Can’t you just feel the approach of spring? The light feels brighter and days are distinctly longer. As the sap rises in the trees and the buds begin to swell, the pulse quickens and spirits soar. It’s time to get moving in the garden!
Things To Do This Month
Cut some forsythia and pussy willow branches for indoor forcing. Place in water and keep in a cool place until the buds are swollen. Then move them to a location where they can be viewed as the blooms burst forth. A lovely prelude to spring.
As snow melts, start clean up process. Twigs and other debris can be removed. Protect the still wet areas of grass and beds by first placing cardboard or wood planks and stepping on those instead. They help distribute the weight better.
Later in the month, remove protective burlap and/or plastic wrappings and wind breaks.
Get tools sharpened. This includes the mower blades.
Commence indoor seed sowing. Begin with the early, cool weather crops. Read seed packet instructions and calculate dates for planting out.
Order plants that will be required for the garden as soon as the ground has warmed up. Let your local nursery know your needs – they will inform you know when shipments arrive.
As soon as possible, once snow is all gone and soil has thawed, spread compost on all the beds including the vegetable plot.
Finish pruning fruit trees, grape vines and roses early in the month.
Take an inventory and stock up on whatever is lacking. Soil, gloves, mulch, stakes, twine, tools, water retaining crystals, grass seed, pots, hoses etc.,
Survey the garden and see what needs replacing, repairing or painting. Schedule and do the needful.
Start bringing out or uncovering outdoor furniture. It’ll soon be time to linger outdoors!
Get Open Days directory from Garden Conservancy – www.gardenconservancy.org. Mark your calendars to visit beautiful gardens in your area. Come to my Open Day on May 14 between 10 am and 4 pm. I’m looking forward to seeing you!
I’ve been seed obsessed for a while. Each seed is a whole world unto itself. The future, yours and mine and every other life form depends on the survival and viability of seeds. Seen as symbols of hope and prosperity, the importance of seeds cannot be overstated. We know that much for sure.
And so, we harvest and collect seeds. We preserve and store. We sow and grow. Fruits, vegetables, flowers, herbs, medicinals – everything we need is sought and coveted. National and international repositories keep all known seeds for future needs and by doing so they strive to secure our future.
At this time of year, gardeners in the northern hemisphere are gearing up to sow seeds for their gardens. As am I. However, due to time and schedule constraints, I’m not planning to start too many. Instead, I’m going to make seed bombs to disperse. It’s an experiment so I’ll just have to see how it all turns out. The scientist in me is excited about the experiment. The gardener in me is skeptical – the whole thing seems a bit iffy.
My reasoning is, instead of directly sprinkling seeds such as poppies wherever one wants them to grow, seed bombs could increase the chance of success as they will hold the seeds down, perhaps safeguard them from birds, and, when weather conditions are right, supply the seeds with an immediate boost of nutrition. Sort of give the seeds a leg up. Similarly, instead of struggling to squeeze in seedlings amidst established plantings, seed bombs might serve better.
Like I’ve already said, it’s an experiment. For very little investment in time, energy and money. If it succeeds, the returns could be big. Fingers crossed. Click here for the link to the website and recipe I’ll be using to make the seed bombs.
But it is not just seeds to grow that have my attention. I’ve become deeply enamored with seedpods, heads and capsules. In examining them to paint, the diversity and ingenuity of these vessels just blows my mind. Each design is not simply functional but also very beautiful. To my eyes, they are as striking as flowers.
I’m awed by how the plants have evolved so their seed dispersing structures are exquisite in form and function.
Some plants like hellebores , drop their seeds around themselves and keep their babies close. Columbines are more about independence and spread their seeds away from themselves, giving their progeny greater freedom to thrive but still in the same neighborhood of the parent. And then there are the likes of milkweed and dandelion that let the wind carry the seeds much further away. It occurs to me that we, human parents, can identify with these methods. Am I right?!
Seeds – where would we be without them? Would we even be?
There I was all draggy with jet lag last Thursday when presented with unexpectedly balmy weather. 51 degrees F in early February is not common and the weatherman promised three whole days of it. So what was I going to do about it? For starters, all thoughts about slowly getting back into the groove of winter idleness had to be put aside. This gift of sunshine and warmth simply could not be overlooked.
On the first day, which was also my first day back, a good walk around the neighborhood was in order. A reconnaissance of sorts – checking out my neck of the woods as though mighty changes could’ve occurred in the two short weeks I’d been away. There was a fair amount of snow everywhere with patches of tired looking terra firma showing through. Not particularly pretty but hopeful of spring not being too far off.
I returned to my own garden and noted where the snow had melted completely, where traces lingered and where it remained in quantity. I conduct a studious observation every year because all the micro-climates are revealed by snow melt. The varying amounts of light in the different parts of the garden dictate which plants are likely to thrive or struggle. Even nano-climates can be exposed. This pattern can change year to year as trees or shrubs grow or die, new constructions come up or old ones torn down. Even the introduction of a car park can influence the situation. I take mental notes and lots of photographs.
Then, keeping the approach of Valentine’s Day in mind, I decided to make the effort of creating an fun ephemeral sculpture to mark the day. Knowing the snow would melt fast in the current mild temperatures, I decided to act immediately. Using a nifty mold, I made a couple of dozen snow hearts. And then put them all in the freezer to keep for the eve of Valentine’s when the whole work would be assembled. Thinking ahead with the weather in mind is a hallmark of all gardeners. Comes in handy for other matters too.
When Saturday, the warmest of this mild spell, came along, I announced to the family ( much to their surprise) that all hands on deck would be required in the garden. Pruning was on the agenda. Grape arbor, all the climbers and shrub roses and the espaliers of fruit trees. This is a tall order. Hence the need for all available deckhands. We had this window of one day before the temperatures would plummet.
An prune we did. Honestly, it was glorious to be outdoors. I guided my daughter through her first attempt with the roses – this felt rather special to me. A passing along of lessons to the next generation.
Grapevine clippings were stored away for camouflaging the peony supports later in March. And so the day was spent clipping and cutting till all got done just as the sun began to set. Truly, the day was a divine gift. Often the task of prunings gets significantly delayed because of huge amounts of snow still in place and temperatures being very low. At other times, one is surprised by warmer weather and fails to take advantage of it. This time however, we really did seize the day.
Whilst working, I became aware of the birdsong that was keeping us company and that reminded me to clean out the two birdhouses. Which was just as well because, shortly after removing the previous years nesting material and getting the houses refreshed, I spied a wren checking out one of the houses. It too was making the most of the warm day.
I also took out the hyacinths cooling in the refrigerator and got some potted up and others into forcing vases. The joy of monitoring the bulbs as they awaken and grow is what keeps me in a very good state of mind till the garden outside comes alive.
And then, on Sunday, temperatures not only plummeted overnight, but we awoke to a most beautiful snow clad garden. What a difference a day makes.
This was a most wonderful homecoming. Jet lag lingers but the spirits are revived.
Grape vine pruning
Vine clippings to conceal the mechanics of propping up the peonies
A poem I wrote a few years ago to sum up February.
I’m heading back home today after a couple of weeks in Mumbai, India. So eager to check on the garden and get the cooling hyacinths started in the forcing vases.
Note – The images below are ones I took the same February I wrote the poem:
I’m currently enjoying some mild temperatures in Mumbai. While this is not a vacation per se it still feels good to get a bit of warmth. For reading material, I’d brought my rather large stack of garden related periodicals with the sincere intent to get through them all. Progress has been slow. But the two I’ve read thus far have certainly jolted me out of my winter induced stupor. It’s time to jump into action – seeds to get started, pruning of fruit trees, list of plants to acquire, repairs and/or replacements to be made and various other odds and ends.
Closely following the big snowstorm that blasted the northeast over the past weekend, I confess to selfishly hoping my little garden would be spared any damage. About 7 inches of snow fell – enough to be an event but certainly nowhere near a calamity. I breathed a sigh of relief because worrying from a distance is always more stressful. The imagination can be cruel.
Meanwhile, my lovely English gardening magazines reminded me that the winter aconites and snowdrops are up and blooming in their part of the world. So, here I am in 80 degree weather, reading about spring awakening in the UK and snow blanketing my garden back home. All together a bit confusing. I’m itching to get started on preparations for spring but know it is really not yet time – the feeling of urgency is only because those pretty pictures of early bulbs and seed flats full of seedlings are making me think I must be behind schedule. The pleasant warmth I find myself in only augments the sense of being tardy.
I get back home in about ten days. At that time, the hyacinths cooling in the refrigerator will be brought out and forced. That’s the sort of early spring that will actually be happening. Towards the end of the month, if weather permits and barring mounds of snow preventing moving around the garden, the fruit trees, grapevines and roses will be pruned. As March rolls up, seeds will be started. I’m eagerly awaiting the rather charming cart ordered from @gardeners – a metal number in cheery yellow with a grow light system to coax seeds to unleash their potential in the lower shelf. The top shelf I have assigned for reviving the small topiaries that get weary of the greenhouse by this time. I plan to station the cart somewhere in the house where I can monitor it closely and gaze fondly at the seedlings as they emerge. And the sunny color will surely banish any and all grumpiness.
All good things to anticipate. February doesn’t look so bleak after all.
In the greenhouse right now. (I get updates on request!)
But for the odd pot or furniture to put away, the garden has been put to bed. As I gaze out the window slowly sipping my coffee and contemplating the day, it looks very subdued and quiet out there. I’m planning on going into the garden a bit later in the day. Spend some time getting the benefit of the outdoors. Sunshine notwithstanding, it looks cold. I’m tempted to make excuses and stay in. I know that once I’ve made it outside, I’ll be totally fine. It is getting past the inertia that is the hardest.
After a morning of work, I’m ready for a break. I require some diversion to get my mind ready for the next tasks that must be completed. I pull on warm layers kept on the ready, grab my winter gear and step out. The sharp edge of the cold hits me as I squint in the bright sunlight. Right away I feel more awake and my body adjusts to the temperature. It’s not so bad at all.
Instinctively my eyes start surveying the perennial beds on either side of where I stand. I look down at the hellebores left uncut so the emerging buds are protected. Gently lifting a couple of the leaves, I note the tiny buds nestled at the base. In my minds eye, I see the flowers in bloom. Hellebores are so dependable. I cannot have enough of them. The rest of the beds look tidy and flat with the plants cut back. They and the bulbs are nicely tucked away for the winter under a thick layer of mulch. Staring a bit longer, I detect the slightest growth – slender tips spearing through. Crocus or snowdrops awakening way too early? There had been a few days of mild temperatures a couple of weeks ago. Could that have triggered some bulbs? I fervently hope not. There’s not much I can do about it so I tell myself to let it be.
Leaving the front garden, I walk past the vertical garden – a length that looks so devoid of any growth, that one would be hard-pressed to imagine the lush greenery that is a hallmark of this space in the growing season. My heart feels a twinge – I miss the wall garden. It surprises me to realize just how much I love this feature. I wonder if the mosses looking barely present in their dormancy miss their fern companions now ensconced safely in the emptied vegetable bed in the potager.
Standing at the top of the steps that lead down to meadow, I marvel at the filigree of tree branches above. Denuded of leaves, like a loosely knit scarf the patterns trace through the air against the backdrop of a clear blue sky. Below, I become aware of birds hopping around as they forage for food. It’s only in being still that I am able to detect the many sounds in the garden. What at first felt quiet is in reality humming with activity.
The rustle of small creatures in bushes, the scratching of the birds as they avail themselves of worms and scattered seeds, distinct birdsong punctuates the air and I begin to watch the various singers at different locations of the garden. Each time a gust of wind come through, I hear the creak of branches swaying. Airlifted leaves perform balletic dances before settling down again on the ground. The sunlight glancing off the metal sculpture brings into focus the moire pattern on its surface. Reminds me of eddies of water in a stream. I watch a hawk high on a tree of a neighbor’s property – it is feasting on something newly caught. I don’t want to know what its eating. Nearby, I watch a spider hard at work – a web is such a marvel. I wonder if the spider does it instinctively or has some forethought directed the strategy. As an artist, I know both factors come into play when I create.
Before I know it, an hour has passed. My body feels so alive and filled with inspiration. Wandering around the garden, has quieted my mind and prepared it for the work that lies ahead. I return indoors refreshed, relaxed and motivated.
Tomorrow, I will get to do it all over again. The daily gift of Nature.
The month is drawing to a close and I can hardly stand the anticipation for spring. Unlike other years, this has been a particularly mild winter. Franky, I’ve missed the snow and polar vortex. I miss normal. Yet, it’s hard to stay unaffected by all the early signals of spring. Makes me feel the need to fast forward the to-do list for spring garden chores. Yet, that voice of reason in my head whispers Not so fast – winter just might decide to make a big comeback with all the drama and power we know she’s capable of.
I’m doing my best to listen to that caution. List is on hand, plans are set, plants sourced, aspirations declared. Now, it is simply a matter of waiting. All in good time. I really don’t mind waiting as I worry that an early spring could be cut short by an early, protracted summer. That’s not good at all. We’d have to relearn gardening as we know it.
It might well be that, the inevitable, the unavoidable, the unthinkable has already arrived and settled in. Climate change has begun and we’d best acknowledge it. Gardeners are after all , the first responders of the horticultural world. This is a call to unite, act, impact, influence, protect. The moment is nigh.
February Fervor
Golden sunsets
part leaden skies
Frost and fire
earth shifts and sighs..
Wild, untamed
landscapes wait
Restless slumber
at Spring’s gate.
Crystal snow
melts in drips
Plumping roots
greening tips.
Flowing sap
send hearts aflutter
Weather and emotions
soar and splutter.
– Shobha Vanchiswar
Note: Just to make a point, I offer no images this week. Imagine a world without flowers or fruit. No beautiful gardens. If we don’t do the right thing, that’ll become a reality.
All
Gardening Is Landscape Painting’ – Alexander
Pope
It’s become something of a tradition to have a group of artist friends spend a day in June painting and bonding in my little garden. This year, it happened last Saturday. The weather was perfect. Neither hot nor cold in temperature, the air was dry, sunny with a few white clouds … like I said, perfect.
I
have often said that the garden is my muse. My painting, poetry and
all other writing is inspired by the garden. How and what I choose to
cook, the décor of my home and
much of my taste in clothes is influenced by nature – her seasons and
colors. Heck, even books or movies set in a garden or about one stand
a good chance of being picked up by me. So, it’s always exciting
when others are inspired to create in my
garden.
All the artists come up from New York city so, they notice the air quality, the clarity of light, the colors that abound, the sounds of myriad birds, the fragrances swirling around – everything. Things that I’m so used to and often take for granted are newly appreciated as I observe their responses and delight.
From the hues of fallen petals to the shapes of flowers to the patterns of leaves to the shifting shadows to the juxtaposition of stone and plant, I see it all through their eyes. As an artist myself, I appreciate the way they see my garden. As a gardener, I’m humbled by their appreciation and sensitivity to the thought and design of my horticultural creation. After all, the garden itself is my personal, never ending, forever evolving work of art. Having the artists here is a valuable critique session of sorts.
What
view
or plantings each
of them selects
to paint and how they interpret what they see is eye-opening and
exciting. It feels to me I’m learning to see my own garden in a
whole new way. Remarkably,
this happens to me every year!
A
reboot. It
is gratifying and instructive.
Through
good
gardening,
we reconnect with nature and remedy some of the harm we humans cause
to our natural environment. In
the process, the gardener hopes to create something beautiful and
useful. Artists
have always observed, studied and imitated Nature. They give astute
commentary to what is going on in the world.
I am the happy beneficiary of feedback from gardeners and garden lovers on my Open Day and then again from artists ( a few are gardeners as well) on Painting Day. Taken together, I am the one most enriched – making me a better gardener and artist. That’s priceless.
Humans have always known the
importance of being connected
to the natural world. Not simply for the obvious – food, shelter (
caves, construction materials), fuel and, medicine. We are inherently
aware that there is a deeper, spiritual relationship between us and
the plant kingdom. From using flowers/plants to mark every
significant event in our lives, returning our spent bodies to the
embrace of the earth, to adorning and anointing ourselves with
flowers, leaves, bark and roots for their perfume, cosmetic
properties in a bid to enhance our looks, the horticultural world is
intrinsic to our human-ness.
There is a plethora of anecdotal and
scientific evidence to support the positive effect of time spent
outdoors. Garden therapy is an accepted and valued method to heal all
sorts of human conditions – physical
and mental. Be it a stroll in the park, a hike in the woods,
puttering in the garden or just sitting quietly amidst some
greenery, a positive effect is palpably
felt. Lifting ones mood,
being physically energized after a stint out in nature is something
every one of us can relate to. Gardening
is empowering. To create something useful and beautiful is
transforming. There is even a
‘Gardens Without Borders’ effort to help refugees in camps and
war zones cope with their
circumstances. That’s plant
power.
Humans generally go about assuming
their position at the very top of the living world. I’m not certain
how we got to possess such hubris because in my experience, nothing
is more humbling than observing
nature closely as one does in
gardening. Before one assumes what we do outsideis the principal effector,
consider the plant community itself. What do we truly know about the
kingdom of plants?
We have generally assessed plants
from a very human perspective – how do they serve us? We regard
plants as being there for our specific purposes. And we are in
charge. Their very separation
from us and all animals to a kingdom of their own shows how we think
about plants. They are totally unlike us. But, are they really?
This past Saturday, I attended two
highly interesting talks/panel discussions. Both were events made
possible by the World Science Festival. The WSF takes place at this
time of year in New York City – five days chock full of talks and
discussions on all sorts of scientific topics. Leading scientists
from different parts of the world participate in these talks and
enlighten auditoriums packed with people
thirsting for answers and understanding the issues currently
affecting our lives. From cancer research to cosmic riddles to
climate change to contemplating the cerebrum as we know it. I’ve
been going to the WSF since it began about 11 years ago. I get
positively giddy with excitement going through the line-up of talks
and making my choices for the ones I’m most eager to attend.
This year, I chose two events that
were so closely related that I believe they should’ve been proposed
as a double feature. ‘Rethinking Thinking’ and
‘ Intelligence Without Brain’ were
my picks. Both were so interesting and certainly enlightening. The
take home is having a brain
and neurons is only one way
to think and navigating
life. And humans are not special at all
– we are just one form of life. Given my own background in
molecular biology, this was not surprising or hard to accept.
It was fascinating
to learn that even stuff like fungi and slime mold are capable
of communication,
problem solving and decision making.
More so than one can imagine. In
the animal kingdom, there is’ intelligence’
that parallels humans –
only in ways more suited to their own genus and/or species.
And when it comes to plants, they do so much more than we ever
thought possible!
In recent years, we have learned
that plants communicate by sending out chemical messages to warn,
commiserate about disease and other life conditions. On Saturday, I
found out that they make sounds via their roots! They have
voices. At this time, we don’t
know the how
or why. It’s
possible they can ‘talk’
above ground as well – we just don’t know how to test/hear them.
Yet. Cogitate
on that.
Going further, there is now data that plants can reason and remember. Yes, that’s right. This is all cutting edge scientific research and terribly thrilling. I won’t go into details and you don’t have to take my word for it as all the talks can be accessed at worldsciencefestival.com
So, circling back to my original commentary about how we are healed and invigorated by just being in the presence of plants. Perhaps, plants ‘silently’ comfort and/or treat our wounded selves in ways we are yet to determine or measure. They have after all been around so much longer than we humans and get this – the plant kingdom is 99% of all living forms found on earth. Surely then, it stands to reason that they know more than us. Stay tuned!
Here are some feel good images from the garden. Enjoy –
In general, once my garden Open Day has passed, a respite of sorts is
granted. The garden looks its best, all the heavy work is over and
it’s simply a matter of maintenance. Weeding, watering,
deadheading, mowing – the usual tasks to keep the garden looking
neat and cared for. It’s time to start relaxing and lolling about
in the garden. But not this year.
I had, over this past winter, decided to go for a bigger push in the
‘meadow’. Envisioning this space as a true four season
performance arena and inspired by Piet Oudolf’s matrix planting
system, I ordered 18 different native plants totaling 200 plants.
That’s a lot of plants. Given that the ‘meadow’ already has a
range of plants and bulbs in residence, the new introductions would
be a bit of a challenge. So, I sourced a nursery that would provide
young plugs of the plants making it a bit easier to get into the
ground between the existing plants.
This new order arrived a day before the Open Day. Needless to say,
planting them had to wait. Given the need to take a little time off
post-Open Day and a couple of days of inclement weather, a whole week
went by. Memorial weekend it had to be. As much as I was keen on
simply enjoying the long weekend with no tasks on the agenda, the
plugs of plants could not be ignored. Hence, over the afternoon of
Saturday to well past sunset we planted one side of the ‘meadow’.
The weather was ideal but getting around the established plants was a
game of Twister. Marking the spots for the plugs using bamboo stakes,
making the holes ( my engineer husband/under-gardener used a drill
and that made it so much better) and placing the plants took so much
longer than if one were starting on a blank canvas of earth. Our sore
backs and legs were testaments to the effort.
Sunday dawned and we began at 8:00am by which time it was already hot
and humid. So vastly different from the day before. The bugs were out
in full swing. We finally got all the planting done barely in time to
start preparing for our first garden party of the season. We hadn’t
as yet shopped for the event! Needless to say, it became a marathon
of shopping, prepping, baking (dessert), setting up, laying the
table, firing up the outdoor wood-fired oven, showering and dressing
… in a matter of hours.
All was accomplished just in time for the first guests’ arrival.
Whew!
Then, just as the party was nicely underway and we were considering
starting on pizza making, the first raindrops dropped. Yikes! Very
soon we realized it was only going to get worse. This crowd was not
the kind to run indoors. Not a chance. Instead, with all hands on
deck, a big tarpaulin was spread and tethered over the
pergola ( with me urging them to “mind the wisteria buds!”). The
pop-up tent was brought out of storage and commissioned to allow the
pizza-maker/husband and guest helpers to work unfettered by the rain.
And the party continued in much hilarity and good cheer. Well into
the night.
Planting time, good times – it’s
all in the timing. And a can-do attitude.
P.S – Aforementioned under-gardener has categorically stated that he is done with all planting for the rest of the growing season. Hmmm, we shall see about that.
