Monet at Giverny, by Caroline Holmes; Cassel and Co., 2001.
Monet’s Passion: Ideas, Inspiration, and Insights from the Painter’s Gardens,by Elizabeth Murray; Pomegranate Communications, 2010.
Some of you know that Judy and I were lucky enough to visit Monet’s garden at Giverny in April of this year. Despite the clouds and chill, we were completely bewitched by the garden. When we visited, it was overflowing with tulip, crabapple, and other spring blooms.
Since then, I’ve been reading up on Claude Monet and his garden at Giverny. For those most interested in replicating aspects of Giverny in their own gardens, I highly recommend Monet’s Passion. The author, Elizabeth Murray, helped to restore Giverny in the 1980s after it suffered through a long period of neglect.
Murray provides an enticing description of Monet’s garden through the seasons. She discusses both the upper garden, with its rectangular “paintbox” beds, and the Japanese-influenced lower garden with its mirroring pond, bridges, and water lilies. In the book and in person, I was most enchanted by the upper garden, with its dramatic grand allee, as well as the contrast of geometrically shaped beds filled with exuberantly undisciplined masses of bloom.
For gardeners who seek to emulate Monet, Murray provides a wealth of resources. In addition to the gardens, information is provided on the plants growing on the house and balcony. Murray discusses Monet’s favorite plants, including irises, sunflowers, and wildflowers such as the red poppies native to the area. She reviews his color schemes, such as combining blue with yellow, and his preferred plant combinations. All this is described with the aid of drawings complete with overlays.
For those more interested in Monet the man and his art, then Monet at Giverny is the better choice. Monet had a complicated but mostly happy personal life. He was essentially penniless when he moved to Giverny in 1883. In addition, he was supporting not only his own family, but the wife and children of his former patron, who had fled the country to escape bankruptcy.
Reflections in the pond of the lower garden.
Eventually, Monet became a wealthy man. He was a very social type and enjoyed friends and family. He eventually married Alice, the patron’s wife, after his own first wife died.
Holmes’ book is beautifully illustrated to demonstrate how Monet’s garden and his paintings shaped each other. She shows how Monet sought to paint not just objects, but the atmosphere and light around objects, and how this made both his gardens and his paintings uniquely dynamic and alive.
Well, maybe 5 minutes. I’d wanted to get these corms of Crocus tommasinianus ‘Lilac Beauty’ planted for a while, but could never find the time when the weather was decent and the ground wasn’t a muddy mire. (How odd to write that after enduring this year’s drought.) When I woke this morning, I was possessed by an overwhelming urge to plant my crocuses before I left for work.
It was simple enough:
Dig shallow hole, about 5″ deep.
Throw a bunch of crocuses in the hole. They should be about as crowded as the Red Line “L” train at 3 PM, but not as crowded as it gets at 5:30 PM.
Cover up the hole.
In this way I was able to deposit the 200 crocuses, about 80 in one hole and 120 in the other, before heading to the office. (I took the picture above with my cell phone, so it is not up to Judy’s usual standards.)
This episode reminds me of one of the big changes in my approach to gardening since I started. I used to be a very careful gardener. If the catalog said space plants 14″, I would try to measure out 14″ – not 12″ or 16″.
With crocuses, the instructions generally say plant 3-4″ apart. As a result, you could find me on a blustery fall day, making little individual holes three inches apart, dropping a crocus corm in each hole, then smoothing over the ground.
That was before I had a startling revelation: plants, if they’re in the right kind of spot, are pretty resilient. For the most part they do not need to be coddled. They certainly did not evolve in nature depending on exact spacing provided by the elements. And the ones that do, to hell with them. I have prospered as a gardener by acting on this philosophy.
Admittedly, this is not a good approach to growing, say, orchids. But I have no interest in growing orchids.
But I do like growing crocuses. (And I checked and the plural is either crocuses or croci, in case you were wondering.) I’ve been fond of crocuses since I was a little kid. They provide a bright splash of color in early spring, when the landscape is still mostly brown and tan. Crocus tommasinianus is supposed to be more squirrel resistant. You need to plant them in big bunches to have an impact, though. And that’s where careless gardening makes life so much easier.
Right now the showiest foliage in my yard is displayed by ‘Autumn Brilliance’ Serviceberry (Amelanchier x grandiflora ‘Autumn Brilliance’). I have six of these upright, multi-stem shrubs in a couple different spots in my yard, and I consider them pretty much indispensible. There are few shrubs that are happy in shade that have as much to offer.
The foliage turns to glowing red and orange fairly early in the season. Powdery mildew is an occasional problem, but never too serious for me. I think the color is just as striking as that of Burning Bush (Euonymous alata), which is considered invasive in some areas.
Serviceberry covers itself in white flowers in early spring. This year it was very early, the flowers were open by the last week of March.
And in June there are berries, which look very similar to blueberries. The berries are edible, some say they taste like a cross between blueberry and almond. They are also well-timed for the many birds nesting at that time. We like to watch the Robins hopping from branch to branch, helping themselves to the berries. They’re also a favorite of other fruit-eating birds, such as Cedar Waxwings.
While the books say this shrub grows 15-25′, the specimens I planted almost 10 years ago have grown from five to about twelve feet high.
What has the most colorful foliage in your yard right now? And have you had good or bad experience with Serviceberries?
Yep, all 90 of them. I planted them in containers for the first time, having decided that tulips weren’t really a good fit in my perennial beds. For starters, the dying foliage flops over other emerging plants. Also, they are often short-lived, and since tulips need to be planted deep, replacing them can be disruptive to established plants.
But Judy loves hybrid tulips. She picked the varieties we ordered and decided how they should be combined in the containers. Here’s what we did:
Combined tulip ‘Flair’ (red and yellow, early, 14″) with ‘Bellona’ (yellow, early, 14″).
Combined ‘Flair’ with ‘West Point’ (yellow, lily-flowered, 20″, mid-season).
Combined ‘West Point’ with ‘Kingsblood’ (red, early, 24″).
Combined ‘Kingsblood’ with ‘La Cortine’ (yellow and red, late, 26″).
Combined ‘La Cortine’ with ‘Coleur Cardinal’ (red and plum, early, 12″).
Combined ”Coleur Cardinal’ with ‘Rainbow Warrior’ (yellow with red edge, mid-season, 22″).
Combined ‘Bellona’ with ‘Rainbow Warrior’.
Filled a container with ‘World Expression’ (cream and red, late, 24″).
We put 10 tulips in 16″ containers and 8 tulips in smaller containers – probably could have squeezed a couple more into the larger containers. My understanding is you can stick as many tulips as you can into a container, as long as the bulbs aren’t touching. If you’re interested in how to plant tulips in containers (or how I did it, anyhow) it’s pretty simple:
Pull out all the container plants and dump them on the compost pile.
Pour the potting mix or soil from your containers into a larger container and mix with a few handfuls of compost.
Fill the containers with the refreshed mix until it is 6-8″ from the top. Throw in some bulb food if you want, following label directions for quantity.
Place the bulbs in the container. You can crowd them in there but they should not be touching.
Fill the rest of the container with mix, and give it a good soak with the hose. The containers should not dry out over winter.
Store in the garage or basement, a place where the bulbs will be chilled but the container won’t freeze.
Most of the gardeners I know, read, and talk to have a strong bias in favor of an organic approach to soil fertility. I share that bias. In almost all of my garden, all I do is add mulch with some compost here and there. (And I’m planning on cutting back on the compost after I got back the results of my soil test.) Most of my plants are native wildflowers, cultivars of same, and vigorous exotics that just don’t need fertilizers if grown in the right kind of soil.
Even flowers with a reputation for being “heavy feeders”, such as Clematis and Bleeding Heart (Dicentra spectabilis) do fine in my garden with just a few shovelfuls of compost.
But I have a confession to make: I do use some synthetic fertilizer. I’ve used it for three things: container plantings, my vegetable garden, and my roses. The first two have a rational basis: constant watering makes nutrients wash out of containers, and vegetable plants really are heavy feeders. As for the roses: OK, I won’t do this again, but I had just planted my first rose bushes and I wanted SO BADLY for them to do well and the roses on the package looked so happy …
Anyhow, I feel a definite sense of guilt when purchasing synthetic fertilizer. At Home Depot I asked for a plain brown wrapper for my container of Osmocote. But is the guilt warranted?
As I mentioned in an earlier post, I just finished a course at the Chicago Botanic Garden on Soil Basics. Very worthwhile course, very much geared toward gardeners and not scientists (very easy on the chemistry, etc.). From the class and assigned as well as supplemental reading I drew the following conclusions:
Synthetic fertilizers are greatly overused in home landscapes, and as such they can do substantial environmental damage.
Organic fertilizers and soil conditioners improve soil structure, generally contain micronutrients at appropriate levels, and are much less likely to create excess concentrations of nutrients and cause nutrient runoff.
Synthetic fertilizers are not inherently bad. The degree of concentration and the extent to which a fertilizer is fast acting are more important than whether the fertilizer was created through an industrial process or through the decay of organic materials.
Some have argued that synthetic fertilizers should not be used at all because they damage or destroy the soil food web – the vast number of bacteria, fungi, and other critters of varying size that are essential to soil fertility. This position is laid out in Teaming with Microbes by Jeff Lowenfels and Wayne Lewis. I found that particular argument unconvincing, though otherwise I found this to be an excellent book.
Synthetic fertilizers usually make nitrogen available to plants in the form of nitrates, a kind of salt. “Fertilizers are salts,” say Lowenfels and Lewis, and these salts “suck the water” out of soil microbes, drive away worms, and cause the overall soil food web to decline.
One problem with this argument is that nitrate salts are also produced by bacteria and fungi breaking down organic matter. Moreover, Jeff Gillman over at The Garden Professors cites a peer reviewed study showing that synthetic fertilizer was actually more effective than aerated compost tea at growing microbial populations in soil samples (though it also found that compost was better at helping poor soils retain nitrogen).
So that is my semi-informed, amateur take on the issue. What about you? Are you organics-only when it comes to fertilizer, or do you use a mixed approach?
As winter closes in, I find myself turning more and more to that emotional survival trick of gardeners everywhere: obsessing over what I’m going to plant next spring. As I peruse my books and catalogs, I keep running into an ominous phrase: “self-sows freely”.
Experienced gardeners know what this means. It means that you are bound to a plant in holy and implacable matrimony, no divorces or annulments allowed. It means this plant will be in your garden forever. It means you will be pulling out seedlings far and wide, or watch this plant choke out the competition.
Or perhaps not. “Self-sows freely” is perhaps a phrase that is more ambiguous than ominous, since it does not adequately describe the variety of self-sowing behaviors exhibited by garden plants. To remedy this problem, I provide the following glossary of variations in self-sowing.
Self-sows charmingly. Pops up with endearing randomness around the garden. A good example of this would be Wild Columbine (Aquilegia canandensis). Sure you’ll find seedlings showing up in odd and inconvenient places (in between pavers, for example). But it’s impossible to be mad at a columbine, isn’t it? Of course, it is! Just move the seedling or, if you have to, scratch it out.
Self-sows quixotically. Insists on germinating in places it couldn’t possibly survive for more than a year or two. My Brown-Eyed Susan (Rudbeckiatriloba), for example, is always emerging in unlikely spots, such as next to the base of a huge Siberian Elm tree. Apparently, it dreams the impossible dream.
Self-sows maliciously. Puts down roots where you don’t want it, AND the seedlings are stubborn little buggers. Example: Northern Sea Oats (Chasmanthium latifolium).
Self-sows perversely. Self-sows, but never in the places where you want it to spread. Example: Calico Aster (Symphyotricum lateriflorum).
Self-sows exuberantly. Every single one of a multitude of seeds germinates, carpeting the land with seedlings. Example: Anise Hyssop (Agastache foeniculum).
Self-sows adventurously. Example: Blue Stem Goldenrod (Solidago caesia). Seeds travel far from the mother ship, I mean plant, boldly going where none of their species has gone before.
So what other types of self-sowing have you seen in your garden, and what are the self-sowing plants you love or hate the most?
Yesterday we drove up to St. Paul, Minnesota, to celebrate my birthday with my younger son, my brother Richard, and his wife Diane.
When we get to St. Paul, we like to take a little hike at Minnehaha Park, site of the waterfalls made famous, though never actually visited, by the poet Longfellow (“By the shores of Gitche Gumee, By the shining big sea water,” etc.) This time we saw dramatic evidence of the severity of the drought that hit this part of the Midwest not just this year, but for the past several years.
Normally the falls are a roaring torrent of water. Today we saw barely a trickle, and Minnehaha Creek was essentially a string of puddles.
Even so, we had a pleasant hike.
I also got to see my brother’s garden, though at this point in October there isn’t much color. I did admire his water feature, however. The little pond has its own waterfall created by pumping water up a hole drilled through a small boulder. Shallow depressions have been cut in the boulder for the benefit of the birds.
Blurring the line between weeds and ornamentals, Richard is growing Deadly Nightshade (Atropa belladonna) up the side of his house. They do have colorful berries …
In his front yard, Richard took down a big Norway Maple (Acer platanoides) and replaced it with a Burr Oak (Quercus macrocarpa), now only about 4′ high. The rest of the front is planted in native perennials and shrubs, including Black Chokeberry (Aronia melanocarpa) and a Redbud (Cercis canadensis). Along the street he’s planted a “lawn” of Pennsylvania Sedge (Carex pennsylvanica) that is spreading very nicely. It’s remarkable that this garden has received no supplemental water (except from a water barrel), even with the drought.
After inspecting the garden, we headed to a restaurant called the Bachelor Farmer for a fine birthday meal. Tomorrow we have brunch with an old college friend, then back to Chicago.
A recent article by Linda Wesley in Fine Gardening magazine has inspired me to think more about using annuals to supplement the spring color in my flower beds. Yes, I have spring bulbs and early-blooming perennials, but there’s still an awful lot of bare brown spots in April and even in May where later-blooming perennials have yet to make their presence felt. Eventually I hope most of those areas will be covered by bulbs like Muscari, Crocus, Scylla, and species tulips – but in the meantime I feel the call of the annuals.
I had initially been considering pansies, stock, and forget-me-not (Myosotis sylvatica). (Though I haven’t been able to find a retailer who sells forget-me-not seed.)
But the article got me thinking about other alternatives I have never grown before, including:
Calendula (Calendula officinalis).
Love-in-a-mist (Nigella damascena).
California poppies (Eschscholzia californica). (Frost tolerant, according to the article. Who knew?)
Shirley poppies (Papaver rhoeas).
A couple of the annuals mentioned by Fine Gardening are not on my list of options. Snapdragons (Antirrhinum majus), because Judy doesn’t like snapdragons. Also sweet peas (Lathyrus odoratus), which I have never grown, because they grow so tall. I want annuals that will graciously fade into the background to make room for the perennials and summer annuals.
So, which cool weather annuals have been most successful for you, and which are your favorites?