Off With Their Heads!

I have nearly finished pruning my roses, a daunting task, of which I'm glad to see the end. Every year, beginning in winter, I set out to complete this chore before the first buds break on the canes. I arm myself with my trusty Felcos, my goat skin gloves, and several layers of garden clothes, for padding. Like knights in fairy tales, facing down dragons, I bravely battle the giant Ramblers in my yard. When they are tamed, I turn, a more refined hand, to snipping and clipping the smaller rose denizens, such as my dozen or so Mini Roses. I grow close to two hundred roses in all. They range from mini's to shrub to climbing roses, and to wildly rambling roses, with a few species specimans thrown in for good measure. I learned to prune this diverse group of plants by growing them for over twenty five years, and from a little help from friends, rose addicts like myself. If you would like to learn some really good pruning tips, in a much shorter time, read this great article on pruning roses from my favorite rose site. While you're at it check out my favorite rose nursery the Uncommon Rose.

White Clematis montana with Climbing Rose

Perfect Partners

A sunny day, plus a visit from my garden guru, this woman knows how to create garden paradises that truely make you feel you died and went to heaven, has me outdoors this afternoon. Nothing like a garden friend to inspire. The task at hand is mundane, an old arbor, one of the smaller of eight in our garden, recently repaired and now waiting for a good rub down with Purex water. This, to remove the green mold. When this is finished the white paint underneath will look new again, at least I hope so. On either side of this arbor are two plants of Rosa 'Veilchenblau,' often referred to as the as the blue rose. It's often found in old gardens, such as mine, as it was used as an under stock rose. I am quite fond of the pair of them. When we moved to our present home, we found it on the ground in two huge humps. I could not bare to remove it, as it was in the way of a projected path so my husband built an arbor for them to arch over. About eight years ago I planted Clematis, 'Etoile Violette,' one of the wonderful viticella clematis, at the foot of one rose. Only one is needed as it will leap over the arbor to clothe it completly. It's deep velvety, purple blooms break open just as the violet to grey-blue flowers of Veilchenblau fade. 'Etoile Violette' makes a perfect partner to grow through roses because you can whack it way back. This frees up the rose for easy pruning in winter or spring, and you're minus ugly, dead looking Clematis foliage. Oh yes, the best part? 'Veilchenblau' is nearly thornless and has very pliable canes that bend easily over an arbor.

Bonsai

During construction madness, I kept a wary eye on my plants, many of them dug up and potted in temporary containers to make way for back-hoes, lumber, plumbers, and carpenters. I was primed to run to the rescue because, let's face it, in the middle of the winter most plants look like so many lifeless sticks, and no matter the promises of construction workers, "Yeah, lady. We'll be careful," accidents happen, like the board crashing down on my Azara lanceolata 'Variegata' Insert a scream here. Luckily only one branch broke. I know I've moved my pots around at least a dozen times to keep them from harms way. Thank god it's all over.

When the dust settled and everyone left, for the last time, it was a relief to see that most of my plants had survived the ordeal. Included amongst the saved from destruction were several dwarf conifers, nameless now, (after all my years of gardening and careful plant collecting I have yet to find the ultimate label. the label that stays attached to the plant, or a pen or penciled tag that doesn't grow dim or unintelligible with time. How about disintegrates all together? I found my conifers tipped on their sides, up against the cinder block wall I mentioned in an earlier post. They looked quite sad, and very neglected. I decided to save them, after all at least two of these conifers were over fifteen years old. They needed fresh soil, a nice slow release feed, and some grooming, but most of all they needed new containers to show off their beauty. I had fun looking for and finally finding three lovely Japanese pots, in earthy browns and in different sizes and shapes to suit the size of the plants. I have learned that new pots should always be slightly larger than the old one, and a little root pruning helps to keep them small and happy. After settling them into their new homes, I then gave them a nice trim. I selected certain branches to remove to emphasize the natural shape of the plant. I also cleared out crowed growth on the branches to open up the plant. I then added chunks of red lava rock to simulate an out cropping, one to a plant. I arranged moss around the foot of the trunks of two small, tree shaped conifers, and added a stand of very miniature Mondo grass around the remaining conifer. I was quite satisfied with the results. these gardens in miniature, for that is what they are, give me immense pleasure. Mind you, they require work, diligence in their care. My lovely Bonsai collection now sit on my porch for everyone to enjoy. For all you would ever want to know about Bonsai, CHECK HERE.

Rainy Day Dreaming

More rain today. It's just as well. My back is killing me. Not to worry, though. I have enough to keep me occupied indoors. Not housework. Heavens, no. I am referring to the half a dozen stacks of garden books, catalogs and magazines littering my kitchen table -- coffee stained, those that belong to me. I'm more careful of library books. Yes, these piles contain the gardeners dreams, hopes and aspirations, the candy and the confections we crave. Is it possible to have a sweet tooth for a plant? Yes. It is. Consider poufs of pink roses arching over a trellis or perhaps a gay chorus of Columbines dancing in the breeze. Oops! Did I say the g word. For crying out loud. I meant just that. Should I have said "happy?" Never mind. As gardeners we are always planning the next best ever garden, dreaming of our own Syssinghurst, in our back yards. Or perhaps perusing the catalogs for the elusive plant that can't be found locally or is so rare it must be propagated by tissue culture, and the plant you want is unavailable for at least another three years. . . . Aha! Not to worry. This is where garden friends come in, these friends who are friends of friends who have cuttings of this very plant you lust after. Your eyes glaze over in thought. You try to envision where this plant will go once your greedy hands take it into their possession. . . . It needs sun. . . . Drat. Something will have to go, that stand of aging Phlox you have been meaning to dig up, and thus you spend a good many hours until day turns to evening, and your stomach begins to growl, and the people you share your home with cast hopeful glances your way. They know better than to make demands, but lets face it you're the cook in the house. Before you gather up your mess to make dinner, you a make a note to contact this person, this friend who knows the person who holds your dreams.

Frustrated Artist

The sun is shinning. I ventured outdoors to sort through the plants out in the driveway, and perhaps finish pruning the roses. I was able to complete the latter. I managed to disentangle Rosa "Madame Plantier" off my "Cherokee Sunset" dogwood tree. No easy task, considering the former grows to vast rose proportions, more suited to an acreage than stuffed into a narrow bed next to a driveway. Ahh, but the fragrance when it blooms in early summer, and oh the abundance of those giant sprays of tiny white blooms. My new next door neighbor was quite impressed when it bloomed last year under her bedroom window. She had no idea it was even a rose, her experience being only with those stiff, decidedly awkward Hybrid Teas.

The tree rescue accomplished my attention turned to several empty pots, brand new, begging to be filled. One thing I am never in shortage of is spare plants needing homes. My driveway has long sheltered dozens of plants waiting for homes in the garden or for more ornamental containers for prominate display. On the hump of dirt kicked up by the backhoes during construction, my husband dumped half a yard of mint compost to use for filling containers and to cook down into the clay unearthed during the afore-mentioned construction. The soil will improve while I figure out what to do with this area. I have also emptied various bags of container soil in this spot, plus a bag of peat moss. I used this mixture to fill one of a pair of large Luytens style pots, I bought for the amazing price of $17.00 a piece. This is unheard of. I was barely finished with the first pot, when I felt a wrench in my back. I continued on, ignoring the pain, with visions of artistically arranged plants spilling in glorious profusion over their fat edges, later in the season. Another wrench. More like a stab. Ouch!

I'm back indoors. The sun still shinning.

Social Insecurity

The disgruntled gardener is feeling crankier than usual. I took a spill yesterday while pruning a large shrub rose growing on fence off my driveway. I was on the bottom rung of a ladder when I fell over. On my way down I tried to save myself by grabbing hold of a rose cane. . . . Not smart. I made a crash landing on a rotten bench that broke in two and sent me on a bumpy ride on a pile of lumber stored next to it, that tipped over and rolled under my weight. I ended up on my back in the graveled driveway. I lay there gasping for air before hollering out in pain. . . . All in vain. The two men in my life, my husband and strapping son, were also laid up, IN BED, nursing colds and zonked out on Theraflu. My cries went unheard. The ever dauntless gardener, picked herself up, and hobbled indoors to run a hot bath, liberally sprinkled with Epson Salts.

Today, I feel like I fell off the top rung of the ladder. A re-newed flare up of arthritis doesn't help. My pain is exacerbated by the news, buzzing on the air and bouncing off the page. I'm an information junky and I don't like what I hear or what I read. . . . the Dubbya's continued assault on any and all social progress we have made in the last thirty, forty, fifty years is unconscionable. The Republican brand of democracy in Afganistan, and Haiti, ah, excuse me, wasn't Aristid a democratically elected president? Don't hear much about that lately. . . . Huh. If there is good in the world it seems heavily weighted by the bad. On the local front, and next to my worries about health care, I am particularly worried about the Dubbya's attempts to dismantle Social Security. I worry for my children. . . . . I swear by every creaky, arthritic bone in my body to fight this happening in any way I can. . . . Okay. Enough. Think April showers followed by May flowers.