All Spruced Up

Here's the latest Art On A Stick:



The glass portion is supposed to subtly glow at night. So far, it's so subtle I can't see it.

I can't wait to plant the Edelweiss (Leontopodium) and Aztec Gold Veronica (Veronica Prostrata Aztec Gold) seen in the background above. I'm just waiting to find the perfect small shrubs to anchor the middle of the bed. I'm considering some type of Juniper, but I'd like something a) compact and b) attractive year round. Let's add c) funky and unique. Unfortunately, most local nurseries don't seem to carry that.

We planted a Dwarf Alberta Spruce (picea glauca 'Conica') to anchor the corner of the bed. It's supposed to grow slowly to 5-10' tall. Baby Girl is currently almost 3' tall. She certainly does not grow slowly. I could say that she grows like a weed, but that would be too corny.



And finally, we have some new sod. Now the grass isn't quite as crabby, but it still needs some TLC. I propose a lawn care service. You can also see that I planted five "Debonair" garden mums around the base of the Alberta Spruce.



I like the word "Debonair." It's very Fred Astaire.

Sunrise, Sunset

I have mixed feelings about my gardening philosophy.

I appreciate the endless variations that I see in other people's gardens. I'm constantly amazed by people's ingenuity.

It's kinda like great clothes. I wonder, how can designers create a new form of, say, the "little black dress" without just repeating old designs? And yet every year they come up with something new, gorgeous and unique to them. Or think of the great composers and songwriters. There are only so many notes, yet there are endless varieties of new songs. Its the same across the board, from authors to painters and jewelers, etc. From one generation to the next, the best lives on through repeated themes, styles and flourishes. Yet each artist feels compelled to make their own mark.

I often joke about our "jungle" outside, but the truth is I inherited what was once a beautiful garden. The previous owners were master gardeners. Unfortunately we purchased the house in mid winter and the many flower beds were hidden under a foot of snow. They proudly gave us photos of their prized flowers in full bloom and carefully plotted a "roadmap" of every bed, including instructions about when to cut back certain flowers and when the wood ducks returned each spring. I was excited, my mother was excited, and we waited to see what would "pop up" in the spring.

At closing I had promised to take care of the beds. And at that time I truly meant it.

So here we are. I've cut down two of their largest trees. They were dead or dying and posed a danger to the house. But the previous owners would have been mortified. The trees were old, they provided shade. I've also obliterated three massive flower beds. To my eyes, they were overgown, out of control and they became a nuisance. But to the previous owners they represented years of hard work, pride and memories.

But they had the time to care for it according to their standards. I'm a new mom, I'm in a different phase of life. When I looked into the gardens, I saw them, not me.

With every bed removal I feel a pang of guilt. I didn't follow through on my end of the bargain. But I did my best. I gave my mother and several others the best of the bunch. I wasted and killed as little as possible.

I simply feel that primal desire to make my own mark. To start from scratch. To make the lines of my front yard conform to the visions in my mind. I can't be limited by the previous owners' vision. They've moved on to transform their new landscape. I feel compelled to transform mine.

I'm sure that the people who buy the house after us will make significant changes to what I've done. The sun rises, the sun sets. People feel compelled to personalize what is theirs. It's the natural rhythm of life.

But why would they want to destroy my work? Because when I'm done it will be perfect. *wink*

Cats, fairies and flying gnomes

For some reason I love fairies and cat statues. I've started to collect them along the front walkway.

The cat thing is obvious because we live with three of them. Rub the Buddha Kitty's tummy for luck:

The fairy thing is a little more complex. I don't like the image of a flighty overly-pious "angel" sprinkling pixie dust ad nauseum. To me, fairies are light and whimsical yet mischevious. Beautiful but saucy. I am very picky about the fairies I let into my garden.

This globe is solar powered:



These bubbles are actually plastic:

One day I would like to make a fairy garden similiar to this.

No gnomes have moved into the garden yet. I'm waiting to find the right one. My favorite Harry Potter gnome scenes:

Fred, George, Harry and Ron were the only ones who knew that the angel on top of the tree was actually a garden gnome that had bitten Fred on the ankle as he pulled up carrots for Christmas dinner. Stupefied, painted gold, stuffed into a miniature tutu and with small wings glued to its back, it glowered down at them, the ugliest angel Harry had ever seen, with a large bald head like a potato and rather hairy feet. --From The Half Blood Prince, 2005

"Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know," Harry told Ron as they crossed the lawn.

"Yeah, I've seen those things they think are gnomes," said Ron, bent double with his head in a peony bush, "like fat little Santa Clauses with fishing rods...."

There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered, and Ron straightened up. "This is a gnome," he said grimly.

"Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" squealed the gnome.

It was certainly nothing like Santa Claus. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby, bald head exactly like a potato. Ron held it at arms' length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet; he grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down.

"This is what you have to do," he said. He raised the gnome above his head ("Gerroff me!") and started to swing it in great circles like a lasso. Seeing the shocked look on Harry's face, Ron added, "It doesn't hurt them -- you've just got to make them really dizzy so they can't find their way back to the gnomeholes."

He let go of the gnome's ankles: It flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.

"Pitiful," said Fred. "I bet I can get mine beyond that stump."

Harry learned quickly not to feel too sorry for the gnomes. He decided just to drop the first one he caught over the hedge, but the gnome, sensing weakness, sank its razor-sharp teeth into Harry's finger and he had a hard time shaking it off -- until --

"Wow, Harry -- that must've been fifty feet...."

The air was soon thick with flying gnomes.

"See, they're not too bright," said George, seizing five or six gnomes at once. "The moment they know the de-gnoming's going on they storm up to have a look. You'd think they'd have learned by now just to stay put."

Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched.

"They'll be back," said Ron as they watched the gnomes disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field. "They love it here....Dad's too soft with them; he thinks they're funny...." -- from The Chamber of Secrets, 1999

J.K. Rowling, you're my hero.

Thus, the adventure begins.

Ok, here's the historic "First Post."
*Fanfare*
*Throws confetti*

Web Site's Mission Statement: Herewithin I shall track the progress of my new landscaping, including a new sparkly rock garden, a shade tree for my hot southern-facing front yard, and my deep-rooted desire to tame the outside mess in the front and back yards. My quest for low-maintenance gardening has begun. May I find solace, release some creative demons and save myself from the dreaded "new-stay-at-home-mom" stupor.

A Little History: We purchased the house in February 2001. It was the worst house on a nice block. Now that we've (mostly) finished renovating the inside, I've started to focus on the jungle outside. The previous owners were master gardeners. But they were not master planners. At our closing they had confessed that they had once planned to turn the front lawn into one enormous garden. They were getting close. (Picture below was taken before we bought the house).



After a few years of watching things grow and reproduce at an alarming rate (they had great dirt), and after quitting my job to stay at home with the new baby, and quickly realizing that all the time I thought I would have to blissfully tend to the garden was being sucked away into the baby vortex, I decided to take drastic measures and start over from scratch. The goal is to make it easier on myself. Isn't that how the most tangled webs begin?

The house & garden today:


Recent Garden Notes:

1. Mid-summer 2005. I feverishly obliterated the weedy overgrown jungle in the front lawn with trusty hatchett, rusty shovel and industrial-strength pruners. Oddly therapuetic, released much rage. Neighbors quivered in fear and refused eye contact, lest they fall prey to the clippers.
2. Soon after, with Husband's help, carted 4 yards of sifted dirt into large polymorphous mound. Curiously, Husband believes baby would like to go off-roading on the dirt pile. Indeed, baby enjoys it.
3. July 2005 went something like this...GardenVixen: "We need a few rocks." Husband: "I am morally opposed to paying for rocks. I shall become Mountain Man and find rocks of great caliber on vacation Up North." Flash forward to our friend's woods and a sweaty, buggy, two track road at the height of July heat. Husband grits teeth and grunts as he extracts mini-boulders from spider-laden ground and swats angry killer deer-flies. The haul: 9 rocks. GardenVixen: "Hmmm, I kinda wanted sparkly rocks." Husband: "Groan." Flash forward to Landscape Supply Company. GardenVixen: "I want that pink one behind the big boulder on the top of the pile." Husband climbs large rock pile, loads truck and forks over cash. Husband unloads truck and sets stones according to GardenVixen's wishes. GardenVixen: "I think we need more rocks." Husband: "Groan." Repeat scenerio. Garden Vixen: "I think that's enough rocks." Pause. Husband: "I think we need more rocks." GardenVixen: "Gasp!" Makes mental note to look up name for addiction to sparkly rocks. So far, no cure found.
4. A week ago. Time to install sprinklers. Well, there is no sense in dropping all this cash on rocks and new low-maintenance foliage without proper watering! (Translation: I hate dragging out the $%#@ hose, especially in this heat). Complex irrigation system is expertly installed in two days by nice teacher and his two college-aged kids in the furnace-like heat. I feel like a tyrant landowner as I watch from my air-conditioned abode. But the job is done and now the Hunter sprinkler heads gleefully pop up every morning at 5:30 to spread their cool refreshing mist on the sleepy grass and on our much-abused early-to-work neighbor. Wonder what our watering bill will be?

So now we have this empty rock-encased mound of dirt (and cypress mulch) and a nifty new sprinkler system. Note the dead tuft of blue grass, installed prior to sprinklers. And the few lone rocks on top, imitating stonehedge. View from dining room window:

See? We need more rocks! We also need sod to fill in the many dead spots littering our crappy lawn due to previous bed removals and the damage done from moving all of that dirt and the installation of the sprinklers. And I think we have grubs. Here you can see the ravaged lawn trying to grow where there was once a much-despised herb garden box.

I want a small dwarf evergreen to anchor the left side of my new rock bed. (That's an Amur Maple on the right). And more perennials. Oh, and I want a Sugar Maple by the house for shade. Don't get me started on the bed by the driveway, or the entire backyard. Or the bed that needs help up near the porch. *sigh*