tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34980106757176882732024-03-14T01:09:57.802-04:00The Principal UndergardenerThoughts on gardens, gardening and gardeners by someone who cares.The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.comBlogger358125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-47747026340390154192024-02-06T09:49:00.008-05:002024-02-23T10:08:53.724-05:00Another February Morning, 46 Years Ago<p>Forty-six years ago this morning, my wife and I started on a fantastic journey, which turned out to be a little more ‘unscheduled’ than we expected. After living in Chicago for two years, I had accepted a job in New York City. On the morning on February 5, Betty and I boarded a 7:30 flight at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport bound for New York LaGuardia. Our flight time was supposed to be 90 minutes. We were told there was ‘some snow’ in the New York area but that we should arrive on time at 10 a.m. We carried four large suitcases plus two carry-ons with us (this was before airlines discovered they could mint money by charging for such things).</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oDv6lIz4H5w/WnhxGQWCSpI/AAAAAAAAD-U/9VYlYvTRf4gV4-CH1-nXiz8QyYRG7tOQgCLcBGAs/s1600/Route%2B128.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><i><span style="color: blue;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="133" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oDv6lIz4H5w/WnhxGQWCSpI/AAAAAAAAD-U/9VYlYvTRf4gV4-CH1-nXiz8QyYRG7tOQgCLcBGAs/s200/Route%2B128.jpg" width="200" /></span></i></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><i>The Blizzard of '78 shut down the<br />Northeast for more than a week</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">At a few minutes before ten, we were circling LaGuardia and the ‘some snow’ was getting much more serious. At one point we were told we were next in line to land. Then, after half an hour of circling, the announcement came that LaGuardia had just closed due to weather conditions and that we would be diverted to Bradley Field north of Hartford.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We landed at Hartford in blinding snow, the last plane to do so before that airport, too, was closed. Our airline (I believe it was American) gave passengers the option of being taken by bus the fifty miles to New Haven where we could get the train for New York, or being put up ‘overnight’ at a hotel near the airport.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Betty grew up in the Finger Lakes of New York state, the land of ‘lake effect’ snow that can drop two feet of the stuff overnight. She took a look at the snow and said, “We can do this.” At noon, thirty intrepid passengers stowed their luggage on the bus and we headed south.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9lVkhypDlP8/Wnhx7Sw5dAI/AAAAAAAAD-c/yR3NsOSP8r0SVjgN29tdk17sCeqw1WpWACLcBGAs/s1600/Northeast%2Bsnowfall%2B1978.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="517" data-original-width="485" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9lVkhypDlP8/Wnhx7Sw5dAI/AAAAAAAAD-c/yR3NsOSP8r0SVjgN29tdk17sCeqw1WpWACLcBGAs/s200/Northeast%2Bsnowfall%2B1978.png" width="187" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: blue;">Double-click to see snowfall<br />totals - we landed right in the<br />thick of the thing.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Fifteen miles south of Hartford in swiftly deteriorating conditions, our bus skidded off the road and – very fortunately – into a guard rail. It was fortunate because the guard rail was all that stood between us a steep ravine. The bus could go no further. Miraculously, another bus was dispatched, picked us up, and we slowly made out way down to New Haven.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">It took three hours to reach New Haven and we feared we had missed the last New-York-bound train. But there were people on the platform and so we lugged our many suitcases and waited. A few minutes later, an Amtrak train pulled in. It was now 4 p.m. The train had left Boston at 6 a.m. and would, as it turned out, the only train to make the trek that day. Had we been a few minutes later, we would have been stranded in New Haven for the duration.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3bRFb8T5hdM/WnhzO48KzyI/AAAAAAAAD-o/Zfkat8q2rosLSkzGACnKnbqk8U4fwoTkgCLcBGAs/s1600/NY%2BPost%2Bblizzard.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3bRFb8T5hdM/WnhzO48KzyI/AAAAAAAAD-o/Zfkat8q2rosLSkzGACnKnbqk8U4fwoTkgCLcBGAs/s200/NY%2BPost%2Bblizzard.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: blue;">Note the fifth bullet...</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">There were no seats on the train; we sat on our luggage in one of the passenger compartments. But at least we were inside the train. Most of those who boarded at New Haven spent the next several hours in the unheated vestibule between cars. Pushing snow in front of it, the train made it to Penn Station at about 8 p.m.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I had done one intelligent thing that day. At Bradley Field, I had called my employer’s Manhattan office and pleaded for someone to walk over to the Statler Hilton and pay for our room, get a key, and leave it with the concierge.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">It turned out to be a prescient move. We arrived to a city that had shut down, stranding tens of thousands of travelers and commuters in the city. Seventh Avenue was covered with two feet of snow and almost nothing moving. A porter helped get our suitcases across the street to the hotel where we found a mob of people occupying every square foot of sleep-able surface. I went the concierge desk and held my breath.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">A minute later, I held up the key for Betty to see. Twelve hours after we left Chicago, we were finally in New York.<o:p></o:p></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hveGNlURkJ0/Wnhzc3Ea2BI/AAAAAAAAD-s/ht2F5Yt_iyUzt2ibUFrpwu7Y_-DVeUJQwCLcBGAs/s1600/New%2BYork%2Bbrownstones%2Bin%2Bblizzard.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="620" height="112" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hveGNlURkJ0/Wnhzc3Ea2BI/AAAAAAAAD-s/ht2F5Yt_iyUzt2ibUFrpwu7Y_-DVeUJQwCLcBGAs/s200/New%2BYork%2Bbrownstones%2Bin%2Bblizzard.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: blue;">This is what we saw when we<br />got off the subway in Brooklyn</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">The blizzard turned out to be a fortunate event for us. While the city was paralyzed, the subways were running on the subterranean part of their routes. Two days after our arrival, a Realtor met us in Boerum Hill in Brooklyn. “If you can get here, I’ll show you houses,” she told us. We emerged from the subway to a landscape of unplowed streets, with a police car – immobilized up to its windows in snow – blocking an intersection. A bus sat abandoned in snow drifts in front of the brownstone we were there to see.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">It was the house we had looked for in vain in Chicago. Betty and I squeezed one another’s hand so tightly I nearly broke her fingers. We made an offer that day, counter-offered over dinner that evening at the then-newly-opened River Café, and had our offer accepted over dessert.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0N_Zwyzh2zk/Wnhz2g0rzeI/AAAAAAAAD-0/qjRu-kVp-o0ygXzPJKAt0jPuMfPuOCmOwCLcBGAs/s1600/211%2BBergen%2BSt..jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="714" height="182" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0N_Zwyzh2zk/Wnhz2g0rzeI/AAAAAAAAD-0/qjRu-kVp-o0ygXzPJKAt0jPuMfPuOCmOwCLcBGAs/s200/211%2BBergen%2BSt..jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: blue;">211 Bergen Street in Boerum Hill.<br />We planted that tree in front, at left.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">That was 40 years ago. It was a time before cell phones, the internet or reliable forecasts. Today, of course, everyone knows to stay home . Passengers on the 7:30 flight from Chicago to New York are called the night before and told their flight has been cancelled and they have been re-booked for Thursday. In short, apart from ones based on stupidity, there are a lot fewer ‘blizzard stories’ today.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">But I wouldn’t have had it any other way. It was an adventure – albeit a harrowing one at the time. We got through it and we found the house of our dreams, made possible in large part by our perseverance.<o:p></o:p></div><div><br /></div>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-86643908846546059452024-02-01T08:55:00.000-05:002024-02-01T08:55:12.635-05:00Fifty Years Ago, Today<p> The passage of time throws a
haze over most of our adult lives.
Months blend into years that are smoothed into decades. Can you say with any certainty what you did
on your birthday in, say, 1997? Unless
it was the date of the birth of a child or some other such milestone, can you
recall what you did on a specific date two or three decades ago?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcVjb2pErwqPlpkqVp86sOhX-9rkHt5Z2iIz7NDALB8KtWSGZ48yjbVv2rxBVDXhW0rDUWdcTR_mEeHZUM_sZ1yA7CTBWUpnm3cSYJGK7cNs03Gb9xBE4T3zyrhmJ-r3ovG65g4L9j0C7NjVYLli1OJO3h47Mqjk6GKniBPzRp7MMqBEm-yxaWBBVt-ZM/s732/NYT%20front%20page%20-%20Dylan.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="732" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcVjb2pErwqPlpkqVp86sOhX-9rkHt5Z2iIz7NDALB8KtWSGZ48yjbVv2rxBVDXhW0rDUWdcTR_mEeHZUM_sZ1yA7CTBWUpnm3cSYJGK7cNs03Gb9xBE4T3zyrhmJ-r3ovG65g4L9j0C7NjVYLli1OJO3h47Mqjk6GKniBPzRp7MMqBEm-yxaWBBVt-ZM/w257-h197/NYT%20front%20page%20-%20Dylan.jpg" width="257" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">What was going on in the world on that<br />fateful day. Double-click to see details.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>With enough research I can
approximate where I was and what I was doing during a given month of a year; I
went somewhere on vacation or completed a project for work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A newspaper headline might jog a memory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For me, though, as for most people, our adult
lives are a continuum; a blur.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">I can, however, remember one day
with perfect clarity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That date is
Friday, February 1, 1974.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLuR3iDyG_XFlG_KzGQFQBsMfRMy9XlOzrnT36SjCXD26wgsWCW_dQusjPFh9mBFQDVLaF5lvQISsVUvry_HcsGYMaUGveY0J6JkzA8cGUfRKCFMUY2DFkldObQvgxLjzHrN2VkC3femIgIn4DVLSiMuGDg0b2budLnuy14jsIwdWl03LyEYEprg0R9Qg/s901/GE%20map.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="901" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLuR3iDyG_XFlG_KzGQFQBsMfRMy9XlOzrnT36SjCXD26wgsWCW_dQusjPFh9mBFQDVLaF5lvQISsVUvry_HcsGYMaUGveY0J6JkzA8cGUfRKCFMUY2DFkldObQvgxLjzHrN2VkC3femIgIn4DVLSiMuGDg0b2budLnuy14jsIwdWl03LyEYEprg0R9Qg/w241-h161/GE%20map.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">GE's Schenectady Works on its heyday</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>For me, the year 1974 did not
start off auspiciously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been out
of college nearly three years and I was spending my second winter in
Schenectady, New York.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had gone to work
for General Electric in a management training program with the promise that,
after a year in North Carolina, I would be transferred to an office in San
Jose, California.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That promise was turning
out to be hollow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moreover, I discovered
that the branch of GE that was my employer was a stagnant backwater and that my
skill set was ones that the company valued only as an afterthought.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">My goal upon graduation from
college had been to get as far away from Florida – the state of my birth and
the place I had ever known – as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At least on that score, I had succeeded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, in the middle of yet another upstate New York winter, my plan
was looking increasingly ill-thought-out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mostly, though, the year was starting off poorly because I was
alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apart from a few friends at work,
I had no one in my life.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv_wDSCaGjVLQacInYHLUCGgd0ri6ceeDONUJWAsYObj36OhkQuuSFOMDUuCHfp4xgfOOfFypumCTq0J7EXeTOQKuYkN216c2n-ciKbfMBSSewn8EzYgwIwYRpt0dm2zW5iO6NMYDWibFMzYZH7HB2T-op_shBZXK3mJb61HBZq45P9hx76-2yNnqJQFI/s679/80%20Wolf%20Rd.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="508" data-original-width="679" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv_wDSCaGjVLQacInYHLUCGgd0ri6ceeDONUJWAsYObj36OhkQuuSFOMDUuCHfp4xgfOOfFypumCTq0J7EXeTOQKuYkN216c2n-ciKbfMBSSewn8EzYgwIwYRpt0dm2zW5iO6NMYDWibFMzYZH7HB2T-op_shBZXK3mJb61HBZq45P9hx76-2yNnqJQFI/w213-h159/80%20Wolf%20Rd.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">80 Wolf Road, Colonie, NY</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>On the morning of February 1, my
attendance was required at what was called a ‘section meeting’ in Colonie, where
my office had recently moved from the massive Schenectady Works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There, the
sixty or so of us who could not find an excuse to be somewhere else got to hear
about the importance of filling out time sheets and filing weekly activity
reports.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A subsection manager delivered
a half-hour talk outlining an exciting (to him) new business opportunity.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">Then, at about 10 a.m., a small
group of people joined the meeting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
were from an office in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, some 40 miles distant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would not have noticed their arrival except
that they were forced to sit in the front of the room (I was ensconced in my
preferred spot in the back row) and that one of the group’s number was a
striking looking blonde.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8cxyFWkEXwdfNEZBkzGjjPBhykR5rmNxc_wTc9idgwXB8X2gtmMnGmT2K8jCxa166ZMp_giUyrbLGfQ9mz9SgNk8f-CmhbvsmeKhyJwGE792C_qOKLZqND6Bnd92G7sBOcMO1M8-mxK81rJ1NJ-pFY4nH3-GlVelUpERvFGeTB-GVmUdbJMbZIgWm1Jo/s230/images.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="219" data-original-width="230" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8cxyFWkEXwdfNEZBkzGjjPBhykR5rmNxc_wTc9idgwXB8X2gtmMnGmT2K8jCxa166ZMp_giUyrbLGfQ9mz9SgNk8f-CmhbvsmeKhyJwGE792C_qOKLZqND6Bnd92G7sBOcMO1M8-mxK81rJ1NJ-pFY4nH3-GlVelUpERvFGeTB-GVmUdbJMbZIgWm1Jo/w160-h152/images.jpg" width="160" /></a></div>For the next two hours I did
little but look at her (well, at the back of her head and shoulders) and wonder
who she was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The meeting broke up
shortly after noon and she was one of the first people out of the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart sank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I found her sitting in the lobby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was waiting for her ride back to
Pittsfield.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguN4cmaxCdryj3Sx3sLofEIOyiAmcABqRDWk-cvjRTI8Dc0I2u2DwHRs0_n4NsjNij7PfBS9Qpz0RPhZ4rmCFIIjB8URsbVmZvYI00JXy-AunaXY0koU-re7WD99uh5Y2l8WVR4eKwb7298YX1oA6d3rwjm69ZucZfyzGHDQhUhh-IM3hSLRc673xVEiQ/s300/Dylan%201-31-74.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="298" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguN4cmaxCdryj3Sx3sLofEIOyiAmcABqRDWk-cvjRTI8Dc0I2u2DwHRs0_n4NsjNij7PfBS9Qpz0RPhZ4rmCFIIjB8URsbVmZvYI00JXy-AunaXY0koU-re7WD99uh5Y2l8WVR4eKwb7298YX1oA6d3rwjm69ZucZfyzGHDQhUhh-IM3hSLRc673xVEiQ/w170-h172/Dylan%201-31-74.jpg" width="170" /></a></div>She said that her name was Betty
Burgess and that she had been late because she had been at a Bob Dylan concert at
Madison Square Garden the previous evening and had returned to Pittsfield with
an empty gas tank (courtesy of a now-four-month-old Arab oil embargo, this was
an era of odd/even gas rationing).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her
smile was radiant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was intelligent
and funny; knowledgeable and quick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
asked if she could excuse me for a minute, but that I would be right back.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">I went back to my cubicle and
pulled out my copy of the employee phone directory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There she was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, in the grand, sexist tradition of GE and
of the era, employee names bore one of three prefixes: ‘Mr.’, ‘Mrs.’ and
‘Miss’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Betty Burgess was a ‘Miss’.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">I was back in the lobby in
seconds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was still there, though she
was gathering her coat and briefcase for the trip back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gathered every ounce of courage I could
muster and asked the dumbest question I had ever put to a member of the
opposite sex in my life: “Are you dateable?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgUEXH54SQPxmLacAj-wdz7Gll3Z6u1nvmfSTKmyENhCu6gfYjv0mjPxMnWJFd44hcqcBTA8PbfF-wDwdPiYjMaH89Ozs34vaTyxzJ3w1eUaw_-pgOrv2-3PaQhyJUlwWV7VEQZPv6U0wpOcteG4vu17nYkguk6vmunEV3UNuPH8XXes49eqRnjCk5b_U/s1738/Betty%20and%20Neal%20Eleuthera%201974.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1361" data-original-width="1738" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgUEXH54SQPxmLacAj-wdz7Gll3Z6u1nvmfSTKmyENhCu6gfYjv0mjPxMnWJFd44hcqcBTA8PbfF-wDwdPiYjMaH89Ozs34vaTyxzJ3w1eUaw_-pgOrv2-3PaQhyJUlwWV7VEQZPv6U0wpOcteG4vu17nYkguk6vmunEV3UNuPH8XXes49eqRnjCk5b_U/s320/Betty%20and%20Neal%20Eleuthera%201974.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">Eleuthera, Bahamas, later that year</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>She paused for a moment and said
‘yes’.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">Two years and two weeks later,
we were married.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two weeks after our
wedding, we escaped from General Electric and began a new life together.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">That’s what happened 50 years
ago today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">It was the luckiest day of my
life.<o:p></o:p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-16644709250045719192023-11-01T10:58:00.001-04:002023-11-01T10:58:27.013-04:00The 2023 Gardening Season Ends<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwDl_H9ww01Z6fZ83JpYGm2Qf5bMSqc6mDnsWP7foRvqLThHyZe27OkOKgt6YNNpjQnsjY9omBGYhP1amoaLg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />The following letter went out to the members of the Medfield Community Garden today. I thought it was worth sharing...</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">Good morning, everyone,<br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><p>The Medfield Community Garden officially closes today. This year, 81 families gardened on 75 plots, putting up with one of the rainiest seasons on record, yet harvesting gorgeous fruits, vegetables and flowers.</p><p>Our acre of land has always been called the ‘Community Garden’ but this year it truly proved to be a genuine ‘community’. Let us explain.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0AncctzAzYtemcca42OxkH-VEGSfck-bN5BA3l-4F1r0Y9pKYhVebFyKrwzmqeAIUtb4rZj4liLXMeGzQ4QvLVsvEqI8ilxkNAb7qCXujfBEr3ZkK4MxteQPj0I3O1FTeDPRhdz3b63r2xnnXYOItS9y-PiDLVsdUgzYF1SnG5zU0SZvQt9JTKdRJNnE/s4608/Betty%20Sanders%20in%20her%20Community%20Garden%20plot.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0AncctzAzYtemcca42OxkH-VEGSfck-bN5BA3l-4F1r0Y9pKYhVebFyKrwzmqeAIUtb4rZj4liLXMeGzQ4QvLVsvEqI8ilxkNAb7qCXujfBEr3ZkK4MxteQPj0I3O1FTeDPRhdz3b63r2xnnXYOItS9y-PiDLVsdUgzYF1SnG5zU0SZvQt9JTKdRJNnE/w243-h183/Betty%20Sanders%20in%20her%20Community%20Garden%20plot.JPG" width="243" /></a></div>There was a time when the town pretty much did everything for us. We applied for a plot and paid our fees to a town employee. We came to the garden on the first of April to find it newly harrowed, staked, and ready to plant - all done by town employees. Piles of wood chips appeared and a town tractor sporadically mowed the perimeter. There were just 40 plots.<p></p><p>Beginning in 2010, we began fending for ourselves. This year, twelve volunteers braved 40-degree weather and stiff winds to stake the garden. Christian Donner and Eric Pender mowed the perimeter. Chris Hogan kept four lawnmowers (some operational, some kept for cannibalizing) in great condition. Allyn Hubbard maintained a fleet of wheelbarrows; perennially stalking the Transfer Station for wheels, axles, and other parts.</p><p>And, speaking of Allyn, he suffered a compound foot injury before the season began. In March he contacted us to say he was unlikely to be able to garden. We asked him not to be so hasty. By the end of April, volunteers had put up a fence, tilled, and planted a garden. Then, the garden was weeded and regularly harvested. When Allyn made his first appearance at the garden in June, he was rightly astonished.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMfRg8a6njy0aTGGRPhA1vxRp5wD8a_ubz794_QEkRKMIsqJaWIWfLMkZktgJ__v3JlMXP47nbHKWlD1BTG5HfHG_rX-UkWlzTg1MkovvR6D1GJ_rGo39lWjX-GhAGmGy0NJk_T_aQT8bptpGxQXM3AuY72rVRYzsrTdxr255AUsEpuFIjmpaP-b5Ndr8/s782/Food%20Cupboard%20pickup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="522" data-original-width="782" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMfRg8a6njy0aTGGRPhA1vxRp5wD8a_ubz794_QEkRKMIsqJaWIWfLMkZktgJ__v3JlMXP47nbHKWlD1BTG5HfHG_rX-UkWlzTg1MkovvR6D1GJ_rGo39lWjX-GhAGmGy0NJk_T_aQT8bptpGxQXM3AuY72rVRYzsrTdxr255AUsEpuFIjmpaP-b5Ndr8/w233-h156/Food%20Cupboard%20pickup.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>We (Betty and Neal) had to step back from food cupboard duties this season due to out-of-town commitments. Cathy Summa stepped in, giving up what we suspect was a substantial part of her sabbatical year, to make the operation work flawlessly. ‘Flawlessly’ means putting out wheelbarrows, sweeping for produce as many as four days a week, and making either one or two deliveries to food pantries. Assisting (and sometimes substituting for) Cathy were a cadre of volunteers, chief among them Hy Greenbaum and Jeanne Hill. If there is a ‘Rookie of the Year’ award for food cupboard service, it is first-year gardener Ellen Vigoda, who threw herself into the project. Dina Russell not only gave generously from her own plot, she also planted and harvested from a half-plot given up early in the season. Edmund Prescottano, Mary McCarthy and Heather Cochran gave weekly. Other regular contributors were Lena Stonkevitch and Rob Doe (who also asked their plot be picked when they could not be at the garden on collection days). Susan Perry, Jennifer Hern, Chris Hillenmeyer, Yulin Liu, Lauren Bietelspacher, Mary Ann Vann, Kim Catlin, and Lisa Wood all deserve thanks for their generous, regular contributions.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvvsujTwZjqAnn03Mlwb0mE2G2dSQsFv_ROD5wyBd95qPaJEu2_LbV7MbtOMfEHPsyWfkf6R-o6kOio-gSCQWf9BsjeiHi043agU0ZuLpHbPIBJh36O-XltulKpBTPbH5feNee5vQViypiDAUVDEEDa1gGTEVYAAaskgYgFIlW06h5DZkGNGPk_h5NGM/s3098/Michael%20Stevens%20and%20Steve%20Borkan%20Medfield%20Community%20Garden%20end-of-season%20cleanup%2010-29-22.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3078" data-original-width="3098" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvvsujTwZjqAnn03Mlwb0mE2G2dSQsFv_ROD5wyBd95qPaJEu2_LbV7MbtOMfEHPsyWfkf6R-o6kOio-gSCQWf9BsjeiHi043agU0ZuLpHbPIBJh36O-XltulKpBTPbH5feNee5vQViypiDAUVDEEDa1gGTEVYAAaskgYgFIlW06h5DZkGNGPk_h5NGM/w171-h169/Michael%20Stevens%20and%20Steve%20Borkan%20Medfield%20Community%20Garden%20end-of-season%20cleanup%2010-29-22.JPG" width="171" /></a></div>As the season closed, Barbara and John Collins, and Yulin Liu volunteered their trucks and, more importantly, their Saturday mornings, to make it possible for all of us to more easily get our garden detritus to the Transfer Station.<p></p><p>There were many other acts of kindness – large and small – throughout the season; and many touching, personal stories told to us by members who told us why gardened. Suffice it to say we are proud be able to say we ‘oversee’ this garden. In reality, though, what we do is to empower so many others in the Community Garden to grow – in every sense of the word.</p><p>See you in 2024,</p><p>Betty and Neal Sanders</p></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 16px;">Co-managers, Medfield Community Garden</span></div>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-53639334759740140452023-08-25T16:23:00.001-04:002023-08-25T16:23:18.809-04:00The Peril of Perennial Ageratum<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQAcnEUkRVH2Jv9ODkkolv2kKb8HLx5M4r617YwbPwpAIg-hd6ZHxe4blNqDoSdOw0nYtq7Fmdk2s-oVJxgVV18tKj6V-te4BXc-HuCDVsiINLQGAWswWYumHQ806oXdAHX1sN8kYRSjxtiUTEpE7nqwImQIY0XNZoojuBbrWPvvRngrCXIuiNQiA3Es/s300/Troiuble%20with%20Tribbles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="300" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQAcnEUkRVH2Jv9ODkkolv2kKb8HLx5M4r617YwbPwpAIg-hd6ZHxe4blNqDoSdOw0nYtq7Fmdk2s-oVJxgVV18tKj6V-te4BXc-HuCDVsiINLQGAWswWYumHQ806oXdAHX1sN8kYRSjxtiUTEpE7nqwImQIY0XNZoojuBbrWPvvRngrCXIuiNQiA3Es/w211-h158/Troiuble%20with%20Tribbles.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>One of the most memorable of the original ‘Star Trek’ episodes
involves an itinerant space peddler who barters for an alcoholic beverage with
a small, fluffy creature called a Tribble, the likes of which no one had ever
seen before. The Tribble likes to be stroked; it coos and makes people feel
good; perhaps <i>too</i> good. The Tribble’s chief downside is that is fecund
to a fault. In the words, of Dr. McCoy, “Jim, as near as I can tell, these
things are born pregnant.” Tribbles soon overrun the space station and threaten
a shipment of a valuable grain seed stock. I won’t spoil the plot, but at the
end of the episode the Tribbles are dispatched to a Klingon war ship.<p></p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG9OUQwQ044AmcVY9TWEKVXLbjPcNaR5KlHQvrJsmGUvJAEDoKSiwwyeAA2gFSb4WBtL5Xbr6Le3mBDSJ9DasOc8yWkuDLJFruD4fyesNolXrfV-dKrM2cBV90cJU_tVBu225hBOjCJ7IRzAGcdTgRyMw1-NQZwH7opRzHg_0UqQ2d33FU5F4pl-Tg4DQ/s2030/Perennial%20ageratum%20had%20taken%20over%20a%20bed%20of%20bulbs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1732" data-original-width="2030" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG9OUQwQ044AmcVY9TWEKVXLbjPcNaR5KlHQvrJsmGUvJAEDoKSiwwyeAA2gFSb4WBtL5Xbr6Le3mBDSJ9DasOc8yWkuDLJFruD4fyesNolXrfV-dKrM2cBV90cJU_tVBu225hBOjCJ7IRzAGcdTgRyMw1-NQZwH7opRzHg_0UqQ2d33FU5F4pl-Tg4DQ/w200-h171/Perennial%20ageratum%20had%20taken%20over%20a%20bed%20of%20bulbs.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="text-align: left;">Perennial ageratum</span></span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>I was thinking about that episode yesterday as I spent the
better part of an hour getting rid of my own Tribbles; specifically, pulling
out patches of <i>Conoclinium</i> coelestinum, better known as perennial
ageratum, from my garden. Thus far I have filled two, 50-gallon cloth barrels with the nasty stuff. I suspect my work is not yet done.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgso2qx3czBBuODfUJe7mIl_eGgIggSguifn1yw5WYxzgVRfpdVyn9eI4pDD9GU64zplrg66CA7pjPSNkFWG1pAkfgOrTv-esdDKZBYRL-GNdT72npnson6ng52B1biV6NHcDBHCgSwgXjBth3UjR7BCMaLGPE6pv6-x3w1DSr5O9r-RVvkNkruIjSDDxE/s894/'Good'%20ageratum%20as%20a%20container%20plant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="894" data-original-width="894" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgso2qx3czBBuODfUJe7mIl_eGgIggSguifn1yw5WYxzgVRfpdVyn9eI4pDD9GU64zplrg66CA7pjPSNkFWG1pAkfgOrTv-esdDKZBYRL-GNdT72npnson6ng52B1biV6NHcDBHCgSwgXjBth3UjR7BCMaLGPE6pv6-x3w1DSr5O9r-RVvkNkruIjSDDxE/w200-h200/'Good'%20ageratum%20as%20a%20container%20plant.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">'Good' Ageratum houstonianum</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>A quick tutorial: <i>Ageratum</i> houstonianum, as anyone who
grows summer annuals knows, is a wonderful filler plant for containers and a
great ‘boots and socks’ border for beds. It has a lovely, bluish-purple flower
than draws the eye. Alas, it dies with the first frost. It is a wonderfully
well-behaved annual, prized for that unusual color. I can recommend it unconditionally.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSGRLP0eyL8Ar4gHGkRsEAvj1ldJh5JOIBN1i-b2pavrTGBCpmQPBewZWJzAJEFtEFLTVPKDBFbKyvWj6Z_2Arbu5tr83IEmy_3hgdbijNls4JGtqMfT0LCzPskNMELIFvaBl5o23jIf0_v73jtTv_lL4DQ9mklwPvN4fmayEPEqFkpN2cLThIVniaPyw/s2576/Perennial%20ageratum%20was%20almost%20as%20high%20as%20the%20Fothergilla%20'Blue%20Shadow'.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2576" data-original-width="2151" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSGRLP0eyL8Ar4gHGkRsEAvj1ldJh5JOIBN1i-b2pavrTGBCpmQPBewZWJzAJEFtEFLTVPKDBFbKyvWj6Z_2Arbu5tr83IEmy_3hgdbijNls4JGtqMfT0LCzPskNMELIFvaBl5o23jIf0_v73jtTv_lL4DQ9mklwPvN4fmayEPEqFkpN2cLThIVniaPyw/w173-h207/Perennial%20ageratum%20was%20almost%20as%20high%20as%20the%20Fothergilla%20'Blue%20Shadow'.JPG" width="173" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Note the area circled in blue:<br />the perennial ageratum was<br />half the height of the Fothergilla<br />'Blue Shadow'</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Now, let’s talk about perennial ageratum. While both it and
its annual namesake are members of the aster family, their only common attribute
is their similar-colored flower. <i>Conoclinium </i>is anything but
well-behaved. It spreads by rhizomes; it spreads by flower seeds. It may even
spread by word of mouth. But, once it is in your garden, controlling it is a
full-time job come the end of summer.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">To the best of my knowledge, neither Betty nor I have ever
purchased a pot of perennial ageratum, yet this August it is everywhere in the
garden. It is crowding out our beautiful Astilbe, upstaging our Fothergilla,
and colonizing a bed of spring bulbs that, without human intervention, would be
suffocated by a mat of roots. How did it get here? Maybe an itinerant peddler
traded a sprig if it to one of our neighbors for an alcoholic beverage.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGp8yVAoNPbXndREGxA0gtZfsGoo5HldMH1MqXsV1QqimTAYNEp-w0QpqrtSyeO-Q9k-KzUoc1nmi-aKuDydCXwnJdzt6WK_QUqOlPz8hrQu4NL814l8WhwHYndXjt8UXv6TIC53HPLZrAI06ttiE_EAA_tV7KpvazMHw4CjNY-4pdHnRkaDicjeze_aI/s2713/This%20false%20strawberry%20was%20interwoven%20with%20perennial%20ageratum.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2118" data-original-width="2713" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGp8yVAoNPbXndREGxA0gtZfsGoo5HldMH1MqXsV1QqimTAYNEp-w0QpqrtSyeO-Q9k-KzUoc1nmi-aKuDydCXwnJdzt6WK_QUqOlPz8hrQu4NL814l8WhwHYndXjt8UXv6TIC53HPLZrAI06ttiE_EAA_tV7KpvazMHw4CjNY-4pdHnRkaDicjeze_aI/w230-h180/This%20false%20strawberry%20was%20interwoven%20with%20perennial%20ageratum.JPG" width="230" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">This false strawberry ground cover was<br />engulfed by perennial ageratum. Time <br />will tell if I got it all.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>What I do know is it has to go. But the <i>Conoclinium </i>has
its own plan. Pulling it out is a piece of cake: it appears to come out with
its roots intact. But, if you pull out a stand and then sift the soil, you’ll
find pieces of roots and rhizomes cleverly left behind. I found that out
because I thought I had completely eradicated perennial ageratum from the top
of our driveway bed. Three weeks later, there were hundreds of replacement stalk
coming into flower. (The plant apparently thrives in rain, of which we have more
than our share.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, whenever I remove
a patch of <i>Conoclinium, </i>I immediately also dig around in the surrounding
soil to see what may have been left behind. I am seldom disappointed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAKpYU5zlb-nziNL8NGlEcvjnLYNomnd8ClBILVawVsdlf35FnFCGGd7UvHOMFHYrUIxsA26Xzc5OLrK_liI3zLLhkNx5m9Vghu2hja-0YP7pYYd5nLSOz8PBfFYKUg0TBuhG-ycPYpbMMTA7WuMoTx-vktLuHRKGOFZ5SwWu3qK3YKLgqZo0iAh-wHRI/s2639/Note%20the%20perennial%20ageratum%20hiding%20among%20the%20Rudbeckia%20goldstrum.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2639" data-original-width="1952" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAKpYU5zlb-nziNL8NGlEcvjnLYNomnd8ClBILVawVsdlf35FnFCGGd7UvHOMFHYrUIxsA26Xzc5OLrK_liI3zLLhkNx5m9Vghu2hja-0YP7pYYd5nLSOz8PBfFYKUg0TBuhG-ycPYpbMMTA7WuMoTx-vktLuHRKGOFZ5SwWu3qK3YKLgqZo0iAh-wHRI/w172-h233/Note%20the%20perennial%20ageratum%20hiding%20among%20the%20Rudbeckia%20goldstrum.JPG" width="172" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Note the perennial ageratum<br />(circled in blue) hiding in<br />the Rudbeckia goldstrum</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>What is worse, the more I look, the more of it I find. The
plant loves the sun. It also thrives in deep shade. It had insinuated itself in
a bed of <i>Potentilla</i> indica (false strawberry) where it was keeping a low
profile, as well as in a clump of just-past-bloom <i>Clethra</i> alnifolia
(summersweet), where it had stretched to a height of four feet. Perennial
ageratum is an ambitious interloper.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">As of yesterday, I believe I have, at least for the moment,
gotten it under control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which is, of
course, a foolish statement. We’ve had two inches of rain in the past 24 hours.
I know darned well the perennial ageratum is using the time to take stock of
where its remaining troops are recovering. Reinforcements will be called in,
perhaps from neighboring properties. I don’t know exactly when this war was
declared. What’s more unsettling is that I don’t know if I’m winning or losing.<o:p></o:p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-2323992610568694582023-06-25T10:39:00.001-04:002023-06-25T10:39:28.598-04:00A Late June Walk in the Garden<p> Sleep. Creep. Leap.</p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFHAiA5EQZxFktCfuFaaFySwc2RmoAewvHBFdj2xSwRlbUOzQb8WcFCbq4TGgOUzsC7Tw2l5upwWncVONp5b6wPlCGSzfMrATHDjWsxhLjKD-MxqOp8MEF3cW4c7HpZ1XJsnVtspeMJG_MhQRCz4fPTsYt05fTXWfnFWOXlk6xmC46mKDewVqEdh0E4Uk/s3879/26%20Pine%20overview%20June%203,%202023%20-%202.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2309" data-original-width="3879" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFHAiA5EQZxFktCfuFaaFySwc2RmoAewvHBFdj2xSwRlbUOzQb8WcFCbq4TGgOUzsC7Tw2l5upwWncVONp5b6wPlCGSzfMrATHDjWsxhLjKD-MxqOp8MEF3cW4c7HpZ1XJsnVtspeMJG_MhQRCz4fPTsYt05fTXWfnFWOXlk6xmC46mKDewVqEdh0E4Uk/w276-h163/26%20Pine%20overview%20June%203,%202023%20-%202.JPG" width="276" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">The garden at 26 Pine Street, June 2023.<br />Double-click for the slideshow.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Those are the words all gardeners learn to live by. You put
something in the ground. You pamper it, water it, weed it, and keep it free of
disease and interlopers. And, in return, you get… nothing (at least for that
first year and, sometimes, for two or three years).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything is going on below ground: your
plant/tree/shrub is establishing roots. It is exploring its surroundings. It
doesn’t care that you want instant gratification. Ultimately, you accept that,
at least above the soil line, that thing you planted is sleeping.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCYo8Q-34_OxUeBl2eyPcn5XwjdKRK3uL0-YDVK6d6tAgUzTK-aMo5IWqNY4IbntFZS9sc360kqeQI5kU36rlU1lzzAW1MclboiPSK8RHCZGdMCFKEC9AXu3Ix1mP6UPM0PwY74YlyDHcvcIXOJ_QmJR4BODMfD0c0q8CrA8JNVIRonRoi87I9JktrRHY/s4669/26%20Pine%206-23-23%2001%20Itea%20'Little%20Henry'%20and%20last%20vestiges%20of%20Amsonia%20'Blue%20Star'.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4669" data-original-width="3170" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCYo8Q-34_OxUeBl2eyPcn5XwjdKRK3uL0-YDVK6d6tAgUzTK-aMo5IWqNY4IbntFZS9sc360kqeQI5kU36rlU1lzzAW1MclboiPSK8RHCZGdMCFKEC9AXu3Ix1mP6UPM0PwY74YlyDHcvcIXOJ_QmJR4BODMfD0c0q8CrA8JNVIRonRoi87I9JktrRHY/w154-h227/26%20Pine%206-23-23%2001%20Itea%20'Little%20Henry'%20and%20last%20vestiges%20of%20Amsonia%20'Blue%20Star'.JPG" width="154" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">Itea 'Little Henry' in full<br />flower. Three shrubs have<br />merged into a single mass</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Then, after a few years, you see the tangible growth. Your
frustration eases – except that you wish you could get more
flowers/branches/fruit. Your precious plant is ‘creeping’.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Finally, one spring morning you come out and find you can’t
believe your eyes. That scrawny plant is now gorgeous. The awkward teenager has
come of age. It flowers in profusion, its branches are sturdy, and its fruits
hang heavy. You know all those years of pampering have paid off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are proud as punch.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">The garden at 26 Pine Street has reached, if not full maturity,
a grown-up status. Eight years after the first trees and shrubs were placed,
they look as though they’ve always been there. Shrubs planted on three-foot
centers with what seemed like yawning chasms between them are now a glorious,
full-leafed mass. Trees that were slender saplings are twenty feet high and
limbs are touching their neighbors.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGS-r8yBhQtqnlfUPA7ePFHFTq__eh1kE9Z2iHRrnazTpOu0bY7XwBkDtNLXeGxW64kD6T6n8fhaHdEPzCmhj9uOJJtQKzxjqvPEeM_NFpKsHC-Lub3GCsdc0m-kAjGDwp2ipINIUgoCkkfNhv69OToY6ngCqBscAr4Udy9UnlpxLAxPXvpNwqRkszwGc/s3257/26%20Pine%206-23-23%2004%20from%20the%20driveway%20to%20the%20front%20door,%20Lindea,%20pinus%20'Nana',%20bog%20rosemary.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2857" data-original-width="3257" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGS-r8yBhQtqnlfUPA7ePFHFTq__eh1kE9Z2iHRrnazTpOu0bY7XwBkDtNLXeGxW64kD6T6n8fhaHdEPzCmhj9uOJJtQKzxjqvPEeM_NFpKsHC-Lub3GCsdc0m-kAjGDwp2ipINIUgoCkkfNhv69OToY6ngCqBscAr4Udy9UnlpxLAxPXvpNwqRkszwGc/w198-h175/26%20Pine%206-23-23%2004%20from%20the%20driveway%20to%20the%20front%20door,%20Lindea,%20pinus%20'Nana',%20bog%20rosemary.JPG" width="198" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">The sidewalk's hard edges are<br />softened by border plants</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Best of all are the surprises: the bluestone sidewalk’s edges
are softened by geraniums and lavender. A dozen, bare-root <i>asclepias</i>
‘Hello Yellow’ milkweed plants that seemed doomed not to make it through their
first year have multiplied to become a glorious colony, dense with flowers –
and butterflies. An original plan to use metal borders and gravel for paths
within the garden fell by the wayside when moss thrived where we walked. Today,
those moss paths traverse the property; gloriously unplanned but far superior
to the original concept.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjojEyl7-oSVeCkx9ZVRBumrG9nWSkpxu_a8LOuB-NNXstmC0DIzWxOwRJGIUY8Tqx83vFcFag16oVP9tHV7-L1ag9dg6j3t9ExoKI-A9ix6O-fML_ypBrxcRvb6tEfKTiL0PhF1m6gpRG3sWQm8TJ5j3ioKqCBefD7caHzWjUKHDbmmMFMuuoKq-YEFJM/s3691/26%20Pine%206-23-23%2012%20front%20garden%20ascepelis%20'Hello%20Yellow'%20and%20Carolina%20lupine.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3277" data-original-width="3691" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjojEyl7-oSVeCkx9ZVRBumrG9nWSkpxu_a8LOuB-NNXstmC0DIzWxOwRJGIUY8Tqx83vFcFag16oVP9tHV7-L1ag9dg6j3t9ExoKI-A9ix6O-fML_ypBrxcRvb6tEfKTiL0PhF1m6gpRG3sWQm8TJ5j3ioKqCBefD7caHzWjUKHDbmmMFMuuoKq-YEFJM/w193-h171/26%20Pine%206-23-23%2012%20front%20garden%20ascepelis%20'Hello%20Yellow'%20and%20Carolina%20lupine.JPG" width="193" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">Carolina lupine and asclepias<br />'Hello Yellow' milkweed</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>We have taken chances on ‘un-pedigreed’ plants and have been
rewarded for being adventurous. Betty spotted <i>Thermopsis</i> villosa –
Carolina lupine – at a Grow Native<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Massachusetts plant sale three years ago. We put it in the front of the
garden where it would get full sun. It grew to an impressive seven feet with
spikes of brilliant yellow flowers. We let some of the seed pods remain in the
soil. This year, a dozen specimens form a brilliant cluster.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc9herZhnFbQ0XKMHZgboVn5XTdoqsXA_ouXIv4KLZWpd3rrm4dPgzAh2um3NMuHMPoIjh5ickGIdtX0Yp_K3Qx0fHwAU_1D79spMo3_vc4ilmCY84LCNQUgQ0EDvzSCsgk7dcG-oVwNck9fDlAJ-w235dFFCL_fvBJhTvjGpTd4pIygDOk-fymjh9Q9w/s4626/26%20Pine%206-23-23%2018%20rear%20garden%20hosta%20and%20Viburnum%20'Winterthur'.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3645" data-original-width="4626" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc9herZhnFbQ0XKMHZgboVn5XTdoqsXA_ouXIv4KLZWpd3rrm4dPgzAh2um3NMuHMPoIjh5ickGIdtX0Yp_K3Qx0fHwAU_1D79spMo3_vc4ilmCY84LCNQUgQ0EDvzSCsgk7dcG-oVwNck9fDlAJ-w235dFFCL_fvBJhTvjGpTd4pIygDOk-fymjh9Q9w/w237-h186/26%20Pine%206-23-23%2018%20rear%20garden%20hosta%20and%20Viburnum%20'Winterthur'.JPG" width="237" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">Moss walkways weren't part of the<br />original plan - they were a better idea</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Betty was recently asked to give a talk about the garden at a convention in Michigan. Her sponsors made a request that her talk include
‘mistakes’. Betty and I put our heads together and made a list. We started with
a reliable one: accepting gifts from friends. While Betty intended the garden
to be nearly-all native, she graciously accepted an Asian interloper: a
variegated <i>Petasites</i> japonica. It forms a lovely, visually arresting
mound of green-and-white leaves. We placed it in a shady site adjacent to a
clump of <i>Podophyllum</i> peltatum – Mayapples. All went well that first
year. The next spring, we noted with pleasure the Mayapple’s range had almost
doubled in size. The Petasites, however, had tripled in area, including a foray
into the Mayapples. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdCS6KCsgETNOJpM-GmjVNwzb9lB9Qe94DmpiOvfkVcwxCq9BmX2yl65RBBaIRwbj_842F7wjsa6t4qNptgVytyFRITlo3E8Q1CDlJRAi6lPmX6Ov7JsWWN6J91J4L91Z4hWeSiw473BHViwCtsnI85BLZ-3DgU37AueEzcvdCPjGLgLnNFB5efiuftEo/s3926/Petasites%202013%205-2-13.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2806" data-original-width="3926" height="123" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdCS6KCsgETNOJpM-GmjVNwzb9lB9Qe94DmpiOvfkVcwxCq9BmX2yl65RBBaIRwbj_842F7wjsa6t4qNptgVytyFRITlo3E8Q1CDlJRAi6lPmX6Ov7JsWWN6J91J4L91Z4hWeSiw473BHViwCtsnI85BLZ-3DgU37AueEzcvdCPjGLgLnNFB5efiuftEo/w173-h123/Petasites%202013%205-2-13.JPG" width="173" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">Petasites. Now long gone,<br />and good riddance.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>It took three years to completely dislodge the last vestige of
the Petasites.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Another error – and it is one we have made with every garden we have had – is to not be sufficiently stern with what I call ‘the Cute Little Interlopers’; plants that hitch-hiked onto the property. At
26 Pine Street, the CILs are the violets. They emerge in early March and are quickly
in flower… and almost as quickly in seed. My task each April and May is to grub
out every trace of those violets; which by now have insinuated themselves with and
intertwined their root into hundreds of ‘good’ plants. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbFF1fnkHcW_eltYe3KmfF6SHR9d9jU2TGk35hT_2n3YXgruJO--m6vHyXlC9oYZVaqUUYiFllnwFiY4TdmMP0rFlbLlR8j0Ntv8dxkXVJ8MVfAEisiiZmDm_UEUBvnEflNQUPqp5ZNrXM0eH_4dhxP-ugc4LGTwaNL2V9FOI_WA1Jth-s5TbFMdyCNXY/s3250/09%20Birch%20bed%20'c%20after%20removal%20of%20excess%20packea%20aurea%206-1-22%2006.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3083" data-original-width="3250" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbFF1fnkHcW_eltYe3KmfF6SHR9d9jU2TGk35hT_2n3YXgruJO--m6vHyXlC9oYZVaqUUYiFllnwFiY4TdmMP0rFlbLlR8j0Ntv8dxkXVJ8MVfAEisiiZmDm_UEUBvnEflNQUPqp5ZNrXM0eH_4dhxP-ugc4LGTwaNL2V9FOI_WA1Jth-s5TbFMdyCNXY/w178-h169/09%20Birch%20bed%20'c%20after%20removal%20of%20excess%20packea%20aurea%206-1-22%2006.JPG" width="178" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">Be wary of Packera aurea</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>The third mistake is to believe that all native plants are
well-behaved. They are not. Exhibit ‘A’ is a thug called <i>Packera</i> aurea,
or golden ragwort. Because we have no grass in the garden, we need something
else – actually <i>many</i> something elses – to provide a pleasing,
low-growing ground cover. Most of these have been quite successful. For the bed
comprising our black birch and clump of <i>Clethra</i> (aka summerweet) ‘Hummigbird’,
we purchased four pots of <i>Packera</i>. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMwb2iOqlVkh_iUobnmE0itp33N9R0m-XwtUvXbvv-6UYbXwwpRYJScz_JbCQTz-UAALKh5JA3wwLdxCqfG4yE-iZSNEaxMm6Y3VDgmAU6oaDWUV47gBpoSYLYSRjohzR41le-kD8qgH4ty6iUCisT9BdqUIgJTKnserXMK3FvG8ZRGOzfD8oliYvM-NE/s5151/26%20Pine%206-23-23%2022%20Viburnum%20'Winterthur'%20Chamaceyparis%20'Snow'.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2785" data-original-width="5151" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMwb2iOqlVkh_iUobnmE0itp33N9R0m-XwtUvXbvv-6UYbXwwpRYJScz_JbCQTz-UAALKh5JA3wwLdxCqfG4yE-iZSNEaxMm6Y3VDgmAU6oaDWUV47gBpoSYLYSRjohzR41le-kD8qgH4ty6iUCisT9BdqUIgJTKnserXMK3FvG8ZRGOzfD8oliYvM-NE/w246-h134/26%20Pine%206-23-23%2022%20Viburnum%20'Winterthur'%20Chamaceyparis%20'Snow'.JPG" width="246" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">The dominant ground cover plants in the<br />rear garden are strawberries, tiarella,<br />and astilbe.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>It is indeed a pretty groundcover with dense, dark green
leaves and an attractive golden flower on a tall spike. What is not pretty
about it is its intention to take over the entire garden. Three times a year, I
venture out with a large cloth barrel and remove <i>Packera</i> from underneath
the summersweet, the walkways and half a dozen other places far removed from
the mother plants. If you are ever tempted to grow this hoodlum, run – do not
walk – to the nearest nursery exit. And, if you already have it growing in your
garden, never <i>ever</i> let that golden flower turn into a dandelion-type
seed head.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZlP0UU_bh0l9OIzxngvbMZNsvclP34afXENnk_nACIlm_hTdqQHLRNTMRBRqYjPctMgaI6tJFKSiWxx4uun2YoLC4k6NTLvzVmNbY6fAGPm3fMkA-Brd3tqS79NyYphUgI6E4s6R6kcxctj3MRy_SC5CgdZ0Zl_H5DDDU2dE7hccEueAYlIBxFwdiJgI/s884/26%20Pine%20aerial%20via%20Google%20June%202015.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="884" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZlP0UU_bh0l9OIzxngvbMZNsvclP34afXENnk_nACIlm_hTdqQHLRNTMRBRqYjPctMgaI6tJFKSiWxx4uun2YoLC4k6NTLvzVmNbY6fAGPm3fMkA-Brd3tqS79NyYphUgI6E4s6R6kcxctj3MRy_SC5CgdZ0Zl_H5DDDU2dE7hccEueAYlIBxFwdiJgI/w170-h164/26%20Pine%20aerial%20via%20Google%20June%202015.jpg" width="170" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">Eight year ago, this is all <br />there was...</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>But the garden is a joy as the accompanying photos will attest.
Except for the Petasites photo and this Google Earth view of the garden from September 2015, all images were taken on June 24, 2023 – almost exactly eight years after the
first specimen trees were placed in this, their new home.<o:p></o:p><p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-38082980887009430362023-06-02T12:37:00.004-04:002023-06-02T12:37:59.025-04:00Tales from the Garden<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw95_WAfoubFKExrHAuqvoswFwA--XDtirL6fza7mPEzPrgdHE0gWOIo5LbXWDN-C5WtUTDfqBuc0hMQnAFqHqMRJqGrGWmyBS63FbAt2UJpfyuuBfLwmcmap8htUM3AskO1fKqhFifua64JsOjecco10ITrF_SdKphSswl-a_l-FL4ewid0ilnI2t/s774/4-H%20shed%20and%20community%20garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="774" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw95_WAfoubFKExrHAuqvoswFwA--XDtirL6fza7mPEzPrgdHE0gWOIo5LbXWDN-C5WtUTDfqBuc0hMQnAFqHqMRJqGrGWmyBS63FbAt2UJpfyuuBfLwmcmap8htUM3AskO1fKqhFifua64JsOjecco10ITrF_SdKphSswl-a_l-FL4ewid0ilnI2t/w257-h225/4-H%20shed%20and%20community%20garden.jpg" width="257" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">The 4-H shed and, nearby, the<br />Medfield Community Garden</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Running a 75-plot community garden is a delicate balancing
act, and Betty and I take our responsibilities seriously. Despite my
self-appointed title of Garden Ogre, I attempt to enforce guidelines with as
soft a touch as possible. Betty’s role is one of rendering assistance on all
matters horticultural, and she will take all the time necessary to debunk bad
internet myths and offer advice based on actual science and real-world
experience rather than something dreamed up by a clueless would-be Tik-Tok star.</p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Yesterday brought events from both ends of the management spectrum.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">First, the good news. Four years ago, a new gardener, recently
retired from the academic world, joined the Community Garden family. An
engineer by training, he also became part of the garden’s corps of volunteers;
mending hoses and refurbishing our fleet of wheelbarrows. He further
agreed to help stake the garden in the spring and clear ‘problem’ plots in
the fall. All of these activities fall under the heading of thankless tasks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8GtRMRb_YfCqpasHV0_XqzDKpo7nOxhccF16U2fL-vnwNdWCElCyf6vSTOlLOxsDde2u41dz91U3yh0gIAGwSaQes4Vu8iWSO8As1y3Eo5lw5tPhYldqA52yxbpwGxaka9sFwBua5PKWVZskc6NucosZ_rdL-m_y92VXdcYuNC7VfXgrler-C-t2/s3972/Wheelbarrows%20are%20out%20at%20the%20community%20garden.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1659" data-original-width="3972" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8GtRMRb_YfCqpasHV0_XqzDKpo7nOxhccF16U2fL-vnwNdWCElCyf6vSTOlLOxsDde2u41dz91U3yh0gIAGwSaQes4Vu8iWSO8As1y3Eo5lw5tPhYldqA52yxbpwGxaka9sFwBua5PKWVZskc6NucosZ_rdL-m_y92VXdcYuNC7VfXgrler-C-t2/w282-h118/Wheelbarrows%20are%20out%20at%20the%20community%20garden.JPG" width="282" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">The injured gardener maintains our fleet<br />of a dozen wheelbarrows</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>In late March, that gardener had a fall that left him with
serious injuries to a leg and foot. He notified me he was unlikely to be able
to have a garden this season as he would need one or more surgeries and
rehabilitation that would last into summer. My response to him was that it was
too soon to make such an irreversible decision. Two garden friends put up his
fence; including digging a 100-foot-long trench around the plot’s perimeter to
ensure critters could not sneak in uninvited.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">That first good deed was the start of many more. His plot
neighbors began planting the garden he had envisioned for the season. They
weeded and they watered. I have counted no fewer than four helpers whom I have
spotted in his plot; working diligently to ensure all is well in his absence.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN6ZhOZxMmhaV-_YaLxSAQkbp1Rkh6yQXrojp4KSFmaVOJsDlg9KDdlwQHp7SCA8AMUAIrGpoyjWfHkB52wxNYi8rFYdEKReCsYWFzL78fS8DUQ4yO5GXdbvKMvSEz1YSGB3niatQUYZGMrKDNoDRd9wxONgs3h2Jp0cQKZNhD5US71Le_RcUzFpM0/s4329/Allyn%20Hubbard's%20plot,%20and%20its%20volunteer-built%20fence.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3400" data-original-width="4329" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN6ZhOZxMmhaV-_YaLxSAQkbp1Rkh6yQXrojp4KSFmaVOJsDlg9KDdlwQHp7SCA8AMUAIrGpoyjWfHkB52wxNYi8rFYdEKReCsYWFzL78fS8DUQ4yO5GXdbvKMvSEz1YSGB3niatQUYZGMrKDNoDRd9wxONgs3h2Jp0cQKZNhD5US71Le_RcUzFpM0/w248-h194/Allyn%20Hubbard's%20plot,%20and%20its%20volunteer-built%20fence.JPG" width="248" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">Volunteers put up the fence around the<br />injured gardener's plot, including<br />digging a trench for it</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Three days ago, I made a walking tour of the garden and made
notes on plots where either no gardening has yet taken place (an ominous sign)
or weeds have started appearing among vegetables planted at the season’s
beginning in April. I also noted the sterling appearance of our wounded
gardener’s plot and wrote off a note to him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">A few hours later I received a reply. I will not quote it out
of a respect for a private communication, but his reaction was one of sheer awe
that so many people cared. I can honestly say I was choked up as I read it. In
a world where altruism is supposed to be passé, a group of people whose sole
connection to one another is a shared love of gardening have come together to
give one of their own a continuing helping hand.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">While watering this morning, I ran into one of the benefactors.
She had in her hands several tomatillo plants ready to go into the housebound
gardener’s plot. They were, in turn, a gift from yet <i>another</i> benefactor.
Truly, there is hope for mankind.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">On the other side of the garden, though, something quite different
was going on. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5AGcUUxUh8KDE34BoJCQuApfuq1nM37J1eXPG8h85DLApSxs9Ju2GDMSg-4SPN2kL5rwOeuD93S5SsBJ6ozFCCEvndtAq4vU9QTUQW7axfVY2v3v7ius_917qBZtQe5hvwVPPpllwKibUgC0GcX58E6vewg2vokiLaw8lgayx5_VXNgfFopvh4kf/s4320/irrigation%20buckets%20in%204H%20shed%2010-10-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="4320" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5AGcUUxUh8KDE34BoJCQuApfuq1nM37J1eXPG8h85DLApSxs9Ju2GDMSg-4SPN2kL5rwOeuD93S5SsBJ6ozFCCEvndtAq4vU9QTUQW7axfVY2v3v7ius_917qBZtQe5hvwVPPpllwKibUgC0GcX58E6vewg2vokiLaw8lgayx5_VXNgfFopvh4kf/w268-h201/irrigation%20buckets%20in%204H%20shed%2010-10-20.JPG" width="268" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">Gardeners can over-winter fencing and stakes<br />in the 4-H shed</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Not all of our gardening families have houses with spacious
garages, sheds, or basements. And, so, the community garden offers off-season
storage of garden fencing, stakes, and tomato cages in a small building across
from the garden. The shed will hold material for roughly 25 families and
preference is given to people living in multi-family dwellings. All material
has to be tightly tied together and labeled with the owner’s name. The shed is
locked on November 1 and re-opened only when the garden formally opens April 1.
From then on, it is open for the season as gardeners retrieve their supplies.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Before I lock the shed for the season, I make certain all those
stakes and fences are tagged, and the names are legible. There is a list of the
people who have requested space and I make certain no interlopers have decided
one more roll of fencing among 25 won’t be noticed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">The system worked exceptionally well… until this year. On
April 1, I unlocked the shed and checked to see everything was still where it
was supposed to be. All was right with the world.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZIXZhIBawdAHW83dCrV8I2uqHrJnPbstPDu1xIOK9diACUGBZbwLhAJl4nReboKdsP9ftBYR3QI1DQTFpeubt4oyjLKbpWI8hmcSaFDFfZ3jwmcEHOZ8ychHXXcNFqMOqC9kOqnMFBZxcpx4YyaOBHXAMABl0FbUBVM7FW9SwY-twqu-llorEZjPt/s4032/Loaner%20fencing%20is%20located%20in%20the%20open%20shed%20adjacent%20to%20the%204H%20shed%20-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZIXZhIBawdAHW83dCrV8I2uqHrJnPbstPDu1xIOK9diACUGBZbwLhAJl4nReboKdsP9ftBYR3QI1DQTFpeubt4oyjLKbpWI8hmcSaFDFfZ3jwmcEHOZ8ychHXXcNFqMOqC9kOqnMFBZxcpx4YyaOBHXAMABl0FbUBVM7FW9SwY-twqu-llorEZjPt/w238-h179/Loaner%20fencing%20is%20located%20in%20the%20open%20shed%20adjacent%20to%20the%204H%20shed%20-1.jpeg" width="238" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">Loaner 'Ogre' fencing was available<br />in an adjacent lean-to</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Ten days later, one gardener notified me he had gone to the
shed and his fencing bundle was missing. I went to the shed, did my own search,
and came to the same conclusion. Yet I knew the bundle was there at the
beginning of the month.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">There were two possibilities. The first was that someone,
likely a new gardener, had erroneously concluded the fencing in the shed was
part of the ‘Ogre Fencing’ available for loan to first-year gardeners and stored
in an adjacent lean-to. The second possibility was someone filched it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">I queried the garden community but no one had any information.
In the meantime, the gardener with the missing fencing purchased new material –
spending just over $200 (that’s what it costs!). He put up his new fencing. I said
I would try to seek reimbursement for him from the Community Garden Revolving
Fund into which all our plot fees are deposited.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Then, the gardener – let’s call him Gardener #1 – took a walk
through the now-mostly-fenced community garden and spotted what he was certain
were his materials. He contacted me and told me the plot number. It took some
time, but I made contact with the individual – a new gardener who would have
invited to use Ogre Fencing. I asked the new gardener if there might have been a mistake. The
gardener – let’s call him Gardener #2 – stated unequivocally, that the fencing
was his.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">To me, that closed the issue. I didn’t demand receipts.
Somehow, for the first time in more than a decade, someone from outside the garden
community had gone into the shed and pilfered someone’s fencing. I reported
this to Gardener #1 and repeated that I was going to seek restitution on his
behalf.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Restitution, unfortunately, was not as easy as reaching for a
checkbook. First, a decision had to be made by someone in authority that such an
unprecedented reimbursement was a good idea. The second was actually getting
the check written. (I know this because it took six weeks to get reimbursed for
the stakes and string used to mark out the garden.) I communicated all this to
the gardener.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Unfortunately, as the wheels of progress ground slowly and
inconclusively, Gardener #1’s belief hardened that Gardener #2 was using
purloined material. It so happened that, yesterday morning, the two gardeners
(who had never met) were in the garden at the same time. Gardener #1 went to
Gardener #2’s plot and… heated words were exchanged.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Each party emailed me; Gardener #2’s note included a copy of
the receipt for the fencing he had purchased. I wrote an apology to Gardener
#2, which settled at least that side of the issue. I also wrote Gardener #1
reiterating my earlier statement that, in my mind, the ‘stolen fencing’
question had been resolved as soon as Gardener #2 said the fencing was his own. I
further wrote that, if Gardener #1 had an argument with anyone, it should be
with me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Before I became a Garden Ogre in 2009, I had a 35-year career
in the corporate world, complete with fancy management titles. I sometimes
witnessed (or had a hand in) cooperation across groups that already had a full
plate of responsibilities and no spare manpower to lend a hand to struggling
peers. Somehow, in hindsight, those examples of selflessness were less
inspiring than what I saw this week in the actions of half a dozen gardeners. I
also resolved many problems where I had to determine who was right, who was
wrong, and enforce my decision. For reasons I will make no effort to explore, those long-ago clashes of ego and power seem less
consequential to me than the problems between two gardeners. <o:p></o:p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-44703015662122756412023-03-20T15:44:00.034-04:002023-03-23T12:40:02.309-04:00Acts of Kindness on a Southern Sojourn<p>My best guess is that it fell off the back of one of the
campers racing toward a weekend on the Gulf of Mexico. I had seen several such
caravans in the preceding hours: chairs, bicycles, umbrellas and other
bric-a-brac that had no assigned storage space, and so were tied or
bungee-corded to the vehicle. If you hit enough bumps and don’t inspect your
lashings every time you take a break from the road, something will inevitably come
loose.</p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgapUnTRxBSvP50hpjXBDhwg3NOQ7PguLDvPGgF856FAYVjtlPScxC0MLakGv07JgwL7SG_iH60_dOvcIHEqnbqPBCfx3_xo872EkAUVJq79Vz8s6mYBaygXeW1u-CyRLa9PhxDoi-MnQV9FDJVOraYwnYQk2O66jaFDpx-eoat0G4dOU7NEs9Ohc7M/s744/beach%20chair.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="666" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgapUnTRxBSvP50hpjXBDhwg3NOQ7PguLDvPGgF856FAYVjtlPScxC0MLakGv07JgwL7SG_iH60_dOvcIHEqnbqPBCfx3_xo872EkAUVJq79Vz8s6mYBaygXeW1u-CyRLa9PhxDoi-MnQV9FDJVOraYwnYQk2O66jaFDpx-eoat0G4dOU7NEs9Ohc7M/w170-h190/beach%20chair.jpg" width="170" /></a></div>The ’something’ was an aluminum beach chair; the kind you can buy at
Ocean State Job Lot for ten bucks. The chair had already been struck at least
once; likely by a high-riding SUV or truck which crushed and bent it. In the
instant I saw the object before our car, too, ran over it, I remember the gaudy
colored plastic mesh that formed the seat and back of the chair. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzvzH5M8XNBCFtYNOOfcB7qdpV29Q8hvQb8U6hcP8RAP-nWpwcOXJs8Nt4-UZ2dmfOSlyi4eucs0w9ENNBUMOFazTpIHqsVzETUtQDHj9gyigMIBoiRCnNwoWXr50CpT1qMJ1QpLEMJ2-P9coGHjzmYR_RXjZK15CEW-TIl-PLckdOXYSSQ6XpWsfD/s1920/A%20Prius%20rides%20low%20to%20the%20ground.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="1920" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzvzH5M8XNBCFtYNOOfcB7qdpV29Q8hvQb8U6hcP8RAP-nWpwcOXJs8Nt4-UZ2dmfOSlyi4eucs0w9ENNBUMOFazTpIHqsVzETUtQDHj9gyigMIBoiRCnNwoWXr50CpT1qMJ1QpLEMJ2-P9coGHjzmYR_RXjZK15CEW-TIl-PLckdOXYSSQ6XpWsfD/w255-h115/A%20Prius%20rides%20low%20to%20the%20ground.jpg" width="255" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">A Prius rides very low to the ground</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Our vehicle, though, is a Prius; and part of the design of the
Prius that adds to its well-deserved fuel-sipping reputation is that it rides
lower to the ground than those ubiquitous SUVs and pickups. When one of our tires
passed over the debris, one or more pieces of aluminum obeyed the laws of
physics and angled upward, snagging the undercarriage of our car. Betty and I
heard the crunch but assumed we had merely further flattened the
carcass.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Fifteen seconds later, our assumption was proven wrong. HYBRID
DRIVE COMPROMISED – PULL OVER IMMEDIATELY AND SEEK ASSISTANCE appeared on the
Prius’ display. We quickly did so, guiding our vehicle to the breakdown lane.
Getting out of the car, we discovered a clear liquid was puddling underneath
it.</p><p class="Mystyle">Thus began eight days of discovering that there is a stunning
amount of kindness in this world.</p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc1UIa-n2ghf-MPqPDiJJocy4pXN9qKVfFPgnhx-W_yTCz_Z_3l2OYIw-EYxy9MVsSQE1UnFbutyQTWA8-hOV05TVyBxYZwxzUTfq4LBuWAeoMvAJImyeSBoqVzu6Hfe86TyAa4-gUuGAgHeba-BvOS5IbV-rH8MpXb0MtIaWsMalRUyDSydk8GdM-/s3368/Deep%20South%20GC%20booklet.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3368" data-original-width="2120" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc1UIa-n2ghf-MPqPDiJJocy4pXN9qKVfFPgnhx-W_yTCz_Z_3l2OYIw-EYxy9MVsSQE1UnFbutyQTWA8-hOV05TVyBxYZwxzUTfq4LBuWAeoMvAJImyeSBoqVzu6Hfe86TyAa4-gUuGAgHeba-BvOS5IbV-rH8MpXb0MtIaWsMalRUyDSydk8GdM-/w162-h257/Deep%20South%20GC%20booklet.jpg" width="162" /></a></div>We were on that road – Interstate 59 in Hattiesburg,
Mississippi – because, a year earlier, I had accepted an invitation from the Deep
South Region of National Garden Clubs to be the speaker at the Friday luncheon
of their annual convention, to be held in New Orleans. I would present
‘Gardening Is Murder’ to an audience where few (if any) of the attendees knew
of me or my books. I was being presented with an opportunity to reach 150
prospective readers by delivering a humorous talk about gardening from a
spouse’s point of view.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Pk9LaeqnrpA8etB1rtgnAdVVR7xMCSWfRiiPu08HT4RcLxHN5GkjNtaxoF0vLjM1yRhZ18pHKtWcuokq_bDdchxhP4YTIEMCn9mnFDSv__scxoKaxcEWN8PwDIhJDeehVvNq-fCQ_IPduQLf4ispO19SNXfwV76WrkmhRqYTBmcQUaPJL4yq7Z0p/s744/Google%20Maps%20Medfield%20to%20New%20Orleans.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="688" data-original-width="744" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Pk9LaeqnrpA8etB1rtgnAdVVR7xMCSWfRiiPu08HT4RcLxHN5GkjNtaxoF0vLjM1yRhZ18pHKtWcuokq_bDdchxhP4YTIEMCn9mnFDSv__scxoKaxcEWN8PwDIhJDeehVvNq-fCQ_IPduQLf4ispO19SNXfwV76WrkmhRqYTBmcQUaPJL4yq7Z0p/w256-h237/Google%20Maps%20Medfield%20to%20New%20Orleans.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Our 1526-mile drive. We almost made it.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>It is 1526 miles from Medfield, Massachusetts to New Orleans
(22 hours and 48 minutes of driving, according to Google Maps) and Jet Blue
will get you there in 3 hours and 40 minutes. But, in addition to providing
laughter coupled with a modicum of horticulture to a receptive audience, my
mission was also to sell books. The cost of separately shipping books, displays,
and banners would make the trip economically impractical. With a vehicle that
averaged 64 miles per gallon though, I could make the trip within the travel
stipend agreed to by the convention organizers.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Betty made it clear there was no way I going to make the journey
alone. We would share driving duties; leaving our home early on Wednesday,
stopping overnight in Tennessee, and arriving in New Orleans in time for a 4
p.m. reception on Thursday. It was a good plan and, but for that beach chair, we would have made it with an hour to spare.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgywPtTY8rmm64a0I-Vf0CXKA4teNegSIc-Oqh6cBN9HMHAqpxvQtsM2SmXJXfZqdnj33v1VVSRVVo1Stg88hMzv_l_ZzXj6hTZl6XxHq4VLZ-lK-0aPMVUM75bSJuuczor7Ipjf4J2xGUN0DBovjaOJhEf9k69nbShaPvuSl_C_OeRteEyL6RY70gL/s848/Toyota%20of%20Hattiesburg.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="454" data-original-width="848" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgywPtTY8rmm64a0I-Vf0CXKA4teNegSIc-Oqh6cBN9HMHAqpxvQtsM2SmXJXfZqdnj33v1VVSRVVo1Stg88hMzv_l_ZzXj6hTZl6XxHq4VLZ-lK-0aPMVUM75bSJuuczor7Ipjf4J2xGUN0DBovjaOJhEf9k69nbShaPvuSl_C_OeRteEyL6RY70gL/w296-h158/Toyota%20of%20Hattiesburg.jpg" width="296" /></a></div>A call to AAA got us a tow to Toyota of Hattiesburg. I had
already been on the phone with one of the dealership’s service advisors, Michael
Metzger. He quickly understood our predicament and offered to intercede to help
with a car rental. Ordinarily, such a task would be easy; but this was the
beginning of spring break for area colleges and all cars in the region were
spoken for. Through a series of direct calls to local agencies rather than
through impersonal call centers, he found a vehicle we could have for two days;
but must be returned to Hattiesburg by noon Saturday. Once our Prius was at the
dealership, Mike also got us to the car rental agency ten minutes before its 5
p.m. closing time.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">The second kindness came from the organizers of the
convention, and especially from Convention Co-chair Elizabeth McDougald, who had hired me a year
earlier. We arrived after 7 p.m. – long after that reception and also as
dessert was being served at the evening awards dinner. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were quietly seated and fed, our room key
already in our hand. The following morning as I set up my books display, I
found everyone at the conference knew of our on-the-road travails; a general
announcement had been made. It would not be an overstatement to say more than a hundred people said they were glad me made it to the convention and wished us a safe return home.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">We were left with a dilemma, however. Our Prius had been
thoroughly examined early Friday morning. The lawn chair had damaged our
radiator, A/C coolant line, fans, and fan housings. None of these were in-stock
parts; all had been ordered but would not arrive until at least Monday.
Repairs and road testing would push our departure to Tuesday at the earliest - possibly until Wednesday - and Thursday if additional problems were found. Our
rental car had a hard return time of Saturday at noon. We could be stuck in a
hotel room in Hattiesburg with no means of transportation for at least four
days; possibly six.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwqE2CQipFclpTy4_fFj9HYXoQkVP5yTbGnarDTn73bes9Py3lHUxC8jvCdxrta4qr6udU5PS0Q-a6vdKWc5nln1Gm3LwoAg780aNkaDi1FcdtHBRmFBt5HZ_h9EG27I2U9wgE3Y-n6QoYdTQy0PQcgQFXuzaRG0gqz_LcFw_as3izbtaRXDuPXjc4/s1200/Jet%20Blue.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwqE2CQipFclpTy4_fFj9HYXoQkVP5yTbGnarDTn73bes9Py3lHUxC8jvCdxrta4qr6udU5PS0Q-a6vdKWc5nln1Gm3LwoAg780aNkaDi1FcdtHBRmFBt5HZ_h9EG27I2U9wgE3Y-n6QoYdTQy0PQcgQFXuzaRG0gqz_LcFw_as3izbtaRXDuPXjc4/w248-h165/Jet%20Blue.jpg" width="248" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Better this than five days in a<br />Hattiesburg motel room</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Thus came the third kindness. While I delivered my lunch
presentation, Elizabeth McDougald’s husband, Glenn, researched travel options.
By 3 p.m., Betty and I had seats on a Jet Blue flight back to Boston leaving that
evening. Elizabeth offered to gather and store all the books and other
paraphernalia we would be unable to take with us on the flight. The McDougalds also said they would arrange for the return of our rental car.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Once at the airport, we emailed our neighbor, Jane Cobb, who was
performing cat-sitting duties, to let her know we were arriving home a day
early and so she need not give Abigail her morning feeding. Ten minutes later,
our cell phone rang asking what time out plane landed at Logan Airport and how
did we plan to get home? We said we would take a taxi because of the
post-midnight arrival. Jane replied she would meet us outside baggage claim
and would not take ‘no’ for an answer.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">On Monday morning, Mike Metzger let us know the parts were in hand
and a body shop was already straightening out housing brackets. Mike suggested our
Prius could be ready as early as Tuesday afternoon. I have never known a repair to go so quickly. We had assumed we would fly
into New Orleans, use an Uber to collect our stranded belongings from the
McDougalds, and then continue in the Uber to Hattiesburg at some astronomical
price.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih-oGMaKjLzfbZa9ckEw0BsQZ-_VlGAnX7z3RBDh8zQEdjkxC5Xnh1uBzphzAuFioF4RAtA2UIyTZs_pp3p71ZQdcKHP_7NflpXnnLl4F8IDXrH0dMFe2bGa11I3-cEPSVnqGSoDvYTmv2cThf8ZZFE8GkNO050pp04d5mGMvyBgpq0SVHhnltJCao/s1124/Mobile%20Hattiesburg%20New%20Orleans.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="1124" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih-oGMaKjLzfbZa9ckEw0BsQZ-_VlGAnX7z3RBDh8zQEdjkxC5Xnh1uBzphzAuFioF4RAtA2UIyTZs_pp3p71ZQdcKHP_7NflpXnnLl4F8IDXrH0dMFe2bGa11I3-cEPSVnqGSoDvYTmv2cThf8ZZFE8GkNO050pp04d5mGMvyBgpq0SVHhnltJCao/w228-h139/Mobile%20Hattiesburg%20New%20Orleans.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">An act of kindness</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Instead, we had yet additional acts of kindness. If we could
fly into Mobile, Alabama, instead of New Orleans, Elizabeth and Glenn would
meet us at that airport with our peripatetic possessions and drop us off in
Hattiesburg on their way back to New Orleans. A quick look at a map showed
Hattiesburg is ‘on the way’ to New Orleans from Mobile in the same way Albany
is on the way from Boston to New York City. We gratefully agreed to the offer. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLtsfM6yKfkWZ9tb97gxfVgB0tYGmEb2sC_U18-8F2oPPT76sg-F8ubjXXKZkb1576jZ5vFoP9rnEYQ_cP-kt1uIo2fdauq9uHZKZ0Oxc1y4hnni5hEgIxYIlwEQ_g4PNc3yYQM1NqXoImKZ4g3sXh6PRN2DgKejnQswh8VwofBFW85RH-6iA73tPX/s810/CLT.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="622" data-original-width="810" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLtsfM6yKfkWZ9tb97gxfVgB0tYGmEb2sC_U18-8F2oPPT76sg-F8ubjXXKZkb1576jZ5vFoP9rnEYQ_cP-kt1uIo2fdauq9uHZKZ0Oxc1y4hnni5hEgIxYIlwEQ_g4PNc3yYQM1NqXoImKZ4g3sXh6PRN2DgKejnQswh8VwofBFW85RH-6iA73tPX/w241-h185/CLT.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Our final hurdle: 20 minutes to go <br />3600 feet (2/3 of a mile)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>More kindnesses: Jane Cobb’s spouse, Dennis Amtower, drove us
to Logan for an 8:00 a.m. flight (for which you leave Medfield at 5:45 a.m. to
cope with morning rush hour traffic and TSA inspection). We made our connection
in Charlotte – a 3600-foot sprint – with just minutes to spare and arrived in
Mobile just after noon. Mike Metzger had our car prepped and ready when the McDougalds dropped us off in Hattiesburg. We were on our way back to New England at 2:30 p.m.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">So many things could have gone wrong along the way. But they
didn’t. And, thanks to a group of people – most of whom we had never met before
last week – what could have been an unmitigated disaster was instead only a time-consuming
(albeit expensive) mishap. I have three more speaking ‘road trips’ on my schedule
this Spring, with destinations in South Carolina, Illinois and Michigan.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLosZFbwCjLxx4bPRZ8ls2bzJF_-FswT7lcNGHQBn_pTdUf0Cczb8CYELviXwX3qucj7nhN1rBm-or3wfrtPZ6jByxPJ2KVv7PWzPDdjZw-oRjRHTVKv_HZ_5otG6LKGx-7YRNhhG1KfA5pfQFKuZXap_IeOH0VKJZIURahee47ute0IcM5gT1_sjK/s902/Our%20travels%20Spring%202023.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="760" data-original-width="902" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLosZFbwCjLxx4bPRZ8ls2bzJF_-FswT7lcNGHQBn_pTdUf0Cczb8CYELviXwX3qucj7nhN1rBm-or3wfrtPZ6jByxPJ2KVv7PWzPDdjZw-oRjRHTVKv_HZ_5otG6LKGx-7YRNhhG1KfA5pfQFKuZXap_IeOH0VKJZIURahee47ute0IcM5gT1_sjK/w223-h188/Our%20travels%20Spring%202023.jpg" width="223" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">There are three more 'road trips' <br />scheduled this Spring.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>In hindsight, at 1500+ miles each way, New Orleans was probably too far to drive. Illinois will almost be certainly done by air, and I will
figure out a way to ship books ahead of schedule. But Myrtle Beach is an
(almost) leisurely 850 miles and Michigan (819 miles) features a dual speaking engagement
with me at noon and Betty at 2 p.m. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Though I have lived 'up north' for almost all of my adult life, I am a son of the South, and this trip reinforced the notion there is something both real and very special about 'Southern Hospitality'. No matter how the rest of this speaking season goes, I will forever
remember the kindness we discovered on our sojourn to New Orleans. <o:p></o:p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-88270027534134638612023-03-06T11:04:00.000-05:002023-03-06T11:04:34.865-05:00Gardeners Wanted<p>For the past 14 years, Betty and I have performed an
end-of-winter task that is equal parts sheer joy and pulling teeth: We’ve filled
a community vegetable garden with gardeners. This year, we’re finding that job
isn’t an easy one.</p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaQxYIE4myY__wqb0TsCrP3G8b1QI80FiLoF2qk8kz9Pgnm4CsYkp1QkihE7CXBuYERTYnkLBFfrTLJuQbqREPRKCFuMCUcKUip3gmb964GmT9AmkCZ5319MCsjzTbQUrr9VlZXYxy8w08xjId8lLAqp_X3Q-cnEvG8bnu7j924vGcfZ81h9-k0c_S/s4608/Medfield%20Community%20Garden.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaQxYIE4myY__wqb0TsCrP3G8b1QI80FiLoF2qk8kz9Pgnm4CsYkp1QkihE7CXBuYERTYnkLBFfrTLJuQbqREPRKCFuMCUcKUip3gmb964GmT9AmkCZ5319MCsjzTbQUrr9VlZXYxy8w08xjId8lLAqp_X3Q-cnEvG8bnu7j924vGcfZ81h9-k0c_S/w275-h206/Medfield%20Community%20Garden.JPG" width="275" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">In an age of sticker shock in the vegetable aisle,<br />a garden ought to be a no-brainer</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>In an age of sticker shock in the vegetable aisles and an
emphasis on eating wholesome foods, you would think that finding 75 gung-ho
gardeners ought to be as easy as announcing the availability of plots and then
jumping back to avoid being trampled… especially when 90% of your gardeners
from last year tell you in November they’re ‘definitely coming back’.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">The reality, for reasons I’ll attempt to explain, is quite
different. Let’s start with the 90% ‘count-us-in-for-next-year’ rate. If that
statistic held true, we would be looking for seven or eight new gardeners each
year. Why did that handful of last year’s gardeners drop out? Mostly, they
tried the garden for a season and discovered it was harder than they thought,
or not as much fun. That is to be expected. In addition, at least one or two gardeners
‘age out’ each year because of their own decreased mobility. There’s also
another kind of ‘aging out’ in which six-year-olds who once thrilled at the
idea of going to play in the dirt with Mommy were now tweens who would rather
lose their screen privileges for a week than be seen in a vegetable garden –
and Mommy’s biggest reason for having the garden was to educate her children.
That scenario plays out several times a year.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxiosjnV9-W-9viPsT_uOS4QXtSvsxDh9o8eBTWtK500G6ujY-8QKtjJibYuQpM8xMJ4-iHGKcDzBjUN2NNaw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />The other problem is that people’s lives get in the way. Over
the winter, three full-plot holders – all excellent gardeners – moved out of
town and so are no longer eligible for a space. Two other long-timers are
having Big Events this summer and need to take the year off. A mother and
daughter who had separate plots decided to share one. Add to all those stories the
three abandoned plots that became food pantry gardens last year and we found
ourselves with <i>twenty</i> vacant spaces for the 2023 season.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Fortunately, three long-time gardeners who until this year had
made do with half-plots (300 square feet) asked to upgrade to full ones. I
quickly emailed them and granted their wish. In theory, all I was doing was
swapping one vacancy for another; I still need to find a new gardener for their
old plot. Well, yes, but I’ve filled a vacant <i>full</i> plot that might
otherwise be carved into two smaller ones (as a policy, we ask first-year
gardeners to begin with a half-plot).<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPI_PCM3cvQmIAjpe3RwdgpXQNk-3LTUuqlfj3tam4K9DuJmyNZvz7IYpJeDF8OKQ1TQMiLR-ad95YKKF3-NVoyNZHtwslvAlYBUCS72Dv3yXkdQRlnY4iJAK8Ed9HUbSysAGI05NxnjEd_hDCcvD5eLZM3lOGQMgzJKPaqLh5PqQoI6H14GTH7SCY/s4320/cornucopia%20of%20our%20vegetables.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4320" data-original-width="2880" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPI_PCM3cvQmIAjpe3RwdgpXQNk-3LTUuqlfj3tam4K9DuJmyNZvz7IYpJeDF8OKQ1TQMiLR-ad95YKKF3-NVoyNZHtwslvAlYBUCS72Dv3yXkdQRlnY4iJAK8Ed9HUbSysAGI05NxnjEd_hDCcvD5eLZM3lOGQMgzJKPaqLh5PqQoI6H14GTH7SCY/w184-h276/cornucopia%20of%20our%20vegetables.JPG" width="184" /></a></div>To fill these twenty spaces, we started a media blitz.
Medfield has a weekly ‘shopper’-style newspaper delivered to every home. I
wrote an article and submitted some great photos. We made the front page! There
is an online news outlet called Patch dedicated to all things Medfield which
published a second article. There are also two or three Facebook groups
dedicated to things going on in Medfield. Those sites are being peppered with
photos of happy gardeners, lush gardens, and cornucopia of perfect vegetables. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">The result of that publicity barrage, as of this morning, is
eight gardeners who have sent checks and a few more who promise to do so. Which
leaves nine gardens still to fill.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs7MoaXT_oQLBRCMEIfi_Ll6BvEQ1mDlvgEO4NBOyHppG6LwGaflO-uPUH5SCiqkgyA213vrEobfYZzn2xWqrGXMu7TA3kSsBCqU5l9fvkGstgBYDtyyCglKD8auACI71MxgEMDFgCRkvQhR9vEwiFkroj-IiO8iAwsm1c3GN86Sl0SHRddzsKdUcl/s756/2023%20guidelines%20jpeg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="756" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs7MoaXT_oQLBRCMEIfi_Ll6BvEQ1mDlvgEO4NBOyHppG6LwGaflO-uPUH5SCiqkgyA213vrEobfYZzn2xWqrGXMu7TA3kSsBCqU5l9fvkGstgBYDtyyCglKD8auACI71MxgEMDFgCRkvQhR9vEwiFkroj-IiO8iAwsm1c3GN86Sl0SHRddzsKdUcl/w224-h203/2023%20guidelines%20jpeg.jpg" width="224" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">'Weeding' went to the top of the<br />'Gardening Guidelines'</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>There have been other queries. Everyone who calls or emails is
sent a peppy, encouraging response that encourages would-be gardener to take
the next step. But my response also includes an attachment – the Garden
Guidelines. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">We don’t have ‘rules’. ‘Rules’ smack of dictatorships. ‘Rules’
are totalitarian. ‘Guidelines’ are things everyone can agree to do, especially when
they fit on one page. Each year Betty and I review and re-write the Guidelines
with a view to addressing things that caused problems the previous season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For example, a woodchuck wrought destruction
in one garden, so burying fences six inches was elevated from a ‘nice thing to
do’ to something expected of every plot holder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Weeding aisles was also a problem last year. The gardener’s obligation
to keep aisles weeded went from the middle of the page to the top.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaiY7YVE5o6zCZZa6URGNl_Ywas_LbVmHGd5izfJobJi8RJBzoeIA6u5iZDUY-nKgZ5DRvGNnEGNzpi6uayTtll0ZMqgqtH3vskSADwlGC462jIVf6WIhCldH3110aBVpLf_klqTN8GYN5Chd6Db6r7oN3ZzF8JXzTVplSbH2iRjwuIlOYDMl0Ed9t/s400/get%20planting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="300" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaiY7YVE5o6zCZZa6URGNl_Ywas_LbVmHGd5izfJobJi8RJBzoeIA6u5iZDUY-nKgZ5DRvGNnEGNzpi6uayTtll0ZMqgqtH3vskSADwlGC462jIVf6WIhCldH3110aBVpLf_klqTN8GYN5Chd6Db6r7oN3ZzF8JXzTVplSbH2iRjwuIlOYDMl0Ed9t/w164-h219/get%20planting.jpg" width="164" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">We make certain everyone<br />knows the gardens do<br />require work.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Do the Guidelines scare off would-be gardeners? I think a more
accurate description is that they are a reality check. A few years ago – and I
promise I am not making this up – a husband and wife seeking a plot for the
first time informed me they intended to plant their garden in mid-May but were
thereafter going to their vacation home in Maine for six weeks with no plans to
return to Medfield until late June at the earliest. Betty (who is the family
diplomat) gently told them their expectation they would return to a weed-free
garden lush with ready-to-pick vegetables was probably unrealistic. The couple
passed on the garden.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">In an average year, though, all the plots are filled by the
second week in March and we have started a wait list for the inevitable handful
of people who change their minds about gardening after the season begins.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS2UnWPKJ_7n1nq6EdUFLT7PMurg34NutKLwoSLPS05Geo8M4kJEsXCcjC8fpX5H_1G3TEcB5dJyvMKufbsIRiJWU6H9erT3nKa6HgyJlEGhyedjDa7kI4pPzuBWK7SV20v9rnGXeMbgWh3Nkg_kzIlf8kMq6DH7LQCR_Gvj3keajhUCkBhPSNasgN/s730/NZ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="730" data-original-width="510" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS2UnWPKJ_7n1nq6EdUFLT7PMurg34NutKLwoSLPS05Geo8M4kJEsXCcjC8fpX5H_1G3TEcB5dJyvMKufbsIRiJWU6H9erT3nKa6HgyJlEGhyedjDa7kI4pPzuBWK7SV20v9rnGXeMbgWh3Nkg_kzIlf8kMq6DH7LQCR_Gvj3keajhUCkBhPSNasgN/w155-h221/NZ.jpg" width="155" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">The world has re-opened</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>This year, I have a queasy feeling those last plots are going
to hard sells. During the pandemic, we had a virtual monopoly on ‘acceptable’
outdoor mask-free activities. Even if you were tepid about the idea of
vegetable gardening, the idea of getting out of your house and into the sunshine
three or four days a week for a few hours was irresistible. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three years later, the world has re-opened and
Spain or Yellowstone National Park or New Zealand beckon. Being tied to a garden
is an obligation fewer people are willing to undertake.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">We will make it work. As noted above, last year’s abandoned
plots became gardens dedicated to growing produce for food pantries. That turned
out well because of the dedication of half a dozen participants with hearts of
gold. Let’s see how this year unfolds.<o:p></o:p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-74962602317939023432023-02-04T13:35:00.006-05:002023-02-05T10:27:09.133-05:00The Fifteenth Season Begins<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMcywiog-EoRFaFaleu_PDn-7eKlYQaEteV5MJ-d-85yu_0NU-8928_VBt0vMXB3vIK_9zJJVzI_4pdLpE8q3cSfz-xke3eDvgFkrs1bRDZYuqPoRc85LBYhKDXcyFfr__a4z-qVZ4y0SLIluJhzpZflXsNkouEXvgpli9Fkva-XIVHmWj0qz87Sio/s3264/Mom's%20garden.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1670" data-original-width="3264" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMcywiog-EoRFaFaleu_PDn-7eKlYQaEteV5MJ-d-85yu_0NU-8928_VBt0vMXB3vIK_9zJJVzI_4pdLpE8q3cSfz-xke3eDvgFkrs1bRDZYuqPoRc85LBYhKDXcyFfr__a4z-qVZ4y0SLIluJhzpZflXsNkouEXvgpli9Fkva-XIVHmWj0qz87Sio/w260-h133/Mom's%20garden.jpg" width="260" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">An abandoned plot. 'Mom' apparently<br />had other ideas for the summer<br />Please double-click on any image, including<br />the video, for a full-screen view.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>In August 2008, Betty and I were spitting mad. It was our fifth
year with a plot in the Medfield Community Garden. Two spigots were
non-functional and two others leaked a continuing stream of water because of degraded
gaskets. Half a dozen abandoned spaces among the 40 plots were growing up in
weeds. Yet, in the center of this dystopian landscape, three gardens rose like plantation
houses above the sharecropped fields. The smallest occupied two plots; the largest,
four. Sprinklers, forbidden to us serfs, soaked those gardens. Contraband bags
of weed killer lay in plain sight.<p></p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">One member of our town’s Select Board (think Town Council)
also happened to be our attorney. We went to him with our grievances.
He said he would look into the matter. Two weeks later, the Town Clerk asked us
to come to the Town House (think Town Hall) to be sworn in as members of the
Town Garden Committee. When we were duly installed, we asked whom we should
contact about attending the next meeting. The Town Clerk, with a perfectly
straight face, informed us all the members of the committee had resigned. We were
on our own.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUUXT-VqNV5_CtUx6CSWfuQC5KRCcxbmS_r4lHZjT55OK1VoMs4wQvlaC5shN9WZ8R1dXQ_AbZ8kA4gEU0PBQ1Nzdw3Cz3ADlvS3o3PqwLLTX5gAkK_LEfGAWuHgcIe1xgZaumJmMIeFkWY8DSTfGM1qz0FjTbHAMrmRULF9pJGfBiPgAYonmGudVt/s750/Letter%20to%20selectmen%202008.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="514" data-original-width="750" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUUXT-VqNV5_CtUx6CSWfuQC5KRCcxbmS_r4lHZjT55OK1VoMs4wQvlaC5shN9WZ8R1dXQ_AbZ8kA4gEU0PBQ1Nzdw3Cz3ADlvS3o3PqwLLTX5gAkK_LEfGAWuHgcIe1xgZaumJmMIeFkWY8DSTfGM1qz0FjTbHAMrmRULF9pJGfBiPgAYonmGudVt/w315-h216/Letter%20to%20selectmen%202008.jpg" width="315" /></a></div>The inmates were left in charge of the asylum.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">We informed the Select Board what we wanted to do and they said,
‘fine, whatever’. We ripped up the eight-page ‘Garden Rules’ and wrote a set of
‘Guidelines’ that fit on a single page (so no one could say they didn’t have time to read
them). The spigots were repaired, all plots were weeded under penalty of
expulsion, and no one could have more than one plot. The garden expanded three
times to become 75 plots in two sizes.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='248' height='207' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwMBMyec3HanWnD9xfHGKWj90ucg2CAbr57oYnR-kG8AGh3QbFe09gSd1B_oVIIkOKNSQaQJ9UbMiQNY2OEtQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />The last expansion came in 2021 – amid Covid – after we could
not accommodate all the town residents who wanted in. Last year, with Covid restrictions
largely gone and people again free to travel, we nearly concluded that last growth
spurt was a mistake. Seven plots were surrendered early in the season, only
four gardeners were on our wait list, and repeated entreaties via social media
yielded no takers. In a ‘Hail-Mary-pass’ moment, we turned the three tenant-less
plots over to volunteers to grow produce for the Medfield Food Cupboard.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbShk-ABODDYPUSp2z-0nC_IvIRRRj8xST5ra3xDdsuOUiTdlRxJhNRiOaaw5AZqQGKXpoesUIUouJ1MwL_Dq6rrTKnmdiC1QAGGntyBRby_EezqWg5lLJlL_P66KoyCyFve9rXSqKcTlJbtL6E916CPDJbM3wXaqyqR4OYWR7ZV1DN_49HVpiduRC/s4032/Medway%20Village%20FC%209-3-22%204.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbShk-ABODDYPUSp2z-0nC_IvIRRRj8xST5ra3xDdsuOUiTdlRxJhNRiOaaw5AZqQGKXpoesUIUouJ1MwL_Dq6rrTKnmdiC1QAGGntyBRby_EezqWg5lLJlL_P66KoyCyFve9rXSqKcTlJbtL6E916CPDJbM3wXaqyqR4OYWR7ZV1DN_49HVpiduRC/w246-h184/Medway%20Village%20FC%209-3-22%204.JPG" width="246" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Part of one delivery to a food pantry</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>The idea not only worked; it was a touchdown. When our town’s
food pantry turned away a donation, we discovered a nearby town would happily take
everything we could grow. The volunteers labored just as diligently on the ‘food
insecure’ sites as they did on their own. We were onto something.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">At the end of last season, the lingering question in Betty’s
and my mind was, like a ‘dot-com’ company that hires too many people
and takes on too much real estate only to find its customers have moved on to
something newer and shinier, whether community vegetable gardening was a bubble doomed
to burst?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">We got our first inkling of an answer when we sent out our ‘straw
poll’ in November and found just ten of our 75 plot holders didn’t plan to
return – and two of those who declined were doing so because them were moving.
Moreover, three half-plot (300 square feet) gardeners said they would like to
move up to a full (600 square feet) space. Maybe it’s the astronomical prices
of vegetables, but interest in community gardening appears to be as strong as
ever.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ4puM2MXsLNr6ZTZ5Ni6MqJ0KuCaFQHPGH4A7q4GWqbAWH294La_X81_CZmVJHVYMwgQmYRDIHibjafuelqaYJBTn0tNrFuTpQUgxdJXnHCWKp103Ffl9pR6izIiQUt02sYcwMJnvJVBhnwOYm3o774S7CglRzck0Eo2wp0T6fQBk7cweCpl6_M1T/s756/2023%20guidelines%20jpeg.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="756" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ4puM2MXsLNr6ZTZ5Ni6MqJ0KuCaFQHPGH4A7q4GWqbAWH294La_X81_CZmVJHVYMwgQmYRDIHibjafuelqaYJBTn0tNrFuTpQUgxdJXnHCWKp103Ffl9pR6izIiQUt02sYcwMJnvJVBhnwOYm3o774S7CglRzck0Eo2wp0T6fQBk7cweCpl6_M1T/w260-h235/2023%20guidelines%20jpeg.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>Those ‘Gardening Guidelines’ have always been an evolving document.
This year, we inserted language into it specifically encouraging our members to
plant more than they need for their own families, and plan to share the rest
with food pantries. We are also recruiting for someone to take on the time-consuming
task of setting up for food pantry collections, picking up the donated produce,
and transporting it to the correct site. (As with other garden volunteer jobs,
the ‘salary’ is a free plot for the season – a $25 value!)<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">We also start this fifteenth season with a third member of the
Community Garden Committee. No less a sage than Leonard Cohen wrote, ‘Seventy
is not old age; it is the foothills of old age’. Both Betty and I check that box and, while we certainly don’t feel ‘old’, we know the baton will need
to be passed at some point. Whether our new ‘Ogre Understudy’ is the person to take
the reins or that task falls to someone (or several someones) who have yet to
raise their hands, we want the Community Garden to not just be around, but to
thrive for the next generation of folks who want to get their hands dirty.<o:p></o:p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-475475505028839022022-11-06T17:25:00.000-05:002022-11-06T17:25:06.590-05:00November Surprise<p> The drought of 2022 and total water bans that left most New England lawns brown barely affected 26 Pine Street. 'Tough natives' is one answer why our garden remained green. Rain barrels refilled during the infrequent rains is another. After our 250-gallon rainwater reserve was gone, we resorted to 'grey water' from showers and kitchen use.</p><p>We also practiced triage. Already-bloomed perennials were left to their own devices. Our scant water was lavished on the late summer and autumn bloomers. We watched with dread as immature tiarellas and heucheras withered - and hope they will return from their roots next spring.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqhxFUAxa3GdRe8ioCxfp41E_G2IBUxx0yFwrZFVfzibrXHaKryvsgclgu9MdUpabAXfEwqVS6KCyVxFeyx9QOpEsxFFhviox3kGXrU1KVLrY98HJM44Cw1WvYimkFBb53tjCS8psla2jLoigbAG2_1dga_oZnnUZzASY95WUoop3mOxovRX7pHL-m/s3483/DSCF1669.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2551" data-original-width="3483" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqhxFUAxa3GdRe8ioCxfp41E_G2IBUxx0yFwrZFVfzibrXHaKryvsgclgu9MdUpabAXfEwqVS6KCyVxFeyx9QOpEsxFFhviox3kGXrU1KVLrY98HJM44Cw1WvYimkFBb53tjCS8psla2jLoigbAG2_1dga_oZnnUZzASY95WUoop3mOxovRX7pHL-m/w253-h185/DSCF1669.JPG" width="253" /></a></div>The biggest surprise, though, came with the shortened days of October. We have had a vivid, long-lasting autumn. The photo at the top of the page is of <i>Fothergilla </i>gardenii 'Blue Shadow'. We have nine specimens in groups of three around the property. We purchased and planted them in 2015 because of their blue-green leaves and long-enduring white bottlebrush flowers in June. Autumn color was not part of the buying decision. But the brilliant yellow-gold leaves fairly require sunglasses. More than a few walkers have stopped, pointed, and asked, "are those real?" The answer: yes, they are.<p></p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJyt4B5wDP6SMEWkwPAF2jnkz3DEvgShMypRPTAgTX_vnwIXODcqK8ImT1XKvyjJKiRZpbMw4rN5ZzZdmuXRRtt1AkXE4q5952k80eqdFimggsNUvSlTs1iX6SmacktDS_9iYkHOVWqJfKpIcwtoqvc54YdNYKUmjnTZ12RDCiICbA4X3TkCGWA47c/s4062/DSCF1667.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2655" data-original-width="4062" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJyt4B5wDP6SMEWkwPAF2jnkz3DEvgShMypRPTAgTX_vnwIXODcqK8ImT1XKvyjJKiRZpbMw4rN5ZzZdmuXRRtt1AkXE4q5952k80eqdFimggsNUvSlTs1iX6SmacktDS_9iYkHOVWqJfKpIcwtoqvc54YdNYKUmjnTZ12RDCiICbA4X3TkCGWA47c/w259-h169/DSCF1667.JPG" width="259" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">Itea 'Little Henry' with Magnolia <br />'Elizabeth' in the background.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Our <i>Itea </i>'Little Henry' is also putting on a dramatic show. Virginia sweetspire is well-known for its long-lasting autumn transformation from glossy green leaves to speckled red, orange, and gold ones. It is also the last deciduous shrub to drop its leaves; and inclusion of multiple specimens of the cultivar was on our shopping list from the first draft. </p><p><i>Itea's </i>dirty little secret is that it is not well-behaved. It sends out runners to colonize any nearly open area. and patches of the shrub have become thickets. We have allowed it semi-free rein in just a few areas. One is by our garage and adjacent to our Magnolia 'Elizabeth'. Both the <i>Itea </i>and magnolia are in full autumn regalia in the photo just above.</p><p><i><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNRjoRC51GC6aZLDgaBCBbKJM1Q4H8QdouwdpfCbSnXIB4AmEG7c_iiFciMHjYB8HgUbWRkrFT4IS7M0rQtJwdu6Gg2iycqaWEcDtim4v2uRpMZUVfR5afb_1cbrkTLH829G3w0Hk_sLPJQ8Huc2O0v9jwdsobVXrdaeb7cfM_kcGE7QAA2HKW7zyX/s4320/DSCF1680.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2203" data-original-width="4320" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNRjoRC51GC6aZLDgaBCBbKJM1Q4H8QdouwdpfCbSnXIB4AmEG7c_iiFciMHjYB8HgUbWRkrFT4IS7M0rQtJwdu6Gg2iycqaWEcDtim4v2uRpMZUVfR5afb_1cbrkTLH829G3w0Hk_sLPJQ8Huc2O0v9jwdsobVXrdaeb7cfM_kcGE7QAA2HKW7zyX/s320/DSCF1680.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">Rhus aromatica (fragrant sumac)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Rhus </i>aromatica, better known as fragrant sumac, is usually planted because of its pleasant scent, white (but short-lived) flowers, and spreading habit. The 'Gro-Low' cultivar also made our plant list because it grows in marginal soil and we wanted it to cap and grow down the small hillock between our house and the street. The idea was it would be the neutral background for the more interesting specimens (<i>Ilex </i>and <i>Azalea</i>, primarily) rising above the stone wall. As the photo at left shows, our <i>Rhus </i>has ideas of its own. The photo is taken from the street to show what walkers and bikers see when they pass by. And, as you can see, it is also obediently beginning to trail down the hillside.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0oap88qNn75kwbwmv2xsp4EAfXBs4HQPI9clF4dGglnsRafnLuw8EaSCpY7O7aexJNLfU-bwKTDT37ZbZl9FWZM3Dxil1qyexGt9U4_h-Etwj9Cs-OvqLFRou0QoRBxJpRIDUWrXic-H_zmLM0lv15VPrZzqhjly0UKYdTXWj5N5pAdwQSPonp7KC/s3199/DSCF1672.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3199" data-original-width="2549" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0oap88qNn75kwbwmv2xsp4EAfXBs4HQPI9clF4dGglnsRafnLuw8EaSCpY7O7aexJNLfU-bwKTDT37ZbZl9FWZM3Dxil1qyexGt9U4_h-Etwj9Cs-OvqLFRou0QoRBxJpRIDUWrXic-H_zmLM0lv15VPrZzqhjly0UKYdTXWj5N5pAdwQSPonp7KC/w169-h212/DSCF1672.JPG" width="169" /></a></div>Some trees have already dropped their leaves: the Magnolia shown in the second photo is an exception. In time, our <i>Oxydendron </i>(sourwood) will have a colorful autumn display; but it is still too immature to look like anything other than the gangling teenager it resembles. At the base of our <i>Betula </i>nigra (dwarf black birch), though, is a stunning perennial <i>Aconitum</i>, variously called wolf's-bane or monkshood. It is one of the plants we lavished water on back in July and August, and it has rewarded us with a flowering of vivid blue purple flowers. It has grows from a single plant to a small colony. <p></p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbP12N20OEdEQ4leVU3qDpOYiz4cWJgKBaYlgRIJs62QPczNxY-HWi0Iqo18NtEIEdMEJdcJBimfNKNh5ulq1zhHaH0Y70-lmSz_d-e8T2O8GfeQm28eMQr7yl_MRsCsifpbCRPnJBLjKHrJzc3SMe9qt11yjxlqJYu6MCSvXtPzN_wa41ASFxMGY_/s3175/DSCF1676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3175" data-original-width="3003" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbP12N20OEdEQ4leVU3qDpOYiz4cWJgKBaYlgRIJs62QPczNxY-HWi0Iqo18NtEIEdMEJdcJBimfNKNh5ulq1zhHaH0Y70-lmSz_d-e8T2O8GfeQm28eMQr7yl_MRsCsifpbCRPnJBLjKHrJzc3SMe9qt11yjxlqJYu6MCSvXtPzN_wa41ASFxMGY_/w182-h192/DSCF1676.JPG" width="182" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">Viburnum Winterthur</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>In our back garden, our two specimens of <i>Viburnum </i>'Winterthur' have had their purple berry clusters picked clean by our colony of overwintering birds, but their show continues with leaves now red-purple at the top of the shrub and green/yellow/pink at the base. Adjacent to those specimens are our six <i>Vaccinium </i>corymbosum - highbush blueberry by any other name. They've been red and gold for more than a month and are now in their final glory days; their color complements and frames the maples and oaks in the woods beyond.</p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVUyuzb1NOGHxzHIKT6M_dKS9I-haqrA-yWJ82bdZPMJscuMFPz1w5U_aGX4RHjaqUWLMDpiHhDFFFtCvLuxf6Q1SrXFFexWl7oX1FqDEK8XeY01m2vSK7gKhniuoD0tQPYeHnzu5Mi_VSYci8ITg5nH0__nzUnZiKWXuoQ9IcyEOaGxtkqiAasfb/s3659/DSCF1678.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3659" data-original-width="3216" height="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVUyuzb1NOGHxzHIKT6M_dKS9I-haqrA-yWJ82bdZPMJscuMFPz1w5U_aGX4RHjaqUWLMDpiHhDFFFtCvLuxf6Q1SrXFFexWl7oX1FqDEK8XeY01m2vSK7gKhniuoD0tQPYeHnzu5Mi_VSYci8ITg5nH0__nzUnZiKWXuoQ9IcyEOaGxtkqiAasfb/w138-h157/DSCF1678.JPG" width="138" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">highbush blueberry</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>It's a remarkable display and, yes, in a few weeks it will be just a memory. But, for a month or so, New England has something no other places can boast: a riot of color, all produced by Mother Nature as part of her preparation for winter. We're delighted our small garden shows so well and pleases so many of those passing by. </p><p><i>Author's note: all photos were taken on November 5, 2022</i></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-9329868789601532872022-09-22T11:24:00.000-04:002022-09-22T11:24:18.360-04:00The Summer of Giving Back<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUpFtdsaGPscB1Lo5KB10cKgLKycButSsEmWU02D_3GpB-QCLus1MCmBMD66OQxBUmvlqQ4gpc_ijMIV8daXF_7qz2hP8zOm9P_iIDC36ZAjbnlniWLS8ePbxVoecp2yjUzzyJQ_CeSJxk0lWt2aby7HI-0CanYJPG4dm4fHLyj1jxTX_GN4sh20g6/s4320/For%20the%20Medfield%20Food%20Cupboard%208-16-22%20The%20entire%20back%20of%20the%20car%20is%20filled..JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="4320" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUpFtdsaGPscB1Lo5KB10cKgLKycButSsEmWU02D_3GpB-QCLus1MCmBMD66OQxBUmvlqQ4gpc_ijMIV8daXF_7qz2hP8zOm9P_iIDC36ZAjbnlniWLS8ePbxVoecp2yjUzzyJQ_CeSJxk0lWt2aby7HI-0CanYJPG4dm4fHLyj1jxTX_GN4sh20g6/w246-h185/For%20the%20Medfield%20Food%20Cupboard%208-16-22%20The%20entire%20back%20of%20the%20car%20is%20filled..JPG" width="246" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">A carload of produce</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>For more than a decade, the community garden my wife, Betty,
and I manage has had a good working relationship with our local ‘food pantry’,
which provides a grocery-store-type experience for Medfield’s food-insecure
families. Until this year, though, apart from contributions from our own plot, my
involvement was primarily posting (via email to our member gardeners) a pickup
schedule provided by one of our gardeners who is also on the food pantry’s
board. I knew we were ‘doing good’ but had little insight into the process.</p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">In March, that gardener notified me she needed to take the
2022 season off and asked if could Betty and I could fill in for her. Without hesitation,
we said, “sure.” That’s when we found out what ‘being involved’ really means.
It is a lesson that will stay with us for a very long time.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Our 75-plot community garden formally opens in April; but
until early May the ground is too cold to grow much of anything except leaf
greens. Our first collection of 2022 was little more than a few bags of lettuce
and arugula. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAacrAwMOKRPdQwYBWp7jRrjs7qVbizfR2VugOW66jgPOq5IHaOMGN1IQWfe4gp3X350xGxS2FLzm4D0O5BN9CE6YU7IHIqGpbiYjpDsSmAdNhl75rz0k94CJNfJ-Ydr2LconoGgGYi0WBqOMDv4wkbDTEVxprfO9378NKKbCm0r0ASOLzEwhObTNr/s4320/This%20abandoned%20plot%20was%20planted%20just%20for%20food%20pantry%20produce.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="4320" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAacrAwMOKRPdQwYBWp7jRrjs7qVbizfR2VugOW66jgPOq5IHaOMGN1IQWfe4gp3X350xGxS2FLzm4D0O5BN9CE6YU7IHIqGpbiYjpDsSmAdNhl75rz0k94CJNfJ-Ydr2LconoGgGYi0WBqOMDv4wkbDTEVxprfO9378NKKbCm0r0ASOLzEwhObTNr/w230-h172/This%20abandoned%20plot%20was%20planted%20just%20for%20food%20pantry%20produce.JPG" width="230" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">This abandoned plot was planted<br />specifically for food pantry use</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Something else, though, had also happened in the first month
of the gardening season: several gardeners dropped out, and we had already exhausted
our wait list. Our inspirational solution was to turn those vacant plots over
to volunteers willing to plant crops specifically for the food pantry. Three
plots were quickly covered in seeds, plugs, and plants.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">I also confess my dormant business background was aroused from
its 17-year-long slumber. For years, donations for the food cupboard went into
two wheelbarrows at the garden’s main entrance. There are, however, no fewer
than five entrances from the street. Thanks to a mechanically inclined member
of the garden, we have at least ten working carts and wheelbarrows. I deployed all of them in such a way it was impossible to enter or leave the garden without
passing at least two barrows.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3GpnaEUsZ-Sr6OhvPWoQa0JCC_sO_E0qan-Z7xx-CzI8dSHI6Um48cgLomz8RsRkndqRT0caDKrohhhGk6hbB40Ywl4zzPYjT57nkC088Zirp_DfVbQsr3PrR3_M-ufhQUAo3cyW_JVkWxeLcwbaq1OAyEJsjVsGhiJMaBrpdKMrQR8tyH5fPtnER/s3134/Medfield%20Food%20Cupboard%207-5-22%201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2766" data-original-width="3134" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3GpnaEUsZ-Sr6OhvPWoQa0JCC_sO_E0qan-Z7xx-CzI8dSHI6Um48cgLomz8RsRkndqRT0caDKrohhhGk6hbB40Ywl4zzPYjT57nkC088Zirp_DfVbQsr3PrR3_M-ufhQUAo3cyW_JVkWxeLcwbaq1OAyEJsjVsGhiJMaBrpdKMrQR8tyH5fPtnER/w238-h210/Medfield%20Food%20Cupboard%207-5-22%201.JPG" width="238" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">To enter or exit the garden, you have<br />to walk by wheelbarrows</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Further, specific ‘sweep’ times were established. The Medfield
Food Cupboard requests a single delivery at 3 p.m. on Tuesday. Because
gardeners have varying work and life schedules, Betty and I made certain
everyone knew we would pick up produce from the wheelbarrows on Monday at
sunset, Tuesday morning after the ‘early shift’ gardeners had left, and Tuesday
afternoon at 2:30. And, if you couldn’t get to the garden, a volunteer would
carefully pick you plot in your absence.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Suddenly, we had a carload of produce for each distribution.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">We were aware there was a smaller distribution organized on
Saturdays for home-bound clients of the food cupboard. One Friday morning, we
offered produce for it and were told it wasn’t needed. “But,” our food cupboard
contact told us, “you might see if the food pantry in Medway can use it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT9uQ-YBQ7zPU_JgHc5-Vc3f4m6w2OyHd3talIZWdfOnxHKedXkEE4vEFTTIDT07V-GXVnA9ecI4fh6SHEI1196f2cpt8c3oH7JtgWRX9gXCwiwRJ9GG6EzIZVkK0yQfTOpS11TeKj62AmPf_-Bn9F440aiAcUZLiZ3ege4BUx4JzqbD4jMDG_8Ozk/s3176/Jen%20Tomasetti%20and%20Susan%20Diertrich%20of%20the%20Medway%20Village%20Food%20Cupboard%20with%20contributions%20from%20the%20Medfield%20Community%20Garden%20September%209,%202022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3038" data-original-width="3176" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT9uQ-YBQ7zPU_JgHc5-Vc3f4m6w2OyHd3talIZWdfOnxHKedXkEE4vEFTTIDT07V-GXVnA9ecI4fh6SHEI1196f2cpt8c3oH7JtgWRX9gXCwiwRJ9GG6EzIZVkK0yQfTOpS11TeKj62AmPf_-Bn9F440aiAcUZLiZ3ege4BUx4JzqbD4jMDG_8Ozk/w223-h213/Jen%20Tomasetti%20and%20Susan%20Diertrich%20of%20the%20Medway%20Village%20Food%20Cupboard%20with%20contributions%20from%20the%20Medfield%20Community%20Garden%20September%209,%202022.JPG" width="223" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">The Medway Village Food Pantry<br />with our produce on display</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>The Medway Village Church Food Pantry was indeed interested. On some
weeks we were now organizing twice-weekly drives. How could we keep gardeners
interested in contributing more frequently? Betty’s innate marketing skills
came into play. We began soliciting photos of our produce arrayed for the two
towns distributions. We emailed these beautifully composed photos, together
with testimonials, to our gardeners. Contributions rose apace.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">We are now in the final third of September. The Great Zucchini
Glut is behind us and tomatoes no longer fill an entire crate; but I see winter
squash ripening in plots, kale continuing to grow, and an emerging bounty of
spinach and greens. We’ll keep contributing until there is a hard freeze.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX3OPCQKunpNHpcuJinhZ8WxHIXbGbGa2dYcYgQcYhmLOdHfYfEH7HK2RaZbJlERteUz3KlcEcF4ox2TYSJxEU7BOY5f7RIuKMRCMCwqalsg2cyfJfcKqMgwpnYL9vFT61oJY5JhErUl2MVUPDZ4M5WgqsYNJvw74YIgX9vcR1I_wHSFWiFZv_jjgW/s4032/We%20send%20our%20gardeners%20photos%20of%20their%20contributuons%20on%20display.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX3OPCQKunpNHpcuJinhZ8WxHIXbGbGa2dYcYgQcYhmLOdHfYfEH7HK2RaZbJlERteUz3KlcEcF4ox2TYSJxEU7BOY5f7RIuKMRCMCwqalsg2cyfJfcKqMgwpnYL9vFT61oJY5JhErUl2MVUPDZ4M5WgqsYNJvw74YIgX9vcR1I_wHSFWiFZv_jjgW/w209-h278/We%20send%20our%20gardeners%20photos%20of%20their%20contributuons%20on%20display.jpeg" width="209" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">We send our gardeners photos of<br />their contributions on display</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>This has been a learning experience; an eye-opener of major
proportions. I get urgent emails from gardeners who couldn’t get to their plots but
who don’t want their green beans to go to waste. Can we pick them? Yesterday, a
gardener fretted her eggplant, though ripe, are still too hard and so might be
rejected by food cupboard clients. I told her what the head of the Medway
pantry told me: not only does every vegetable go; they’re the first thing to
disappear off the tables.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">By Betty’s count, we’re making as many as twelve trips a week
to the community garden to collect produce, devoting additional hours to harvesting
gardens that are not our own, turning over a corner of our basement to be a vegetable
sorting and packing center, and making at least one delivery every week to a
food pantry. It has been a busy summer and a satisfying season of sharing.<o:p></o:p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-78184045236544262172022-06-02T17:36:00.028-04:002022-06-07T10:45:24.446-04:00A Remarkable Garden Begins its Eighth Season<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIN23go3BmNjvN81R6LusIliPTaG-SRNQykpgNAh5LypoMHw8-CZJMUBbIVlQy_PU-KXIeSKre2z0qTl40vAlYkSS4sIQhG01_dI7HdmZT5WWpfaZPFSYLBzGVitum5VpEoE8YrN2XDYBumo8J_Qew5qbgXeKS6iF6p_IFH-JccnUTfLpPDGQefhN2/s884/26%20Pine%20aerial%20via%20Google%20June%202015.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="884" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIN23go3BmNjvN81R6LusIliPTaG-SRNQykpgNAh5LypoMHw8-CZJMUBbIVlQy_PU-KXIeSKre2z0qTl40vAlYkSS4sIQhG01_dI7HdmZT5WWpfaZPFSYLBzGVitum5VpEoE8YrN2XDYBumo8J_Qew5qbgXeKS6iF6p_IFH-JccnUTfLpPDGQefhN2/w204-h197/26%20Pine%20aerial%20via%20Google%20June%202015.jpg" width="204" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">Our 'garden' in June 2015</span></i> </td></tr></tbody></table><p></p></blockquote><p><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Double-click on any photo to see a full-screen slideshow</span></i></p><p>In early June 2015, the firm of Scott Dolan & Company carried out an unusual project: instead of creating a landscape for a new residence (his usual assignment), Scott was charged with removing one. Over the course of two weeks, he removed the top 18 inches (947 cubic yards) of what is accurately called 'builder's crud' and brought in 950 cubic yards of screened loam. He also built a permeable, crushed-stone driveway; an elegant, geometric sidewalk; and a Pennsylvania flagstone patio. When his crew departed, there was half an acre of ready-to-plant soil; lately covered with two inches of brown mulch, but nary a hint of green.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmy8Iei7s-I032Atlbd805SSCbbgJH1gJL9ndErkdLEu9TiCDUaLpIqH8X1Mx3ovNP_OJeKnFM3X7ngcTElCha2xFs1RMHxJaklrQ5YzZiB8ao_xysB_lVgOMuvQbXrCO9A5YDNd0qQFQPNHziurSP0qq5Olb4b3jv-aJi_iWD55NrhqtDmzSYKq0-/s4320/14%20We%20topped%20the%20new%20loam%20with%20several%20inches%20of%20dark%20brown%20mulch.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="4320" height="124" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmy8Iei7s-I032Atlbd805SSCbbgJH1gJL9ndErkdLEu9TiCDUaLpIqH8X1Mx3ovNP_OJeKnFM3X7ngcTElCha2xFs1RMHxJaklrQ5YzZiB8ao_xysB_lVgOMuvQbXrCO9A5YDNd0qQFQPNHziurSP0qq5Olb4b3jv-aJi_iWD55NrhqtDmzSYKq0-/w165-h124/14%20We%20topped%20the%20new%20loam%20with%20several%20inches%20of%20dark%20brown%20mulch.JPG" width="165" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">The Magnolia bed</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>When we designed our 'dream retirement house' Betty made it clear she had in mind a very different landscape: a native plant garden without a blade of grass anywhere within its perimeter. I said it was a great idea, and I would provide at least half the labor. By the end of that first summer we had planted nine specimen trees to serve as anchors for beds, and several dozen shrubs. It looked, frankly, rather forlorn. Each year we added additional shrubs, together with bulbs, perennials and ground covers. Gradually, the garden began to form a coherent whole. Year by year, Betty's vision became more apparent.<p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAGBPDl88GoaH72ktXwGZTNDqx3Ijz2EC9QE6YcUSNdeRD-GuBNiJVvvKKBKDVJlqFJRQv4LVynSbTUSrmP7gpEkZakTWMCMDcjVsOMffXzMvPb3FxkUwNyW_CfsDccz0FGrPN1hL_aS0eu1vxtxr4bGMMsWR2jVlXGWmnTIaGmntyzppy3cgnLCFf/s3188/Front%20garden%20Magnolia%20bed,%20honeysuckle,%20amsonia%206-1-22%2001.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3188" data-original-width="2446" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAGBPDl88GoaH72ktXwGZTNDqx3Ijz2EC9QE6YcUSNdeRD-GuBNiJVvvKKBKDVJlqFJRQv4LVynSbTUSrmP7gpEkZakTWMCMDcjVsOMffXzMvPb3FxkUwNyW_CfsDccz0FGrPN1hL_aS0eu1vxtxr4bGMMsWR2jVlXGWmnTIaGmntyzppy3cgnLCFf/w160-h209/Front%20garden%20Magnolia%20bed,%20honeysuckle,%20amsonia%206-1-22%2001.JPG" width="160" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">The same view in 2022</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>The garden has now reached something approaching maturity. In a month it will be dominated by sweeps of flowering perennials as rudbeckia, penstemon, monarda, shasta daisies, and betony bring their colorful blooms. Right now, though, there is something different (and, in its own way, more elegant) to see: dabs of color made by shrubs, ground covers, and early-blooming perennials collectively forming an every-shifting canvas.<p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJVkmx5IWjEmsgFBkPfsLVP4UX9n2GlK-NUa0d_3VzIiHrdalOeEKeU0wXYG033DbmTTSZEXvrLX6o5xc2x_cweBDuwkY6TZmM7BLjffd52GAyMsGQZ5qdgiU0tBiNhDdNie8W1Wd4vZGbEMcdVZoH9Mm-O0RTidNlnhv19HBIqOxz3IOLGqdese8b/s3971/Front%20garden%20Magnolia%20bed,%20honeysuckle,%20amsonia%206-1-22%2009.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3971" data-original-width="2979" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJVkmx5IWjEmsgFBkPfsLVP4UX9n2GlK-NUa0d_3VzIiHrdalOeEKeU0wXYG033DbmTTSZEXvrLX6o5xc2x_cweBDuwkY6TZmM7BLjffd52GAyMsGQZ5qdgiU0tBiNhDdNie8W1Wd4vZGbEMcdVZoH9Mm-O0RTidNlnhv19HBIqOxz3IOLGqdese8b/w166-h221/Front%20garden%20Magnolia%20bed,%20honeysuckle,%20amsonia%206-1-22%2009.JPG" width="166" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Viewed from the front porch</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>In the 'Magnolia bed' closest to the house, from one vantage point there is a succession of blue-flowering <i>Amsonia</i>, behind which are white and yellow peonies; all framing a flaming red honeysuckle (<i>Lonerica </i>sempervirens) that climbs fifteen feet up one wall of our garage. Walk up the sidewalk a few feet and that same honeysuckle is now the backdrop for white <i>Baptisia</i>, a yellow-flowering bush honeysuckle, and purple and blue geraniums. Getting closer to the front porch (see photo at left), the color comes from flowers of brilliant red mountain laurel (<i>Kalmia </i>'Sara') and the multi-colored foliage of <i>Leucothoe </i>'Girard's Rainbow' with its tiny, ivory flowers.<p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyVXkIEjtnl7y-d12gQYhQ3c38Hj_1e3PkS9JlwxgRJY4XnQJFLMqbH1eP5OBiG6khFOMMq5aTAinYFLRJtulAE506gdzflle8ncaLZgPUE3Vn-a9ho_2E__Cu9mk9amts1HcygHEmOIfFVyNvJP674Mm8zeptx9fj2tDuw45NSI792EucrdxRe72Y/s3033/Front%20garden%20Cercis%20canadensis%20'Burgndy%20Hearts'%20and%20baptisia%206-1-22%2002.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2924" data-original-width="3033" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyVXkIEjtnl7y-d12gQYhQ3c38Hj_1e3PkS9JlwxgRJY4XnQJFLMqbH1eP5OBiG6khFOMMq5aTAinYFLRJtulAE506gdzflle8ncaLZgPUE3Vn-a9ho_2E__Cu9mk9amts1HcygHEmOIfFVyNvJP674Mm8zeptx9fj2tDuw45NSI792EucrdxRe72Y/w199-h191/Front%20garden%20Cercis%20canadensis%20'Burgndy%20Hearts'%20and%20baptisia%206-1-22%2002.JPG" width="199" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Our redbud with Baptisia</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Elsewhere in the front garden, our redbud (<i>Cercis </i>canadensis 'Burgundy Hearts') has show-stopping dark red foliage. Depending on which path you take through the garden, it can be the backdrop to a stand of blue <i>Baptisia</i>, the stark white flowers of a maple-leaf <i>Viburnum</i>, or the brown leaves and pink-white flowers of a pair of ninebarks (<i>Physocarpus </i>opulifolius 'Diablo'). At the far corner of the front garden, a dwarf black birch (<i>Betula</i> nigra 'Little King') presides over a brilliantly yellow bed of golden ragwort (<i>Packera </i>aurea). <p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtwJVe8Zcn-93zSjqI3B5k18ziBhzz0amEtxOzqz7LCSfOlFbb9vpE9nW3QZQ2b7kvWwba_zu2HuNHg524V6oWZwDrS4P7E98D-zmRTw3hmEb1MyNHRDBeeiX5VQTC3S9v4AUA4b6OC2q1QC7hwXBbY23iNwnrOh0FPRWjKQ4-Jq7Lpp6At8eBHRT/s4320/Back%20garden%20fringe%20tree%20and%20patio%206-1-22%2006%2003.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="4320" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtwJVe8Zcn-93zSjqI3B5k18ziBhzz0amEtxOzqz7LCSfOlFbb9vpE9nW3QZQ2b7kvWwba_zu2HuNHg524V6oWZwDrS4P7E98D-zmRTw3hmEb1MyNHRDBeeiX5VQTC3S9v4AUA4b6OC2q1QC7hwXBbY23iNwnrOh0FPRWjKQ4-Jq7Lpp6At8eBHRT/w275-h206/Back%20garden%20fringe%20tree%20and%20patio%206-1-22%2006%2003.JPG" width="275" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">The rear garden with fringetree in bloom</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>In the rear garden, our diminutive fringetree (<i>Chionanthus</i> virginicus) bloomed with white flowers for the first time this year. Beyond it is a sea of unusual, colorful groundcovers ranging from columbine to phlox to false strawberry (<i>Potentilla </i>indica) and blue ajuga. Multiple viburnums are coming into flower.<p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwB9LaH5W0YXlpWurtO1-6LVreDaKL4fgJn8cl02ZLc5tm6LvvwmbbmJZAIcIw1EXHsa1gnsXK2t313Bg2UoPUxb54_p7SY58x0lyiE2ecCJy4_l327hk2I7f0gfXrxx7Cj4P2xhRIQCA2vTEpNo9yMtYvRPRGC6Zlr7efoL8BoP_1csqYgfR43jIG/s3908/Back%20garden%206-1-22%2009.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2985" data-original-width="3908" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwB9LaH5W0YXlpWurtO1-6LVreDaKL4fgJn8cl02ZLc5tm6LvvwmbbmJZAIcIw1EXHsa1gnsXK2t313Bg2UoPUxb54_p7SY58x0lyiE2ecCJy4_l327hk2I7f0gfXrxx7Cj4P2xhRIQCA2vTEpNo9yMtYvRPRGC6Zlr7efoL8BoP_1csqYgfR43jIG/w244-h186/Back%20garden%206-1-22%2009.JPG" width="244" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">This essay is being written from that porch</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>All this was just Betty's vision in June 2015; a gamble, really. Could a retired couple in their mid-60s possibly plant such a large space? How would they maintain it? Who would every buy it if they had to sell? Well, we did manage to plant it on our own (thank you, ibuprofen) and its maintenance is considerably less than a 'traditional' lawn and shrubs (and a lot more fun). As to selling it, we built a home into which we could age gracefully. We only wish everyone could have a garden as well-planned for long-term enjoyment coupled with ease of care... and a home with views as beautiful as the ones we enjoy every day.<p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-51049862425161966742022-04-04T13:22:00.000-04:002022-04-04T13:22:27.881-04:00Rites of Spring<p> Two important events marking the arrival of spring took place
over this past weekend. The first involved a cast of a dozen intrepid
gardeners. The second was a more personal one for Betty and me.</p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbOQGOHL6y7arFtcz0-ttWidUFgsISwlEb-Jt1sCfaeYa0dS889T8Mke1rRmGuyLVeav0NIkX7bM_c22JOnS_GZ08IQWQ-uiqec9rcfjyseKd9WBm8EVjOXnYhe8oS3iZEYAUGAoPiD2tjvJI5TJno0nNCvyOo1bLcIuJVrSt1iu8WObPLajOpeikd/s1920/2019%20Community%20Garden%20aerial%20photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbOQGOHL6y7arFtcz0-ttWidUFgsISwlEb-Jt1sCfaeYa0dS889T8Mke1rRmGuyLVeav0NIkX7bM_c22JOnS_GZ08IQWQ-uiqec9rcfjyseKd9WBm8EVjOXnYhe8oS3iZEYAUGAoPiD2tjvJI5TJno0nNCvyOo1bLcIuJVrSt1iu8WObPLajOpeikd/w251-h141/2019%20Community%20Garden%20aerial%20photo.jpg" width="251" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">The Medfield Community Garden</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>This is our (gulp) thirteenth year managing the Medfield
Community Garden. Before we became the lone members of the Community Garden
Committee (the existing members all resigned), town employees handled almost
all aspects of the garden; collecting fees, mowing the perimeter and,
especially, marking out the garden plots. One by one, we assumed those duties
or, in the case of mowing, doled them out to gardeners in exchange for waiving
plot fees. The result is an extremely high degree of self-sufficiency. We ask
the town to deliver supplies of wood chips. Other than that, we’re on our own. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Town Department of Public Works employees marked out the
garden the first few years. Then, Betty and I tried it on our own, with painful
(literally and figuratively) results. When an entire weekend is devoted to the
task of pounding 160 stakes into the ground, something is profoundly wrong. So,
we asked for volunteers and the task became easier. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifhP6fgszBdj06oEzquOdo-ASzvlQ6k9Ed9xu3ksq27v3zg6kYrWqVVSO5E-9eQ-ZkEs0kd2UMAFdOj2ITiQmDtMy1U48dRz8wvA37J6_gvlZbi1qDYDn-hth2pg47M-C2EcLfAhKN_-Xxh971kquFl-rv4HnRjCD5YrTClzy3axaT6CrKPtMTbTR3/s2880/Community%20Garden%203-foot%20paths.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2536" data-original-width="2880" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifhP6fgszBdj06oEzquOdo-ASzvlQ6k9Ed9xu3ksq27v3zg6kYrWqVVSO5E-9eQ-ZkEs0kd2UMAFdOj2ITiQmDtMy1U48dRz8wvA37J6_gvlZbi1qDYDn-hth2pg47M-C2EcLfAhKN_-Xxh971kquFl-rv4HnRjCD5YrTClzy3axaT6CrKPtMTbTR3/w182-h161/Community%20Garden%203-foot%20paths.JPG" width="182" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">There are three-foot aisles<br />around each garden</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>As the garden expanded from 40 plots to 50, more volunteers
were invited to join the effort, sometime with comical results. All gardens
have a three-foot-wide perimeter around them. One year, an enterprising
volunteer with an inexact grasp of the concept of elasticity brought a six-foot
bungee cord to allow three plot corners to be marked simultaneously. A one-inch
error in a 30-foot measurement is forgivable. When the fifth plot measurement
was off by a cumulative ten inches, we were forced to declare the use of bungee
cords <i>non grata</i>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ah6YqA4j7ZB-PO4IEM_3FSTRAgVIZ1qTf65IvUQCU0ddF6NBqUalvl3sQ_c14bVawdClv5AqszH_s3a2B5g13xv6fLcZlsM3M87PVWIl5PSQ_azkKO_CwMl9agkuByyJkU9XVAcypwuPE3ID9uz_D9A_3vc5GIP3Xt-mK3Z7Ld6PXAufmtnQS5f2/s433/corner%20stakes%20for%20staking%20garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="433" data-original-width="404" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ah6YqA4j7ZB-PO4IEM_3FSTRAgVIZ1qTf65IvUQCU0ddF6NBqUalvl3sQ_c14bVawdClv5AqszH_s3a2B5g13xv6fLcZlsM3M87PVWIl5PSQ_azkKO_CwMl9agkuByyJkU9XVAcypwuPE3ID9uz_D9A_3vc5GIP3Xt-mK3Z7Ld6PXAufmtnQS5f2/w143-h153/corner%20stakes%20for%20staking%20garden.jpg" width="143" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">My staking diagram</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>This year, we had 60 plots to mark, and 11 volunteers in
addition to the two of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two-thirds of
the crew assembled on Saturday morning were veterans armed with yardsticks,
mallets, tape measures unspooling in lengths up to 100 feet. I brought 240
stakes, 60 pie plates with names and plot numbers already affixed, and – most
important – a Plan. Betty and I had already laid out two long strings
indicating the axis of the garden. Now, using the corner plot where the strings
intersected, I showed how using the <i>outward</i> faces of the stakes was
crucial to ensuring accuracy. Everyone nodded their understanding.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeuAPpKQ9GXZ3o9L2SXF6a30uEdGxFzFc76nfiDVeAlm4BX4F_yMV-CWwbIci2TcP8uky4FBDi8zt3dZym6USpQErOswXqPtwR7iCghrCEY5aWJ8g-0IAeefsb3TLOQUYrVPonp9JdLQ_bplwiCDzZig58_Fi_AuOUd71oJeo89QnfAJEjtq6drtHa/s1241/Which%20group%20marks%20what.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="641" data-original-width="1241" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeuAPpKQ9GXZ3o9L2SXF6a30uEdGxFzFc76nfiDVeAlm4BX4F_yMV-CWwbIci2TcP8uky4FBDi8zt3dZym6USpQErOswXqPtwR7iCghrCEY5aWJ8g-0IAeefsb3TLOQUYrVPonp9JdLQ_bplwiCDzZig58_Fi_AuOUd71oJeo89QnfAJEjtq6drtHa/w294-h152/Which%20group%20marks%20what.jpg" width="294" /></a></div>Then, I produced my singular act of genius: a flow chart.
While Group 1 put down pie plates (held in place with heavy rocks) in each
plot, Group 2 would move southward along the first row of plots, and Group 3
would begin marking the westward column. When Groups 2 and 3 had each marked
their second plots, Group 4 would go to work laying out the second row!<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHjgF1ex2nyufd46sSj1p139OMv0gIpI6D7yuMCIZ2Qm7097SV1JOx_TF3DgDETF1B0pnfVNTdRuOlBzsIuUEePNhmhzIktOjyscWqGIH9BSwfDHJlhZx0GK9sVZ1-IMdZj8xDYIVb0VZ6cft2KCkOtYEXlyD1336qZ-0xuLLi1Vn4yKvbR2t6G_vO/s3712/Staking%20the%20garden%202021%206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2227" data-original-width="3712" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHjgF1ex2nyufd46sSj1p139OMv0gIpI6D7yuMCIZ2Qm7097SV1JOx_TF3DgDETF1B0pnfVNTdRuOlBzsIuUEePNhmhzIktOjyscWqGIH9BSwfDHJlhZx0GK9sVZ1-IMdZj8xDYIVb0VZ6cft2KCkOtYEXlyD1336qZ-0xuLLi1Vn4yKvbR2t6G_vO/w251-h151/Staking%20the%20garden%202021%206.JPG" width="251" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">And so, we staked the garden</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>And, lo and behold, it worked. The entire garden – more than
an acre – was completed in almost exactly two and a half hours. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">We thanked everyone profusely, went home, and took a long nap.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Then, on Sunday morning, we started the task of waking up our
own home garden. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbu2LxWWmSSfWuVeV2nG24DChZGx5Ix7GHk0LVksyvBdBh7lCotPF8N5dbFXMd3NEQ8yqb7-MJFD3_RSKQYPYhzN4r7P99UepXIOTdjUiFNG6g5ZoC9j2K73cg20Z4noBeW6yVIdiZtx2rbiDH0gewMCL0zWCDnOFC4AoX3qFuvzv7wxmW5NGpzQeA/s4099/Beneath%20these%20leaves%20and%20pine%20needles%20are%20perennials%20waiting%20to%20start%20the%202022%20season.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3568" data-original-width="4099" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbu2LxWWmSSfWuVeV2nG24DChZGx5Ix7GHk0LVksyvBdBh7lCotPF8N5dbFXMd3NEQ8yqb7-MJFD3_RSKQYPYhzN4r7P99UepXIOTdjUiFNG6g5ZoC9j2K73cg20Z4noBeW6yVIdiZtx2rbiDH0gewMCL0zWCDnOFC4AoX3qFuvzv7wxmW5NGpzQeA/w229-h200/Beneath%20these%20leaves%20and%20pine%20needles%20are%20perennials%20waiting%20to%20start%20the%202022%20season.JPG" width="229" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Beneath these leaves and pine needles,<br />perennials are waiting to emerge</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Conventional wisdom – at least according to people who make a
living taking care of other people’s lawns and gardens – is that at the end of
the season, grass and shrubs should be pristine and free of leaves. That belief
is horribly wrong on multiple counts, not the least of which is that leaf ‘litter’
protects bulbs and the roots of shrubs, while providing overwintering homes for
valuable insects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accordingly, in late
October and early November, we not only ‘allow’ leaves to congregate under our shrubs,
we also deposit pine needles and chopped leaves over our perennial beds.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">During the winter, much of that garden detritus breaks down by
the natural actions of temperature, bacteria, and precipitation to become
future soil and compost. In early April, we remove the excess from our home
garden. Leaving everything in place isn’t really an option: a layer of wet leaves
will form a mat that keeps the ground cold and prevents air, water and light
from getting to the sleeping bulbs and perennials under them.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_cf74t3xZdJgBQeAz7UozA16B_d3_kv6-miutdfIWWoKsvyqfXVkxUu8K8Gmj_Am2yQXv0FG4t1nsFxj6ZooJHDPptkfPNVXdAtRIKTortz1SwqagDrsxSccPNlzMxLi-0iYoffi2z8c0z9q09uLzFrmIukplwHr5yy0F4EpBABfitCaYKn5Izx94/s3863/The%20long%20wall,%20partially%20uncovered.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3863" data-original-width="3505" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_cf74t3xZdJgBQeAz7UozA16B_d3_kv6-miutdfIWWoKsvyqfXVkxUu8K8Gmj_Am2yQXv0FG4t1nsFxj6ZooJHDPptkfPNVXdAtRIKTortz1SwqagDrsxSccPNlzMxLi-0iYoffi2z8c0z9q09uLzFrmIukplwHr5yy0F4EpBABfitCaYKn5Izx94/w201-h222/The%20long%20wall,%20partially%20uncovered.JPG" width="201" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">The stone wall, partially cleared</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>I began at the long stone wall at the south end of our property.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It collects a <i>lot</i> of leaves. I work
with 50-gallon plastic bags, and I filled three of them jump-in-and-stomp-down
full (the leaves are emptied into the woodlands that make up the back acre of
our property). In front of that wall is a long perennial bed with multiple
clumps of spring bulbs. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Each gentle pull of the rake revealed a waiting surprise: <i>Nepeta</i>
(cat mint) putting out its first tendrils, wood ferns looking for sun, and
daffodil shoots trying to push through the leaf mats. Three <i>Polemonium</i>
caeruleum (Jacob’s Ladder) plants we added last spring not only made it through
their first winter, but were half again as large as what we planted in the
spring of 2021.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRTLll8xBdSpdWy4BA1M5d-3thHpJkMXGN8pr_lZryqvLET2UtqUJXqcTDzNNnVNDFJ-NXNSQvvN9YGwb5UDJJ-O-4CY0-PzbNt914ejghnvT8JntBIuvDBhyemEFok0NknKjfVeF4XPcUEyGq1mYTi1cB1TKwZBScVeNHfim1jrR1-56tJGCgdK4/s3095/This%20clutch%20of%20white%20crocus%20had%20been%20mostly%20covered%20April%202022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2598" data-original-width="3095" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRTLll8xBdSpdWy4BA1M5d-3thHpJkMXGN8pr_lZryqvLET2UtqUJXqcTDzNNnVNDFJ-NXNSQvvN9YGwb5UDJJ-O-4CY0-PzbNt914ejghnvT8JntBIuvDBhyemEFok0NknKjfVeF4XPcUEyGq1mYTi1cB1TKwZBScVeNHfim1jrR1-56tJGCgdK4/w231-h194/This%20clutch%20of%20white%20crocus%20had%20been%20mostly%20covered%20April%202022.JPG" width="231" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">This clutch of white crocus was<br />under a covering of leaves</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Betty began her tasks in a different part of the garden,
removing leaves from areas where bulbs and perennials were pushing up. In the
process, she gave clutches of yellow, white, and purple crocus; scilla, brilliant
yellow winter aconite; and <i>Chionodoxa</i> an opportunity to show their
colors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The long border of <i>Muscari</i>
(grape hyacinth) was freed of a winter’s worth of blow-in detritus. In a few
weeks, we will be rewarded with a two-foot-wide, seventy-five-foot-long sea of
blue.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Over the course of the next week, we will tackle each bed in
turn, removing excess leaves and trimming perennial stalks we left up so seeds
were available for birds. We do all this to please ourselves and the hundreds
of walkers that pass by each week, smiling and waving their thanks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">The best part of this garden-awakening process is, when May
arrives and our neighbors get out their lawnmowers for the first of a six-month
cycle of weekly cuttings, we will be out on the porch enjoying the view, and
admiring the very different path we took with our own property.<o:p></o:p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-88942408740069240652022-01-31T12:59:00.008-05:002022-01-31T16:24:44.785-05:00The Blizzard of '22 (or was it '21? Well, it was twenty-something)<p>They don’t make blizzards the way they used to.</p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyk6Xdq9hkqLMLcexetfsBi6Q3Cxz1GhKfVLGUMFIV9ITp7u9yWYDjmqQVW4NdiL8TtUJl-AfPgzOUiwnHJs9QZz6fuQcKHk2Gab0KUNvsjUz_8EvbG-DCy4a0SAJeyqM2dEf4smdcbTVpXMYDDJjXaisrDhAAfHR-nm--zwlCN-pjxqHshMnOGHk1=s640" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyk6Xdq9hkqLMLcexetfsBi6Q3Cxz1GhKfVLGUMFIV9ITp7u9yWYDjmqQVW4NdiL8TtUJl-AfPgzOUiwnHJs9QZz6fuQcKHk2Gab0KUNvsjUz_8EvbG-DCy4a0SAJeyqM2dEf4smdcbTVpXMYDDJjXaisrDhAAfHR-nm--zwlCN-pjxqHshMnOGHk1=w264-h177" width="264" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">The blizzard of '78 shut down Route 128</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>How did they make them once upon a time? On February 5, 1978, my wife,
Betty, and I boarded a 7:30 a.m. flight from Chicago’s O’Hare Airport to New
York LaGuardia. The forecast for New York was ‘light snow’. As we circled
LaGuardia waiting to land, our pilot announced the airport had just closed and
we were being diverted to Hartford. There, we were the last plane to land
before Bradley Field was also closed. The airline put us on a bus, which
skidded off snow-and-ice-covered I-91 15 miles south of Hartford. A second bus
got as far as New Haven and we were told to take the train for the rest of the trip
into the city. We managed to squeeze ourselves and our luggage onto the only Boston-to-New-York
train that completed its run that day. We arrived at Penn Station at 8 p.m. with
New York reeling under two feet of unplowed snow. And, we were the lucky ones:
an untold number of motorists were trapped in or abandoned their cars on Boston’s
Route 128 when snowplows were unable to keep up with the three feet of snow
that fell.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiUCDRyZVbfEBOkgUXML5X9O3BCxvc_FbxHDn2JEYTdCbbls17ALhzUgSOYsOlMZ8ud_p4Tbc8mXmraiyjpkiG7Nu97bKjPdeErfZLEgAU3oSycTQBFBIycF3oOFxc6wEFXUl89ApMVDWkrSj9vjh9uQIplUK9HOcWrYNdVIn7N_24XzBdltjhhn82M=s800" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiUCDRyZVbfEBOkgUXML5X9O3BCxvc_FbxHDn2JEYTdCbbls17ALhzUgSOYsOlMZ8ud_p4Tbc8mXmraiyjpkiG7Nu97bKjPdeErfZLEgAU3oSycTQBFBIycF3oOFxc6wEFXUl89ApMVDWkrSj9vjh9uQIplUK9HOcWrYNdVIn7N_24XzBdltjhhn82M=w139-h185" width="139" /></a></i></div><i><a href="https://theprincipalundergardener.blogspot.com/2018/02/another-february-5th-forty-years-ago.html" target="_blank">That</a></i><a href="https://theprincipalundergardener.blogspot.com/2018/02/another-february-5th-forty-years-ago.html" target="_blank"> was a blizzard.</a> It came, seemingly, out of nowhere;
catching everyone by surprise. It created real-life tales of hardship endured
and heart-warming stories of families taking in strangers. Forty-four years
later, The Blizzard of ’78 is still one of the life-defining events for those
who were there.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">We had a blizzard here in Massachusetts over the weekend. It
came complete with white-out conditions for hours on end, hurricane-force winds
along the coast, and up to 30 inches of snow with drifts as high as a Boston
Celtics center. Medfield, where I live, got about 20 inches over twelve hours –
about half of it falling in a three-hour period in mid-afternoon.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi87NZFaKzbYpwDLV-Sv0jNNyr5ppCRG6toePS5CwBTKVgSICehxn2oNZ9-ipnn5AkAEYzDHv4WQsNw_N-YhR11l-tu-SNDkjNqQA1EtCTr0nqZefW8aZs48uWq21wCu5z9mRipqe4yceHldR-cRiy9MaWIZSDkgc3frcwh0mOUg5oUA_GJlXae_KGO=s1267" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="832" data-original-width="1267" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi87NZFaKzbYpwDLV-Sv0jNNyr5ppCRG6toePS5CwBTKVgSICehxn2oNZ9-ipnn5AkAEYzDHv4WQsNw_N-YhR11l-tu-SNDkjNqQA1EtCTr0nqZefW8aZs48uWq21wCu5z9mRipqe4yceHldR-cRiy9MaWIZSDkgc3frcwh0mOUg5oUA_GJlXae_KGO=w227-h149" width="227" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">This map was published three days<br />before the storm hit</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>The difference was, we knew it was coming. In fact, we knew the
storm’s track six days earlier when it was nothing more than some scattered
snow showers over the Pacific Northwest. Aided by sophisticated computer
models, forecasters predicted this system would intensify as it moved east, then
dip south to pick up energy from the Gulf of Mexico, combine with a low-pressure
system that would form off the North Carolina, dump modest amount of snow in
the Appalachians, then explode east of Long Island in something called ‘bombogenesis’.
<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgnxLuFdQz9BmgP3z2BK82m1ivwZNDmmYolHkowdcUdYSTYUVK45anS_VCbdTDS1zfqbsQN_SLCBU4iuygj-vYKFvPsZVNDxFpyhggiLVt2LHJe_Ofa8dvhj_uPSdR1vnQg8Fhe3q1RXbF2bb-RD_WhIu_8TEvbbaw-y9ARMBMQAqX5P0V-kfT848g3=s1600" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="956" data-original-width="1600" height="123" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgnxLuFdQz9BmgP3z2BK82m1ivwZNDmmYolHkowdcUdYSTYUVK45anS_VCbdTDS1zfqbsQN_SLCBU4iuygj-vYKFvPsZVNDxFpyhggiLVt2LHJe_Ofa8dvhj_uPSdR1vnQg8Fhe3q1RXbF2bb-RD_WhIu_8TEvbbaw-y9ARMBMQAqX5P0V-kfT848g3=w205-h123" width="205" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Two days before the storm</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>The storm did exactly what forecasters said it would do. The
only question was what would happen when it passed over some longitude and
latitude marker south of Nantucket. Like a ‘Y’ intersection, it could take the
left fork and dump its load of snow over one part of New England, or the right
fork and clobber Cape Cod. The only speculation was over the site of the ‘jackpot
zone’, which turned out to be the towns of Sharon and Stoughton, some twelve
miles east of here. Something called ‘the European Model’ got the track exactly
right 72 hours before the first flakes fell.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMV3k1GauDCYeDOOHiK7r_Vw4mcSFdWo5iO5Xa3TLb1yikCAl7QeXanWicMaMuK3t-G0hl87JDX8ujpOWQqDK8-PvLJhQK_twjD9MdJTVE1ilC5UT2OMEB7Z7BYA8eSz4bBc4ZXwY0NPvP6eG5L9G8x_CCDFiWZ4znS8UDRbBAVQIXjnw3zMkex75A=s1878" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1878" data-original-width="1110" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMV3k1GauDCYeDOOHiK7r_Vw4mcSFdWo5iO5Xa3TLb1yikCAl7QeXanWicMaMuK3t-G0hl87JDX8ujpOWQqDK8-PvLJhQK_twjD9MdJTVE1ilC5UT2OMEB7Z7BYA8eSz4bBc4ZXwY0NPvP6eG5L9G8x_CCDFiWZ4znS8UDRbBAVQIXjnw3zMkex75A=w159-h270" width="159" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">The day before the storm</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Obedient to the forecast, we stocked up on groceries and wine
two days before the storm. Knowing the storm’s duration (8 a.m. to 10 p.m.
Saturday), I did not go out and shovel when there was a lull. The electricity
never went out (and we have a whole-house generator to back up Eversource).
With a warm house full of books and streamed entertainment, we could fairly
ignore what was going on outside.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">And, apart from snow, what was going out outside? Nothing. The
highways were empty of traffic. Our favorite bakery had a notice on its website
they would be closed on Saturday, but re-open Sunday at 6 a.m. No one showed up
at our door seeking shelter.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Is it still a blizzard if there’s no uncertainty concerning its
outcome? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSBw_RY8Ev2YwgrZXnf8phJdD5M8S0kuFkI7u9vQ9HdwQinvjdMlGfB3ZMoU2pZzF6IpCKomRoe8MU_XS2woNOV_9_rphBFHS8Q7Dpf1F6SoTZw8d46TvAvEnZV8p6r4_i03LjyD9RKkkAyQwtrsCpAeE57xtDlf98Zv4ZIh-aoNaq0l5LYgIJpNVp=s1182" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="627" data-original-width="1182" height="109" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSBw_RY8Ev2YwgrZXnf8phJdD5M8S0kuFkI7u9vQ9HdwQinvjdMlGfB3ZMoU2pZzF6IpCKomRoe8MU_XS2woNOV_9_rphBFHS8Q7Dpf1F6SoTZw8d46TvAvEnZV8p6r4_i03LjyD9RKkkAyQwtrsCpAeE57xtDlf98Zv4ZIh-aoNaq0l5LYgIJpNVp=w205-h109" width="205" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">If you live on the coast...</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>There are some for whom the above is an outrageous statement.
If you live on an ocean or bay – or worse, on a barrier island – <i>every</i>
storm is an existential threat. But living in such a location is a conscious decision.
You <i>knew</i> what you were getting into when you built or purchased your
home, and have been reminded of that bargain every time a house up the shore from you disappears in a hurricane or nor’easter. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrWZ97CeDRm7UIOMSVhCRBz6fz41ijb_PklUV7R8uL7a1nDjcqnlhwvIwXeY-LP1v4ZW8kzrGBF_MbpgVWW29bEFjcusgwBwibjG8FCIIyGe1Gu9clVz0kPwVY-x_yZMD-80Mro8ZkK3ljx3nTfI3srhH0TBIRo1FW25Xde4jhConFK6xhARkjMLb1=s4697" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3523" data-original-width="4697" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrWZ97CeDRm7UIOMSVhCRBz6fz41ijb_PklUV7R8uL7a1nDjcqnlhwvIwXeY-LP1v4ZW8kzrGBF_MbpgVWW29bEFjcusgwBwibjG8FCIIyGe1Gu9clVz0kPwVY-x_yZMD-80Mro8ZkK3ljx3nTfI3srhH0TBIRo1FW25Xde4jhConFK6xhARkjMLb1=w199-h149" width="199" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Me, shoveling Sunday morning</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>But I digress. The simple fact is, I just went through the
first New England blizzard in three years, and it felt like a re-made-for-Netflix version of a
movie I’ve seen a dozen times before. With Betty still incapacitated from her
foot surgery, I dutifully used our snow blower to clear the driveway Sunday morning
then, with a shovel, tackled the sidewalk, mailbox, and end-of-driveway plug of
ice deposited by the town’s plows. My reward for three hours work was my first
cup of hot chocolate of the season... and lots of ibuprofen.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">It’s a sad state of affairs when you can go through a day-long
snow storm and know with great certainty that, a year from now, you’ll have
absolutely no recollection of it. The National Weather Service now gives winter
storms names. This one should have been called, ‘Meh’.<o:p></o:p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-26549454872892642702021-11-30T12:12:00.004-05:002021-11-30T12:12:42.312-05:00The Report to the Commissioner<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4EriUnfhO0c/YaZQO9gSr9I/AAAAAAAAGVU/ET6dfBZ-leEC3v2JiVnbGqdvY9HUyLxQACLcBGAsYHQ/s699/Annual%2Btown%2Breport.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="699" data-original-width="480" height="167" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4EriUnfhO0c/YaZQO9gSr9I/AAAAAAAAGVU/ET6dfBZ-leEC3v2JiVnbGqdvY9HUyLxQACLcBGAsYHQ/w115-h167/Annual%2Btown%2Breport.jpg" width="115" /></a></div>Once each year, generally in December, Betty and I are asked
to provide a report to our town’s Conservation Commission on the state of our town’s
Community Garden. It is usually a fairly placid affair, documenting how many
gardeners had plots, how much the garden took in, and how much it spent. Not
exactly a snoozefest, but neither is it a page turner.<p></p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">The report for 2021 will be an exception.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">We started the year with a major public works project, or at
least major by community garden standards. We’ve been at 55 plots for the past
seven years (65 when you include gardens subdivided into half plots), all
snugly conformed into an acre-sized space. There is talk of creating a second
community garden on the grounds of the old state hospital on the north side of
town, but that is at least five years in the future.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hCOn82q9dDE/YaZQnqYkIuI/AAAAAAAAGVc/SxFSYCEd4TIIjkS67Mw_1qhyUPvQIo6OwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1272/Medfield%2BCommunity%2BGarden%2B-%2Baerial%2Bview%2BJune%2B2019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="724" data-original-width="1272" height="140" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hCOn82q9dDE/YaZQnqYkIuI/AAAAAAAAGVc/SxFSYCEd4TIIjkS67Mw_1qhyUPvQIo6OwCLcBGAsYHQ/w247-h140/Medfield%2BCommunity%2BGarden%2B-%2Baerial%2Bview%2BJune%2B2019.jpg" width="247" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">In 2020, we squeezed in 70 gardeners</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Last year, Covid turned the United States into a country of
gardeners; everyone wanted to be outside, but in a safe space, and what could
be safer than a secluded community garden? The number of applications for
gardens spiked, but we also had a like number of RSVPed regrets from long-time
gardeners: a number of plot-holders elected to ride out the long quarantine in
summer homes elsewhere. Cape Cod’s gain was also our salvation. By limiting all
new applicants to 300-square-foot spaces, we squeezed in 70 gardeners, 20 of
them new.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-03_Mb2UkLmU/YaZRGKzlEUI/AAAAAAAAGVk/f9c4GJ0ZtcYkyDIj54_XD1pT9MGXe9I5QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Staking%2Bthe%2Bgarden%2B2021%2B3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="209" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-03_Mb2UkLmU/YaZRGKzlEUI/AAAAAAAAGVk/f9c4GJ0ZtcYkyDIj54_XD1pT9MGXe9I5QCLcBGAsYHQ/w157-h209/Staking%2Bthe%2Bgarden%2B2021%2B3.JPG" width="157" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">With the garden extension <br />we had a record 80 plots <br />and 86 families</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>It was clear, though, we had a one-time solution. At the end
of the 2020 season, almost everyone wanted to come back, and most of the
refugees who moved temporarily to Dennis and Falmouth let us know they would be
returning home for the summer gardening season. We asked the town to allow us
to add 3000 square feet of gardens – ten new plots if all were half-gardens.
And, it isn’t that we couldn’t afford it. There is actually a line item in the
town budget for the Community Garden Revolving Fund. All excess revenues over
expenses go into the fund and, at the start of 2021, the account held sufficient funds to pay for the work. The Conservation Commission approved the expansion and, in April, we
added the new spaces. It was excellent timing because we had 18 new applicants
for gardens. We opened the season with a record 80 plots and 86 gardening
families.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Had that been the end of the story, we would have filed our
report in early November, taken our bows, and accepted the accolades of a
grateful gardening nation.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hhqtSo5aDHY/YaZSB3KPu7I/AAAAAAAAGVs/wI9VOaV2ZDQErFyZtB-OrljO16ZbbZn0ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Library%2Bposter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1212" height="189" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hhqtSo5aDHY/YaZSB3KPu7I/AAAAAAAAGVs/wI9VOaV2ZDQErFyZtB-OrljO16ZbbZn0ACLcBGAsYHQ/w144-h189/Library%2Bposter.jpg" width="144" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Betty's talk was canceled<br />two years in a row</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>There were, unfortunately, a few hiccups along the way.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">The first one can be blamed on Covid and human nature. Each
March since 2009, Betty has given a talk at the town library on how to design
and plant a vegetable garden. Attendance is required of new gardeners, but
there is always a standing-room crowd from returning gardeners picking up
pointers and 20 or more home gardeners that want to hear from an expert. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mFddqpvFkMU/YaZTn7uj58I/AAAAAAAAGV0/bEDO1XHqgsQqmMB6klIU51FQ04wwvdmwwCLcBGAsYHQ/s896/How%2Bmany%2Bstakes%2Bdo%2BI%2Bneed%2Bfor%2Bmy%2Bfence.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="692" data-original-width="896" height="138" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mFddqpvFkMU/YaZTn7uj58I/AAAAAAAAGV0/bEDO1XHqgsQqmMB6klIU51FQ04wwvdmwwCLcBGAsYHQ/w179-h138/How%2Bmany%2Bstakes%2Bdo%2BI%2Bneed%2Bfor%2Bmy%2Bfence.png" width="179" /></a></div>Her 2020 talk was cancelled on the Wednesday before her
Saturday morning lecture as the world closed down. The poster for her talk was
still the dominant feature of the library bulletin board almost a year later
when the library opened on a limited basis. The 2021 edition was also a
non-starter because of social<p></p><p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CO_n7mN_liQ/YaZUhMO7TkI/AAAAAAAAGWE/5fG2hLOZLJgi_L_2z8HoCUfylTfQ6EmMgCLcBGAsYHQ/s549/gardens%2Bclose%2Bto%2Bthe%2Bstreet%2Bget%2Bless%2Bsun%2Bbecause%2Bof%2Btrees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="494" height="207" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CO_n7mN_liQ/YaZUhMO7TkI/AAAAAAAAGWE/5fG2hLOZLJgi_L_2z8HoCUfylTfQ6EmMgCLcBGAsYHQ/w187-h207/gardens%2Bclose%2Bto%2Bthe%2Bstreet%2Bget%2Bless%2Bsun%2Bbecause%2Bof%2Btrees.jpg" width="187" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Our handy 'how to' guides<br />were unread, and 'old hands'<br />didn't want to move to plots<br />that received morning shade</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>distancing requirements. Instead, we emailed a
dozen wonderful documents showing why and how to bury fences, use sturdy corner
posts, and all the other things that turn novice gardeners into experts. Apparently,
they weren’t read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, because
returning gardeners were happy with their existing plots, no one was willing to
move into the new section of plots or the front row of gardens that, because of
trees along the road, get less sun. The folkways and mores that are passed down
to new gardeners missed a generation. As a result, much mis-information was
passed among the new gardeners. I will leave it at that.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N27h9_kG6eA/YaZW4kJibwI/AAAAAAAAGWM/B3t23_dOEf89XOh9Pm7rtKF5lomw06HZQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/The%2B%2527ogre%2Bfencing%2527%2Bis%2Bout%2Bin%2Bthe%2Bmiddle%2Bof%2Bthe%2B4H%2Bshed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1839" data-original-width="2048" height="163" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N27h9_kG6eA/YaZW4kJibwI/AAAAAAAAGWM/B3t23_dOEf89XOh9Pm7rtKF5lomw06HZQCLcBGAsYHQ/w182-h163/The%2B%2527ogre%2Bfencing%2527%2Bis%2Bout%2Bin%2Bthe%2Bmiddle%2Bof%2Bthe%2B4H%2Bshed.JPG" width="182" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">New gardeners can borrow<br />'Ogre fencing' rather than<br />spending $50 or more</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>The second problem was one of our own making. Our town is
perceived by the outside world as fairly well-to-do. There are Patriots
first-round draft picks standing in line at the local Starbucks, for Pete’s
sake. The average sale price of a home in town is nearing the million-dollar
mark. Not everyone in town owns a Tesla Model S, though. We also have modest
homes and apartments, and gardening is not a cheap undertaking. We may charge
just $18 for a half plot, but thrown in a $20 start-up fee, $50 for steel posts
and fencing, and $20-30 for seeds and starter sets, and you are quickly well
north of a hundred dollars.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dpUY6S4ttP4/YaZXmEKGvVI/AAAAAAAAGWU/nEpbaEcF99Evo44IhCfNZDLrvlV6r69wgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Laura%2BMinkwitz%2Bgarden%2B10-6-21.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="145" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dpUY6S4ttP4/YaZXmEKGvVI/AAAAAAAAGWU/nEpbaEcF99Evo44IhCfNZDLrvlV6r69wgCLcBGAsYHQ/w194-h145/Laura%2BMinkwitz%2Bgarden%2B10-6-21.JPG" width="194" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">For the first time ever, four<br />gardeners walked away from<br />their plots mid-season</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>To that end, we offer first-year gardeners the loan of ‘ogre
fencing’ – 50 feet of fencing, stakes, and tomato cages left behind by
long-departed tenants. We will also quietly waive the start-up fee. While it
levels the playing field for everyone, it also decreases what can best be
called ‘skin in the game’. Something that has never occurred before happened in
2021: four gardeners abandoned plots in mid-season. Those plots were cleaned at
the end of October by volunteers. Our question to the Commission is, do we
implement a refundable plot-cleaning fee for first year gardeners, or count
walk-aways as part of the cost of being equitable?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Finally, the Commission’s 2020 decision to grant a hardship
waiver to a gardener who said he had already laid down plastic sheeting before a
ban went into effect, came back to bite us in 2021. Covered with plastic for
two seasons, the plot was biologically dead this year. An experienced gardener,
moving up from a half plot, found nothing would grow in the space and pulled
what remained of her plants in July. We reimbursed her fees and the cost of her
vegetable sets, and promised her a new space for 2022.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">We address the Commission in January. This year we expect a wide range of questions.<o:p></o:p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-32593090241452867122021-10-05T10:54:00.000-04:002021-10-05T10:54:46.843-04:00Science Experiment<p> How often does a Community Garden in a suburban town get to
prove – and perhaps even to emphasize the importance of – an evolving
understanding of an area of agricultural science?</p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UWvW6RqOPp0/YVxfqLjDCkI/AAAAAAAAGSk/o9up-oliT7AJqNxKr07olLSYU1fcg-s7ACLcBGAsYHQ/s604/food%2Bsoil%2Bweb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="604" height="161" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UWvW6RqOPp0/YVxfqLjDCkI/AAAAAAAAGSk/o9up-oliT7AJqNxKr07olLSYU1fcg-s7ACLcBGAsYHQ/w249-h161/food%2Bsoil%2Bweb.jpg" width="249" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">Double-click for a full-screen view</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Appreciation for the concept of the ‘food web’ is surprisingly recent. Here's a nutshell explanation: there
is a biome in the soil beneath our plants that is crucial to those plants’ success.
It is an interlocking network of microbes, fungi, bacteria and arthropods that
are necessary elements of successful agriculture. When you mess with that food
web, bad things happen.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6-mN4MvBK9c/YVxgLBfIO2I/AAAAAAAAGSs/SCnC8A5liaoP654BU-pHHdfkrl-5Qp7ZwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1500/Plastic%2Bmulch%2Bad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1500" height="194" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6-mN4MvBK9c/YVxgLBfIO2I/AAAAAAAAGSs/SCnC8A5liaoP654BU-pHHdfkrl-5Qp7ZwCLcBGAsYHQ/w194-h194/Plastic%2Bmulch%2Bad.jpg" width="194" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">Ads proclaim plastic mulch<br />is eco-friendly</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Two years ago, one of the plot-holders in our Community Garden
covered a 936-square-foot space (600 square feet of gardens plus a
three-foot-wide pathway around the garden’s perimeter) with plastic mats, and
was emulated by a few other gardeners. Betty and I began doing research into
the topic and found opinions about their efficacy and impact were all over the map. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">The gardening season ended and the mats came up. Over the course of the winter of 2019-2020, we did a deeper dive
and found an emerging theme: plastic mulch has a negative effect on the food
web. It appears to benefit a crop the first year (by warming the soil), but
harms it thereafter as the biome is sharply degraded by leaching petroleum
distillates and excess heat which kill off the microscopic life in the soil.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kq6aJqum6aY/YVxg9BZSbYI/AAAAAAAAGS0/9HMVAk6ueZYiKAUccKKqCeXBcbE_V4nDACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/This%2Bis%2BJeff%2BKoterba%2527s%2Bgarden.%2B%2BHe%2Bhas%2Bnow%2Bfully%2Binstalled%2Bhis%2Bplastic%2Bcover..JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="156" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kq6aJqum6aY/YVxg9BZSbYI/AAAAAAAAGS0/9HMVAk6ueZYiKAUccKKqCeXBcbE_V4nDACLcBGAsYHQ/w208-h156/This%2Bis%2BJeff%2BKoterba%2527s%2Bgarden.%2B%2BHe%2Bhas%2Bnow%2Bfully%2Binstalled%2Bhis%2Bplastic%2Bcover..JPG" width="208" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">The mats went down for a second year;<br />the gardener claimed 'hardship'</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>At the start of the 2020 season, we advised our gardeners not
to use plastic mulch. As chronicled <a href="https://theprincipalundergardener.blogspot.com/2020/05/theres-one-in-every-crowd.html">here</a>,
one gardener claimed to have already put down mats before we notified everyone
of the ban, refused to take them up, and demanded a hearing before our town’s
Conservation Commission, which approved our ban on plastic mulch but granted
the gardener a one-year ‘hardship’ exemption.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wd7ciia2gYs/YVxhn8gAMVI/AAAAAAAAGS8/fu2SJ_uNMg0oSNLPVCPvtDW2ZixBI8CBACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/At%2Bthe%2Bend%2Bof%2Bthe%2B2020%2Bgrowing%2Bseason%252C%2Bit%2Bwas%2Bapparent%2Bplants%2Bweren%2527t%2Bdoing%2Bwell.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="182" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wd7ciia2gYs/YVxhn8gAMVI/AAAAAAAAGS8/fu2SJ_uNMg0oSNLPVCPvtDW2ZixBI8CBACLcBGAsYHQ/w243-h182/At%2Bthe%2Bend%2Bof%2Bthe%2B2020%2Bgrowing%2Bseason%252C%2Bit%2Bwas%2Bapparent%2Bplants%2Bweren%2527t%2Bdoing%2Bwell.JPG" width="243" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">In early September, the crops grown<br />with mats had fared poorly</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Betty and I noted across the 2020 season that the crops in the
plastic-covered plot didn’t appear to do as well as its neighbors, but there
could have been other reasons in play. Without comment, the mats came up at the
end of October; but the gardener notified us over the winter that, <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jbbbI-IKhmA/YVxiiJ4KjiI/AAAAAAAAGTE/pinz6mzWpPgXYCXrvBCgdRhYBcJJ8aFaQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Another%2Bgarden%2Bon%2Bthe%2Bsame%2Bdate.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="186" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jbbbI-IKhmA/YVxiiJ4KjiI/AAAAAAAAGTE/pinz6mzWpPgXYCXrvBCgdRhYBcJJ8aFaQCLcBGAsYHQ/w247-h186/Another%2Bgarden%2Bon%2Bthe%2Bsame%2Bdate.JPG" width="247" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">An adjacent garden on the same date</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>because of
the pandemic, the family planned to live out of state for the following twelve
months.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Demand for plots, already high, exploded this spring of 2021. Many
gardeners who had started with 300-square-foot sites wanted to upgrade to
full-size ones. In response, Betty and I activated a plan to expand the Community
Garden by an additional 3600 square feet – adding between five and ten new
plots.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LC1DCqYbEpw/YVxjV3uoRGI/AAAAAAAAGTM/mC-6IXkwdfYAn1jU_Y4hWC1qX1nmUrR0QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/An%2Baerial%2Bview%2Bof%2Bthe%2Bcommunity%2Bgarden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="183" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LC1DCqYbEpw/YVxjV3uoRGI/AAAAAAAAGTM/mC-6IXkwdfYAn1jU_Y4hWC1qX1nmUrR0QCLcBGAsYHQ/w244-h183/An%2Baerial%2Bview%2Bof%2Bthe%2Bcommunity%2Bgarden.jpg" width="244" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">We have been no-till for eight years<br />and the results have been stunning</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>For the past eight years, the Community Garden has been
‘no-till’, meaning plots are cleared each fall of fencing and non-compostable
garden debris but otherwise left alone for the winter. In the spring, we ask
gardeners not to use rototillers and to disturb the soil only as needed to
plant; explaining the importance of the food web that is disrupted by
unnecessary tilling. The results have been stunning: our dark black soil is
alive with organic material, worms and other beneficial organisms. Nutrients
are at optimal levels (we take soil samples each spring from multiple plots and
blend for testing by the UMass Soil Lab). By not tilling, we also won our war
against bindweed, a nasty vine that readily regenerates a new root system when
cut into pieces as small as an inch.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">In planning for the 2021 season, we made an assumption that,
over the winter and early spring, the ‘wildlife under the garden’ would
re-colonize the formerly plastic-covered space. In March, we assigned the site
to an enthusiastic second-year gardener moving up from a 300-square-foot plot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She planted both seeds and sets for an
intelligently designed vegetable garden. She watered regularly when warranted.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--5WnTZU8SZI/YVxj7afCDEI/AAAAAAAAGTU/4K11fkhx0pQ6cO89mfGE1w6P7ZDzhr5kACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Moira%2BMills%2B6-11-21.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="185" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--5WnTZU8SZI/YVxj7afCDEI/AAAAAAAAGTU/4K11fkhx0pQ6cO89mfGE1w6P7ZDzhr5kACLcBGAsYHQ/w247-h185/Moira%2BMills%2B6-11-21.JPG" width="247" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">The garden in mid-June 2021. <br />Vegetables simply wouldn't grow<br />in the plot and even weeds were sparse</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Six weeks later, she had sparse germination and plants that
refused to grow. Instead of lush and dark green, her cucumbers and squash were
an anemic yellow. The dirt – ‘soil’ is the wrong word for the brown, dusty
stuff that topped the plot – would not hold water. In late July, she gave up. I
wrote her a personal check for the cost of her plot, seeds, and extensive plant
sets.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">At the end of September, Betty and I are allowing the plot to
grow up in weeds. Next month, we will overspread it with, and dig in, manure.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Will the space be healthy next spring? It is surrounded by
gardens with non-compromised biomes. No point is more than thirteen feet from
soil teeming with life. Surely, seventeen months after the plastic mulch was
removed from the plot (October 2020), the soil will have healed. Won’t it?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">We’re not so certain. We’ll test the plot’s soil early in the
spring; then decide if the space is ready to be gardened again.<o:p></o:p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-51683034686863968132021-09-24T15:01:00.003-04:002021-09-24T17:26:51.645-04:00Lookin' Out My Back Door<p> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UYtA8x0SwZ4/YU5Bt2ussgI/AAAAAAAAGRk/rRfUS2-z4fgrJnV5iGQQmbXeDuesuoZnwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1200/Bluebird%2Bin%2Ba%2Bbird%2Bbath%2B-%2Bedited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="734" data-original-width="1200" height="149" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UYtA8x0SwZ4/YU5Bt2ussgI/AAAAAAAAGRk/rRfUS2-z4fgrJnV5iGQQmbXeDuesuoZnwCLcBGAsYHQ/w243-h149/Bluebird%2Bin%2Ba%2Bbird%2Bbath%2B-%2Bedited.jpg" width="243" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">We offer migrating birds free bed and<br />bath, plus all the seeds they can eat</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>This morning, four migrating bluebirds are luxuriously
splashing about in a raised bowl in our back garden. When I went out to fetch
the newspapers at dawn, I startled half a dozen finches pulling seeds from out
of our Rudbeckia. And a colony of mourning doves has spread out along the
ground in military fashion seeking insects, seeds, and any other edible that
wasn’t there last night.<p></p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Welcome to the start of autumn at 26 Pine Street. In this, the
sixth year of our grass-free, 95% native-plant garden, we are apparently well
established as a five-star stopping point for migrating birds. We clean and
re-fill the bird baths regularly and, while we acknowledge the Audubon
Society’s warning not to put out seed feeders, we offer suet for woodpeckers
and other avians with a need for a McDonald’s-style fat fix.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3hsLiWoNKbU/YU4Zi5x0lbI/AAAAAAAAGRM/bpXYhCIQ1dsLG6mxBxUasp8PEs_x7ZveQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/The%2BFelcos%2Bhave%2Bbeen%2Bput%2Baway%2Bfor%2Bnow%2Bto%2Ballow%2Bmigrating%2Bbirds%2Bto%2Beat%2Bthe%2Bseeds%2Bfrom%2Bour%2BRudbeckia%2Band%2Bshasta%2Bdaisies.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1573" data-original-width="2048" height="210" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3hsLiWoNKbU/YU4Zi5x0lbI/AAAAAAAAGRM/bpXYhCIQ1dsLG6mxBxUasp8PEs_x7ZveQCLcBGAsYHQ/w273-h210/The%2BFelcos%2Bhave%2Bbeen%2Bput%2Baway%2Bfor%2Bnow%2Bto%2Ballow%2Bmigrating%2Bbirds%2Bto%2Beat%2Bthe%2Bseeds%2Bfrom%2Bour%2BRudbeckia%2Band%2Bshasta%2Bdaisies.JPG" width="273" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">The Felcos have been put away for now in <br />order to give migrating birds seed heads from<br />our Rudbeckia and shasta daisies</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>What the birds want most of all are seeds, and we have those
in abundance. All summer, our front garden was a riot of color from sweeps of native
Agastache, shasta daisies, Lobelia cardinalis, Monarda, Liatris, and the
aforementioned Rudbeckia. In late August, as the last of the flowers passed, we
made the painful decision to keep our Felcos in the garden bag. Deadheading the
beds would have given us a pleasant, uniform sea of green punctuated with the
autumn-blooming phlox and oak-leaf Hydrangea. As the nearby photo shows,
there’s a lot of brown in the front garden. The brown stuff is seed heads,
which is why the birds are here in droves.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z3AOa5ofCj8/YU4dhVKsSyI/AAAAAAAAGRU/1qdZkEQuSZQxXhDz0TX9UZfIoKENw2ZUwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Our%2Brear%2Bgarden%2Bwith%2Bits%2Bmix%2Bof%2Bshade-tolerant%2Bplants%2B-%2Bcropped%2B-%2BCopy.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1797" height="208" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z3AOa5ofCj8/YU4dhVKsSyI/AAAAAAAAGRU/1qdZkEQuSZQxXhDz0TX9UZfIoKENw2ZUwCLcBGAsYHQ/w183-h208/Our%2Brear%2Bgarden%2Bwith%2Bits%2Bmix%2Bof%2Bshade-tolerant%2Bplants%2B-%2Bcropped%2B-%2BCopy.jpg" width="183" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Our rear garden, with its mix of<br />shade-tolerant plants</i></td></tr></tbody></table>The rear garden is another, more pleasant, matter. It is too
shady for the sun-loving perennials that dominate the front of our property, so
there is not a lot of past-blooming ‘stubble’. Instead, we have a hodgepodge*
of ground covers, shade-tolerant perennials and shrubs, most of which flowered
over the spring and summer. Now, the remaining seed heads are a bird buffet.
The Ligularia ‘Othello’ has been a favorite, as well as the several dozen
Astilbe that dot the landscape.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LJxgn0YucrY/YU4erUXDqWI/AAAAAAAAGRc/9mRoWEPLe20IHmWZMw_fwkqkm_iNk-bQwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1787/Fothergilla%252C%2Bcornus%2Bflorida%252C%2Bazalea%2Band%2Bperennials%2B5-9-21.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1734" data-original-width="1787" height="194" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LJxgn0YucrY/YU4erUXDqWI/AAAAAAAAGRc/9mRoWEPLe20IHmWZMw_fwkqkm_iNk-bQwCLcBGAsYHQ/w200-h194/Fothergilla%252C%2Bcornus%2Bflorida%252C%2Bazalea%2Band%2Bperennials%2B5-9-21.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Cornus florida in bloom, early May</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>There is still one more scene to play out, and I look forward
to it with special satisfaction. Cornus florida – the American dogwood – got a
bad rap a few decades back for its supposed susceptibility to spot Anthracnose,
a fungal disease that produces leaf spots and blotches. That reputation gave
rise to a demand for Cornus kousa, an east Asian cousin. Subsequent research
shows Anthracnose can be kept in check by the simple expedient of giving Cornus
florida ample light and air. In other words, don’t stick it in a shady area
hemmed in by other trees,<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c3mswmilt00/YU4Mwh8FjPI/AAAAAAAAGQ8/DCBjhmsDZ_gTUjc2Tk5saiUIRm4to-YGgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Kousa%2Bvs%2BAmerican%2Bdogwood%2Bfruit.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1165" data-original-width="2048" height="143" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c3mswmilt00/YU4Mwh8FjPI/AAAAAAAAGQ8/DCBjhmsDZ_gTUjc2Tk5saiUIRm4to-YGgCLcBGAsYHQ/w252-h143/Kousa%2Bvs%2BAmerican%2Bdogwood%2Bfruit.jpg" width="252" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Cornus florida fruit is small and brightly<br />colored, versus Cornus kousa</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>The American and Asian dogwoods differ in one crucial area: the
size of their fruit. As the nearby photo shows, Cornus florida produces a
small, bright-red berry; Cornus kousa, a much larger, duller fruit with a thick
skin.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">The subtle difference came into play one late September
afternoon two years ago when our pink-flowering American dogwood began shaking
as though it was alive. I watched in fascination through my library window for
a while, then went out for a closer inspection. There were roughly 50 birds in
the tree, gorging on the dogwood berries. After an hour, the tree had been
picked clean. I called friends with the Kousa variety and asked if they were
sharing my experience. No, they said, their fruit had mostly fallen to the
ground where it was rotting (and required periodic raking to prevent odor
build-up).<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9Qr6dj-oDEQ/YU4NT9Ne7FI/AAAAAAAAGRE/1691WVZUdUsvZJwwD-14Ln-oKmttL4cEQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1111/nothing%2Bbut%2Blawn.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="709" data-original-width="1111" height="202" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9Qr6dj-oDEQ/YU4NT9Ne7FI/AAAAAAAAGRE/1691WVZUdUsvZJwwD-14Ln-oKmttL4cEQCLcBGAsYHQ/w316-h202/nothing%2Bbut%2Blawn.jpg" width="316" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Our neighbor's back lawn is all grass<br />(photo from Realtor.com)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>I close with a photo of an across-and-down-the-street
neighbor’s back yard. They’ve just put their home on the market and I scrolled
through the listing photos. The first 35 showed a pleasant home – the interior
professionally staged as is the custom now, to remove traces of individuality
that might turn off a potential buyer. The final two stopped me in my tracks.
They showed a back yard that is nothing but a perfect, green lawn surrounded by
a white fence. There are no shrubs against that fence; no flowers or plantings
of any kind. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">It is, in its own way, staged to show an ideal safe, suburban
yard where a child can play without fear of injury. It is also utterly sterile.
I cannot imagine a passing flock of birds giving it a second glance. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I5pY4ENDkeM/YU5CHhK07FI/AAAAAAAAGRs/_xpG4p5WhkI8jV5JmFXRICyjYr_L17FcwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1353/Abigail%2Blooking%2Bout%2Bthe%2Bwindow.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1353" data-original-width="1083" height="155" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I5pY4ENDkeM/YU5CHhK07FI/AAAAAAAAGRs/_xpG4p5WhkI8jV5JmFXRICyjYr_L17FcwCLcBGAsYHQ/w124-h155/Abigail%2Blooking%2Bout%2Bthe%2Bwindow.JPG" width="124" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Abigail</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>If we are truly stewards of the land, we ought to acknowledge
that our property serves more than just a human audience. Our garden does that
in spades – all the while giving the child in us (and, especially, our cat) hours of visual
entertainment.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><o:p> </o:p><i>* A partial list of the plants in the rear garden includes Actea, Astilbe, Asters, Aralia,
Cimicifuga, Digitalis (foxglove), false strawberry, ferns, Heuchera, Hosta,
Ligularia, Lobelia, Persecaria, Tiarella (foamflower), Vaccinium (blueberry),
and Viburnum.</i></p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-91169767353762803402021-08-11T11:55:00.002-04:002021-08-11T11:55:20.959-04:00The Excess Lush-ness of the August Garden<p> In horticulture, can there be too much of a good thing? I
definitely think so. My gardens this
August are a case in point.</p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t3-Xr748m-Q/YRPqw-38_1I/AAAAAAAAGN4/034vo7Nhvfo3MAlh2gp9wKS3rqFVRdXRwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/The%2Blush-ness%2Bof%2BAugust%2B-%2Beverything%2Bis%2Bverdant...%2Band%2Bovergrown.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="194" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t3-Xr748m-Q/YRPqw-38_1I/AAAAAAAAGN4/034vo7Nhvfo3MAlh2gp9wKS3rqFVRdXRwCLcBGAsYHQ/w259-h194/The%2Blush-ness%2Bof%2BAugust%2B-%2Beverything%2Bis%2Bverdant...%2Band%2Bovergrown.JPG" width="259" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">This month, everything in the garden is<br />lush, verdant, and overgrown</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Here in Massachusetts, we had an entire summer’s worth of rain
in July: more than twelve inches. Betty’s and my plot in the community
vegetable garden exploded with growth. Squash vines grew a foot in two days.
Tomatoes went from flowers to pickable fruit in record time. The zucchini – oh,
the zucchini – was and still is out of control. We are freezing a multi-serving
bag of green beans every day. We have Swiss chard with every meal – including
breakfast.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">But it is our garden at home where the chickens of excess of
lush-ness have come home to roost. The Covid summer of 2020 came amid a
drought. Every day I carried jugs of water around the garden, doling out just enough
to keep both containers and perennials alive. By contrast, this summer each of
our four rain barrels is filled to capacity, and there are no takers for the 220
gallons they hold. There are days when the ground <i>squishes</i>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vH8tEg7_ahw/YRPrWjBG75I/AAAAAAAAGOA/HH7HmyYDuC0jaEHZg4CFmKfUYve_brUgwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/The%2Blush-ness%2Bof%2BAugust%2B-%2BThe%2Bbeautyberry%2Bis%2Boverwhelming%2Bthe%2Bbog%2Brosemary%2Band%2B%2Bfighting%2Bthe%2Bhoneysuckle.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1339" data-original-width="2048" height="142" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vH8tEg7_ahw/YRPrWjBG75I/AAAAAAAAGOA/HH7HmyYDuC0jaEHZg4CFmKfUYve_brUgwCLcBGAsYHQ/w218-h142/The%2Blush-ness%2Bof%2BAugust%2B-%2BThe%2Bbeautyberry%2Bis%2Boverwhelming%2Bthe%2Bbog%2Brosemary%2Band%2B%2Bfighting%2Bthe%2Bhoneysuckle.JPG" width="218" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">This beautyberry is engulfing our<br />delicate bog rosemary plants</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Everything on the property is undergoing a growth spurt. A
formerly well-behaved beautyberry (<i>Callicarpa</i>) added several feet to its
girth and currently sports a six-foot diameter, smothering several of the
delicate bog rosemary plants (<i>Andromeda </i>polifolia) that form a border
for our sidewalk. The same beautyberry has also encroached into the turf of our
native bush honeysuckle (<i>Diervilla</i> lonicera), which is on a similar
growth tear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because both plants are
blooming prolifically and therefore swarming with happy bees, we can’t get near
them with our No. 2 Felcos to cut back either plant.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DNz68P0dpLY/YRPsVhKHccI/AAAAAAAAGOI/3Tjdily9oGgKVeHKHspkIXu5L-BiCpGWwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/The%2Blush-ness%2Bof%2BAugust%2B-%2Bafter%2Bcutting%2Bback%2Bliatris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1622" height="232" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DNz68P0dpLY/YRPsVhKHccI/AAAAAAAAGOI/3Tjdily9oGgKVeHKHspkIXu5L-BiCpGWwCLcBGAsYHQ/w183-h232/The%2Blush-ness%2Bof%2BAugust%2B-%2Bafter%2Bcutting%2Bback%2Bliatris.jpg" width="183" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Before being cut back or staked,<br />these liatris looped across the<br />pathway like track hurdles</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>I spent four hours over the past two
mornings weeding perhaps 40 of our 200 feet of walkways through our front
garden. I tackled that job because the paths had become tripping hazards,
with long, looping stalks of <i>Liatris</i>, top-heavy with blue flowers, arching
down into the aisles like track hurdles. Once past the <i>Liatris</i>, would-be
walkers then encounter a stretch of seven-foot-high, water-swollen Joe-Pye Weed
(<i>Eupatorium </i>maculatum) muscling in from either side of the walkway. Last
year, those same perennials were compact and topped out at four feet. This
year, they’ll be higher than our adjoining, six-year-old Eastern Redbud (<i>Cercis</i>
canadensis) ‘Burgundy Hearts’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s
not supposed to happen in the plant kingdom.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FKtd9zQWqPQ/YRPtEXIkNJI/AAAAAAAAGOQ/WOsMI5M-6l8snhAiHlmRK7VJuTEmPTCvACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/The%2Blush-ness%2Bof%2BAugust%2BLeucothoe%2BGirard%2527s%2BRainbow%2Bin%2Bneed%2Bof%2Bbeing%2Bcut%2Bback.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1885" height="199" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FKtd9zQWqPQ/YRPtEXIkNJI/AAAAAAAAGOQ/WOsMI5M-6l8snhAiHlmRK7VJuTEmPTCvACLcBGAsYHQ/w183-h199/The%2Blush-ness%2Bof%2BAugust%2BLeucothoe%2BGirard%2527s%2BRainbow%2Bin%2Bneed%2Bof%2Bbeing%2Bcut%2Bback.JPG" width="183" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">A leucothoe 'Girard's Rainbow'<br />in desperate need of a trim</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>While I tackled the walkways and
adjacent perennial beds, Betty went to work on the foundation plantings. The
area to the left side of our front porch has a rather elegant and colorful mix
of several <i>Leucothoe</i> ‘Girard’s Rainbow’, <i>Rhododendron</i> ‘Weston
Aglo’, mountain laurel (<i>Kalmia</i>) ‘Sara’, and a <i>Hydrangea</i> ‘Vienna’,
with a dense ground-cover planting of enough tiarellas, heucheras, and bleeding
heart (<i>Dicentra</i>) to stock a medium-sized nursery.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xqQ6oDrVKM8/YRPtpAUHAbI/AAAAAAAAGOY/2F2wbl3lmF4efmY1WBcedK4bH74as6XgACLcBGAsYHQ/s1421/Prairie%2Bwine%2Bcups%2B-%2Bsomewhere%2Bunderneat%2Bthat%2Bvine%2Bare%2Bour%2Bground%2Bcovers.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="806" data-original-width="1421" height="145" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xqQ6oDrVKM8/YRPtpAUHAbI/AAAAAAAAGOY/2F2wbl3lmF4efmY1WBcedK4bH74as6XgACLcBGAsYHQ/w256-h145/Prairie%2Bwine%2Bcups%2B-%2Bsomewhere%2Bunderneat%2Bthat%2Bvine%2Bare%2Bour%2Bground%2Bcovers.JPG" width="256" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><i>Under these prairie wine cups were our<br />ground covers - heuchera and tiarella</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>Betty’s observation was the <i>Leucothoe</i>,
sometimes called ‘dogs-hobble’ was living up to its nickname. Getting the three
shrubs back to something approaching their preferred size filled a 50-gallon
canvas barrel with cuttings, and she had still not tackled the rhodies or
mountain laurel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the meantime, Betty
discovered a woody vine with a pleasant, dark-pink flower (Prairie wine cups or
<i>Callirhoe</i> involucrata) had somehow insinuated itself in the middle of
the ground covers in front of the shrubs, and was in the process of taking over
the site.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Betty swears it wasn’t there
last year – or even last month – yet its tentacles had covered roughly a
hundred square feet of the aforementioned tiarellas, heucheras and dicentra. When
removed, the vine filled most of another 50-gallon barrel.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gr-nY344agI/YRPuXrBr5rI/AAAAAAAAGOg/1Ajys_-Sfboo6dObkuBSenTMtm_PfakqACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/The%2Blush-ness%2Bof%2BAugust%2B-%2Ban%2Bas-yet%2Bunweeded%2Bpath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1301" data-original-width="2048" height="145" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gr-nY344agI/YRPuXrBr5rI/AAAAAAAAGOg/1Ajys_-Sfboo6dObkuBSenTMtm_PfakqACLcBGAsYHQ/w229-h145/The%2Blush-ness%2Bof%2BAugust%2B-%2Ban%2Bas-yet%2Bunweeded%2Bpath.jpg" width="229" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">One of our as-yet un-weeded paths</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>As of yesterday afternoon, our eight-hour
investment in the garden clean-up had yielded only some walkable paths and one
part of the foundation planting to show for our efforts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the meantime, we are compiling an
ever-lengthening mental list of Things That Need To Get Done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our dwarf black birch (<i>Betula</i> nigra)
needs to be thinned. The now-past-bloom Shasta daisies – about 50 square feet
of them – need to have their flowers removed. The perennial ageratum (<i>Conoclinium</i>
coelestinum) has strayed from its assigned area in the long perennial border
along the driveway and is stealthily establishing colonies in places where it
doesn’t belong. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h_RHnS5UrBc/YRPweWoxsJI/AAAAAAAAGOo/PoOjTzuKj8YbhQCxmI0fceyJD7HvC98DwCLcBGAsYHQ/s886/weather%2Bchart.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="739" data-original-width="886" height="168" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h_RHnS5UrBc/YRPweWoxsJI/AAAAAAAAGOo/PoOjTzuKj8YbhQCxmI0fceyJD7HvC98DwCLcBGAsYHQ/w201-h168/weather%2Bchart.png" width="201" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table>Oh, and we accomplished all this
during the two ‘good’ days of this week; meaning the morning temperatures were
in the 70s and the dew point was merely ‘oppressive’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Starting today, Mother Nature decided to play
one of her little tricks on us: thermometers are soaring into the 90s with
‘real-feel’ temperatures in triple digits. Our plan was to adjust our outdoor
work schedule to perhaps 90 minutes between pre-dawn and 7 a.m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which is, of course, also prime mosquito
feeding time. We would slather our bodies with DEET-based repellents (all the
while knowing we would still be attacked incessantly). <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6N9EPA5fAI8/YRPww0U6rSI/AAAAAAAAGOw/CtGjR0OHk9wOrIm-Z2-k77FSfeSFLDWegCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/The%2Blush-ness%2Bof%2BAugust%2B%2B-%2Bthe%2Blong%2Bdriveway%2Bperennial%2Bborder.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1030" data-original-width="2048" height="133" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6N9EPA5fAI8/YRPww0U6rSI/AAAAAAAAGOw/CtGjR0OHk9wOrIm-Z2-k77FSfeSFLDWegCLcBGAsYHQ/w264-h133/The%2Blush-ness%2Bof%2BAugust%2B%2B-%2Bthe%2Blong%2Bdriveway%2Bperennial%2Bborder.JPG" width="264" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">The driveway border is coming into its own</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Our outdoor foray this morning lasted
ten minutes. Then, we scrambled back inside and showered. The heat will break
this weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ll take care of the
garden then.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">Why, then, do we do it at all?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In our case, it is to create a landscape that
just might nudge some of the dozens of people who walk by our property each day
into getting rid of part or all of their suburban lawns and replacing that
grass with native plants and shrubs. And, sure enough, just yesterday morning,
a walker spotted me on my kneeling pad, pulling out errant weeds and ambitious
seedlings.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">“Love the garden,” the walker said,
giving me a thumbs up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is it a lot of
work?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">“Hardly break a sweat,” I replied,
lying through my smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“These are
native plants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They practically take
care of themselves.”<o:p></o:p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-28514064324089408112021-07-20T17:23:00.052-04:002021-07-21T10:35:28.702-04:00The abandoned community garden plot<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8hsmXByA5l0/YPgraA6X9LI/AAAAAAAAGLQ/cwHtx87ixjkfyW35TfJWGzLe2Y-2x1yrACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Mom%2527s%2Bgarden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1048" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8hsmXByA5l0/YPgraA6X9LI/AAAAAAAAGLQ/cwHtx87ixjkfyW35TfJWGzLe2Y-2x1yrACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Mom%2527s%2Bgarden.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Before we began managing the Community Garden, plots would<br />routinely be abandoned, like this one from 2008.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>This week, after almost twelve years, I came to the belated realization
my wife and I are running the gardening equivalent of a pet adoption service.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cg2yoInVqag/YPgsiYnHSCI/AAAAAAAAGLY/7tSqVpqnndIXEVOP1KqlVN-L2gzw0458wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1599/Abigail%2BAdams%2B-%2Bthe%2Bcat.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1130" data-original-width="1599" height="136" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cg2yoInVqag/YPgsiYnHSCI/AAAAAAAAGLY/7tSqVpqnndIXEVOP1KqlVN-L2gzw0458wCLcBGAsYHQ/w192-h136/Abigail%2BAdams%2B-%2Bthe%2Bcat.JPG" width="192" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">In March and April, garden plots are<br />like kittens and puppies: everyone<br />wants one.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Think about this: at an animal shelter or similar organization,
there is a never-ending demand for kittens and puppies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why? Because, with a newly-weaned domesticated
animal, all things are possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
will instantly bond with an adorable creature than will reward you with
unstinting love and affection. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">What’s wrong with an older animal? Sure, they’re still
attractive, but you know from experience there are going to be vet bills,
litter tracks in the laundry room, chewed shoes, and inexplicable sullen moods.
Adult pets are a hard sell.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='307' height='256' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzwDbqQncslZjdAv4Zqd-QOxkq3I560hoPnbammY1RUsdF3iPPlMMb9F3WkMzzaBfMIln8z0f_xfigWdgkqOA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Above: a June 2021 flyover of the Medfield Community Garden</span></i><div><span style="color: #38761d;"><i>Click to start the video and be sure to click for a full-screen view.<br /></i></span><p></p><p class="Mystyle">Now, think about this: Every February and March, we announce
the availability of our town’s 80 community garden plots. Returning gardeners
and would-be newbies beat a path to our door to sign up. They uniformly have
vision of lush, verdant plots overrun with pestilence-free zucchini, tomatoes,
beans, and herbs. Humans, it seems, have a love affair with the gardens they
have not yet planted.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Even in May and June, if a gardener finds his or her plans
have changed, filling the space is as simple as putting out an announcement to
existing plot-holders that an additional space is available. We choose a
replacement by lottery from as many as a dozen applicants.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">But, what about July?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That is another story.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6tOSePFM9-8/YPc541MpHSI/AAAAAAAAGKo/6pimPbXxaooiOKta9OHuGgj07WHhFDpnwCLcBGAsYHQ/s946/email.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="446" data-original-width="946" height="98" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6tOSePFM9-8/YPc541MpHSI/AAAAAAAAGKo/6pimPbXxaooiOKta9OHuGgj07WHhFDpnwCLcBGAsYHQ/w207-h98/email.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>At the beginning of this week, I received this email from a third-year
gardener: <i>Hi Neal, Our plot is all cleared out and available for
someone else as we don’t need it anymore.</i><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">No explanation. Not even a ‘sorry to leave you in the lurch’
post script.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just a 600-square-foot
space with weeds. The fence had been taken down and the vegetables removed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7Ye4p9ffw5g/YPc6SAD2dBI/AAAAAAAAGKw/bPktoU_oRXUE4EFTD27VYy0n3vaLvcHZACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/I%2Bsaid%2Bthe%2Bplot%2Bwas%2Bgetting%2Bweedy%253B%2Bthe%2Bgardener%2Bdisagreed.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="205" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7Ye4p9ffw5g/YPc6SAD2dBI/AAAAAAAAGKw/bPktoU_oRXUE4EFTD27VYy0n3vaLvcHZACLcBGAsYHQ/w273-h205/I%2Bsaid%2Bthe%2Bplot%2Bwas%2Bgetting%2Bweedy%253B%2Bthe%2Bgardener%2Bdisagreed.JPG" width="273" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">I had told the gardener the plot was getting<br />weedy; the gardener disagreed</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>There is no value in getting angry in such circumstances. It
is possible some tragedy befell the departing gardener’s family (though leaving
up the fence for the balance of the season would have been a nice gesture). I
would feel awful sending out a blistering reply to the issuer of that email,
only to learn of a death or life-threatening disease casting a pall over the
family. On the other hand, it is also possible the gardener was offered a house
on the Cape for the month of August, or just got tired of waiting for the rain
to stop.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">No matter the reason, we were left with the equivalent of a
middle-aged dog or cat. The question on the table was, how do we make this
animal adoptable?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">The key problem is called ‘growing season days remaining’. The
community garden nominally closes down October 31 but, by then, we’ve had a
couple of hard frosts. The first frost can come in mid-September by which time
we’re down to 12 hours of daylight (versus 16 right now). In short, the
remaining growing season is 60-65 days. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Not to mention you can’t buy (short of emptying your IRA) fencing
or stakes in July. Or plants. Or any seed package you’d be proud to
plant. We didn’t have just a middle-aged dog on our hands: we had one with
arthritis, worms, and a heart murmur. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle" style="tab-stops: right 6.5in;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_jACc675aMY/YPc6t2b5cCI/AAAAAAAAGK4/Pe8EkjhSbKUWzl0Qv-Tt7GjA-JDrbDEagCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/The%2Bgarden%2Bgets%2Bcleaned%2B-%2Band%2Ba%2Bfresh%2Bfence.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="241" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_jACc675aMY/YPc6t2b5cCI/AAAAAAAAGK4/Pe8EkjhSbKUWzl0Qv-Tt7GjA-JDrbDEagCLcBGAsYHQ/w181-h241/The%2Bgarden%2Bgets%2Bcleaned%2B-%2Band%2Ba%2Bfresh%2Bfence.JPG" width="181" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">The garden has been weeded, <br />and has a fresh fence</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>So, what did I do? The only
thing I could do. I headed straight to the garden. I dug a new trench for a
fence. Betty weeded prodigiously. I raided the community garden’s shed (where
gardeners can over-winter their supplies) for a gate and enough stakes and
fencing to make the garden usable. I will send apology letters to those whose
‘reserve’ materials I purloined, with a promise to put the materials back where
I found them.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Today, the fence went up. Tomorrow morning, there will be a
gate and a fresh wood-chipped path around the garden border. Work investment?
Between the two of us, about twelve hours of very hard and sweaty labor.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Then, I will start the process of giving it away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not all of it to one person: no one is willing
to make that investment in energy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Instead, it will be offered in pieces: a place for a 6’x10’ square of
corn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A mound for pumpkins. A sheltered
fence line for lettuce or beets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A good
community garden manager keeps a mental inventory of plot holders who have
sighed and said, “If I only had a little more sunlight…” or “I would love to
grow tomatillos but they take so much space…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-__yBUraXjXY/YPc8HQyxetI/AAAAAAAAGLA/BpnZKz1rHxgvnAHhmP9xMUAlKpmtxYUuACLcBGAsYHQ/s412/PumpkinPatch.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="348" data-original-width="412" height="159" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-__yBUraXjXY/YPc8HQyxetI/AAAAAAAAGLA/BpnZKz1rHxgvnAHhmP9xMUAlKpmtxYUuACLcBGAsYHQ/w188-h159/PumpkinPatch.jpg" width="188" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Pumpkins are one option</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>By the end of the week, the garden will be filled.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">A fair question to ask is why I didn’t see it coming. I sort
of did. I regularly walk the paths of the garden’s acre-plus and look in on
each of the 80 plots. I check for a lot of things but, mostly, I check for
effort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am the Garden Ogre, but I try
to be a patient ogre. We’re all volunteers here. I nudge, I cajole, I offer
encouragement. I don’t want to throw people out of the garden; I want them to
abide by the garden’s guidelines, enjoy themselves, and come back next year.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eJkRaJNzdq4/YPgv5PBzEXI/AAAAAAAAGLg/9xKWZ1-bQwAx9eH8MnrkS7CF_ZI8_Po0gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1001/White%2Bemail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="454" data-original-width="1001" height="119" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eJkRaJNzdq4/YPgv5PBzEXI/AAAAAAAAGLg/9xKWZ1-bQwAx9eH8MnrkS7CF_ZI8_Po0gCLcBGAsYHQ/w263-h119/White%2Bemail.jpg" width="263" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Most of my Ogre-grams are fairly gentle.<br />This one was intended to get immediate<br />action. Instead, I got an 'out of office' reply.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>A few weeks ago, following one of my walks, I sent the
gardener a note and a photo of a weedy area of the plot. Usually, my
‘Ogre-grams’ draw a response along the lines of ‘I’ll take care of it this
week.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one to this gardener earned
me the reply, “I disagree about the weeds. Other gardens look worse.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">No, they didn’t, but I had put the gardener on notice. Two
weeks later, part of the garden was covered with cardboard, but the uncovered
area was just as weedy. Another photo and missive went out; this one saying the
weeds needed to be taken care of immediately. I received an ‘out of office’
reply with a return date a week off.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Upon the gardener’s return, the weeds were noticeably reduced.
But so, too, were the plantings: all that remained were some tomatoes and
beans. That should have been the ‘tell’. Four days later came the ‘we don’t
need it anymore’ note. <o:p></o:p></p></div>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-62452464222681543322021-06-21T16:55:00.004-04:002021-07-04T17:50:53.003-04:00One Day in June<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TcPlVRawOI4/YNDpmezfwbI/AAAAAAAAGHE/WGfcWIcOwRUL0ehj7_LAIuNkqQ5UYxp0wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Cladrastis%2Bbed%2Bwith%2Bpentstemon%2BHusker%2BRed%2B6-3-2021.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="199" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TcPlVRawOI4/YNDpmezfwbI/AAAAAAAAGHE/WGfcWIcOwRUL0ehj7_LAIuNkqQ5UYxp0wCLcBGAsYHQ/w149-h199/Cladrastis%2Bbed%2Bwith%2Bpentstemon%2BHusker%2BRed%2B6-3-2021.JPG" width="149" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">This is the bed anchored by our <br />yellowwood tree (Cladrastis<br />kentuckyea) with Penstemon<br />'Husker Red' in the foreground</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>The garden at 26 Pine Street received its first ten specimen trees six years ago this month. <a href="https://theprincipalundergardener.blogspot.com/2015/08/the-pine-street-progress-report.html" target="_blank">By the end of that first season</a> (late September), we had planted perhaps 40 shrubs and the few dozen perennials that survived being part of the <a href="https://theprincipalundergardener.blogspot.com/2014/12/the-fine-art-of-moving-garden.html" target="_blank">Mole and Vole buffet</a> of the winter of 2014-2015.<p></p><p>The well-known garden mnemonic is 'sleep, creep, leap'. Perhaps, for the sixth year of a garden's existence, there ought to be a fourth entry: 'reap'. It's the time when the garden coheres; when everything comes together and all the digging, dividing, nurturing, and editing swell into the orchestra that is a mature garden. For our garden, June 2021 is that 'reap' moment. </p><p>We hosted several groups this month - a product of making our garden known to Grow Native Massachusetts and to the state's garden club federation. In its listing, we stress the garden is 'only half an acre' and, because there are no grass expanses upon which gaggles of gardeners can congregate (we have only moss paths), we limit the size of visiting groups to about a dozen or so people. </p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yYgctU3QUoo/YNDq6VXhrLI/AAAAAAAAGHM/Wyf8JuD02w47cDNfJrXZ5YZ8BC6dfOMVACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Cladrastis%2Blutea%2Bflower%2B6-3-2021%2B1.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1711" height="186" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yYgctU3QUoo/YNDq6VXhrLI/AAAAAAAAGHM/Wyf8JuD02w47cDNfJrXZ5YZ8BC6dfOMVACLcBGAsYHQ/w155-h186/Cladrastis%2Blutea%2Bflower%2B6-3-2021%2B1.JPG" width="155" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Cladrastis flowered this year</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>What that relative handful of members of the gardening world see is, finally, what we hoped for when we (primarily meaning Betty) set off to create a site that would be a) pollinator friendly, b) overwhelmingly native, and c) low-maintenance for its two caretakers.<p></p><p>Take, for example, the bed anchored by our yellowwood tree (<i>Cladrastis </i>kentuckyea), shown in the top photo (please double-click on the photo for a full-screen slide tour). Betty wanted one as soon as she saw a specimen on a garden tour in Boston's Jamaica Plain neighborhood eight or nine years ago. It was a monster of a tree; probably a century old - and it was in full bloom with droops of white flowers. We found the one we wanted, already twelve feet tall, at Weston Nurseries. Knowing it would need room, Betty settled on trios of <i>fothergilla </i>'Blue Shadow' and <i>clethra </i>'Hummingbird' to flank it at a safe distance; then an almost-yellow <i>spirea</i>, pink-blooming mountain laurel (<i>kalmia</i>), and a host of perennials, led by tall, blue-blooming <i>Liatris </i>spicata and <i>Penstemon </i>'Husker Red'. Oh, and a couple of hundred daffodil bulbs for early season color, whose dying foliage would be hidden by <i>Alchemilla </i>mollis (lady's mantle).</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IpTCT0kIxJA/YNDstHgYy6I/AAAAAAAAGHU/0wqjLwlG9PcIlaKRmRWUpzK4ObiEgy80ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Oxydendron%2Bbed%2Bwith%2B%2527Burgindy%2BHearts%2527%2Bconcolor%2Bfir%252C%2Bspirea%252C%2Bninebark.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1868" height="248" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IpTCT0kIxJA/YNDstHgYy6I/AAAAAAAAGHU/0wqjLwlG9PcIlaKRmRWUpzK4ObiEgy80ACLcBGAsYHQ/w227-h248/Oxydendron%2Bbed%2Bwith%2B%2527Burgindy%2BHearts%2527%2Bconcolor%2Bfir%252C%2Bspirea%252C%2Bninebark.JPG" width="227" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Competing color in the bed anchored<br />by Cornus florida and Oxydendron</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>For the first several years, the bed made me wince because it was so... empty. Then, the <i>Liatris </i>- its common name is 'blazing star' - began to fill in with self-seeded offspring, and the <i>Penstemon </i>('beardtongue' for reasons I cannot discern), not to be outdone, set out to colonize every square inch of space not already occupied by something else. This year, <i>Cladrastis </i>produced its first significant flowering - a shower of pink-yellow panticles (see second photo above).<p></p><p>In the bed (shown above, left) anchored by our <i>Cornus </i>florida (American dogwood, which bloomed white and pink in May) and <i>Oxydendron </i>(sourwood, which will bloom white in August), blue and yellow <i>Baptisia </i>compete for the eye's attention, as do the pink blooms of <i>Physocarpus </i>(ninebark) 'Little Devil' and the emerging flowers for our two <i>Quercifolia </i>(oakleaf) hydrangea. As a backdrop, the purple-leafed <i>Cercis </i>canadensis (redbud) 'Burgundy Hearts' gracefully sprawls with its now-15-foot breadth. I could have only imagined it would all look this beautiful in 2015. I had no inkling it would be so colorful.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PDi3mgigOlw/YNDzhxFxjfI/AAAAAAAAGHc/l4ldCURXYlwiPumpeystB9g6VOpPIIabQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Magnolia%2Bbed%2Bleft%2Bview.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1427" data-original-width="2048" height="171" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PDi3mgigOlw/YNDzhxFxjfI/AAAAAAAAGHc/l4ldCURXYlwiPumpeystB9g6VOpPIIabQCLcBGAsYHQ/w245-h171/Magnolia%2Bbed%2Bleft%2Bview.JPG" width="245" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">The Magnolia bed</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>The bed closest to out house is anchored by a <i>Magnolia </i>'Elizabeth' that flowered soft yellow in May. Now, the bed's color palette has changed dramatically, with <i>Kalmia </i>(mountain laurel) in reds and scarlets, a 'river' of long-blooming Johnson Blue and Rozanne geraniums, both upright and climbing <i>Lonicera </i>(honeysuckle), and the last of our peonies and blue-blooming <i>Amsonia</i>. Here also are also the most visible of the roughly 20 container gardens Betty created for this year. The bright yellow-flowering container in the foreground is one of a pair flanking the front porch, and incorporate both fragrant <i>Nemesia </i>and prolifically-flowering lemon <i>Calibrachoa</i>.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0GboF3AQjos/YND2FQ8SNtI/AAAAAAAAGHk/s_RsqBxyTFk0OMQKaZzBX0tz0nJDxd4jgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSCF0907.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="263" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0GboF3AQjos/YND2FQ8SNtI/AAAAAAAAGHk/s_RsqBxyTFk0OMQKaZzBX0tz0nJDxd4jgCLcBGAsYHQ/w197-h263/DSCF0907.JPG" width="197" /></a></div>The back garden has taken the full six years to come into its own. It gets less than half the sun of the front of the property and is planted accordingly. The photo at left shows the Pennsylvania flagstone patio, now filled in with fern and moss, the <i>Chioanthus</i> virginicus (American fringetree) in full, white-flowered bloom, multiple specimens of native <i>Viburnum </i>in flower and, in the right background, six <i>Vaccinium </i>(highbush blueberries) laden with un-ripe fruit. This part of the garden backs up to protected wetlands. The area is alive with nesting birds.<p></p><p>All of these photos were taken on the same June day in 2021. I could only have imagined how beautiful it would be after so relatively few years. I'm proud to be Betty's 'Principal Undergardener' and to have played a role in seeing it come to fruition.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzWUHy--zc6yEQqTZWHUxq8SZO6kNjM0UJtIBRxLjjhoxAb8S8UrqFezevFzz8G3O6aVtN_PReZFrN06KNuDA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-32696266070913100632021-05-18T15:37:00.003-04:002021-05-19T09:17:14.431-04:00Direct Democracy<p> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6Jwh3lFk9A8/YKQOrtKSPvI/AAAAAAAAGEI/Owv4OvNY8rs6ha9yZy8klbBQ7bjhkRhVQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2001/Freedom%2Bof%2BSpeech.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2001" data-original-width="1569" height="229" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6Jwh3lFk9A8/YKQOrtKSPvI/AAAAAAAAGEI/Owv4OvNY8rs6ha9yZy8klbBQ7bjhkRhVQCLcBGAsYHQ/w180-h229/Freedom%2Bof%2BSpeech.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Norman Rockwell's <br />'Freedom of Speech'</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>If you are reading this from anywhere outside New England, you
are likely familiar with the phrase ‘town meeting’ only from old Norman
Rockwell paintings or obscure novels. In my adopted town of Medfield,
Massachusetts, the town meeting is alive and well. Last evening, I witnessed a
demonstration of the power of the ‘direct democracy’* town meetings encapsulate.<p></p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Medfield - a thinly disguised 'Hardington' in seven of my mysteries - is justifiably proud of its school system, which is
consistently ranked as one of the best in the state. It has fewer than 3000
students in pre-kindergarten through twelfth grade, but delivers high quality
education on a budget of a little over $30 million a year.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rNRcqjMB8p4/YKQPKlmfbyI/AAAAAAAAGEQ/3oN49kyx-PEdk1ZZUQygyy7FUebCi7tNgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1109/current%2Bschool.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="832" data-original-width="1109" height="158" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rNRcqjMB8p4/YKQPKlmfbyI/AAAAAAAAGEQ/3oN49kyx-PEdk1ZZUQygyy7FUebCi7tNgCLcBGAsYHQ/w211-h158/current%2Bschool.jpg" width="211" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">The existing Dale Street School</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>It also needs a new
elementary school. The Dale Street School is one of three in town and houses
students in the fourth and fifth grades. It dates to an era of heating oil at
twenty cents a gallon and classes in rigid rows of desks. Renovating the school
is not an option.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">The question has always been where to build the new school
and, to a lesser extent, how large it should be. In any other time, there would
have been numerous public meetings to hear comments, ask and answer questions,
and gauge the direction of public sentiment. In an era of Covid, those meetings
were Zoom calls with little audience interaction. When there were questions,
too often the answer was ‘we’re still waiting for that information’. Apparently,
no one on the committee making the decision could sense the uneasiness or
frustration of the townspeople on the other end of those Zoom sessions.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c6DzAM7hUpA/YKQRiYoObaI/AAAAAAAAGEY/QDpfShrud5YVF7jwsNLrP6VH_4pM_cNSgCLcBGAsYHQ/s960/Dale%2BSt.%2Baerial.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="737" data-original-width="960" height="190" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c6DzAM7hUpA/YKQRiYoObaI/AAAAAAAAGEY/QDpfShrud5YVF7jwsNLrP6VH_4pM_cNSgCLcBGAsYHQ/w247-h190/Dale%2BSt.%2Baerial.jpg" width="247" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">The Dale Street School is an easy walk<br />to the center of town</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>There were always just two realistic site options. One would
be to build a new school on the same land as the existing Dale Street School,
which sits opposite the town’s school housing pre-K, kindergarten and Grade 1.
The site is easy walking distance to the center of town and is in the most
densely populated part of Medfield. The second option would be to build adjacent
the Wheelock School housing grades two and three. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YvBhXYTQXyE/YKQSJgJOTvI/AAAAAAAAGEg/LG5oHMXdTZAZzS40CRJzJ4xrGp6WU7MHACLcBGAsYHQ/s1009/Wheelock%2Baerial.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="717" data-original-width="1009" height="168" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YvBhXYTQXyE/YKQSJgJOTvI/AAAAAAAAGEg/LG5oHMXdTZAZzS40CRJzJ4xrGp6WU7MHACLcBGAsYHQ/w237-h168/Wheelock%2Baerial.jpg" width="237" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">The Wheelock School is in a rural area</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Each site has plusses and minuses. For the Dale Street site, it
would require two years of temporary classrooms while the new school was constructed,
but a lower overall cost because the school would tap into the town’s existing
infrastructure. For the Wheelock site, because of the rural setting, some $10
million of infrastructure would be required to accommodate the building, but
grades two through five would be housed on one campus. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">The decision was made
by an 18-member School Building Committee which held, according to the school system's website, "seven public community
forums, 28 open meetings of full committee, 34 meetings of the Communications Subcommittee,
and 11 meetings of the Sustainability Subcommittee."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All were held via Zoom. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QLXpP6dXvxc/YKQSy5Y2hAI/AAAAAAAAGEo/OWjDCsvvKvs85F4gO8NJL9M4ZMlb91adgCLcBGAsYHQ/s259/Dale%2BStreet%2BSchool%2Bat%2BWheelock.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QLXpP6dXvxc/YKQSy5Y2hAI/AAAAAAAAGEo/OWjDCsvvKvs85F4gO8NJL9M4ZMlb91adgCLcBGAsYHQ/s0/Dale%2BStreet%2BSchool%2Bat%2BWheelock.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">'Dale at Wheelock'. The new school is shown<br />behind the existing building</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>It was only at one of its final meetings at the end of September
2020, the School Building Committee announced its decision and unveiled the
school’s design and price tag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An $80
million facility would be constructed adjacent to the Wheelock School.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">That is when, as they
say, all hell broke loose. One member of the Select Board was quoted in the local paper saying, “I
get the feeling it’s being jammed down their throats.” The Select Board member
also said, “I’m worried about support” of the project at the Town Meeting.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A9L1v2UPXAs/YKUKELJarsI/AAAAAAAAGFQ/R5LnazgOcocbTWwBHnXA5dsVes5EjgKYQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Dale%2Bon%2BDale%2Bsign%2B5-17-21.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1441" height="208" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A9L1v2UPXAs/YKUKELJarsI/AAAAAAAAGFQ/R5LnazgOcocbTWwBHnXA5dsVes5EjgKYQCLcBGAsYHQ/w146-h208/Dale%2Bon%2BDale%2Bsign%2B5-17-21.JPG" width="146" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Signs were everywhere</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>For the past seven months, the School Building Committee has
moved ahead assuming the hubbub would die down. At the same time, signs for an
organization called ‘Dale@Dale’ began appearing on lawns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their goal: to convince the School Building
Committee to reverse its decision.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">The new school has always faced two hurdles. The first is a
two-thirds vote at a special town meeting, planned for this fall, to formally approve the project. The
second is a special election to approve higher taxes to pay for the school. If
either vote fails, Medfield goes to the back of the line for state funding that
would pay about $28 million of the cost, and the delay is usually measured in
years. A proposal for a new school in the nearby town of Hopkinton failed twice when residents balked at the price.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">‘Dale@Dale’ successfully
petitioned to include an Article in the Warrant for last night’s Town Meeting.
Article 29 asked to see if the “Town will vote to recommend (the committees) amend
its proposal to the (state funding authority) to keep Dale Street School at its
current site.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Over those months, using social media, mailed flyers, and
email exchanges, ‘Dale@Dale’ laid out its objections to the Wheelock site which
had been dismissed by the School Building Committee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The School Building Committee responded by
saying its decision-making process has been ‘completely transparent’, the town
had already spent $800,000 on design and feasibility studies, and any changes
at this point would derail the project’s funding.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MKuR57kyYd0/YKQTvtlj3nI/AAAAAAAAGE4/NSRjxjeUjbsKImGHwEZvguBILNM79j07gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1123/Annual%2BTown%2BMeeting%2B2021.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="603" data-original-width="1123" height="131" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MKuR57kyYd0/YKQTvtlj3nI/AAAAAAAAGE4/NSRjxjeUjbsKImGHwEZvguBILNM79j07gCLcBGAsYHQ/w243-h131/Annual%2BTown%2BMeeting%2B2021.jpg" width="243" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Town Meeting was held on a football field</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Usually held in the high school gymnasium at 7 p.m., the Town
Meeting convened at 5 p.m. on the high-school football field. At the start of
the meeting, the temperature was about 75 degrees under sunny skies. By the
time Article 29 was brought up for discussion three-and-a-half hours later, the
temperature had dropped to 63 degrees and it felt ten degrees colder sitting
out on the field with social distancing. For 45 minutes, proponents repeated
their mantra: the site is fine and it is too late to change. Opponents countered
with their own studies and statistics, one of which was that, in two public surveys
conducted by the School Building Committee, respondents favored the Dale Street
site, as had the annual Town Meeting three years earlier.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">To me, one of the most telling arguments was made by someone
who counted ‘more than 50 bikes’ out in front of the Dale Street School that
morning. The Wheelock site would be biking distance for only relative handful
of students, and walking distance for even fewer.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MqrprO1_1Pg/YKQUWK6M4mI/AAAAAAAAGFA/AOehUh2GW0QofnD-BhRzP2CrWT3UKC88ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1323/the%2Bone%2Blane%2Bbridge%2Bover%2BMine%2BBrook.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="643" data-original-width="1323" height="119" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MqrprO1_1Pg/YKQUWK6M4mI/AAAAAAAAGFA/AOehUh2GW0QofnD-BhRzP2CrWT3UKC88ACLcBGAsYHQ/w243-h119/the%2Bone%2Blane%2Bbridge%2Bover%2BMine%2BBrook.jpg" width="243" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">The one-lane bridge over Mine Brook</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>I had my own reason for voting in favor of the Article, and it
has to do with human nature. The Wheelock school is located on Elm Street, possibly
the most scenic road in Medfield. It is a narrow, winding street dotted with Colonial
era homes, and a narrow bridge over a brook. If the Wheelock ‘campus’ comes
into being, it is only a matter of time before a group of parents begin advocating
– in the name of the children’s safety – to widen and straighten the road, add
sidewalks, and build a safer bridge. When that happens, the Elm Street I cherish
will disappear forever. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9_cpFFiXUcA/YKQUszghLDI/AAAAAAAAGFI/LL7ad-exBoQyllVLu4X5_hbRF6FqctKmQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1300/The%2BHenry%2BAdams%2Bhouse%2Bbuilt%2B1652.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="645" data-original-width="1300" height="121" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9_cpFFiXUcA/YKQUszghLDI/AAAAAAAAGFI/LL7ad-exBoQyllVLu4X5_hbRF6FqctKmQCLcBGAsYHQ/w243-h121/The%2BHenry%2BAdams%2Bhouse%2Bbuilt%2B1652.jpg" width="243" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">The Henry Adams House on Elm St.<br />built in 1652</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>When the question was called, a show of hands did not make the
outcome clear. We then stood while ‘counters’ tallied row by row. In the end,
the vote was 229 in favor of the Article; 212 against. The Town has now voted to formally
ask the School Building Committee to reconsider its decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The vote also casts a long shadow over the
two future votes. As plebiscites go, it is one for the ages.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Will the School Building Committee change its mind? Will the
Select Board weigh in?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A message from
one Select Board member this morning noted only that the vote was “basically
slightly favoring” the Dale Street location, and downgraded the language of the
Article to merely “an advisory ‘sense of the town meeting' opinion.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Where will all this land? I don’t know. But I’m proud to live
in a place where direct democracy is still practiced. I wish more people had
that same opportunity.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Mystyle">----------------</p><p class="Mystyle"><i>* This is the primer for those of you who have forgotten what you learned in Civics or, worse, are of an age where Civics was no longer on the curriculum. We have what is called a 'representative democracy': we elect people who, in turn, make the laws we live by. The ancient Greeks had the real thing: a system in which every citizen (read 'adult, free-born male) was expected to show up and vote on whatever needed to be decided. When English colonists settled New England, they wanted a system that would bind the citizenry together. Thus was born the Town Meeting in which every citizen (read 'adult, land-owning male') got together at least once a year to approve budgets, enact laws, etc. The practice has been slowly dying out as towns got too large, or achieving a quorum became harder. Medfield (pop 12,000) is near the upper end of towns with Annual Town Meetings.</i></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><o:p> </o:p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-88567088814552267982021-05-10T14:35:00.001-04:002021-05-10T14:35:12.779-04:00Lord of the (Peony) Rings<p> As part of our continuing reality series, ‘Neal Knows More
than Martha’, we are soliciting questions from readers who need to know more
about how to garden. Today’s question
comes from reader Lew Faircloth of Whatchamacallit, ME.</p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><i>Hi, Neal. When is the best time to install rings around
your peonies? Lew Faircloth<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vF8WLKe36hI/YJl6Hg5geII/AAAAAAAAGDM/d2xLFIxwWGwlw8thjsH8jRl5ft_EhkARACLcBGAsYHQ/s950/floppy%2Bpeonies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="593" data-original-width="950" height="140" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vF8WLKe36hI/YJl6Hg5geII/AAAAAAAAGDM/d2xLFIxwWGwlw8thjsH8jRl5ft_EhkARACLcBGAsYHQ/w224-h140/floppy%2Bpeonies.jpg" width="224" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Peonies are genetically bred to flop</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Hello, Lew. The best time to install peony rings is right
after you’ve been declared incompetent and strapped into a strait jacket.
Failing that, install peony rings immediately before an errant falling Chinese
rocket is about to hit your town. In short, there is never a good time to
install peony rings, because these devices’ lone purpose is to demonstrate
there are certain tasks that are beyond the grasp of mortal man.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">The basic problem with peonies is that, like bumblebees, they
are aerodynamical impossibilities that nevertheless exist. Think about a flower
that, when fully open, is the size of a Mamie Eisenhower corsage. Now, place it
on a stem designed to hold the weight of a helium-filled balloon. Next, make
that stem grow to the height of a Celtics point guard. Finally, put several
dozens of these flowers on a plant with a base that may be as tiny as the waist
of a ballerina, or as big around as Donald Trump.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We install peony rings because peony
stems have a tendency to break over under four conditions:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Excess
wind<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Heavy
rain<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Light,
southerly breezes</p><p class="Mystyle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">4.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Morning dew</span></p><p class="Mystyle" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JE4tRrmxu-s/YJl6suJo-3I/AAAAAAAAGDU/4wqltApXel48_ibD7UYArc3SUDyqEal-ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Peony%2Brings%2Bget%2Btangled%2Bno%2Bmatter%2Bhow%2Bwell%2Byou%2Bstore%2Bthem.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1507" height="247" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JE4tRrmxu-s/YJl6suJo-3I/AAAAAAAAGDU/4wqltApXel48_ibD7UYArc3SUDyqEal-ACLcBGAsYHQ/w181-h247/Peony%2Brings%2Bget%2Btangled%2Bno%2Bmatter%2Bhow%2Bwell%2Byou%2Bstore%2Bthem.JPG" width="181" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">No matter how carefully <br />they are stowed, peony rings <br />get tangled</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>I can state these facts with certainty because, just this past
weekend, I attempted to place rings around the peonies in my own garden. It
took three hours and the result looks like something a three-year-old with
Attention Deficit Disorder would have constructed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">You approach the task of installing a peony ring with
trepidation because there are two types of peony rings – single height and
double height – available to fit roughly 85 combinations of peony plant sizes. Because
single-ring holders have a stake height of roughly 18 inches, but must be
driven six-plus inches into the ground to be stable, the height of the ring
will be barely a foot above the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Double-height peony rings are 36 inches high, but have a hoop diameter
of about 14 inches. There are no peony plants in existence that fit either of
these configurations.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Getting your peony rings out of your garage or basement is
also an exercise in futility. No matter how carefully you stored them away last
year, all peony hoops will have interlocked with their neighbors, and you will
spend the better part of an hour disassembling and re-assembling enough hoops
and staves to complete your task. Amazingly, even as they lie in your driveway,
some hoops will again manage to intermingle. For inanimate objects, they’re
awfully frisky.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U-aLF2ccDr4/YJl7NUzP_rI/AAAAAAAAGDc/7lVCVYBfNlUfEe9M1IcRAb_I8oZO4UgNACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/A%2Bsvelte%2Bpeony%2Bgets%2Ba%2Bsingle%2Bhoop.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1181" height="258" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U-aLF2ccDr4/YJl7NUzP_rI/AAAAAAAAGDc/7lVCVYBfNlUfEe9M1IcRAb_I8oZO4UgNACLcBGAsYHQ/w149-h258/A%2Bsvelte%2Bpeony%2Bgets%2Ba%2Bsingle%2Bhoop.JPG" width="149" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><i>This svelte peony <br />required a single hoop</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>The first peony I tackled was of the slim-waisted variety. I
selected a single height ring with a 12-inch diameter, and pushed the first of
the three staves into the ground. It went in about an inch before hitting a
rock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I moved the stave a few inches
and found it would go in two inches and then promptly bend. No matter where I
moved the stave, I found two-inches-and-bed to be the limit of the system
design. So, I got out a handy piece of steel rebar and, in ten seconds, pounded
it six inches into the soil. I then spent the next five minutes trying to <i>remove</i>
the rebar, which had determined this was where it wanted to spend eternity. I
settled on a system of driving down and removing the rebar an inch at a time.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Elapsed time to install the first peony ring: 45 minutes.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pfvar8deUTQ/YJl8E2quk0I/AAAAAAAAGDk/aKiwSXqFgKAcaiyT3DxVfNiV8bnMtbFxwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/This%2BTrumpian%2Bpeony%2Brequired%2Bjoining%2Btwo%2Bhoops.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1558" data-original-width="2048" height="195" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pfvar8deUTQ/YJl8E2quk0I/AAAAAAAAGDk/aKiwSXqFgKAcaiyT3DxVfNiV8bnMtbFxwCLcBGAsYHQ/w257-h195/This%2BTrumpian%2Bpeony%2Brequired%2Bjoining%2Btwo%2Bhoops.JPG" width="257" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">This Trumpian peony required a double-<br />height ring and two joined hoops</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>The second peony was of the Donald Trump variety. For this
one, I determined I would use a double-height ring and join two, 12-inch hoops
together. I installed five staves in about ten minutes. Now, all I had to do
was thread the conjoined hoops through the eye-of-a-needle size loops without
damaging peony stalks or leaves. Twenty minutes later – and with the assistance
of a pair of needle-nosed pliers – I had a passable construction. Excerpt I had
missed one stave. The correction took an additional twenty minutes and allowed
me to plumb the depths of my bad-words vocabulary to express my frustration.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">With a steep learning curve behind me, I completed three more
peonies in about 45 minutes.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">All of this, of course, will be for naught. The peonies are
well-enclosed for the present, but those stems will continue to grow. A peony
at our former home produced a stalk four feet long topped with a softball-size
bloom. No peony ring in existence could safely encase such a beast. I secured
it with two six-foot stakes and it still flopped. I already know my recent efforts
will be insufficient.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Alas, the Chinese rocket has fallen into the Indian Ocean.
Your best hope, Lew, is for an errant meteor.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Good luck,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Neal Sanders, The Principal Undergardener.</p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-51523486269857305962021-04-22T17:46:00.017-04:002021-04-23T09:14:09.168-04:00This is the Difference Between a Spade and a Shovel<p> <i><span style="color: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">From the New York Times:</span></i></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><i><span style="color: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Before the pandemic, the actress Drew Barrymore was not exactly
known for her gardening skills. Still, last spring, she planted her first lawn.
She bought some chickens, grew tomatoes, and “felt really empowered,” she told
The Times. And now, she is among the celebrities capitalizing on the
pandemic-induced gardening boom: She is the face of a lawn-care subscription
service.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><i><span style="color: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Many people <a href="https://nl.nytimes.com/f/newsletter/eIkqDn2hhW4EQBEeAkW29Q~~/AAAAAQA~/RgRiYoUBP0TfaHR0cHM6Ly93d3cubnl0aW1lcy5jb20vMjAyMC8wMy8yOC9zdHlsZS9zZWVkLXBhbmljLWJ1eWluZy1jb3JvbmF2aXJ1cy5odG1sP2NhbXBhaWduX2lkPTkmZW1jPWVkaXRfbm5fMjAyMTA0MjEmaW5zdGFuY2VfaWQ9Mjk0OTMmbmw9dGhlLW1vcm5pbmcmcmVnaV9pZD00Njg0MDIzNCZzZWdtZW50X2lkPTU2MDAwJnRlPTEmdXNlcl9pZD0yOTYwYTI1ZDZjNjIzN2Q4ZWZhYTZhNjQ4YTgyYTE5MVcDbnl0QgpgdQEAgGDwUXKuUhRiZXR0eTAyMDUyQGdtYWlsLmNvbVgEAAAAAA~~" target="_blank"><span style="color: #286ed0;">turned to gardening last year,</span></a> fueled
by a desire for a hobby, self-sufficiency, or both. Celebrities and other
brands took notice: Kate Hudson’s vodka brand teamed up with a plant delivery
service to release a potted <a href="https://nl.nytimes.com/f/a/iibtczOXcnKJXb9C6cECSA~~/AAAAAQA~/RgRiYoUBP0S1aHR0cHM6Ly95b3V0dS5iZS9XMlEyN0xydUVuQT9jYW1wYWlnbl9pZD05JmVtYz1lZGl0X25uXzIwMjEwNDIxJmluc3RhbmNlX2lkPTI5NDkzJm5sPXRoZS1tb3JuaW5nJnJlZ2lfaWQ9NDY4NDAyMzQmc2VnbWVudF9pZD01NjAwMCZ0PTc5JnRlPTEmdXNlcl9pZD0yOTYwYTI1ZDZjNjIzN2Q4ZWZhYTZhNjQ4YTgyYTE5MVcDbnl0QgpgdQEAgGDwUXKuUhRiZXR0eTAyMDUyQGdtYWlsLmNvbVgEAAAAAA~~" target="_blank"><span style="color: #286ed0;">“love fern.”</span></a> HGTV
added shows on gardening, like “Martha Knows Best,” Martha Stewart’s reality
series about life on her estate in Bedford, N.Y., and a coming topiary
competition series.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><i><span style="color: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Celebrities are vying for the lucrative role of guide to the
growing audience of garden enthusiasts, as Ronda Kaysen <a href="https://nl.nytimes.com/f/newsletter/WB_7EgjYR2EK2g5Pi8sQUg~~/AAAAAQA~/RgRiYoUBP4QDAWh0dHBzOi8vd3d3Lm55dGltZXMuY29tLzIwMjEvMDQvMTYvcmVhbGVzdGF0ZS9hbWVyaWNhbnMtaGF2ZS1kaXNjb3ZlcmVkLXRoZS1nYXJkZW4tYW5kLWNlbGVicml0aWVzLXdhbnQtaW4uaHRtbD9jYW1wYWlnbl9pZD05JmVtYz1lZGl0X25uXzIwMjEwNDIxJmluc3RhbmNlX2lkPTI5NDkzJm5sPXRoZS1tb3JuaW5nJnJlZ2lfaWQ9NDY4NDAyMzQmc2VnbWVudF9pZD01NjAwMCZ0ZT0xJnVzZXJfaWQ9Mjk2MGEyNWQ2YzYyMzdkOGVmYWE2YTY0OGE4MmExOTFXA255dEIKYHUBAIBg8FFyrlIUYmV0dHkwMjA1MkBnbWFpbC5jb21YBAAAAAA~" target="_blank"><span style="color: #286ed0;">writes in The Times.</span></a> “Someone
needs to explain the difference between a shovel and a spade.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="Mystyle" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uXUdkHkraQ4/YIHq3D4PyLI/AAAAAAAAGBU/bsju_uayF9I-ssuAiU2qAuTLb8giDFUvACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/This%2Bis%2Ba%2Bspade....JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1676" height="209" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uXUdkHkraQ4/YIHq3D4PyLI/AAAAAAAAGBU/bsju_uayF9I-ssuAiU2qAuTLb8giDFUvACLcBGAsYHQ/w171-h209/This%2Bis%2Ba%2Bspade....JPG" width="171" /></a></div>Hello, new gardening enthusiast! My name is Neal Sanders and I’m
going to be your guide to the fabulous and lucrative world of home gardening. I
am excited about this opportunity and I want you, as a consumer, to know my
advice will not be tainted by any lawn-care subscription service sponsorship
that might come along, nor my prospective affiliation with a premium vodka brand
which I hope will sponsor me as soon as I develop a taste for the stuff.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Let us start with the question that apparently perplexes all novice
gardeners: the difference between a shovel and a spade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll be honest here and admit that, until I
looked it up on Wikipedia just now, I did not know there <i>was</i> a
difference between the two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’ll be
damned! A spade is always shorter than a shovel and has a flat blade, while a
shovel is angled and has a rounded scoop. You use a spade to edge stuff; you
use a shovel to injure your back by digging out rocks. Spades are terrific for
digging trenches (provided you don’t encounter any big rocks, which are called ‘potatoes’
in the trade). Shovels are best for leaning on while you consume quantities of
ibuprofen (brand name sponsor to be substituted for generic drug).<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9XRU53NweP4/YILHvuTh0aI/AAAAAAAAGB0/veoh9ZB4phgefC-v1cT0evfxJfso7Qf_QCLcBGAsYHQ/s846/Google%2Bpage%2Bspade%2Band%2Bshovel.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="846" height="160" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9XRU53NweP4/YILHvuTh0aI/AAAAAAAAGB0/veoh9ZB4phgefC-v1cT0evfxJfso7Qf_QCLcBGAsYHQ/w251-h160/Google%2Bpage%2Bspade%2Band%2Bshovel.bmp" width="251" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Double-click for a larger image</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Now, you could have learned this information by opening Google
and typing in ‘difference between a spade and a shovel’, and it would even show
helpful photos on the first screen. But you novices don’t seem to trust Google.
You’d rather flood the HGTV message boards with a request for the answer or,
better yet, hear it from a celebrity like me! That’s fine, and it gives me ample
material for my forthcoming reality series, ‘Neal Knows More Than Martha’.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ck0Dvm7XWrQ/YIHr0pYw6NI/AAAAAAAAGBk/1JyMCzRLv2El_7lWu4PX_3vvvsfiGtKVgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/This%2Beight-foot-long%2Btrench%2Bagainst%2Bthe%2Bretaining%2Bwall%2Byielded%2Bthree%2Bcairns%2Bof%2Brocks..JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1907" height="209" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ck0Dvm7XWrQ/YIHr0pYw6NI/AAAAAAAAGBk/1JyMCzRLv2El_7lWu4PX_3vvvsfiGtKVgCLcBGAsYHQ/w194-h209/This%2Beight-foot-long%2Btrench%2Bagainst%2Bthe%2Bretaining%2Bwall%2Byielded%2Bthree%2Bcairns%2Bof%2Brocks..JPG" width="194" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><i>Real gardens are filled with rocks</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>I’m going to let you in on a secret: Martha doesn’t have a real
garden. How can I be certain? When Martha puts a spade down into the soil to
plant something (or, should she use a shovel?), she comes up with a rich mixture
of loosely packed loam and compost, and plants a peony in two minutes. Real gardens
– at least those anywhere close to New England, and Bedford, NY is nestled right
up to the Connecticut border – aren’t like that, folks. In a real New England garden,
your spade sinks down half an inch and hits a rock. And you spend the next two
hours pulling out rock after rock, and then find there’s not enough soil to
fill the hole and you spend two more hours searching for soil. After which your
wife spots the leftover rocks and suggests you use them to mend one those
quaint walls you fell in love with when you bought the property. But that’s
another episode of my reality series, and it will likely require some caution
for use of colorful, family-unfriendly language.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><span style="color: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What else can we cover before our time runs out? How about this
one: What exactly is a ‘Love Fern’, why would Kate Hudson be offering to
deliver one, what does vodka have to do with it, and why would a gardener care?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><span style="color: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OO-VWKFyCMs/YIHsOqFestI/AAAAAAAAGBs/Rn_Yn-datqICvMI6bsyyZxq30tH1amNnQCLcBGAsYHQ/s580/Love%2BFern.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="349" data-original-width="580" height="135" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OO-VWKFyCMs/YIHsOqFestI/AAAAAAAAGBs/Rn_Yn-datqICvMI6bsyyZxq30tH1amNnQCLcBGAsYHQ/w224-h135/Love%2BFern.jpg" width="224" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Kate Hudson's Love Fern</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Well, once upon a time (18 years ago), there was a film called, ‘How
to Lose a Guy in Ten Days’ and Ms. Hudson was its female lead. In one scene, she
walks in on her boyfriend’s poker game and spots a fern that has seen better days.
She cries out, ‘our Love Fern!’ and takes it to the kitchen for resuscitation or,
more likely, a proper burial. What does vodka have to do with it? Well, vodka is
an exceptionally effective killer of ferns, which is something every gardener
ought to know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beyond that, I have
absolutely no information. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><span style="color: #333333; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Maybe Martha can cover that one on her reality show.<o:p></o:p></span></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-21669358358971344092021-04-20T15:12:00.001-04:002021-04-20T18:10:03.633-04:00Year 7 Begins<p> </p><p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hAlOJEuG9mo/YH8goExe4-I/AAAAAAAAGAQ/-0TWQABCVh03FhPmTFlxtEX0UP_lFtI2ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2599/Daffodils%2B4-19-21%2B1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1209" data-original-width="2599" height="130" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hAlOJEuG9mo/YH8goExe4-I/AAAAAAAAGAQ/-0TWQABCVh03FhPmTFlxtEX0UP_lFtI2ACLcBGAsYHQ/w278-h130/Daffodils%2B4-19-21%2B1.JPG" width="278" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Our dream retirement home, April 20, 2021</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>On April 8, 2015, Betty and I moved into our ‘dream retirement
home’; the abode we have every expectation of being our residence until we’re
dragged out by our feet after our demise. The house was our own design: built
to allow two adults to ‘age in place’.</p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y_Ri2qvetiU/YH8hgNY5vPI/AAAAAAAAGAY/0SD96hof44QOlVDim_gADBu4fbuHO88KwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/After%2B30%2Byards%2Bof%2Bmulch%2B6-13-15%2B-%2B1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="154" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y_Ri2qvetiU/YH8hgNY5vPI/AAAAAAAAGAY/0SD96hof44QOlVDim_gADBu4fbuHO88KwCLcBGAsYHQ/w205-h154/After%2B30%2Byards%2Bof%2Bmulch%2B6-13-15%2B-%2B1.JPG" width="205" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">We began in 2015 with a blank slate</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Like the house, the garden began as a <i>tabula rasa</i> – a blank
slate upon which to create ‘one last great garden’; built from the knowledge gained
from predecessors dating back four decades. Betty is the architect of the
garden; I am the guy who digs holes and moves rocks. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">This final garden is designed to fulfill two purposes. The
first is that it should be low-maintenance. For too many years, we had gardens
that, in season, required upwards to 20 hours each week for maintenance. Betty’s
goal was to have a property that required most of its care at the beginning and
end of the season, and would both show well and need minimal care through the
balance of the gardening year. In short, a garden that could be managed by a retired
couple with lots of outside interests.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WAzsuOluQCk/YH8iisQHsiI/AAAAAAAAGAg/3ehE1VdH2CA9xkoOpeTmik1N6P_dzdixwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1024/Flicker%2Bat%2Ba%2Bsuet%2Bfeeder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="138" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WAzsuOluQCk/YH8iisQHsiI/AAAAAAAAGAg/3ehE1VdH2CA9xkoOpeTmik1N6P_dzdixwCLcBGAsYHQ/w138-h138/Flicker%2Bat%2Ba%2Bsuet%2Bfeeder.jpg" width="138" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">A flicker at our suet cage</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>The second – and perhaps more important – purpose, is that the
garden should be pollinator and bird friendly. It should, to the greatest
extent possible, use native plants and should be an extension of the conservation
land we abut. Trees, shrubs, and perennials have been chosen for how well they
fit the ‘pollinator-friendly’ requirement. There’s no grass – not a blade – nor
are there any of the garden-center staples like Bradford pears (from China), Norway
maples (from the Carpathians), or Kousa dogwood (from Asia). If it doesn’t host native birds, bees, or butterflies, it has no place in the garden.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Which doesn’t mean the garden is dull. Our trees put on
spectacular shows, and our shrubs and perennials become blankets of durable
bloom. You’ll see those photos over the next several months.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ufR6alnWLIE/YH8jLs9GhxI/AAAAAAAAGAo/aMtDrNnUZEwegDOsrts1P89C5ajcn-OLQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/amalanchier%2Babout%2Bto%2Bbloom%2B4-20-21.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1970" data-original-width="2048" height="188" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ufR6alnWLIE/YH8jLs9GhxI/AAAAAAAAGAo/aMtDrNnUZEwegDOsrts1P89C5ajcn-OLQCLcBGAsYHQ/w195-h188/amalanchier%2Babout%2Bto%2Bbloom%2B4-20-21.JPG" width="195" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Our amelanchier about to bloom</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>The garden has grown organically. In our first year we planted the specimen trees and a few dozen shrubs. The second year saw many shrubs and lots of perennials. Everything wasn't perfect: shrubs changed locations as we got to know where we had the best shade and sun. Some perennials simply didn't like the location. Others became too aggressive. It has been a learning experience.</p>
<p class="Mystyle">This, the garden’s sixth season, should be the one when the vision
becomes reality. We went to Garden in the Woods last week and came home with a
single <i>Ceoanthus</i> americanus (New Jersey tea). In Aprils past, we would return
with a car stuffed with shrubs and perennials. My goal this year is to document
the garden as it reaches its mature status.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PI9dlswF6KE/YH8j4us8UvI/AAAAAAAAGAw/8xs62VM3OhwfNP2W-gXftlkInBBRqvlTgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/hyacinth%2Bborder%2B4-19-21%2B1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="177" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PI9dlswF6KE/YH8j4us8UvI/AAAAAAAAGAw/8xs62VM3OhwfNP2W-gXftlkInBBRqvlTgCLcBGAsYHQ/w132-h177/hyacinth%2Bborder%2B4-19-21%2B1.JPG" width="132" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Our hyacinth border</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>I begin with bulbs. We have planted more that 4000 of them. We
readily recognize they’re the most ‘foreign’ aspects of the garden (most spring
bulbs originated in western Asia) but, if they are aliens, they’re friendly
ones and, better still, they’re ephemeral. We are also cultivating our share of
natives, like <i>Mertensia</i> virginica (Virginia bluebells), which have established
themselves in the shadier spots of the back of the property, along with <i>Jeffersonia</i>
diphylla (Twinleaf) and <i>Trillium</i>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rJ_SpUVpVj0/YH8kUCsK4xI/AAAAAAAAGA4/Pnq8NGFQLiwpxnqj3NQMEubqfd8w1MKIwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1667/Jeffersonia%2Btwinleaf%252C%2Bbluebells%252C%2Bligularia%2B%2527Othello%2527.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1667" data-original-width="1498" height="163" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rJ_SpUVpVj0/YH8kUCsK4xI/AAAAAAAAGA4/Pnq8NGFQLiwpxnqj3NQMEubqfd8w1MKIwCLcBGAsYHQ/w147-h163/Jeffersonia%2Btwinleaf%252C%2Bbluebells%252C%2Bligularia%2B%2527Othello%2527.JPG" width="147" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Twinleaf (white flower)<br />and bluebells</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Our bulbs provide the first color of the season, and are placeholders
until our flowering trees and shrubs begin putting on their displays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today (April 20), we have an <i>Amalanchier</i>
‘Autumn Brilliance’ just a day or two away from being a blizzard of white
flowers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The maples, in turn, all are
showing their proto-leaves. Our native <i>Dicentra</i> (bleeding hearts) are doubling
in size every few days and will be flowering before the end of the month.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">So, sit back, enjoy the photos, and check back regularly.<o:p></o:p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3498010675717688273.post-81660075310799050502021-03-22T15:25:00.006-04:002021-03-24T08:28:33.980-04:00Remembering Sandy Robinson<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2B3YBFfggHg/YFjIQaeYpOI/AAAAAAAAF9c/2abjphhDfdgok3U1FfJJCdDHoah2ejDoQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1511/Sandy%2BRobinson%2B-%2Bcropped.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1511" data-original-width="1183" height="157" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2B3YBFfggHg/YFjIQaeYpOI/AAAAAAAAF9c/2abjphhDfdgok3U1FfJJCdDHoah2ejDoQCLcBGAsYHQ/w123-h157/Sandy%2BRobinson%2B-%2Bcropped.jpg" width="123" /></a></div>A wonderful lady and treasured friend passed away early this
morning: Sandra Kay Robinson - Sandy to everyone who knew her - lost a near two-year-long battle with cancer.<p></p><p class="Mystyle"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vjOQKkyVhZI/YFjJLFE-dAI/AAAAAAAAF9k/TWTC72plcIcowjmfiF20REEArC7IL5zMgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Betty%2BSanders%2Bof%2BMedfield%2Bis%2Binstalled%2Bas%2BPresident%2Bof%2Bthe%2BGarden%2BClub%2B%2BFederation%2Bof%2BMassachusetts%2Bby%2BSandra%2BRobinson%252C%2BPresident%2Bof%2BNational%2BGarden%2BClubs%252C%2BInc..JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="196" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vjOQKkyVhZI/YFjJLFE-dAI/AAAAAAAAF9k/TWTC72plcIcowjmfiF20REEArC7IL5zMgCLcBGAsYHQ/w261-h196/Betty%2BSanders%2Bof%2BMedfield%2Bis%2Binstalled%2Bas%2BPresident%2Bof%2Bthe%2BGarden%2BClub%2B%2BFederation%2Bof%2BMassachusetts%2Bby%2BSandra%2BRobinson%252C%2BPresident%2Bof%2BNational%2BGarden%2BClubs%252C%2BInc..JPG" width="261" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Sandy installs Betty as GCFM President</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>I first met Sandy on June 2, 2015. I can say that with certainty
because, the following day, Sandy installed my wife, Betty, as President of the
Garden Club Federation of Massachusetts. Sandy was herself the newly installed
President of National Garden Clubs, Inc. (NGC); the umbrella organizations for garden
clubs across the United States and with affiliates throughout the Americas.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">Sandy had progressed through the garden club ranks in her home
state of Kentucky, then stepped onto a treacherous ladder that included a competitive,
six-year ‘apprenticeship’ that culminates with being elected as national
president.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The national president is the
visible face of the organization, and the title comes with a back-breaking
travel schedule: she is expected to visit all 50 states and a slew of South
American countries during her two-year term.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OQfpZl9k8ac/YFjrWu-UB7I/AAAAAAAAF-U/G15rLl0UHkMssP5BeWr02UeTHuoNUd8XgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Sandy%2Bwith%2Bthe%2Bpeacocks.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1496" height="181" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OQfpZl9k8ac/YFjrWu-UB7I/AAAAAAAAF-U/G15rLl0UHkMssP5BeWr02UeTHuoNUd8XgCLcBGAsYHQ/w132-h181/Sandy%2Bwith%2Bthe%2Bpeacocks.JPG" width="132" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Sandy at the Newport <br />Flower Show</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>The next day, I gave Sandy a couple of my books for her upcoming
flights (over the next two week she would install half a dozen presidents).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She dutifully put them into her tote, and the
look on her face was one that said, ‘<i>Oh, my God, something else I don’t have
room to pack…</i>’. I imagined my precious books being abandoned next to air sickness bags on
flights all over the east coast.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">But something amazing happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sandy read them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then passed them on to friends with
glowing recommendations. I would begin to get notes from strangers in far-flung
locations asking when my next book was coming out.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BZ8nbxm8laE/YFjKNYHMdeI/AAAAAAAAF9s/-l13Ebg7-c05C3JSiLDLts0oVARP5LsZQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1035/frog.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1035" data-original-width="800" height="188" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BZ8nbxm8laE/YFjKNYHMdeI/AAAAAAAAF9s/-l13Ebg7-c05C3JSiLDLts0oVARP5LsZQCLcBGAsYHQ/w145-h188/frog.jpg" width="145" /></a></div>With Betty now going to NGC events and with me in tow peddling
books, Sandy’s and my path crossed several times a year. I came to know a woman
who both took her NGC role seriously, and who also took life with a large
dollop of humor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the perks of
being NGC president is to choose a national theme (hers was ‘Leap Into Action’)
and, along with that theme, to work with professional writers and illustrators
on a children’s book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sandy had a life-long
affinity for and fascination with frogs and so a wonderful book with an
environmental theme was produced: <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Frightened-Frog-Environmental-Tale/dp/0941994236" target="_blank">The Frightened Frog</a></i>. It sold extraordinarily
well, including in Massachusetts. Sandy, in turn, was deluged with frog-themed paraphernalia,
which both delighted and overwhelmed her.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vHVof1JsAqM/YFjmwUx0e6I/AAAAAAAAF90/nki7vF3vu90ElsjcjjTblkq_-zB_jaGqwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Sandy%2Band%2BDavid%2B1.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="196" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vHVof1JsAqM/YFjmwUx0e6I/AAAAAAAAF90/nki7vF3vu90ElsjcjjTblkq_-zB_jaGqwCLcBGAsYHQ/w147-h196/Sandy%2Band%2BDavid%2B1.JPG" width="147" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">David Robson and Sandy<br />at Coastal Maine BG</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>When I met Sandy, my writing and speaking credentials petered
out at the borders of the six New England states. I credit much of my success
beyond the region to Sandy’s speaking well of me, though she never saw a
presentation of ‘Gardening Is Murder’ until I addressed the annual meeting of
the Garden Club of Kentucky. It was my first talk in front of a group of people
who had no frame of reference for New England gardening – or humor. Afterward,
Sandy said I was ‘even weirder than (she) already thought I was.’<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G_M_rVa4Uk0/YFjoAQltYWI/AAAAAAAAF-A/qCQ5IK4OUFQqext49GJjhqjHaaEm2M2zQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Betty%252C%2BDavid%252C%2BSandy%2Bat%2BCrane%2BBeach.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1693" data-original-width="2048" height="177" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G_M_rVa4Uk0/YFjoAQltYWI/AAAAAAAAF-A/qCQ5IK4OUFQqext49GJjhqjHaaEm2M2zQCLcBGAsYHQ/w213-h177/Betty%252C%2BDavid%252C%2BSandy%2Bat%2BCrane%2BBeach.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">At Crane Beach</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>In 2019, Betty and I were able to reciprocate some small part
of Sandy’s friendship. In June of that year, she and David Robson were invited
to <a href="https://theprincipalundergardener.blogspot.com/2019/07/the-newport-flower-show-one-of.html" target="_blank">judge the Newport Flower Show</a>. We invited them to come a few days early,
allowing us to show them some of ‘our’ New England, including an all-day trip to
the Coastal Maine Botanical Garden (she had seen it once before – for 40
minutes – as part of a whirlwind tour of horticultural sites), Crane Beach, Long
Hill, and Farnham’s fried clams (even though she had a seafood allergy).<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-StKukVdWos4/YFjpV_UXLNI/AAAAAAAAF-M/Bg3mg9GXSwIsupqW_kZnmN2M16mBPkixgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Sandy%2BRobinson%2Bcertificate.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1488" height="188" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-StKukVdWos4/YFjpV_UXLNI/AAAAAAAAF-M/Bg3mg9GXSwIsupqW_kZnmN2M16mBPkixgCLcBGAsYHQ/w136-h188/Sandy%2BRobinson%2Bcertificate.jpg" width="136" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Her sense of humor<br />on display</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>That was also the last time Betty or I would see Sandy, though
we spoke with her periodically. That autumn, she received her first cancer
diagnosis. A spring 2020 speaking swing through the Midwest that would have
included a detour to Kentucky to see her was scrubbed when Covid-19 reared its
head.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Mystyle">She was a remarkable lady who leaves an enduring legacy. Since
hearing the news of her death this morning, we have heard a cascade of
remembrances of kindness, activism, friendship and, above all, devotion to the
garden club community.<o:p></o:p></p>The Principal Undergardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01587525514605371821noreply@blogger.com1