PENNY WISDOM

            Tim tends to be cheap with himself. He knows it, but persists nonetheless. Here’s a classic example. In 2003, he resumed painting after Santa brought him an easel. (It was a totally inadequate easel: apparently Santa knows bupkis about easels. Regardless, it served its jump-starting purpose.) Two or three years down the road, after much soul- and catalog-searching, Tim upgraded from the dreadful easel to an okay easel. He didn’t buy the one he really wanted because, well, that one cost $400 more than the okay easel. “Why did you do that?” I asked, exasperated. “I only paint on Sundays,” he replied, as if that explained everything. In Tim-World, Sunday painters only deserve okay easels.

            He’s the same way with other art supplies, tools, clothes, books, magazine subscriptions, you name it. I just roll my eyes, knowing exhortations to kick up and treat himself fall on deaf ears. (In case you’re wondering, agonizing over my personal worthiness vis-à-vis cost is not one of my afflictions. What keeps us solvent is that, apart from books and plants, I don’t want much.)

            And he thinks I’m stubborn.



The original design for F and A's
back garden



            I open this window into the daily domestic doings of the Fitzes because I know Tim is far from alone in the self-denial department. Hard as it may be to believe, this cult of penny-wise-pound-foolish occasionally spills over into the garden.

            Direct your attention, if you will, to the representative case of Flora and Art.

            Several years ago, F and A called us for help with their backyard. Tim and I designed a little garden for the rear of their property. We put in a curved post-and-rail fence to delineate a boundary between the yard and the golf course beyond. F.Y.I., humble, inexpensive, easy-to-install post-and-rail fencing makes for landscaping magic. Although you can see right through it, the slender horizontals and verticals stop the eye. This feature allows you to guide visitors to see what you want them to. Beware of planting rampant shrubs like eleagnus (Eleagnus ebbingii) or Lady Banks rose (Rosa banksiae lutea) behind them, however: the Fitzgeralds’ diaphanous eye-stopper has morphed into a ten-foot-high tangle of Medusa-like eleagnus shoots. 



Versatile yet unobtrusive
post-and-rail fence

            F wanted color, but cost was a consideration. We planted some cast-iron things like Mexican bush sage (Salvia leucantha), Spanish lavender (Lavendula stoechas, hands-down the best lavender for sultry climates), garlic chives (Allium tuberosum) and muhly grass (Muhlenbergia capillaris). The rest of the bed we left for F and A to fill in themselves.

            One of our regular clients lives across the street from F and A, so we see them in passing quite often. F is also a writer, so we have things so talk about other than gardens. (Her novel is being shopped around to publishers by her agent: keep a good thought!) Over the years, she’s mentioned various backyard planting ventures, most of which have come to naught. Their darlin’ next-door neighbor, Miss P, feeds the birds, the squirrels, the ducks, the raccoons… which means that Bambi and Thumper show up too. After the main course at Miss P’s, they amble over to F and A’s for dessert. While they don’t really mind, F told me that last year she had to cover her mums with laundry baskets at night to keep the rabbits from grazing them to the ground. Who knew anything ate mums?



Tough-as-nails Spanish lavender
(Lavendula stoechas,
pronounced STEE-kiss)



            On top of wildlife challenges, F is the first to admit that gardening isn’t one of her areas of breezy expertise. The back border slopes from high-and-dry on the right to low-and-damp-when-it-rains on the left. Plants on the upper end turn brown and crunchy, while 50 feet away, they drown. So far, the blaze of color F envisioned comes mainly from her unqualified success with ‘New Gold’ lantana (Lantana montevidensis ‘New Gold’).

This spring, A and F approached us for a little more help (they’re the couple whose yard T and I crawled all over feeding and pruning in “Quick Tips” on April 5). In addition to broadcasting 172 pounds of Holly-Tone and creating a trailer-load of pruning debris, we designed a planting for the back garden and for six containers for F and A to install themselves. (Remember, you can click on the pictures to make them bigger.) 



The planting plan for F and A's
back garden and containers



Then the $64,000 question: did F and A want us to obtain the plants from our friend Christine, grower extraordinaire, or would they prefer to take pot-luck at the local Lowe’s? The suspense of waiting for the answer nearly killed me because F suffers from Penny-Wise Syndrome.

 Many people cheap out when stocking a garden on their own: this is a phenomenon we experience all the time. If they rely on professionals, however, the cost seems to matter much less. Odd, but true. Left to their own devices, most folks invariably underestimate the numbers of plants needed to make a statement. This is true especially, but not exclusively, of containers. During our spring garden-center crawls, T and I see people pick out, say, a 14” pot or a 30-by-6” windowbox to fill for a little punch of color. (It gripes me when they choose cheap pots—believe me, they don’t cost much for a reason—but that’s an issue for another day.) Then they’ll grab a bag of potting soil, and pick up a six-pack of petunias and a single 4” angelonia for the pot. There! All sorted! they think, and trundle to the cash register, where they dole out a 20-dollar bill. Not too big a commitment. Tres penny-wise. Later in the season, though, they wonder why their pot hasn’t filled out quite like they’d imagined.

Well, duh.

This is an apocryphal example, of course, but very similar to what our friend F had been doing season after discouraging season.



Mexican bush sage
(Salvia leucantha),
another tough-as-nails plant



A and F took the plunge and let T and me do the buying. Last Thursday, we delivered 17 flats of annuals and perennials ranging from three inches to gallon-size along with color-coded planting plans. We set up the six 6” pink and red double impatiens, the five 4” white angelonia and the two 4” blue fan-flowers to show F how to fill her 36” hayrack. “All of those go in the hayrack?” she asked. Yup, we said. You’re gonna have to cram to get ’em all in, but they’ll go. She looked stunned for a nanosecond, then a broad smile spread across her face. Now I get it, the grin said.



We explained that the plan was not graven in stone. After setting out the plants in their pots as suggested, feel free to tweak, we told her: two-dimensional drawings rarely flow unchanged into the three dimensions of a space. F couldn’t stop smiling.



When T and I stopped in Friday morning to drop off some dripline, A and F were already out back. They'd planted most of the garden Thursday afternoon; the containers were up next. We agreed to do a succession of photographs over the season to document how the garden and the pots fare. F’s excitement and A’s interest warmed the cockles of my heart.

  

The moral of the story? Don’t stint on plants for a new garden. If you can’t afford to do a whole yard, choose one manageable space and make it beautiful. If you’re doing containers, cram in the plants. Annuals don’t care about crowding. Perennials will take all the room you give them, which could unbalance your design; so cram them in too. If it’s effect you’re after, penny-wise is soooo pound-foolish. If you are constitutionally incapable of buying an entire flat of impatiens to fill a single pot, hire someone like me, who will be more than happy to show you how to overcome your limitations.

Although you can't tell it from his expression here,
Tim is thrilled with his new easel

And maybe you can teach me how to overcome some of mine.



Did Tim ever get the easel of his dreams? He did  indeed, this winter. It’s a David Sorg, designed by a serious painter for serious painters. It’s beautiful. And nobody deserves it more.

Thanks for dropping by. See you next time.

                                                                                                                           Kathy

P.S.—Here’s a Mother’s Day bouquet for all you moms, especially mine.



'New Dawn,' the Mother's Day rose



MOVING RIGHT ALONG

            How did it get to be May so soon? Weren’t we whining about the cold in February ten minutes ago?

            Ancillarily… I love the word “ancillary.” The last time all my best college friends got together—about eight hours after graduation—Jeff Billet tossed off “ancillary” in conversation. At that moment, it struck me I’d probably never hear that word used so casually ever again. So far, I’ve been right, a tiny miracle in itself. (Jeff subsequently went to law school and joined the Air Force, which is about what you’d expect from a guy who used “ancillary” in a sentence. Wherever you are, Jeff, Tina’s roommate Kathy salutes you.) Anyway. Ancillarily, am I the only one whose projects take so much more time than they ought? You know, like finishing this sentence? Remember the list of jobs Tim and I were going to accomplish in a weekend back in “The Best Laid Schemes”?  Well, ha.

            Friday we bought some of the materials for some of the tasks.



Pre-emitted dripline
snakes through New Bed 



On Saturday, Tim worked all afternoon installing drip irrigation to the New Bed and the Big Island in our front yard. He started on the back garden, but ran out of pipe. Here’s a picture of the dripline snaking through New Bed (remember you can click on it to make it bigger). It’s that pre-emitted stuff, with really strange-looking emitters every 12 inches, whether you need them or not. It’s not my favorite, as it can put water where you don’t need it: but, as you can tell by the snaky way it’s laid out, I don’t have a clear idea of what’s going where yet. Plus we have about 800 feet of it clogging up our storage area. Plus it was free (good friends in the irrigation business): for gardeners on a tight budget, that’s a consideration.

It was my turn on Sunday. Thought I’d pop the three ‘Better Boy’ tomatoes into the east end of New Bed after building a three-way support from concrete-reinforcing wire; plant cucumber seedlings and nasturtiums together (hoping to confuse the pickleworm moths) and hang them on the front porch; get the last five delphiniums in the ground before they bloom out; and start configuring the arbor/vine-support that’s going to shade the path through New Bed. That was the plan.

Didn’t quite work out that way.



Accidentally "watered up" weeds



First I had to weed. Here’s a picture of a representative sample of New Bed as it looked Sunday morning. Now, if I were a liar, which I’m not—not because of impeccable moral standards but because I’ve just never been very good at it, laughing or blushing at the wrong moment—I’d tell you that I’d encouraged the weedy growth by a process known as “watering up.” That’s when you turn over the soil in an area slated for future planting and allow the weed seeds in it germinate; then you pull them, allegedly getting a jump on the first crop of undesirables. In my case, however, neglect watered them up. The end result is the same, but I don’t want to foster the notion that I am in any way holier than thou.

Besides, I enjoy weeding. Spent a pleasant hour pulling and humming and grinding sand into my bare knees. Yes, it was warm enough for the short overalls. I call them “oversomes.” What with the morning jammies parade, then the oversomes for an entire afternoon, we are lucky in our tolerant and good-humored neighbors.



Concrete reinforcing wire sheets
leaning against a pallet



Second job: assemble some sort of support from the four sheets of concrete reinforcing wire T and I brought home Friday. This is what it looks like. At about eight dollars a sheet, it’s one of the cheapest staking materials going.

Tim worries about me a lot. He thinks I’m a delicate flower. While flattering, it’s pretty much untrue, as my floral nature runs closer to kudzu than night-blooming cereus. I am kind of uncoordinated, prone to dropping things, cutting off the ends of my fingers with pruners, and stumbling a lot. The reinforcing wire posed a particular dilemma for Tim, as it features pre-rusted sharp-pointed ends for me to impale myself on, resulting in a grisly death from lockjaw. (That’s a joke: we assiduously keep our tetanus shots up to date. You should, too, if you’re playing in the dirt.)  Well, he paints on Sundays. He also knew what I planned to get up to with that wire. He extracted a promise from me that I would wear boots and gloves if I got within 30 feet of it. Fortunately, I was working in the front yard, hard by his studio. With all the windows open, he contented himself with listening for streams of curses followed by silence.



The arrows point to how
Tim hooked the three panels
together into a stable triangular
support



The wire sheets are four feet by eight. I clipped two feet off the bottom of the first sheet, thinking maybe three two-by-four panels hooked together somehow would work. Then I remembered ‘Better Boys’ are indeterminate, meaning their ultimate height is unknown. (It also means they bear fruit all season instead all at once, like the shorter determinates.) Four feet won’t be tall enough. Bolt-cutters in hand, I snip the remaining six-by-four foot sheet in two lengthwise. That’s better.

Now. How to configure, anchor and stabilize? At this point, Tim couldn’t stand the suspense of waiting for me to hurt myself any longer and came out to help in his blazing-blue nitrile gloves and his slippers. (We really are quite the sartorially splendid pair.) Where I had assembled a jumble of metal and bamboo stakes and rolls of bendy-wire, he suggested an inherently stable triangle, hooked together at three points per side with the aforementioned sharply pointed ends, and clipping off the rest. Brilliant! (See picture at right.)



A four-to-six-sheet layer of newspaper
helps deter weeds



The most dangerous portion of the day’s activities over, T goes back inside. I plant the three tomatoes, one on each outer side of the triangle support. I know the irrigation’s working because once I dug down a couple of inches, the sand was moist enough to form loose clumps. Now it’s time to mulch.

I save newspaper for just such occasions. (Our spare bathtub is full of it, so don’t plan to visit.) I covered the ground with it, pictured here. Why? A four-to-six-sheet layer suppresses weeds for the first season, then decomposes, adding to the soil profile. Because newspaper on its own is not particularly attractive, you need to cover it with something. Continuing my quest for cheapness by utilizing whatever’s at hand, I raked up leaves and dead grass from the lawn (a win-win proposition) and piled them on top of the paper.



Lawn detritus serves nobly
as cheap mulch



Ta-da!

A short struggle with the hose ensued. (Seems I’m always struggling with hoses. They’re never where you need them to be when you need them there.) But I’m a patient sort—not to mention stubborn—and we were soon sorted. I gave the tomatoes a deep drink while smugly surveying my handiwork.

The smugness faded when I realized the mosquitoes were biting, meaning it was five-ish. So much for all those other Sunday projects. Still, I’d managed to accomplish something. I’d been an ant. And there’s a certain quiet satisfaction in that.

                                                *****

For locals, two notes of interest. One, Backyard Wild in Southport now stocks ladybugs, earthworms and flash-frozen mealyworms--check it out! Two, Plant Delights Nursery in Garner is holding its second Spring Open House this coming weekend, your chance to bring home some unusual plants to trial: hours are 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. on Friday and Saturday, and from 1 to 5 p.m. on Sunday. Details and directions are at the website linked above.

Hope you had a joyful and fertile Beltane. Thanks for dropping by.

                                                                        Kathy

P.S.  The early peaches tasted tart, but they were juicy and had good texture, not at all mealy. Can't wait for the second batch!  

APRIL WRAP-UP

April is the cruelest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

                        T.S. Eliot, “The Waste Land”

            April has certainly been cruel to Arkansas and Alabama this year. Our thoughts, sympathy and best wishes for a speedy recovery from the unrecoverable go out to all the latest victims of climate change. Why is it that tornados so seldom flatten the neighborhoods of those better able to absorb the losses? Almost gives credence to conspiracy theorists’ claims that weather is controlled by the government at the behest of its handlers, Wall Street and the military.

The freely seeding
Carolina petunia
(Ruellia carolina)

            From without and from within, the lucky Fitzes dodged devastation. I took advantage of some mandated down-time to engage in my favorite form of therapy, weeding. I cleared three-quarters of the back garden and down the south-side path, pulling out over 1300 self-seeded Carolina petunias (Ruellia carolina). The rogue passionflower (Passiflora incarnata) count is only up to 32, but the season’s just getting started. Two others appeared in places I actually want them to be, on the outdoor shower’s wall and at the base of our ‘Muskogee’ crape myrtle. These are the ones I monitor for the National Phenology Network. (See the February 2^nd post, “For the Birds,” for more information.)

*****

            Beltane falls on Sunday this year. The forecast calls for perfect spring weather, so Tim and I plan to celebrate with the other local druids. Oh, wait—we’re the only ones. So I guess he’ll paint while I putter in the yard.

            “Beltane” not ringing any bells? Sky-Guy, our friend from the U.S. Naval Observatory, says the ancient Celtic cross-quarter holiday (don’t forget to pay your rents, all you serfs) marks the end of boreal winter and the commencement of the growing season with bonfires, fertility rites and festivities that gave rise to the word “mayhem.” Christianity usurped and sanitized it into tamer “May Day.” Americans gave the druids some of their own back by designating the last Friday in April as Arbor Day.

            Here in southeastern North Carolina, milestones of spring come and go with unbecoming haste. Mid-February to mid-March—daffs bloom: check. February 20—sweet Williams and snaps rebloom: check. March 5—first biting sand gnats attack: check. March 28—windows open all night: check. April 8—first outdoor shower: check. April 21—first local strawberries for sale: check. April 25—air-conditioner turned on for the first time in 2011: check. April 27—cloyingly sweet-scented wild privet in full bloom: check. April 29—first batch of South Carolina peaches: whoa! First peaches? In April?

            The kid at Port City Produce reports the supplier said this crop is the earliest he’s ever harvested by two weeks. Sure, the fruits are small and hard as bricks, but their color is good and they smell peachy. Once they ripen, I’ll let you know how they taste.

*****

Now that I’m making a conscious effort to eat locally and in season, it’s winter’s dearth of fruit I feel most keenly. Once my small cache of frozen berries was gone, the fruit famine set in. But now the local you-pick strawberry places are opening up, which will be followed by the you-pick blueberry places, which will be followed by the wild blackberries ripening at a place I’m won’t disclose. The peaches will get bigger and better throughout the summer. The melons reach perfection in July. I am so ready to be in fruit-hog heaven.

The (nearly) weed-free path
on the south side of our house
(photographed at dusk)

            On the home front, the serviceberries grow a little larger every day. Soon the bird netting will be out to give me a fighting chance at part of the harvest. I noticed there are four new baby serviceberry (Amelanchier x grandiflora) bushes near the mother plant. I’ll dig them up and spread them out into a serviceberry grove.

            Both the ‘Chandler’ and groundcover strawberries are flowering and setting fruit. The seven new blueberry bushes produced about 20 flowers so far, but I wasn’t expecting much in the way of a crop this year. Ditto for the ‘Ouachita’ blackberry whips.

            The scuppernong grape vine I transplanted from the lot next door two years ago looks like it may do something this year too. That would be an unexpected bonus.



The pea patch



            As for vegetables, the peas have pods and the potato plants look great: should we harvest any actual potatoes, however, remains to be seen. I thinned and rearranged the carrot, beet and onion shoots into neat rows a few weeks ago… just before Roger the three-pawed raccoon moved in nearby and went on a digging spree. Fortunately, I’d had the foresight to pot up many of the thinnings (I’ve mentioned I have an awful time killing off vegetable seedlings, haven’t I?), so there are extras to fill the gaps.

            My surviving seed-starts continue to survive, if not thrive. Five cultivars of tomatoes, four of them heirloom; six of two cucumber varieties; and three of two different melons sprouted out on the potting table, plus all six ‘Snack Seed’ sunflowers. I broke down and bought three ‘Better Boy’ tomato and three sweet-pepper plants. The plan (haha) is to get them all in the ground this weekend. Well, we’ll see. It’s also time to get the beans in, now the nighttime temperatures stay between 55° and 65°.



            The hyacinth bean, moonflower and black-eyed susan vine starts are coming along, as are the ‘Spitfire’ nasturtiums. The outside hollyhock seeds did better than the inside ones, a lesson for next year. Two of the six pots of alyssum actually have tiny flowers—what a rush!

*****



The miracle poinsettia
(Who said miracles have to be pretty?)



            The houseplants that survived several months of my indoor tender mercies have moved outside now, to the great relief of everyone concerned. Even the ratty-looking poinsettia clings to life five months on, truly a Christmas miracle. The dahlia I brought in—the one that immediately shriveled up—surprised us all by producing a new green leaf this week: it’s what I consider the greatest triumph of the annual overwintering crapshoot. Thank goodness that’s over with until next November.



*****

            No progress to report on any of the new beds. But it is Beltane weekend: maybe something magic will happen. Keep a good thought for me.

            Thanks for dropping by, y’all.



                                                                                    Kathy

BITING OFF MORE THAN YOU CAN CHEW

I know lots about biting off more than I can chew (BOMTICC). My nearest and dearest will tell you I’ve raised the practice to an art-form. Coupled with a compulsive tendency that tolerates no unfinished enterprise, it’s a great recipe for frustration and, once in a while, disaster.

Rosa 'New Dawn,'
the "Mother's Day" rose,
 getting an early start

Take, for example, all the current garden projects in various stages of (un)completion chez Fitz. A domestic hiccup occurring last week and overflowing into this one put the kibosh on making progress on any of them. (Not to worry, we came out the other side of the hiccup hale and hearty. I will say this, though: this getting-old crap is not for sissies.) As the season moves along, the temperatures eke up a little every day. We’ve been taking outdoor showers since April 8^th. After a restless, sweaty night, today we broke down and turned on the air-conditioner. I’m beginning to wonder if I have, once again, BOMTICC.

It all looked so simple on paper back in February, and there was just so much time before the energy-sapping heat set in. But, as usual where I’m concerned, way leads on to way. They loop back eventually, but critical momentum gets lost. Quick as you can say “Bob’s your uncle,” it’s July and I refuse to go out in that voluntarily. Even OCD has its limits.



A blue vignette:
Iris 'Contraband Girl,'
Baptisia minor &
Baptisia australis 



I find a backhanded sort of comfort, however, in the knowledge I am not alone.

On Good Friday, Tim and I met with one of the hardest-working people on the planet. Over the past several seasons, Barb’s been building an ambitious garden on the vacant lot next door (it’s okay—she owns it). She’s brought in and wheelbarrowed around three or more truckloads of dirt.  She’s dug about a mile of trenches to direct water to the drainage ditch she cleared and deepened across the back of the lot. With concrete she mixed, formed and poured herself, she engineered a sluice from the high ground to an underground drainpipe she installed herself. She’s built a low wall around what will be the centerpiece of the space, and hauled in the pieces of a ginormous fountain she plans to erect as its focal point. She’s also relocated full-grown crape myrtles and Burford hollies, built a decorative little coffer dam around a native tree with bricks left over from the construction of her house, and planted or moved about a hundred shrubs and perennials as screening and to rough out several garden rooms. Lacking an irrigation system, she waters by hand. I got worn to a frazzle just listening.



A close-up of California firecracker,
Dichelostemma ida-maia



So what does she need Fitzgeralds Gardening for?

Because she started out flying by the seat of her pants, without a plan. And now she has no idea exactly where she is or how to get to where she wants to go. She thinks she may have BOMTSheCC.

Let’s start with those hundred shrubs and perennials. A local garden center went out of business last fall (we miss you, Kelly): Barb took advantage of the bargain-basement prices and loaded up the SUV, several times. To her credit, she got every plant in the ground, in a kind-of pleasing arrangement. But when they grow up—and they will grow up, given enough water to establish—they’re going to be one ugly, tangled maintenance nightmare.



Clematis 'Bonanza,'
one of the Evipo hybrids



To her credit as a gardener, she already suspected that was the case. We urged her to simplify, and gave her some ideas with that end in view. The first and most importantly, she needs to trust her instincts and her eye, because both are primo. Second: install drip irrigation, preferably before summer really roars in. Once a professional installs a valve and a pigtail-pipe, it’s easy to stake out the dripline and emit it herself. Third, attend to the hardscape she has in mind—an elegantly curved paver-path connecting the driveway to the centerpiece garden’s entrance, clearly demarcated by a gate and a few fence sections. The pavers will also sweep along the side of the garage in to the side door and out again to meet an existing path exiting the backyard. A mulch walkway incorporating a few long slope-negotiating steps will wend through the other garden rooms in a roundabout fashion to hook up with the pavers again. Barb and I both could see it complete in our minds’ eyes, and it is beautiful.

With the hardscape in place, it will be easier to see which of the too-many plants can stay, and which should head to the Great Compost-Heap in the Sky. Definition shapes a space: without it, all you’ve got is a mess of plants.



The pea patch in flower
(Pisum 'Wando')



The most important thing we said, though, is Tim’s famous dictum—be an ant. Move one grain of sand/thing at a time instead hurting yourself trying to juggle an impossible number of them (a.k.a. BOMTYouCC). Your anthill/garden will get built. Barb already knows this, of course. It’s a truth I too-often fail to take to heart myself when bubbling over with ideas, visions and enthusiasm. (As my former husband the lawyer used to say, “People never take advice they don’t pay for.” That’s why Tim and I charge for giving consultations. Thanks, R.)

Here’s an example of incipient BOMTYCC. Two of our once-upon-a-time clients, whose original new-construction landscaping Tim and I designed and installed a decade ago, labor long hours enhancing and maintaining their lovely property. Like us, they’re not getting any younger; some tasks just aren’t as easily accomplished as they used to be. Tim’s always saying condo-living looks more and more attractive as the years flit by. Bill’s starting to agree. I know that if you argue for your limits, you get to keep them, but seems like wisdom to not work yourself to death either.



Shelling-pea pods
filling out
(Pisum 'Alaska')



Two other stories involve near-occasions of BOMTYCC. (I wasn’t raised Catholic, but between my college roommate Tina, my friend Eydie, and Tim, I’ve absorbed a lot of the jargon. What a way with words! While at university, I briefly entertained the notion of conversion: Tina taught me that the Church has an answer to every question. Maybe not a good answer, but an answer nonetheless. At that point in my life, that certainty intrigued the hell out of me. Not to worry—now I’m totally content to not know the answer to anything.)

Back to the topic. The first near-occasion occurred when we got a call from a courtly old retired doctor from Southport. His wife had had a potentially award-winning garden drawn by a designer she’d met on a plane (go figure), and wanted someone to put it in for them. Installed as drawn, the garden would have been drop-dead gorgeous on the lot backing up to the Intracoastal Waterway, except…

a) there was no way to maneuver even a small Bobcat into the backyard site for clearing, spreading dirt, or transporting the several requisite tons of stone and mulch, not to mention all the plants: all such labor would have to be done by hand and wheelbarrow—ka-ching! and

b)  the level of maintenance necessary to keep the garden looking good was problematic. When Tim enquired who would be in charge of that aspect, the good doctor (pushing 80 at the time) said he couldn’t do it physically, and Mrs. Doctor said she never goes outside in summer because it’s too hot and there are too many mosquitoes. (No lie about that last. T and I dubbed the area The Biting-Insect Capital of North Carolina: believe me, state-wide competition for that title is intense.)



Blueberry blooms
(Vaccinium 'Elizabeth,'
one of four cultivars
in my front-yard patch)



In the end, the vision of the enormous and eternal expense of installing the garden and then paying someone with leather-like skin to keep it in some semblance of order brought the whole project to a screeching halt. Going forward with it would definitely count as a case of BOMTTheyCouldC.

Today’s final case of BOMTYCC is also archetypal of how Tim regularly talks us out of income by telling the truth. Because we’re fastidious in our work habits and in love with the job (and also because we won’t work for people we don’t like), we  usually become friendly with our clients. If they can help it, friends don’t let friends BOMTTCC. When invited to have their yard showcased in a local Garden Tour, some client/friends in turn asked our thoughts on the matter. At first T and I were excited by the prospect: prepping for tours has been lucrative for us in the past. It is also damned hard work. After a brief, internal struggle between the businessman and the friend, Tim said to Mr. D, “My business side wants to encourage you to go for it. We’d make a good buck and you’d get the accolades. On the other hand, as your friend, I have to advise against getting involved. Getting ready for a tour is a lot of work inside the house as well as out. It’s expensive. It’s always too damn hot on the Tour days. And most importantly, you don’t actually have a garden. You have a very nice, healthy, pretty yard, but nothing as focused as a garden.”



First ripe strawberries!
(Fragaria 'Chandler')



“Good,” says Mr. D, obviously relieved. “We’ll write a nice check to the beneficiary instead.”

I guess the moral is, be careful about the size of what you bite off. And if you do BOMTYCC, think like an ant. It’s okay if you spit out some of that mouthful for now. If it’s important, it all gets masticated in the end.

More pix from around the yard here, four of flowers, four of edibles. Golly-gee, I love April in North Carolina!

Thanks for dropping by, and for hanging in with this looong post.

                                                                                    Kathy 

SORRY, KIDS

     Sorry, kids. A two-hour power failure at a critical juncture and nervous anticipation of a nail-biter of a day on tap tomorrow sapping the ol' creative energy put the kibosh on today's post. Will regroup and get it out tomorrow. Thanks for bearing with me.
                                                                               K

THE BEST LAID SCHEMES

…Mousie, thou are no thy-lane,

In proving foresight may be vain:

The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men,

Gang aft agley,

An’ lea’e us naught but grief an’ pain

For promis’d joy!

Robbie Burns, “To a Mouse”

            Well, triple piffle. Ms. Cockeyed Time Optimist with Knobs On has been proved wrong again. It happens so often, you’d think I’d be inured to it; but my gift for misreading situations never fails to come as a surprise.



Rosa 'Zephrine Drouhin,'
an heirloom Bourbon rose



            We finished our most recent paying job Wednesday afternoon, not Tuesday morning. That’s because neither Tim nor I know how to keep our mouths shut. We left the site at lunchtime on Tuesday to meet a lady and her husband who just wanted to discuss us undertaking to lay out drip irrigation in their garden—how long could that take? Huh. She’s a capital-G Gardener, like me. He’s ex-Navy, like Tim. Ever witness two ex-sailors, regardless of former rank, hook up? The sea-stories go on and on. And two capital-G Gardeners have volumes of information and experiences to share. So it was almost three o’clock before T and I got back. That’s too late in the day to start a mulching project, right?

            The mulch got spread on Wednesday, by which time T says he’s not feeling so great. He’s the kind of guy who, if he admits to operating at less than full capacity, you’d better listen to him. So today was visit-the-doc-in-Wilmington day. And because we’re in the Big City, we stop at Barnes and Noble, Target, Walgreens, the Hallmark store, Harris Teeter and our favorite Italian restaurant. By the time we get home, Jeopardy!’s only 45 minutes away, and there’s another day shot.



Nectaroscordum siculum
ssp. bulgaricum
Bulgarian lily

            Needless to say, haven’t made an iota of progress in the garden. Oh, except for hooking up the hose to the hose-bib out front so I can hand-water the south side of the house. (It’s a more efficient use of water—if not time—than running that irrigation zone’s sprays.) We hope to stockpile supplies tomorrow and get a few projects done this weekend

            Fortunately, the plants progress on their own. New sprouts from old friends pop up; sprouts elongate and bloom. Surprises await every morning when I toddle out in my jammies to pick up the paper. (It’s okay, really. The neighbors are used to the unsettling sight. Most just avert their eyes.) Wednesday, I spent a half-hour taking pictures of the new stuff, paper inconveniently tucked under my arm and our outdoor cat, Grey-Boy, insinuating himself around my ankles, wondering when breakfast would be served. Those are the pictures scattered through this post.

                                  *****



Verbascum hybrid
(but I don't remember which one)



            Earth Day celebrates its 41^st anniversary tomorrow. I was in tenth grade when Sen. Gaylord Nelson, a Wisconsin Democrat, launched the modern environmental awareness movement. Thirty months later, I signed up for a college course called Environmental Science, a new addition to UVa’s curriculum just the year before. (It was already famous as a gut science credit for us Liberal Arts types, along with the History of Math. I took both, and have rued my lack of hard scientific knowledge ever since.)



Sytrax obassia blooms
Large-leaf snowbell,
cousin to Japanese snowbell



            Be that as it may. The idea behind Earth Day was to encourage people to stage peaceful demonstrations in support of healthy, sustainable lifestyles for everyone on the planet, and to raise awareness of the notions of clean water, clean air, clean energy and recycling. Over time, Earth Day activities expanded to include protests against environmental deterioration caused by overuse of chemical fertilizers and pesticides; industrial pollution and toxic waste dumps; loss of wilderness and wildlife habitat; over-dependence on fossil fuels; the dangers of nuclear power plants (can you say “Fukushima Dai-ichi”?); climate change; and oil spills. (BP’s Deepwater Horizon catastrophe is high-profile this year: how heartwarming to learn recently that BP execs received bonuses for their excellent safety record despite those paltry eleven deaths, and our government has certified that all the spilled oil is out of the Gulf of Mexico… except for those millions of gallons on the bottom that will affect life in and around the Gulf for millennia.)



Amsonia tabernaemontana
Mountain blue star



            Earth Day’s April 22 date was chosen partly because of its proximity to Arbor Day, May 1, hence the tree-planting connection. It's one of the largest secular globally recognized “holidays” (for lack of a better term): last year 175 nations participated in some sort of observance.

            Before we get too cocky and self-congratulatory about how enlightened we all are and how far we’ve come, let me share some sobering statistics from the University of North Dakota’s Symposium on Sustainability. If we don’t change our behaviors, this is what will happen today and every day after:

·         97 billion emails will be sent, 40% of which will be spam.

·         4000 books will be published. (Why one of them isn’t mine is one of the sorrowful mysteries.)

·         $3 billion dollars will be dedicated to military expenditures.

Dichelostemma ida-maia
California firecracker



·         The Earth’s population will grow by 211,000 people. That’s like a new Akron, Ohio, springing up EVERY DAY.

·         An area the size of Boise, Idaho, will become desert.

·         200 million tons of cropland topsoil will be lost to erosion.

·         50,000 acres of forest will disappear.

·         Between 20 and 500 species will go extinct.

·         3 billion gallons of oil will be consumed.

·         800 million people will go to bed hungry.

·         18,000 children will die of malnutrition and related diseases.

             



Amelanchier x grandiflora 'Princess Diana'
Apple serviceberry



The cheerful folks at UND didn’t even mention fresh-water-table degradation and depletion, the trashing and pollution of the oceans, the burgeoning Frankenfood industry or the problems of storing spent nuclear fuel. (Fun facts from Bill Nye, the Science Guy: the half-life of plutonium is 240,000 years. That’s the half-life. For disposal purposes, our ostrich-like government requires dumpsites have to be rated “safe” for 10,000 years. The oldest surviving man-made structures, the pyramids, are less than 5000 years old. Are we insane? Or merely stupid?)



Horrendously out-of-control
eleagnus hedge



The gist is, many of our behaviors and life-style choices today are simply unsustainable for the long run. So while you’re out scheming to have fun planting trees, building birdhouses and attending street fairs tomorrow, maybe you can take just a moment to think seriously about what you’re gonna do when—not “if,” when—the Great Power Failure comes.

On that sober note, I’m outta here. I want to go outside and breathe some clean, earth-scented air while I still can. (Gee, I make the guys at UND look like an SNL sketch, don’t I?)

Have a happy, sustainable Earth Day. And thanks for dropping by.

                                                                        Kathy