Dandelions - a pretty flower in disguise of a weed

One of my Facebook friends, David Hobson, who writes about gardening and its occasional accompanying angst, reminded me in his comments about suburban-ites and their continous battle with the yellow weed. A while back when in a gardening mode, the advent of Spring and summer was a continuous challenge to sustain a yellow-free lawn and control dandelions, as shared in an ICanGarden.com column. Most likely people reading this will relate. Right?

In Spring, a young man's (or woman's for that matter) fancy likely turns to thoughts of - gardening! All through the winter months our gardening endeavours are confined to those beautifully, illustrated photos in landscaping magazines, or the order forms in seed catalogues. At long last, the season of re-birth has arrived, and we feel impelled to get moving. It's time to sharpen the mower and hand shear blades, feed the laws, rake the grass, and get started on all the other tasks which go along with achieving a beautiful, picturesque garden. 
   
Upon reflection, you have to ask yourself the real reason behind all the work put into achieving a weed-free, green lawn and colorful display of flowers. Search down deep inside and the answer is obvious: we want our garden to be better than our neighbors. What reason other than ego, would impel us to spend a fortune of money on a variety of products like grass seed, flower and grass fertilizer, manure, weed killer, insect control stuff, for such a short period of time? In the winter, did you care that your next door neighbors had more snow on their property, than on yours? Or that their shovel was bigger or newer? Of course not, because there is nothing to be gained in a display of snow, right?     The ideal lawn for most of us is one that is a rich shade of green, weed-free, and without any crab grass. Heaven forbid there should be any sign of this dastardly, wild specie which has a way of cropping up when you least expect it. Worse yet, are the dandelions which make our lawns their number one place to call home. They have a habit of moving into a neighborhood, settling in with ease, and are not concerned with their social position among the cultivated blooms.     In my opinion, these delightful, happy flowers have acquired a bad reputation over the years which is undeserved. What's wrong with them anyway, I ask you? It's just a case of snobbery, due to the common manner in which they grew. Gardeners won't tolerate them because they aren't genteel and refined like the snobby roses, or the fussy impatiens and their ilk, who are considered to be among the pedigreed variety. Dandelions prefer to sprout wild and free, wherever their seed may fall. A point in their favor is that they are accessible to everyone, regardless of social strata or financial situation.     Maybe we should learn to co-exist with them since they are not ugly flowers aesthetically, and are easy to cultivate. They do not discriminate between good lawns and bad lawns, and will flourish everywhere with a vengeance. How do we repay them for their undying devotion, showing up in our lawns year after year?     As soon as the first splash of yellow peaks through the grass blades, we whip out our sprayer, fill it with dandelion slayer stuff until they are wilted into submission, but never forever. They may succumb to the various extermination methods temporarily, but dandelion roots run deep. Once they decide to dig in, it's almost impossible to get rid of them, permanently. So, why try. Think of all the money and energy which could be saved having to travel back and forth to the garden centre, to purchase flowers. Dandelions will just be...there. This crop doesn't require watering, they love all types of weather, and are low maintenance plants. Once neighbors adapt to their presence, you'll be the talk of the neighborhood.  "My blank-blank, what a beautiful crop of dandelions you have this year. So healthy and yellow," people will comment enviously.  "Yup, best crop ever," you'll respond proudly. "Lost your weed killer dispenser, eh?", they'll say, in an attempt to pump you for the inside scoop on the success of your new crop.     Let's learn to co-exist with all the weeds which grow in harmony side-by-side the dandelions, since they proliferate in such large numbers, anyway. Why waste all our energy on their elimination when we could be doing other things during the summer like...hmm...repairing the snow blower, perhaps?  

Spring - the garden beds are gone but the memory lingers on

Today I bought a geranium plant. In the scheme of things and being that this is Spring, it's not an unusual thing to do. Condo living is great but it's missing one vital component. I'm missing my garden.

While shopping at the supermarket, the front of the store was devoted to wooden display racks filled to capacity with annuals and hanging plants. Since it was an unusually warm sunny day, people were feeling the need to get down and dirty and feel the earth beneath their fingers. I know exactly how they feel.  Somehow, placing the plant on my still empty balcony gave me a feeling of kinship with gardeners and brought back memories of my garden.

Let me state for the record that my garden was not a display out of House and Gardens. Far from it. In fact there were more deaths than there were survivors. The wine-colored iris's growing in a bed on the side of the house could always be counted in the survivor column. They were my pride and joy because they required little care. Neighbors and people passing by frequently asked the secret in acquiring the magnificent display. Nothing - absolutely nothing other than separating the roots periodically. Mother Nature did the rest.

It's those rose bushes that tug at my heart. At this time of the year, I would be pondering whether the two remaining hybrid teas made it through the winter and/or whether they should be pulled. They were frequently in the in-between stage making a decision on their viability difficult. I've always been of the belief that roses in particular make slaves of their human caretakers having to primp, preen and fuss over them and in the end, they thank us by croaking. It was always touch and go and in a good year they would give me three roses each. In a bad year, they were afflicted black mold on their leaves but I loved them dearly. They are frequently in my thoughts.

I miss digging my fingers in the earth and feeling the soil sift through my fingers while preparing a home for new flowers and annuals. Our front lawn was composed primarily of dandelion leaves, which gave it a green shade and in dandelion season, the lawn was a mass of yellow flowers. It was an un-winable war trying to erradicate them and in the end, we conceded victory. In retrospect, perhaps we should have tried making dandelion wine or dandelion salad, since dandelion leaves sell at the supermarket. Had they asked us, we would have gladly donated ours for free.

It's been five years since we sold our house but the pull of the garden still seduces my senses. It's obvious to onlookers that we were gardeners since we embelish our balcony with hanging plants in addition to filling planters that we had brought with us, with annuals. There is no way I could part with my "pussycat" planter with the smiling black cat peeking out from behind trailing flowers. Neither could I leave the hand-made wooden planter behind given to me by my next door neighbor. In the end, you takes your planting as you get it. Meanwhile, there's always the geranium.

"In joy or sadness, flowers are our constant friends."

- Kozuko Okakura

Once a gardener - always a gardener

In as much as a move to condo living is a welcome change Spring is the time of year that I miss my garden most. Normally, I would be joining the throngs of gardening enthusiasts at the garden centres stocking up on top soil and supplementing their gardening tool collection. It’s always surprising, at least to me, how people are willing to pay for – well – dirt in the desire to enhance their chances of a visually spectacular floral display and vegetable output. When you think about it, there is dirt virtually everywhere you look but gardeners have to have special dirt. Drop by any centre and an entire section is filled with bags of top soil of every type and purpose. Thinking back, adding top soil worked for all the gardeners in our neighbourhood but for whatever reason, disappeared for us with the first rain. There was also the reoccurring problem with grub attacks that didn’t help the situation. See what I mean? Once a gardener – always a gardener.

The question as to how we enjoy condo living is inevitably followed by, “do you miss your garden?” My stock answer is yes and no. Definitely miss the experience of getting down and dirty with my hands in the soil and no to having to mow the grass. Never told anyone until now but dandelions supplemented the sparse blades of grass and gave the lawn the green shade it wouldn’t have otherwise had.

Conversations with friends and acquaintances who are gardening enthusiasts enjoy regaling me with their plans for the coming season. I

“So how do you like condo living?” actually means, how could you give up your garden followed by, “we could never give up our house. We love growing things.”

Hey! I always did and still do. The change is in the way to grow things. Actually, can’t really call it gardening any more. We’re plant raising now. Upon moving into our condo in early summer four years ago, we purchased two Grecian-looking urns that were filled to over-flowing with a wide variety of annuals. The end result was nice and in an attempt to be organized, we even kept the plastic information sticks as a reminder which plants flourished. Unfortunately, the following year they were nowhere to be found and it’s still guess work. Some things don’t change.

Have to admit, though, I do still love looking at the seed displays and mentally select the species that appeal to me. There is the occasional conversation with strangers at the displays but the discussion stops at one point when the talk turns to flower beds and veggies. Seems that container gardening doesn’t make it with some people. It’s also at this time of the year that I experience pangs of loneliness for my two surviving rose bushes, a hybrid tea and a floribunda, whose life force always hovered between life and death. In a good year, they produced two roses each. Wonder if they’re still in the land of the living or tease the new owners into believing they’re worth the trouble. Reality returns with the quick reminder of the frequent visits to the composter and the plethora of plants that received last rites.

In the choosing flowers, we still have differing views on the selection process for the window boxes and urns, centering on species and color schemes. I like to stick to two main colors while my husband prefers a wide variety of...everything. The truth is that he’s color-blind and is in denial.

“Nature doesn’t pick color schemes,” he will assert in defence of his choices, “so why should we?”

Last year, though, we did agree to stick to three main shades. Three is better than eight – let’s leave it at that. At present we’re in discussions focusing on the cultivation of tomatoes in a pot and whether or not there is a space for them, physically and aesthetically. Once that issue is settled, I’ll broach the subject of herbs. The barbeque still needs a corner.

(Paintings courtesy of yours truly, are available for purchase)

SEEDS OF HOPE

In as far as winter is concerned, at least for gardeners living in zones that have a chilly climate, enduring the winter doldrums is one long waiting period for the growing period to arrive. There are ways to deal with the withdrawal symptoms that accompany the temporary loss of feeling the earth between our fingers.

The month of March is the "dream month." The days are getting longer, the sun appears brighter and suddenly the seed catalogues start putting in appearances. These always colorful and beneficial publications could be considered the hope chest of horticultural aspirations. To thumb through the pages inspires us to achieve mastery over all that we grow, to assure successful results. At least it works that way in theory, anyway.

I've experienced minimal success when it came to starting plants from seed. It wasn’t the fault of the seeds since the problem lay with the cultivator.

Beginning seeds in peat cups, which are purported to be simplicity personified, never proved to be successful undertaking. Instructions include one seed per cup, add water and - voila - the embryo of a successful bed of flowers. It's the last part, the keep-seeds- in- cups-moist that gets me every time. The question in my mind was always the amount of liquid is required to keep cups moist and what's more, what exactly is moist? I mean, how wet is moist? Is it dry-wet, or really wet-wet? Let's just say that in the past, a large percentage of my seedlings fell victim to a flood of the over-watering kind. Those that managed to keep their tiny stalks above water eventually succumbed. There is nothing more pathetic than green-bordering-on-yellow, tiny, deformed, wilted stems laying on top of the earth in a water-logged peat coffin.

The next experience classified in the seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the- time-category, was the result of reading a book of gardening hints, which suggested that Styrofoam egg cups would make good seed starters. This effort was a blow-off in the true sense of the word, since strong gale-force winds swept away the fruits of my labor, never to be seen again. Another attempt at seed starting in styrofoam cups proved to be a huge success with crows, who somehow discovered there was free food to be had with no strings attached. It wasn't long before they passed the word around to other neighborhood denizens including a squirrels. The scene was similar to the end result of a wild party with empty egg cartons strewn everywhere along with spilled earth. Chances were they all par-tied, heart-y at my expense.

Still, hope springs eternal in the human breast – and in peat cups.

Flowers are blooming on my painting canvas

"I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers"

Claude Monet

It's March and I'm getting Spring fever. This delightful seasonal affliction always strikes at this time of the year although there is snow on the ground with flowers remaining buried beneath frozen earth, dormant, waiting for revival.

The view out of my window is still winter with a thick layer of snow and ice on the river surface but there are signs of change. Beneath the bridge and in the middle of the river, an open expanse of water snakes down the centre. No sign of ducks as yet - they wait for warmer temps but this is a spring-y sign. Even an unexpected late winter snow fall doesn't linger long since the earth is warming up due to longer days and stronger rays of the sun. In another month or so, the familiar honking of Canada geese flying in "V" formation will announce their seasonal arrival, taking up residence along the river banks. Their arrival, however, isn't welcomed by everyone but I digress.

As an artist and flower lover, my subject of choice is - no surprise - landscapes and flowers. Actually, capturing their images sustain me over the long layover between fall and Spring. On occasion and upon entering the imaginary world of flora and fauna with paint brush in hand, it appears that I can actually smell fields of poppies and wild flowers as they bend in the breeze. Each petal is depicted as a painted image with streams of shaded colors flowing on to the canvas surface until it flourishes into a flower. It's the same type of satisfaction derived from working the soil in the garden and carries me until the arrival of the real thing. Can't be too soon for me.

It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want - oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so! ~Mark Twain

The garden has gone to seed but hope springs eternal

Not too long ago, I used to garden. Ask any gardener who will confirm, there's nothing like getting down and dirty working the soil with your hands. It's probably a flash-back to the time as children when we spent our summer days revelling in the dirt and sandbox. As mentioned, gardening is now an activity discussed in the past tense.

It's been three years since we sold our house and went condo and I'm still afflicted with pangs of abandonment. Not that the garden was a showplace out of House and Garden or anything but it was mine and we had an understanding: I would plant stuff and it would grow, maybe. It took me years to cultivate the three rose bushes in the back yard and when they finally produced blooms, I felt like a new mother revelling in the delight of her new offspring. My favorite was the tangerine florabunda that never failed to produce at least one flowering, while the pink hybid tea gave me a few token buds in a good year. We had a combative relationship to say or write the least. As you can tell - I'm feeling sentimental and missing them all.

Having moved into the same neighborhood, I frequently make a point of passing by the house and glance out of the car window at the new plant additions or demises. Although the house is no longer ours, I feel a sense of responsibility as to their welfare. In retrospect, it would have been better to keep them in memory. In order to cut back on the cost of annuals, perennials were planted over time in the hope they would fill in the spaces. The rock garden was now covered entirely with wood chips with no sign of my plethora of growing plants, while the rock garden shrubs were transformed into small trees. It's their house now I tell myself wondering if my beloved roses are still in the land of the living.

These days my horticultural endeavors are relegated to balcony gardening having brought along my containers and flower boxes, which are filled to capacity with annuals in the summer. It's not the same but I'm still occupied with dead-heading the flowers and watering non-stop since the earth in containers require freqent watering. Two grecian urns were also added that are also filled with an assortment of flowers. Our condo is located near the river where our municipality focuses on planting natural species that are common to this type of area, are visually attractive, yet retain the soil.

It's winter and I'm planning for summer cultivation, perhaps adding some mini tomatoes. Maybe I'll go all out and try a small rose bush, knowing from personal experience that roses make slaves of their cultivators. I'm used to it! When it's all said and done, a gardener is always a gardener, even on a balcony.

The garden has gone to bed

Normally at this time of the year I would be busily occupied with preparing my garden for its winter siesta. This would include my usual season angst of having to cut back all the remaining blooms, even though they still provide a splash of color to the otherwise brown and shrivelled up annuals that gave up the fight. Planting fall bulbs...applying fall fertilizer... The usual.

Since one year ago, the fall to-do list is no longer applicable since we are now enjoying the benefits of condo living. No longer is the responsibility of ensuring the perennials survival over the winter is in my hands. The new owner can now deal with the guilt that arrives in Spring when the thaw reveals those that didn't make it through the winter. It's somebody else's responsbility now.

As an avid but frustrated gardener, my efforts now focus on patio gardening...or patio planting. In the Spring I joined the masses hitting the gardening centres to purchase flowers and plants but my focus was on which species would survive living in urns. We bought four hanging planters containing flowering plants that were already in the midst of a blooming boom. Three survived but there was one failure, which was due to the placement of the plant directly above the barbeque. Surprisingly, the plant didn't die, which would have been easier to accept along with the accompanying guilt, but instead kept growing leaves and leaves and... It's as if it was saying: 'please don't take me down! See? I can still give you pretty leaves!' The guilt just never ends!

The best results came from our urns that absolutely thrived due to a perfect balance of light and sunlight thanks to the overhang from the balcony above. Their success is due to the purchase of the special mix of earth created specifically for urns and boxes. Never realized how important a role that earth can make in flower beds and if only I had paid more attention to this aspect in my garden... However, life is full of could-have's, would have's and should-have's for gardeners. Right?

We also brought along our wood flower boxes that played host to a cornucopia of lush blooms, which over-flowed the sides and stuck out of the balcony rails. Anybody walking by and looking up at them would have gasped... Okay maybe not gasped but would have been very impressed with the display.

Unfortunately, it's that time to say goodbye since the stalks are now thin and "leggy" and suffering from a seasonal fungus that can only be cured by a return to the earth from which they came. There is no guilt since I know everything was done to ensure their longevity for the summer. Kind of a reciprocal relationship. I'm already planning for next year. Maybe some tomatoes might be a challenge... Radishes...and herbs. Condo gardening is flower raising without the guilt. At least so far but then we're still in the early stages. There's always next year.

SPRING HAS SPRUNG...tra-la tra-la

"Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today; And give us not to think so far away As the uncertain harvest; keep us here All simply in the springing of the year."
(Robert Frost)

FIRST SPRING LOOK INTO THE GARDEN

My rock garden has what started out to be multi-colored achillea millifolium a.k.a. yarrow, but for some unknown reason changed to plain, old pink flowers, in addition to achillea filipendulina a.k.a. fern leaf yarrow (yellow), bergenia cordifolia a.k.a. pig squeak, which really doesn't belong in a rock garden but I like it there because of its early-blooming pink flowers and the leaves that start out green and slowly turn pink-ish as the summer wanes, I think - not sure yet - I lost the campanula lactiflora, which had such pretty lavender-colored flowers. On the side of the rock garden that is in the shade there is hosta rectifolia that I'm using as an anchor between the rocks.

"The Amen of nature is always a flower."
(Oliver Wendell Holmes)

There is a lot of sedum planted in various areas of the rock garden when we first bought the house that I have divided over the years. One thing about this species is that it never lets you down and returns year after year. There are also (very) mature evergreen miniatures that really should be removed and replaced since they're in that not-alive-but-not-dead-either netherland state of being. I'm a very sentimental gardener.In the back flower bed against a fence I'm growing beds of rudbeckia that have taken over a large area but their pretty yellow heads with brown centres blowing in the breeze are just so...happy-looking.

"In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt."
(Margaret Atwood)

Way in the back hidden under the bough of a fir tree that my next door neighbor agrees not to trim, a white and pink gypsophila plant is growing relatively well, with some years better than others. The anemone are also flourishing and although this is a strong flower that has a tendency to take over the garden, it doesn't transplant well. On the shady side of my house I had a beautiful bed of pink dianthus flourishing there for years but for some bizarre reason, which I can't fathom for the life of me (I'm so dramatic!), they up and died, each and every one. The blue-colored Forget-me-nots will bloom in the middle of May and there is something so lovable - at least for me, anyway - about these blooms. Guess it has to do with their name.

In addition to my Iris bed on the sunny side of the house, I also have a scattering of purple coneflowers sort of hiding between the iris leaves. The effect is nice, though. Then of course we have the hollyhocks, that are supposed to be a biennial but return every year since they self-seed.

There are more but I can't remember their names right now but I'll check later on the garden sites. I mainly use two gardening books that I bought on sale at a local book outlet: "An Illustrated Guide to Garden Flowers" and "Popular Flowering Plants." Thing is that while I love the beautiful photographs, many of the species would croak in my growing zone so I really should be buying books that are specifically geared towards Canadian growing zones. One of my best gardening books...actually a soft-covered book was picked up for $1.50 at a second-hand store. Very, very basic but all-inclusive so gardeners don't have to pay a lot of money to get good advice.