AM I BLUE TWO

Am I blue? Am I bah-lue-ooh?

Ain’t these tears in my eyes tellin’ you?

Was I gay? ’Till to-day-ay?

When each plan with my gar-dan

Done fell through.

(With apologies to Harry Akst, Grant Clarke, Billie Holliday, Ethel Waters, Diane Schuur and the Spelling Police)

            Damn springtime thunderstorms. Not only do they destroy property, devastate vegetation and kill the unwary, unprepared and/or unlucky: they prevent me from working in the garden, which in turn plays havoc with the neat schedule of future posts outlined in my blog-notebook.

            It’s all about me, isn’t it?

            Actually, we got off easy. Storms blowing in from the west lose a lot of their oomph before hitting the coast. We suffer more damage when they come from the south or east. After three days of advance billing for severe weather (50% on Wednesday to 70% on Thursday to 90% chance by Friday evening), Tim and I decided the better part of valor would be to plan on indoor activities for the weekend.

Saturday morning dawned overcast and breezy (a “fresh breeze” according to the Beaufort Scale), but patchily sunny and mild. Underneath the calm, that waiting-sensation lump roiled in my stomach. Something’s going to happen, I thought. The newspaper’s front-page headline attributed nine deaths in Arkansas to the storm system heading our way.

            The day wore on, warm, humid, and with long periods of brilliant sunshine. I resisted temptation and continued cleaning the house, certain the apocalypse—first forecast to arrive in the wee hours of Saturday morning, then early Saturday afternoon, then around dinnertime—was imminent. By 4:30 p.m., the gavel-to-gavel television coverage started. Lots of tornadic activity reported in the counties to our immediate west and north, the first storm-related death in Bladen County, footage of a twister-devastated trailer park. We hit the mute button, and monitored the front’s progress and watch-boxes without the constant commentary.

            Around 7:30 p.m., there was one resonating clap of thunder that sent the cats scurrying to safety under the bed. The rain started, and pelted down for a half-hour or so, only amounting to .09 inches in the end. Locally, an anticlimax. On a wider scale, a disaster for many. If I ever write my autobiography, I shall title it Lucky.

            Didn’t weather used to be more local? Didn’t everything used to be more local? I’m not positive it’s a good thing that we all can learn about everybody’s business practically as soon as it happens. Our tabloid-ruled culture, tending as it does to extremes of shallowness, overloads our brains with too much unimportant information. “Where is the wisdom in information?” T.S. Eliot asks.

            Anyway, I started out griping about not getting out in the yard Saturday because of the Great Storm. Gardening doesn’t count as one of the best activities for those who are addicted to instant gratification. Frequent disruptions, detours and distractions make it an ambling sort of process, despite our best intentions.



Sweet-scented Styrax blossoms



            Take today, for instance. Read the paper (Sunday is the only day I get to peruse the entire newspaper before getting dressed); did the crossword with Tim (between us, we have one really awesome brain); had lunch; then headed out into the beautiful afternoon that often follows a big storm. Had made a list of what I wanted to accomplish—feed the birds, take the recyclables and garbage to the curb, run the south-side and drip irrigation zones, deadhead the pansies, clear out the Styrax seedlings from around the tree, start whacking away at the eleagnus hedge, deadhead daffs, and shuffle my seedlings around and plant some new ones. Hey, I had about three hours to play with.

            Apparently that wasn’t enough. I only made it to the Styrax interlopers. The first three items I ran through in about 15 minutes. Removing the dead and dying flowers from all the potted pansies across the front of the house took longer than I’d thought it would, reminding me why I like violas better: no deadheading required. Then I approached the Styrax.



Styrax japonicus
Japanese snowbell
(note snow-like fallen flowers
and mass of vegetation at its base)



            Styrax japonicus, or Japanese snowbell, is a lovely tree. Its picture is the only one I’m sharing, as the post before this one put me off photos for a while. Small, pure-white bell flowers dangle in sweet-scented profusion in May. Each bloom produces a Skittle-sized fruit that will fall in the, er, fall. All of which germinate. Every damn spring. The area around the tree—under which I cleverly planted hundreds of five different types of bulbs, plus variegated liriope, plus rain lilies, plus a bee balm (Monarda didyma)—is by this time of year a jungle of bulb and liriope and rain lily foliage with little bee balms, looking amazingly like Styrax shoots, coming up. Interspersed through this lush growth is a blanket of tree seedlings. Because of the monotony of the task, I count as I pull. Two hours later, the 1665^th infant snowbell lands in my overflowing joint-compound bucket. No, I’m not exaggerating.

            The eleagnus, etc., will have to wait until another day.

            That’s okay. Tim and I have a plan. The day after we finish our current job (with luck, on Monday: no later than Tuesday, surely, says Ms. Time Optimist), we’ll pick up supplies and 1) run drip irrigation to all my planting beds because paying Oak Island for watering the grass is so not gonna happen this year; 2) fill the new raised beds; 3) build trellises for said new beds and an easy (haha) arbor to shade the path running through the big new bed out front; 4) plant the buckeye and the Euscaphis and hyacinth-bean vines at the new arbor in said big new bed out front; 5) bring the eleagnus under some semblance of control; and 6) do all the jobs I didn’t get to today.

            Uh-huh. Make that Ms. Cockeyed Optimist, with knobs on.

            Well, hope springs eternal. Especially in gardens. Thanks for dropping by, and stay tuned.

                                                                                    Kathy

AM I BLUE BONUS



Lily-of-the-Nile
Agapanthus hybrid
Bulb



Blue potato bush
Solanum rantonetti 
Perennial

        

            As promised, a bonus post of photos of my favorite blues, in no particular order. (I included some of the lavender-blues and the violet blues, too.) Click on the pictures to make them larger, okay?


Lithodora 'Grace Ward'
Perennial

 

Ipheion uniflorum 'Jessie'
Star flower
Bulb





'Blue Pacific' juniper (prostrate shrub)
& Dianthus gratianopolitanus
'Baths Pink'
Perennial groundcover



False indigo
Baptisia minor
Perennial















Globe thistle
Echinops ritro
Perennial



'Elijah Blue' fescue
Festuca glauca
Ornamental grass



Golden Dew Drop
Duranta erecta 'Sapphire Showers'
Tender perennial

Glory vine
Thunbergia grandiflora
Tender perennial vine





Southern monkshood
Aconitum carmichaelii
Perennial

               

Brown's yew two-toned berries
Podocarpus macrophylla 'Maki'
Shrub



Sea holly
Eryngium planum
Perennial

 The pictures are starting to do weird things. It's like the machine has a mind of its own, which is a little scary to one who grew up with Rod Serling. Think I'll just let them place themselves. Wish me luck.



Blue butterfly vine
Clitoria ternata
Annual vine

 



Bluebeard
Caryopteris clandonensis 'Blue Mist'
Shrub



Cape plumbago
Plumbago auriculata
Perennial

           

             Since things seem to go a bit more smoothly when there's text, I'll natter on here before trying to insert some of the last 11 photos.
             What? I told you I love blue flowers.



Spiderwort
Tradescantia virginiana
Perennial

 

Japanese roof iris
Iris tectorum
Perennial





Stokes aster
Stokesia laevis 'Blue Danube'
Perennial





Bellflower
Campanula sp. (but I don't remember which one)
Perennial



Siberian iris
Iris sibirica 'Caesar's Brother'
Perennial



Grape hyacinth & catmint
Muscari armeniacum &
Nepeta x faassenii 'Walkers Low'
Bulb & Perennial





Dutch iris
Iris hollandia
Bulb



          Well, it's time for another little paragraph. How 'bout those Mets, huh?

Only three more pix to go, so I'll say so long here. Don't expect too many of these mainly-pictures posts: they're a major pain in my Luddite ass. Thanks for dropping by anyway.



Peruvian scilla
Scilla peruviana
Bulb





Spanish bluebells
Hyacinthiodes hispanica 'Excelsior'
Bulb



Delphinium hybrid
Delphinium 'Dark Bee'
Perennial where the summers aren't too hot
(like at my house)



                                                                  

AM I BLUE

            Like all perception, color is illusion. Nobody knows unequivocally what color anything is because everything that has ever happened to every person up to any point is brought to bear on what he “sees.” Additionally, each individual’s rods and cones interpret the wave frequencies of light differently. Humans only perceive the ROY G. BIV spectrum—other creatures go beyond that. Bees, for example, see infrared “landing strip” indicators in flowers that aren’t apparent to our unaided eyes. Even color-blind people perceive color, just not in the same way as the color-sighted (for lack of a better term).

The color wheel



Light reflecting off surroundings influences perceived color as well. Anyone who has tried to match a specific shade of green to paint swatches has known this truth. Some of many fascinating facts about color I’ve learned from discussing art with Tim are, in paintings and in nature, shadows are never black, but the object’s complementary color, greyed; black is the absence of color because it occurs in the absence of light; and in painting and in nature, objects are never primary red, yellow or blue, but rather one of the infinite number of blends possible. Camille Pissarro encapsulated the dilemma of translating color to canvas when he wrote his son, Lucien, “Let us work hard to make dazzling greys.”  

Himalayan blue poppy



Despite all the science, I love blue. (Me and probably 80% of the world’s population.) It makes you feel calm, and comforted, and detached. It’s synonymous with sunny-day skies, deep water, and the faces of glaciers. Clunky squash-blossom turquoise necklaces evoke images of the Southwest. Blue is associated with sadness, in a wistful, nostalgic way. It’s the language you use when you’re furious, and what you sing to make yourself feel better. It’s what moms add to the wash-water for the whitest whites, and what old ladies use to take the dullness out of grey hair. It’s how we talk when the words tumble out in a torrent, a blue streak. Once in a blue moon is a very long time indeed. It’s the color of the stockings worn by the first feminists. It’s the color of laws that prohibit booze-buying on Sundays. It’s the color of denim. And, according to Andre Popp, it’s the color of love.

            When Tim and I visited Belvedere House’s walled garden in County Westmeath, Ireland, a Himalayan blue poppy stopped me in my tracks. Of course I snapped picture after (lousy) picture, but couldn’t capture that heart-breaking shade. (Tim, the former photo-interpreter, tells me blues never photograph true. He’s right, as usual: I spent 20 minutes on the Internet just now scrolling through hundreds of pictures of blue poppies, and only came sort-of close for the shot included here.) We can’t grow Meconopsis sheldonii ‘Lingholm’ here, like we can’t grow most things with “Alberta” or “Colorado” or “Canadian” or “mountain” in their names: but it set me on a quest to find true-blue flowers.


'Navy Blue and White' hybrid columbine

            Blue cools its surroundings. It recedes, giving an illusion of depth to small spaces. I read somewhere once that blue blossoms are bee magnets. All in all, a thoroughly useful addition to any garden. I’ve just raised it to the level of obsession.



            Blues can be tricky, though. What breeders call “blue” often turns out violet, or lavender or, in the case of roses, some horrid, muddy, mauve-ish color. Soil makes a difference in color expression, too: does your ‘Nikko Blue’ hydrangea bloom pink? Bet your dirt falls on the basic side of the pH scale. Still, plants that flower with what my eyes perceive as blue-not-purple abound, and I’ve collected quite a few of them.



Plain ol' morning glory



            For really-blue flowering annuals, try Angelonia Angelface blue and Dresden blue; Texas bluebonnets (Lupinus texensis); Lobelia erinus, including the Techno Heat series, which actually held up in my hot-summer garden last year; other-worldly looking columbine hybrid Aquilegia ‘Navy Blue and White’; and several viola cultivars, especially the Penny and Delta series. Then there are the old bedding reliables, Ageratum houstonianum (flossflower) and Centaurea cyanus (cornflowers and bachelor's buttons).



Want climbers? Try glory vine, Thunbergia grandiflora; the devastatingly beautiful blue butterfly vine with the unfortunate botanical name (Clitoria ternatea); and azure morning glories, Ipomoea nil ((the straight species and several cultivars) and I. acuminata. I have to treat all these selections as annuals. But that’s okay. 

Two-toned grape hyacinths





            When it comes to bulbs, if the blurb says blue, I’ve tried it. Spanish bluebells (Hyacinthiodes hispanica ‘Excelsior’); tiny Grecian windflowers (Anemone blanda blue shades); grape hyacinths (M. aucheri, M. armeniacum and two-toned Muscari latifolium are favorites); the fireworks flowers of Peruvian squill (Scilla peruviana); and starflowers (the infinitely variable blue tints of Ipheion uniflorum straight species, ‘Wisley Blue,’ ‘Rolf Fiedler’ and electric ‘Jessie’) have all earned permanent status in my spring garden. I’ve had little success with lily-of-the-Nile (Agapanthus hybrids) perennializing, but you still can’t beat those big blue umbels for summertime vertical presence.

Blue Grecian windflower



            Blue-flowering shrubs are hard come by. The only four I can name are: bluebeard (Caryopteris clandonensis ‘Blue Mist’ and ‘Dark Knight’); a few cultivars of butterfly bush (Buddleja x davidii, a plant the late, great, Brit gardener Christopher Lloyd termed “in the top flight of second-rate shrubs”), notably ‘Nanho Blue’; golden dew drop, the sappy-sounding but descriptive common name for the fruit of Duranta erecta ‘Sapphire Showers’; and, of course, the blue-blooming hydrangeas.

            Blue foliage proves more elusive. The Cheddar pinks (named after the Cheddar region of England and not the cheese that also originated in that area) come close, especially the greeny- to silvery-blue Dianthus gratianapolitanus ‘Baths Pink,’ ‘Feuerhexe [Firewitch]’ and their ilk. ‘Elijah Blue’ fescue (Festuca glauca ‘Elijah Blue’) forms neat clumps of hair-like steel blue blades. Blue lyme grass (Leymus arenarius ‘Blue Dune’) foliage is a dusty blue, but the plant tends to run before going sparse prior to disappearing all together. And then there is the entire pantheon of blue agaves (Agave americana, A. parryi).



'Caitlins Giant' bugleweed
and shades-of-blue pansies

            Sea holly (Eryngium planum) makes a good bridge between foliage plants and perennial flowers. This spiky touch-me-not puts out steel blue blossoms on steel blue stems with steel blue leaves. It’s short-lived in my garden, but I wouldn’t be without it. Blue globe thistle (Echinops ritro) is another less-traveled-by plant with ’way cool fake-looking spherical flowers.

            Other favorite blue-flowering perennials include the poisonous-in-all-its-parts southern monkshood (Aconitum carmichaelii); bugleweed (Ajuga reptans); the blue stars (Amsonia tabernaemontana and A. hubrictii); false indigo (Baptisia australis and its little brother, B. minor); catmint (Nepeta x faassenii); balloon flower (Platycodon grandiflora); sky-blue, phlox-like racemes of Cape plumbago (Plumbago auriculata), also known by the less melodious name of leadwort; the welcome winter blooms of rosemary (Rosmarinus officinalis); mealycup sage (Salvia farinacea); blue anise sage (Salvia guaranitica); and the blue veronica cultivars (Veronica spicata ‘Sunny Border Blue,’ ‘Darwin's Blue,’ etc.).



Rosemary in bloom





            The final category for adding blue to the garden is the blue berriers. First among these are the, um, blueberries (Vaccinium spp.). But don’t underestimate the appeal of the metallic-blue fruits of mondo grass (Ophiopogon japonicus) and of tinus viburnum (Viburnum tinus, in case you were wondering). Often overlooked, the two-tone berries of Brown’s yew (Podocarpus macrophylla ‘Maki’) are not only a treat for the eyes, but for the palate as well.



The berries of tinus viburnum



            Dozens of other garden-worthy plants are blue-ish, leaning toward lavender or toward violet. I’ve had such fun researching this topic, I believe an all-picture, blue bonus post is in order. I’ll get on that tomorrow. And remember, you can make the photos larger by clicking on them.

            For now, though, thanks for dropping by. Hoping to get my new raised beds filled this weekend since those paychecks came through. Big doin’s in the vegetable garden these days!

                                                                                                Kathy

RAISING CAIN (AND BEDS)

            Disclaimer: I am a neophyte vegetable gardener. This year marks only my third year in the trenches (potatoes very much on my mind this morning).

Growing edibles is not my forte, for two reasons:

1) I hate to cook.Iif I can’t eat it raw, my interest-level wanes. I also harbor semi-repressed memories of Augusts spent sweltering over vats of boiling water in an air-conditionless kitchen, helping my mom put up the tons of tomatoes Daddy’s garden produced and produced and produced. Not to mention the gallons of cucumbers dilled, sweeted and piccalillied and, one unforgettable year, bushels of peaches. (I bet Mom still has a jar or two of those peaches. Seems to me a few of them exploded after a decade or so in the cupboard over the refrigerator, but I could be mistaken.)

2) Tim thinks vegetables, except for carrots and corn, are evil. And corn gives him the cripes. Sitting across the table from me as I type, he reminds me that that “evil vegetables” snark is not strictly true. By his reckoning, anything non-animal and non-mineral is by definition vegetable, including potatoes, cashews, chocolate, sugar, Doritos and all other grain and candy products.

Just so you know the extent of our oddness: we don’t own a microwave, don’t subscribe to cable TV, have no doorbell or one of those kitchen sink sprayers-on-a-hose that always end up leaking. It has been whispered about that the Fitzgeralds are a bit odd.

These little peculiarities of ours should not, however, deter you.

            Nonetheless, my spring enthusiasms infect my darling and handy husband to the extent that he offers to abet me in producing even more edibles that I won’t cook and he doesn’t like. On Friday and Saturday, we added 20 square feet of raised beds for me to plant.

            I’ve looked at the raised-bed “systems” offered for sale in the catalogs and at the home-improvement emporia. None meets my criteria for sturdiness, likely longevity and non-use of petroleum products. We Fitzes build our own.

            Materials are simple, and cheap. For our two two-by-six boxes, we stockpiled the following:

·         4 1x6”x8’ boards (We use pressure treated. It’s no longer infused with arsenic chromate, and is alleged to be safe. Because of a life-long habit of eating apple seeds, I’m immune to arsenic anyway. Besides, termites can digest an untreated frame in two years.)

·         8 18” lengths of 2x2” (that comes to two 8-footers, with four feet left over)

·         About 50 2½” deck screws

·        Saw, drill (doubles as screwdriver),
tape measure, T-square,
clamps, shovel, rubber mallet

From here, we’re going pictorial.

                                                                           1.      Assemble materials.

                                            

        

        

            2.   The most important tool of all,

                 who saws 2' off each board,

                 leaving 6' for the long side.

               

             

                                                3.      Clamp the frame into shape.

                                                   

       

               4.      Pre-drill holes, then drive 2 screws into each corner.

                                                          

                                                         

5.      Clamp each corner brace/anchor as shown, and

      secure with 2 screws on each leg of the angle.

      Repeat to assemble the second bed.

     

      6.      Have Bobo the Fat Lady

              help you clear the
           vegetation from the
           area the raised

               bed is to end up.

        

7.  Admire the cleared and sharply edged area.     
                                        

         

      

              8.  Place the frame in the cleared
                   area as shown.

                                                          

                                              
9.  Clear and edge the second bed area.

                               

    

     

      10.  Place the second frame in the

            second bed as shown.

                                                    

11.  Admire the effect for a minute…

                                                          

          12.  …tap the anchoring legs into the ground until the sides of the frame touch the ground. Aim for level, but don't obsess about it.

                                                                                                                                                                                                  

The main advantage of planting in raised beds is that you control of the soil. Next time (if a paycheck arrives in timely fashion), we’ll do just that.

            Thanks for dropping by. Looking forward to your comments, questions and suggestions.

                                                                                    Kathy