THE MAD PLANTER: Part 2

Once upon a time, in our backyard fence row the Burning bush became a sensation over night each September when she would go from green to red in a matter of days. She was glorious to watch. She was the older of the two Bush sisters by at least ten years. Her sister across the the patio, that we planted seven years ago, shines, too, but never as bright or as large since she is protected by a Harry Potter tree (Privet) on one side and Pampas grass on the other side. It was the Privet, the Pampas and the North side fence that saved the younger sister's life during the icy winter of 2021. 

The original Burning Bush in her glory. 

Last week we cut out the last remaining off shoot from original Burning Bush's  remains. The big bush died after that winter ice and the bitter snowstorm of 2021, but last summer we nursed her off spring with care and this spring she returned, a bit slimmer than her mother bush but upright and reaching for the sun. In mid-June, I examined her and noticed her leaves were beginning to curl. Within two weeks she wilted and died before my very eyes. 

Once again the "Mad Planter" went to work. It is too hot now to dig up the roots to the big bush, but they showed above ground, and I could easily trip over them. Looking around the yard for inspiration I spied a potted plant nearby that could be moved in to replace the bush and cover the roots. I use potted plants throughout my gardens to fill spaces and holes where other plants have died or where I want a change of color or height.

This fall we will replace it with a Burning Bush or a Yew.

To be honest, there is a space where the potted plant once stood, but upon close observation I decided to let the Lillies, Sedum (Never Die) and Purple Heart fill in the space over the next few years. I do have patience, sometimes. 

 

We planted English Ivy between the Yew bushes and before I die it may fill in. 

Murphy is thrilled with his new freedom along the fence line. No more bushes scraping against his side.

The top of the fence is flat which makes for a perfect Squirrel Highway. It also gives Murphy hours of recreation, running and leaping as he chases the squirrels along the fence highway. Now we are all happy.

But gardening never ends...does it?

FLUMMOXED

 

Our elevated garden under the Birch tree is a delight for me and 
the upkeep is simple because the soil is not clay.

Our four front yard gardens vary in degrees of stress and beauty. Consequently, my brain is completely flummoxed and my body is weary. My platter and palette are full: rounds of golf with friends, books to read and discuss, walks to take with Jack and Murphy, time to read, furniture to be painted, stories to write, research to continue, naps to take, time with family and friends, and meals to fix. Then there is the house to clean and clothes to wash. 

Nothing new in my life, except that as I grow older my desire to create and play is still strong, my back and joints are not.

The wilted stalks will produce the "naked ladies" 
sometime in July. Thanks to fertilizer we grow
daises and lilies three feet tall. 

This spring I planted the last few perennials in our front garden to showcase our elevated addition to the flower bed. The End.

I imagined that slowly year by year the garden would grow and be less demanding, giving me more time to relax. I imagined less gardening and less pain in my hamstrings from bending and pulling.

If only the Sweet Woodruff had not drown in wet clay, if only
we had dug up all of the clay in the garden eight years ago,
if only we had elevated the garden. I am quite sure on a warm
 sunny day I will come up with a plan. 

The rains came and gave our trees, bushes, and grasses a new life. They also drowned my new perennials. Yearly, I am reminded that I no longer live on rich black Kansas soil. Our Oklahoma clay retains water, thus saturating my plants and leaving me perplexed as to what to do next. Now I have another project on my list.

While the grasses and weeds were growing this spring, my bookcase, hand made by a music teacher in 1979, looked at me one day and said, “I need to be cleaned up and given a new life.”

One more coat or maybe
the darker yellow?

“Sunshine,” I told the bookcase, “we need more sunshine in our playroom/computer room/atelier.”

“Atelier?” the bookcase replied, “You have never called me that.”

“No,” I explained, “You cover the wall in the room where I write, color, draw, and dream. I think that makes this room a studio or atelier.”

“By all means paint me yellow and watch me enjoy how I brighten our studio. Please don’t call our room an atelier. It sounds old and dusty.”

Selecting the color that works in a soft green room is not easy, and timing is everything. After much thought and way too many yellow paint chips to view, I made a decision to purchase two quarts of various tones of yellow paint. Within a day of moving the bookcase to the garage, our three week rains began and progress slowed dramatically.  Having the bookcase back in the studio by the end of May is the plan. Meanwhile, the books are scattered over the bed and down the floor line, leaving me confounded when I walk into the disarray.

The last time I painted furniture it didn’t bother my wrists and shoulders, it didn’t leave my shoulder throbbing, nor did it affect my golf game. Thank heavens for Aleve.

Meanwhile, one of our other gardens grows Nutsedge and a wild spreading violet, which is beautiful when in the correct space, but a nuisance as it spreads its dainty heart shaped leaves where I don’t want them. Bending and searching for roots I can rid the garden of nutsedge with the herbicide specifically to kill nutsedge. As for the violets, the directions say wait till fall to kill the plant or dig, dig, dig…..What to do? 

How to get rid of Wild Violets

I would rather write. Sitting here I can watch the birds at the feeder, people walking by, children on bicycles and skateboards, the irises that have bloomed, yellow day lilies in bloom, purple salvia, and rabbit’s ears covered with purple stalks of color and surrounded by bees. I like sitting here. It doesn't cause me any pain. 

Our ceramic bunny lost his ears over the years. The lizard is covered with salvia, and the ground cover wound its way through the Never Die, sedum. 

A break in our day as we met Leah Jackson for lunch at Baguette. 

Time has passed and I have yellow on my hands from giving the bookcase another coat of paint. I opened Facebook and read that it has been 58 years since the Class of 65 graduated from Miami High School. Hum, that may be why it’s not so easy to work on all of my projects.

Later,  I will return to the studio and continue the research on the Miami Golf and Country club 1963 (Miami Golf and Country club, History )

Tomorrow is filled with a round of golf with friends. I love life. 

For more gardening stories click on these links:

Life as a Perennial

Twenty Minute Gardening

A View of Life as a Perennial

Thank you readers for your responses to my last blog, 

Look out Millennials—
We’re still here – the Perennials.  

I replied to their emails with a simple question, which perennial might you be?

Marilyn's response to being a perennial reads, "I am probably a daisy--I like yellow and white--perky, uplifting, energetic. (The flower, not me--lol.)  Like you, I have a funny story about aging and teaching. I was filling in for a teacher at Hutch High. One class was all freshman, mostly girls. I spent extra time with a girl who just needed to talk. Just before they left, she told me, 'When I get old I hope I'm skinny, just like you!' Hilarious!"  

Indeed as perennials we have much to laugh about.  

Judy replied, "When I saw the pictures of the Iris  

I went down the memory freeway to mom. She raised Irises for the fair each year, and knew all the names and colors of the flowers.  I guess I would be an Aster that blooms in the fall, lives in the desert and  other climates and is purple."

Vicki said, "I am an Iris and enjoying this stage of life most of all."  While Nancy responded with, "I love the Iris, but the Naked Ladies always amaze me and I love their name, too!"

Mexican Petunia

While wandering off on a color tangent of favorite flowers, I chuckled. thinking that my sister, Jonya, could be "Mexican Petunia." They are hardy, bloom everyday throughout the warm months, and propagate year to year to fill the garden with color. 




In a whimsy I pictured myself as a yellow-eyed white daisy lightly blowing in the wind, but a peak out the window shifted my focus to a perennial in my garden that has been a part of my life since childhood. My grandmother would cut stems of "never die' from her rock  garden every summer and give them to me to plant at home.  From our childhood home on "H" st. to the farm where my parents moved, the 'never die' plant moved with us.  

On the farm it thrived on the west side of the house even when the Bermuda took over the garden, but on the southeast corner it enjoyed a spectacular life in a rock garden with many rocks and sea shells we collected from our trips.  

As I moved around over the decades I often cut off stems and planted them wherever I lived, never realizing that "never die" was best known as Sedum. The Sedum I planted from Kansas to Texas is best known as "Autumn Joy." 

The Autumn Joy sedum is also an entertainer. Throughout the summer months a green leaf can be squeezed and turned into the appearance of a "frog's tongue" much to the delight of children.  (Directions to follow this summer.)



My  grandmother's naming of the 'never die' plant was close to correct-- it can survive through periods of drought because it stores water in its leaves. Even in the winter it can stand up against the snow and winter winds  while showing another side to its beauty.

As perennials we are learning to accept another side of the beauty of living a long fulling life. 

Miami Memories: American Pies

A soft but warm summer rain hasn't dampened the spirits of our neighborhood. Aerial bombs and firecrackers have been radiating the misty air off and on for nearly 24 hours. But today the rains

have kept some of us indoors more than we want to be. Our dog Lucy, a blue healer mix, needs to run and play daily, so we've ventured out twice already to play tug, toss the ball, and throw the frisbee. She doesn't mind the rain, but the firecrackers send her house bound and shaking.

This morning as I stood under the protection of the maple trees while tossing the ball, my senses took me back to another time and place when I would have found myself outside under a tree or bush slapping mud pies together. Rain without lightning and thunder is a delight and rarity for those of us in the plains states. Even as a child I jumped at the chance to be outside in the fresh air. So today I smelled the rain, the green of the trees, and the wet soil beneath my toes. I even squished my toes and giggled to myself.

I think it was the smell that brought me back to 209 H st. Northeast. There I was sitting in mom's bushy garden on the east side of the house in the shade making mud pies. After I had them mixed just right and rounded on the edges I'd place them on the cement front porch to bake. I decorated them with clover and other natural trimmings. One time I made a comic character out of my mud pies and mom gave me an "artistic award" of merit. Oh, did I ever dream of being a famous artist. I vaguely remember my creation was something like a fat bull frog. He came with ears, a giant green tongue sticking out (not flat), marble eyes, and leafy legs and arms. The tongue was the winner. I had created it from the "never die" plant (sedum). The magic tongue was simple. Take a "never die" leaf, press it's sides together until they squish but don't tear, open the stem end, place lips on the open edge and blow gently into the leaf. Voila! a three dimensional tongue.

So thank you VETERANS of all wars and peace for the opportunity to grow up safely in this grand country, and for giving every child a chance to enjoy a summer day outside with no fear of a snipers bullets or the blast of killing bombs. We owe our freedoms to you.