weekly bloom: gladiolus

It is raining — finally. The garden badly needs it. I did get out, earlier this week, to put some of the new plants into the ground, and I have watered, faithfully, every day this week — but still, the ground is so dried and hard that the water just pools, and I wonder how much of it is actually penetrating to root-depth. And when I dig the holes to plant, it's just dried and sad, all the way down. I've been amending as I go, but without water, none of this is going to work.

Last year — spring, 2011 — I planted a bunch of gladiolus bulbs along the border of our fence. (The fence is actually mostly decorative; it's about two feet high and so far I have seen the irises and poppies propagate freely right under it. Luckily, we get along well with our neighbours.) I admit that I had no clue what I was doing. The plants did send up shoots, but no flowers — which was a pity, I thought, because supposedly gladiolus are not winter hardy in this zone. Something, somewhere, suggested that I dig up the bulbs at the end of the season, store them in my basement, and then replant them in the spring.

... Ha. Like that was going to happen. I didn't even do that to my calla lilies, and I loved my callas. (And sadly, no, they didn't come back ... although I suspect that might be because I'm fairly certain I dug at least one of them up while preparing the new herb garden. An accident.)

At any rate, despite my not-so-benign neglect, and thanks I suppose to the unseasonably warm winter we had, the bulbs flowered this year.
I alternated the coral colour with the salmon colour. (I don't remember the "official" names of the flowers; it was too long ago.) The salmon bloomed first; three or four stalks last week, and the corals bloomed yesterday or the day before.


Unfortunately, they're not doing so well; twice this week I've come home to stalks that have fallen. Whether it's because of their weight or because they're being knocked over by something — our neighbours' walkway is right next to them, on the other side of the fence — is hard to say. I don't have great hopes that all of the remaining stalks will survive the thunderstorms tonight.


I'm not sure if I like them, particularly. I planted them because I love gladiolus as cut flowers; they're so dramatic and give such wonderful height to an arrangement. But what's lovely in a vase is overblown in the garden; the large blooms look out of place next to the miniature 'Fairy' roses and too fusty compared to the carefree echinacea; the colours are too garish. I love vermillion, but this is the wrong shade; it clashes horribly with the 'Amber Sun' roses. And even the height is wrong; the stalks are about six feet tall, and look ridiculous next to the little two-foot fence — particularly as nothing else in the garden (except the tree and) is even half that height.

So they may go next year. I am going to leave them in for the time being. It feels wrong to pull something that I've successfully planted, even if it's patently in the wrong place — like I'm thumbing my nose at my good luck. It just feels risky.

the new garden plan: round two

I had meant to skip last week's "weekly bloom" post, but I had also meant to replace it with something else. And then Life got in the way, as it does — the Spanish Inquisition has started daycare! She spends most of her day not napping, plotting dire recriminations against her cruel parents; I know it — and that got pushed back. As things do.

In any case, I had decided not to bother with a post because this extreme heat and drought have essentially dessicated the garden. No — wait; no "essentially" about it; it simply has. The roses are loving it (but even they are getting somewhat bleached) —


The lovely vermillion-pink colour is visible only close to dusk, when the flowers are closing up; during the day, they open a pale yellow, almost white. I have been deadheading — more or less — and they have kept in bloom; lovely.

The other things though — not so much. The hostas seem to be doing fine, in the deepest shade of the garden (which, even then, is only dappled shade; our tree is little, and doing the best it can). One of the two hellebores seem to be making a stand of it. But everything else — I believe the technically term is 'pfffffft.' — except for the weeds, which are endemic.

So! New plan. Yesterday we had a quiet day — astoundingly — and I went to our neighbourhood garden centre. East of Eliza is literally five minutes away from our house (which can be construed both as a very, very good thing, and a very dangerous one), so I took our little red wagon behind me, spent too long in the secret garden deciding on measures, and then returned, little red wagon laden with goodies, in the space of under an hour.

What is there? The splashiest, the bright purple-pink echinacea, are E. purpura 'PowWow Wild Berry." It's a ridiculous name, I know, but the flowers themselves are adorable. It's a relatively recent cultivar, but I've been seeing them everywhere lately, and I just couldn't resist. There's another coneflower in the wagon, too, a smaller burnt orange one at the back; it had lost its tag, unfortunately, so I don't know the cultivar.

The white ones are shasta daisies. I have a weakness for the daisy form; can you tell? Shasta daisies were not in my original garden plan; I forget why. I think I didn't want to overdose on daisies, and there's something so simple about them. They're almost too sweet, I think. But right now, my actual garden is dead and I need plants, and a daisy is a daisy, so in they go.

The small, low-leafed things are Oriental poppies, white ones. They're past their bloom time, but still throwing out new growth, so I am hoping that I will be able to establish them for next year. I love poppies, particularly Oriental ones — one of the earlier victims of the drought was a purple Oriental — and they were on sale, so I'm willing to take the risk.

And finally, there's a peony in there somewhere. A dark pink one, if the picture is any indication; the tag says, simply "garden peony." They also had some 'Duchesse de Nemours,' which is a very old white from the 1850s, with a beautiful form — it was one of the ones I was considering, in my original garden plan. But it's crazily hot right now, and the sun is searing, and in this light I can't abide a shrub full of big, bright white flowers; it's too glaring. I rejected the 'David' phlox (which I had also considered, back in April) for similar reasons.

I will be moving these into the ground throughout the week. (What with work, and bedtime, and dinner, it's not going to be possible to do everything at once — and we're out of town this weekend.) Wish me luck.

weekly bloom: rose gardens

Late again. This whole weekly blogging thing doesn't seem to be working great, does it? (Okay, when I wrote this post, I wasn't that late; I wrote this on Tuesday. Double oops.) In my defense, it was a super busy weekend: the Spanish Inquisition had her first birthday party (meaning that it was her first birthday, and also that it was the first of multiple parties), and both Pd and I were completely knackered afterwards. It's amazing how tiring a baby birthday party can be. And we are still doing the work-home-work thing to bridge the time until daycare; she goes in next week. So I went to work the first two days of this week, trying frantically to do in two days what should be done in five or seven (Not Going to Happen), and trying not to fall asleep — the Spanish Inquisition having relapsed slightly wrt the sleeping through the night thing, and my back has been hurting enough, lately, that it's hard for me to fall back asleep quickly. My body likes to be ironic about things like that.

So! the garden. Which is not going so great, really, except for the roses. It's been so hot and arid this summer; the roses are loving it, but everything else is parched. Something Will Have To Be Done, but what remains to be seen.


The 'Amber Sun' roses are living up to their promise of continual bloom, and I still love them. They start out that lovely bright vermillion color, and quickly get bleached by the sun to an almost butter white.




'The Fairy' roses have also been blooming like gangbusters. They are not really anything to look at, individually, but the amassed effect is lovely.

Sadly, the 'Graham Thomas' ones did not bloom this year. Bu the plant seems to be vigorous nonetheless, so I live in hope.

In the back: the scabrosa, which is turning into the Plant That Ate Everything — one has essentially crushed the columbines, and the other has chased the rhubarb away by turning what was hitherto the sunniest part of the garden in deep shade. (The rhubarb has tried to move into an empty patch that once had geraniums, but as it must navigate between the Scylla of the strawberries and the Charybdis of the main scabrosa to get there, I consider it essentially a rearguard action.)


Can you see how the bunches of bloom are so heavy, they literally weigh everything down?








The mystery double roses, which I still love, although they are essentially done for the season.


And my least favourite roses, the rugosas. The colour isn't really my thing. But it is so hot, and most of my new plants have died, so I can't complain, really. I haven't been able to deadhead them because I haven't been able to reach them — they are behind the scabrosas, and I prefer my skin to be unscratched — so unfortunately they do start turning into a mess as the heavy blooms dry up.


It's odd. I had thought that the roses would be the hardest thing in the garden plan; I paid a lot of attention, tried to some research, and then prayed that I wouldn't kill more than one or two. (This, I am told, is usually called the "learning curve.") But they've been so accommodating; meanwhile, I think I may have killed even the Japanese anemone. And I may have accidentally transplanted my herb garden into deep to partial shade (rather than full to partial sun, as intended). It's a little like knitting, I guess — I was horrible at knitting scarves, I never pay attention and something weird always happens, but I specialise in intricate, cabled socks. My brain requires a challenge, apparently. Either that, or I should just learn to give things my full attention instead of attempting to coast.

crafty preview

The Spanish Inquisition is almost one! I know; that's insane. It feels unbelievable. It's been almost a year since the initial scare, and the long hospital stay, and the big, upending change in our lives.

She is still perfect.

Anyway, we are having a party — or rather, a series of parties; it's a long story that inevitably ends with "... and we have a small house" — as befits a Big Girl Birthday, and I have been crafting up a storm.


The paper pinwheels are party favours, from a Martha Stewart kit. The pom poms (above) are also from a MS kit. I've since attempted to make my own poufs; I'll show them to you in a party retrospective.

I've also been making buntings, diving deep into my chiyogami stash for the little flags —

Of course I had to incorporate chiyogami in there; it's an important birthday. I even broke into the Brazilian marbled paper I've been saving up (that's the green, in the picture, and there's a red-peach series in there, somewhere). And there's another, bigger bunting that I haven't taken a picture of (but will when it's up); it's lovely patterned paper with blue-and-white twine, says "happy birthday" on it.

The favours are wrapped in matching paper. I was also going to do a vellum overlay, but I think I'm out of time (and paper), and Pd is starting to give me that "I think you've gone nuts" look and backing away slowly.

I do know that the Spanish Inquisition won't care, not really, and that she certainly won't remember any of this (although it will live on in pictures, I'm sure). But let's face it: the first birthday party isn't really for the kid, it's for us, and I demand decorations, and crafts ... and, apparently, gluten-free cupcakes.

(That last one is a bit of a surprise. We'll see how that goes.)

weekly bloom: transients and the dearly departed

I had nearly forgotten the post for this week! Long weekends are confusing that way. Also, this week I am off work, to bridge the gap between the end of parental leave and when the daycare will actually have a spot for us — so the calendar feels a little more mutable than usual. Funny how dependent one becomes on the nine-to-five for timekeeping.

I am also keeping really busy with crafting this week; more on that later.

So! Gardening! Is maddening. The garden looks about as much as it did last week, except significantly more ... parched. I am of the belief that one does not water the garden unless absolutely necessary, because that way the roots will dig deep and become more drought resistant ... this only works with lawns, I've realised. A. And b) it doesn't work with plants that you have just planted and have had absolutely no chance, or rather, only a snowball's chance in Hell (this summer, quite literally), to establish themselves. And yes, that was rather an expensive lesson to learn.

This week, some things that have either come and gone, or are about to do so.

Columbines (left), bloomed late May. They lasted until June, when the scabrosa came into bloom and essentially crushed them. (I think they were just about done by then, though.) I loved these so much that I am letting them volunteer as much as they like, with the intent of moving half of them to the front garden next year.

Poppies! Which I love. They started about three weeks ago, and are still going, off and on — the blooms only last for a day or two, but they are vigorous enough this year that each plant has two or three secondary blooms. I try not to love things that are so transient, it's too sad, but these are just too lovely.



Daylilies, started about two weeks ago. Still going, but even they are starting to wilt in this heat.

And finally, last but certainly not least, the 'Rainforest Sunrise' hosta:


The hostas (three of them; two 'Rainforest Sunrise' and one 'Stained Glass') are the new plants that I did not kill. Part of it may be that they like dry shade, or maybe I just lucked out with drought tolerant varieties. The two 'Rainforest Sunrise' plants sent out blooms about a week and a half ago; they had already been in the process of blooming when I planted them, so it might be residual. Unfortunately, these ones have no scent.

Next week, we'll go back to the roses.