The most underrated aspect of the ornamental grass is the movement it brings to the garden.
Monthly Archives: September 2023
Last week I shared a photo of my flame grass (Miscanthus purpurascens) where the silvery blooms absolutely shined when backed with the late afternoon sun.
Killer stuff.
I’m now happy to report that we’ve reached another level. A level I call “peak awesomeness”. The orange has arrived and it is f’n glorious.
Mic drop.
Actually a quick note post mic drop: I’m having issues with my email provider for this blog because I’m now creating a post every day and I’m allegedly limited with the number of emails that can be sent out each day/week/month. Until I figure that out, please know there will be a daily post but you may not see an email to indicate as such. So please, check in directly each day and I promise I’ll continue to deliver.
We’ve had nothing but rain for what feels like the last month and because of that, I’ve been unable to get outside and work my magic. And if I’m being honest, I’m also tiring of the chores so take the two together and you get what you see below.
A few thoughts here:
- You know that hose and sprinkler have resided in this sport for a long time since watering hasn’t been a need for like months now. I may need a crowbar to get it out of the ground. Yes, I’m embarrassed.
- I suck at designing the front of my garden beds. I become so consumed with the design of the middle and back that I push aside the need for groundcovers or even smaller annuals. This is a theme throughout and one I need to concentrate on for next year. My planned direction is to up my annuals game to cover these spots as they’re more interesting and colorful. Just need to account for deer resistance.
- I have zero hardscape borders in any of my beds. It’s just soil directly into lawn. While I know these could aid in preventing the grass and weeds from creeping in, I’ve never seen anything even close to attractive. What do you all do?
I love Sorghastrum (Indian Grass) but it is an aggressive seeder that pops up all over my garden and isn’t the easiest to yank out. And it appears to enjoy weaving its way through my many perennials, as seen infiltrating an innocent Amsonia below.
It’s become so bad, that I dedicated an afternoon to just eradicating all of the random Sorghastrum grasses. What will I do to address this dire situation? I may, gulp, cut down the grasses in fall to hopefully cut down on the aggressive seeder that is Indian grass, winter interest be damned.
Actually the more I mull it over as I’m writing this post, the more I’m convinced a cut down is the way to go. Sorghastrum doesn’t hold up well in the winter compared to my other grasses (especially Panicum) so why promote the seeding?
Thanks so much for listening and allowing me to work this out in real time. Appreciate it.
I don’t wax poetic about bulbs very often. I think they’re a tad overrated … [ducks] … and a bit too fleeting for my taste. However, I may need to change my tune some. As of this spring/summer I am all in on Dahlias, specifically the Dinner Plate Dahlia. Specifically, Dahlia ‘Break Out’, as seen in the pic below.
My wife loves, I mean really loves, a good Dinner Plate Dahlia. Why it took me so long to provide a supply of these flowers to her is a great topic for my next therapy session.
This offseason, I took the plunge and purchased three Dahlia tubers: two of the aforementioned Dahlia ‘Break Out’ and one ‘Cafe Au Lait’. I’ll cover ‘Cafe Au Lait’ in a future post.
Dahlia ‘Break Out’ frickin rules. The blooms are gorgeous and the two plants have provided an endless supply of blooms that reside in vases all over our home. But two caveats:
- IMHO the plants themselves are “eh” at best. The stems kind of yellow and as you can see in the photo above, the heavy flowers topple over and tend to face down, not too unlike peony blooms. I did stake them (a necessity), but once you use a stake, that plant becomes unattractive. That is my hard and fast rule.
- The bloom description is as follows: magnificent creamy blossoms tinged with blush pink and buttercream overtones. I can vouch this was accurate but not until much later in the summer. All of the blooms the first few months were all buttercream and no blush pink. Nice, but not what we desired. But then as the summer dragged on, the flowers transformed and we did get the tinged with blush pink. I have no idea if this is the norm or if the plants just needed time to establish who they really are. More to come.
You may be under the impression that I’m on always on top of things, a hard worker and task oriented. If you feel that way, I apologize for the false representation.
So not me.
Yes, I am known around town as “always in my garden” and “usually filthy from head to toe, wearing a weird t-shirt whenever I see him” but that doesn’t mean I work “smart” or that I’m the least bit useful or resourceful when dealing with anything other than plants.
Exhibit A (And this will no doubt be a common theme moving forward with my daily garden photos or DGP):
My homemade means to ensure that Mia doesn’t escape off the deck and run away from home.
In my defense, it’s an easy solution. Move a few deck chairs and boom, instant gate. But, not the most appealing view from inside or outside the house. And yes, if people come over, I’m shit out of luck.
We did order a custom gate a few years back but it wasn’t wide enough to be attached between the two posts. Would a normal human figure out a way to rig it up and make it work? I don’t know, you tell me. I’d estimate 35% of people could pull that off buy maybe I’m underestimating the general public. Maybe I’m even worse than I imagine. What would you do?
And don’t tell me we should train the dog to not leave the deck without any blockage. We’ve tried and it’s too dangerous. She turns savage when on the loose. Our wonderful little rescue has escaped many times and it’s an hour of hell trying to track her down and pray she doesn’t get hit by a car.
Oh wait, she did get hit by a car.
On Christmas Eve when she escaped from my sister’s house.
And the nutty little mutt, stood up, shook it off and went about her way like nothing happened. We lost about ten years on our lives and she had nothing to show other than a tiny scratch on her snout. She hasn’t been loose since, and if I have to pile up nine chairs to ensure her safety, I’ll do it.
Sorry for the digression. My point for today: Yes I’m lazy and not handy. But if you need someone to weed your entire property in the humidity of summer, I’m your man.
It takes a lot for me to allow something so hideous to hang around for so long. It’s been months now and yet she persists. I’ve been close to eradication only to hold off at the last moment. So the peony foliage remains.
I don’t necessarily know this to be true but I’ll run with it anyway: we need to allow peonies to die off without interference. The decaying foliage feeds the plant. And after providing f’n breathtaking blooms in spring, why wouldn’t I allow the peony foliage to remain, ugliness be damned.
She’s earned it.
One of the selling points for Baptisia (False Indigo) has always been the winter interest of the black seed pods. And when you’re in a cold climate like that here in New Jersey (zone 6B) you’ll take whatever you can get. But, and this is a big but, the Baptisia seed pods, as one would expect, drop those seeds all over the garden as the fall and winter winds pick up and new plants pop up EVERYWHERE in the garden come spring.
And, those new plants, which sounds exciting and free of charge, are nowhere near the beauty of the mother plant. What I’ve discovered is that the stems and leaves are more, um, spindly (if that’s a word?) and thin and weak and I’m not a big fan.
So, I’m planning to get out ahead of it this fall by removing all the Baptisia seed pods to save myself on the labor of yanking the seedlings out in spring and let me tell you, they’re not easy to yank with a nasty taproot.
Hopefully I’m not too late.
Every Sunday morning played out the same.
Church at 8:30 am.
Middle section, second to last pew.
Same exact order in said pew: Dad, Mom, Pop, Me, Gram, Sister 1 and Sister 2. A reshuffling of the order was frowned upon by the entire congregation.
In the pew behind us sat Aunt Agnes and Uncle Jake. Upon arrival to our seat, each of us would be nudged and encouraged to turn around and greet Agnes and Jake.
We belted out some hymns and ran through the routine prayers/chants. Gram would hand out Canada mints at the halfway point. She handed us her handkerchief if we needed a nose blow. Not a tissue. A handkerchief she’d later wash at home with our snots still in it. Bless her heart.
We sat through a long sermon hoping to stay awake and not smash our foreheads on the top of the wooden benches in front of us.
After 467 handshakes outside the front steps of the church post service, we’d head out to one of three homes for “coffee” (rotating each Sunday): our house, Gram and Pop’s house or the home of Jake and Agnes.
Hands down, going to Agnes/Jake was the preference.
I could write a book about their house and the experiences we had there. Creepy yet fun. Weird yet cozy. Hilarious yet terrifying. Level floors and not so level floors. But let me highlight only a few memories if you don’t mind. And if you all ask kindly, I’ll share even more in the future. The supply is bottomless.
As the parents drank coffee and gouged on frozen Pepperidge Farm cake post church, my sisters and I would explore. And the best means to explore was through hide-and-seek. Finding a hiding spot often lead to fascinating discoveries. I clearly recall hiding in a crawl space neither sister knew existed and they tried to coax me out by announcing they’d given up. Determined to stay hidden for hours and claim victory, I stayed silent until I heard a loud gasp followed by a “Holy S” (clearly a sin to utter on the Lord’s day). I jumped out to check out what had gone down to find both sisters staring into an open refrigerator.
Like out of a horror movie.
A refrigerator lined with doll heads on all of the shelves. The refrigerator wasn’t plugged in. That would be really creepy.
We’d found Aunt Agnes’s storage space for her, um, crafts.
You know the joke where an older relative finds something in their home, quickly wraps it and gives it to you as a Christmas present? Aunt Agnes did this all the time. Her favorite? Wrapping a used perfume or cologne bottle in tissue. I scored some Acqua Velva one year. My favorite part of it all? Watching my sisters attempt to graciously accept the gift without breaking.
And they never broke.
I’m proud of them for that.
All holidays at Gram and Pop’s house ended in their family room where we would watch my grandmother play piano and maybe sing along. A great memory. And if we were really lucky, that would be followed by Aunt Agnes playing a tune on the harmonica. Except she never really played a specific song. She just riffed her ass off. And she always appeared one breath away from passing out. The cousins never dared to look at each other in fear of busting a gut. And as a kid, there’s nothing better than attempting to suppress a laugh.
Agnes ruled.
Our last stop on Christmas Eve was at Aunt Agnes’s house. As I typed that last sentence, I realized we always referred to hit as Aunt Agnes’s house and never Uncle Jake’s house. Most likely because she ruled the roost and wouldn’t have it any other way. Poor Jake. The tales I could tell.
Back to Xmas Eve. Each year Aunt Agnes would give us each a chocolate “letter” as a gift. I’d get a “J” for John. My sister would get an “M” for Melissa and my other sister Alison would get an “E” because, we don’t know why.
After then receiving some hand-me-downs wrapped in tissue and drinking an Apple Slice (RIP that brand) or three, the evening culminated with the grand finale. Agnes would take us into the room we affectionately called the “coo-coo-clock-room” (yes, there were multiple coo-cook-clocks on the wall) and would scream, I think, “Santa Claus” in a strong Dutch accent and throw cookies on the floor. These cookies resembled Nilla Wafers. We’d compete to gather as many as possible and don’t really recall what happened after that. I assume we ate them but have no memory of it. Maybe we handed them back in to be used the following year?
Agnes and Jake had a winter/fall bedroom and a spring/summer bedroom. All based on the angle of the sun. I thought that was the coolest thing ever.
Uncle Jake built a koi pond that allowed the fish to swim outdoors when the weather complied and then they could swim back indoors through an opening in an external wall of their basement. I can’t confirm that I ever saw the fish indoors in the winter because none of us ever set foot in the basement. We were forbidden to go down there and you’d have thought that encouraged us to explore but that place felt like pure evil my entire childhood.
I have no proof, but I still like to believe the fish did live down there in winter.
How does this all tie to today’s DGP? Before Aunt Agnes’s house was knocked down to the ground in order to build a modern home by the new buyers, I snagged a bunch of their slate stepping stones. They continue to be used in one of my garden paths to this day.
I cherish the hell out of them.
All the Agnes memories flood back as I set foot on these and those stepping stones will come with me whenever we leave here.
The Aralia ‘Sun King’ (Golden Japanese Spikenard) below resides near the bottom of the steps of my front porch. It’s one of the few locations that gets afternoon shade. And here’s the kicker. No one knows it’s there. It’s hidden behind the Sedum and is only a few inches tall in year two. But, I expect monstrous things from this plant next year. I envision it radiating color and drawing eyes from onlookers.
I’ve provided it with sufficient room to spread its wings
And spread its wings it shall.
Bring on 2024.
