days), but I think we are at least past the possibility of 30 degree temperatures.


The very next morning after writing these words, we awoke to 37 degrees.  This REALLY made me question my "spring is here!" proclamation.  I decided not to post it.  And I have since been unable to follow any garden thread I have started.  Every attempt to understand our weather this year has failed.  Everything I know to be true about our seasons (based on my 40 years of living) has been off.  


Here is another sample of my mis-guided hopes, and a post that went un-posted:

Slugs.  They are slimy, squishy little creatures.  And like every Northwest gardener, part of my Spring garden job is to try and control the little beasts.  If I didn't at least make an attempt to battle the ubiquitous, invasive brown slug, I wouldn't have much of a garden.  They chew down sweet pea starts, dahlias and lettuce, and make the hostas looks like they have had hand grenades thrown at them.  Some years, I begin my battle with them in February.  But this year, thanks to some ultra-cold temperatures, I'm hopeful Mother Nature has given us a helping hand in the form of slug death by freeze.

This post would have been about organic methods of slug control (and I promise to write a post on that soon), but two days after writing these hopeful words, it was as if the slugs awoke from their winter slumber hungrier than usual!  I hadn't put out any Sluggo yet, and almost overnight had holes chewed into the ornamental rhubarb.  Ugh!  And so much for my confidence in them being frozen.  Apparently they thaw out just fine.

So, I'm definitely off my garden game.  I am still planting my vegetable garden, weeding and composting.  But I am a little timid in everything I'm doing.  I finally bought some annuals and planted a few pots by our front door, but I half expected to wake up and find them frozen.  At least the broccoli and lettuces seem to be doing fine in the garden.  The peas are safe beneath row cover, and the tomatoes are in the green house where they may live for the whole season.

I am old enough to "think" I know the garden, but still so young that I am thrown off course by our strange year.  So here is to beginning again.  And to accepting all of the variations in weather and seasons that come our way.