Flowering moss

detail of moss

flowering moss above the pattern meadow

The Daphne ‘Carol Mackie’ came into flower and the whole area near my front door is cloaked in the most heavenly scent. I had this same plant before and lost it during a hard winter, but I decided to try again and planted it in a sheltered spot near a stone wall.  I’m glad I gave ‘Carol Mackie’ another shot!

Daphne ‘Carol Mackie’ in bloom, alchemilla mollis & hosta

My new approach to mowing is to stop mowing as much as possible.  To this end I planted a small orchard of six plum trees last spring and mowed a path between the short avenue to a bench and crabapple tree that became a natural focal point. In the two columns either side of the central path, a profusion of meadow plants began to show up including, daisies, butter & eggs, vetch, clover, buttercups and other flowering perennials.  Last autumn, I mowed the high grass right down and planted 3000 scilla-wood squil and muscari-grape hyacinth bulbs.  This spring the display of blue flowers has been wonderful and lasted over 5 weeks. The area will be unmowed all spring and summer and this fall I will mow it down again so that next spring I will be able to see bulb display in the low grass.

Last year plum orchard planted- first year letting grass grow.

Planted 3000 scilla & muscari-in raised grass areas.

This spring I have turned over another large area of the mowed lawn and made paths that make a 6ft wide grid around 6X 13.5’feet square unmown squares. I have named this new area Versailles  for its formal appearance and grandeur!  Already the juxtaposition of high and low grass has added an interesting texture to the garden and of course the secondary bonus is that my mowing time is cut tremendously, no pun intended, as is my gas bill. I will post photos again once the wildflowers begin to bloom.

Versailles- 6ft paths x 13.5 squares of meadow flowering plants.

Prunus subhirtella-Autumnalis Higan Cherry

Prunus Subhirtella 'Autumnalis'

Another Cherry worth growing in the cold north is Prunus Sargentii- Sargent Cherry hardy to zone 4, the flower is a little pinker than Autumnalis and it flowers a bit earlier.  It has the advantage of lovely pink blossoms and a copper colored leaf that emerges after the flower. The copper colored leaves will turn green in early summer.  I suppose all spring flowering trees are susceptible to getting hit by hard frost.  My star magnolias got fried this year, but they still produced some flowers once it warmed up again.

Prunus sargentii after flowering- emerging copper colored leaves

Another tree that seems to weather the winter-like conditions of our northern spring is Amelanchier Canadensis- Shadowblow Serviceberry is our dogwood of the north. This is a beautiful tree with a delicate white flower that emerges in front of delicate cooper colored leaves. It grows all over the northeast and is one of the first trees to flower. I planted one on my pond and though it is still young it looks terrific reflected in the pond.

Amelanchier Canadensis - a very young tree

Cercidphyllum Japaonicum- Katsura tree is a fantastic tree worthy of our northern gardens. I have yet to see the flower on this tree but the emerging copper colored leaves are stunning.  The leaves change a lot during the year from bronzy purple to light green and then blue-green and in fall to an apricot rich yellow!

Cercidphyllum Japonicum -Katsura tree in spring before flowering.

I have also planted several fruit trees including a Keiffer pear, several plum trees and an apricot tree which all have beautiful flowers. Most of my fruit trees are still too young to photograph being just sticks! Once you have a few early flowering trees spring will take on a whole new beauty even if it’s still cold!

Kieffer Pear tree about to flower

Micheal has over 155 varieties willow and it was very exciting to see what he is growing.   Up til now, I thought of willows as those large weeping trees and scruffy shrubs that we see everywhere.  I was floored to see the many colored stems and pussy willows available, including a pink pussy willow called S. Chaenomeloides ‘MT. Aso’  Michael is also building a collection of dwarf willows which looks promising for gardeners with less space.  One of my favorite small willows which I saw on his website is called Salix Candida.  I got cuttings and have planted it in my Moon Garden for its interesting grey leaves.

Baby Buff Orpington stepping out of coop door to inspect!

I recently got chickens and had the idea to make the “girls” a place to dive into if a hawk was circling above. Where the coop is very exposed and windy and  the living willow structures provide a covered area.   I had a lot of fun making the hoops with the girls inspecting the work at each stage and bugging me for the worms I was exposing when digging the trenches.   I made 4 tunnels in the shape of a circle.  Already the willow rods are pushing out buds and by midsummer the tunnels will look like small hedges from above.

Living willow tunnel in chicken coop.

"Girls" inside the hoops

I also bought enough tall rods to make plant supports for my vegetable garden. This is just the beginning of my exploration into growing and making willow structures. I am already planning next year’s projects and am really glad to be involved with growing this beautiful and renewable plant that has so many uses. Check out Michael’s website:

Dried willow plant supports for sweet peas

Willow plant support

Syringa, the Latin name for the group of plants we know as lilacs, is derived from syrinx meaning a hollow stem. In Greek legend the nymph Syrinx was pursued by the god Pan. She asked assistance from river nymphs and was transformed into hollow water reeds that made a haunting sound. Pan cut the reeds to fashion the first set of pan pipes (a k a syrinx). The ancient Greek doctors used the hollow stems to inject medicines into their patients and also to drain off blood which was believed to be a cure for many ailments in those days. The Turks thought that the best pipes around were those made from straight stems of the lilac and so it makes sense that ‘Pipe tree’ was one of the first common names for lilacs in the English language.

All lilacs belong to the genus Syringa, including 21 species and hundreds of cultivars. The majority of the species are native to Asia and surprisingly, given how popular they are here, none are native to North America. The common lilac, S. vulgaris, native of Eastern Europe, was introduced to Western Europe in 1600 and later to North America. One of the first references to lilac in America was in 1767 when Thomas Jefferson described planting them in his book on gardening. The first lilacs in the U.S. are believed to have been planted at Governor Wentworth’s estate in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in 1750.

Over the last several years I had heard about a tantalizing nursery somewhere in upstate New York that specialized in lilacs only and that if you went in the spring you could see literally hundreds of different lilacs, all blooming at the same time. As spring is my busiest season, I was unable to make the time to find this place which had an affect on my garden as year after year passed and I still hadn’t planted any lilacs; I was waiting to get the best of the best. I finally searched the Internet and found a gardener’s blog that referred to the “lilac farm” with instructions on how to get there. Last spring I made it to Bates Hop House located in Cherry Valley and it was certainly worth the wait. When I called to get the best time for viewing, George Alverson, who owns and operates the nursery, told me, “When the fields of dandelion are in bloom the lilacs are in bloom.”

Syringa Vulgaris 'Dwight D. Eisenhower'

It was a beautiful drive to Cherry Valley and when my wife and two gardening friends arrived at the Bates Hop House, we introduced ourselves to Mr. Alverson who was standing in a small shed having just checked out a long line of enthusiastic customers laden down with lilacs of all shades and sizes. Nurserymen who specialize in one genus or a small selection of specialized plants tend to be some of the most passionate gardeners around, so it is no coincidence that they often have the most interesting and highest quality collections of plants. We were all amazed by the variety of color and shapes and sizes of flowers we saw that day. There were around 160 varieties of lilacs to choose from and we stuffed the trunk of our friend’s car with plants. Unable to decide between so many beautiful plants we simply took as many as we could.

Later in the year I called to interview Mr. Alverson who told me that he began his lilac nursery after he retired from teaching at SUNY Oneonta. He had been a dairy farmer for 12 years before that. Referring to an empty field next to his house he said, “The farmer in me wanted to use the five acres of land and I had the idea to start a farm stand by planting blueberry, raspberry bushes and apple trees.” Always passionate about lilacs he planted 300 cuttings in 1993 and three years later, when the twigs had matured, he sold 247 plants out of the 300 he planted. By 1996 he was selling 900 to 1,000 plants with 160 different varieties. Mr. Alverson offers small-size lilacs averaging 18 to 24 inches and the large size are available in 3, 4 and 5 foot sizes. His customer base is eager and comes from up to a 75 to 80 mile radius.

Bates Hop House lilac

With the help of two hoop greenhouses Mr. Alverson is able to bring a large selection of plants into flower in early May. Larger plants in 3 to 5 gallon pots are left outside during winter and begin flowering in mid May until mid June. The extended blooming period allows customers more than six weeks to view plants before purchase. By comparison other nurseries that sell a limited number of lilacs have an average viewing time of about ten days. When I asked him what his favorite lilac was, his response was unsentimental: “The one going out the door with a check in my hand!” The most popular lilac he sells is Syringa ‘Beauty of Moscow.’  Listed as white, the buds are pale rosy pink with florets the size of apple blossoms. They have a triple layer of petals. I bought one.

As he tells it, when Mr. Alverson began raising lilacs there were only 6 to 8 varieties on the market, and then an article about lilac varieties appeared in Martha Stewart’s Living magazine. Two thousand varieties were listed and there were photos of lilacs rarely seen before by the general public. The excitement over the article forced the nursery industry to start offering more varieties.

On my first visit to Bates Hop House I kept returning to a spot where there were a series of lilacs called ‘Preston lilacs.’ Apparently, Isabella Preston was from Lancashire, England, and moved to Canada at the age of 31. Attending the Ontario Agricultural College she was later offered a position to establish a breeding program of ornamental plants. She bred lilies, roses, Siberian iris, columbine, flowering crab, and lilacs. But it is Miss Preston’s work with lilacs that is considered to be her biggest accomplishment. S. villosa and S. reflexa are the two species that she crossed to breed the plant that now bears her name, Syringa x prestoniae, and its hybrid Syringa x josiflexa. In her lifetime she named over 50 selections and introduced 47 new cultivars.

Bates Hop house lilac

At Bates Hop House there is a viewing area of mature lilacs that you can wander through and decide what to buy for your own garden. There is an amazing variety in color, habit, bloom size, shrub shape, and flowering time. Apparently, here in the north, our lilacs have a stronger fragrance and are more saturated in color than those found in the south. It seems lilacs benefit from our arctic conditions. (I am glad something does.)

If you are thinking about making a hedge of lilacs you can’t go wrong with S. meyeri ‘Palibin,’

which reaches a mature height of 4 to 5 feet. Its small rounded leaves and compact size make a dense screen. S. pubescens is considered a winner for fragrance. Native to China it has small white flowers tinged with purple and the perfume is an exquisite spicy-sweet combination. For early flowering lilacs look for S. oblata, native to China and Korea. It blooms about two weeks earlier than the common lilac. Also worth mentioning is Syringa reticulata, the tree lilac. It is an upright tree growing to 30 feet, with dark leaves and large plumes of white blossoms. It tends to bloom about 10 days after the late-flowering lilacs and in my zone (4) that is in late June, early July.

I planted ‘Ivory Silk’ which is a cultivar from Japan and is commonly available. I discovered this tree because it was planted next to a house I was staying in Connecticut and the heavenly scent filled the whole house. My great-grandmother would have loved this tree.

The Bates Hop House is located at 54 Lancaster Street, Cherry Valley. The nursery is open from May to June, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Closed Mondays and Tuesdays. During July and August, open by appointment. Call (607) 264-3450. 

The girls arrived! 10 pullets – 6 Buff Orpingtons, 2 Plymouth Rocks and two mixed Australorps. They are still nervous to go outside after Ruby, our not so small poodle, rushed the fence and sent one of them flying onto the roof. Word got around the coop and nobody wants to venture out now. Each morning when I feed them they huddle around me brushing against my leg while I pour the feed into their tray. I like chickens and they seem to be getting to know me.

I have several spring projects planned for their fenced in yard which will be posted here in the coming weeks.  In the mean time we have our work cut out as we will be training both dogs to stay away from the chickens.

Spring 10 days ago

Cornus Mas withstood the freeze and snow

French Pussy willow catkins- it was all about willows in early spring!

Rosemary willow in bud

This morning- daffodil hill covered in snow

Chicken coop/ garden shed in snow

Girls have arrived!

Plymouth Rock

Pericles

I was in my late twenties and living in Scotland when I made my first garden and by the time my wife and I decided to return to the states it had grown in size to a couple of acres. After we left, our cottage was rented to a man who professed to be a gardener, but that did not turn out to be the case and the garden, in large part, went back to the wild. Seeing the “garden” again, years later, was a shock. It was a hard but very valuable lesson to learn: that it’s the journey not the end result that’s important.

I have now been gardening for 24 years and I have a very different attitude towards gardening than when I started. In other areas of my life I am guilty of trying to save time, control time, steal time, or kill time; but I have gardened long enough now to make a truce with time. There is no point in saying, for example, “Oh, but you should have been here last week….” There is no permanence, perhaps especially in a garden.

Spring Green Tulips & foam flower

Since its inception 14 years ago, I have photographed my garden here in the western Catskills, and no two years are the same. Borders change dramatically from year to year. Many plants have disappeared, others have multiplied or escaped and planted themselves, and I have photographs to prove it; a sort of free-for-all!

The wonderful thing about gardening in the spring is that the plants are just beginning to grow and you have a clear vision of each individual plant. Early in the season I have a sense that I am in control of things, but by midsummer the majority of plants have grown into each other. By high summer, I discover well-camouflaged weeds standing 6 to 8 feet tall in the borders. I have no idea how I let this happen, and yet it occurs every year.

Spring borders weeded & mulched

The garden is one of the only things where you can be both in it, making it, and editing it at the same time. While planting a tree I might catch myself fantasizing about the tree as a mature specimen and, thus, place it accordingly. But I no longer feel dissatisfied with the young tree or wish it to be mature already. Gardening has taught me the folly of the idea of perfection and a love of the mysterious pleasure of being with things as they are in real time.

When the clocks leap forward in spring it feels like we have more time on our hands. While removing leaves and debris from the beds, we see life pushing out of the soil; spring bulbs, perennials, as well as buds on the shrubs and trees, show so much promise! But let’s face it: this does not last long. By late spring an intense succession of plants come into bloom one after another and don’t stop until late autumn. With so much change doesn’t it make sense to grab the moment and enjoy what is in front of you?

Donald Wyman crabapple in bloom

Perhaps one of the best aspects about being present in the garden is the way one’s intuitive abilities become sharper and louder. The environmentalist and writer John Hay said, “It would never occur to most of us that ‘plants’ say anything at all, except in terms of what we read into them, or try to use them for. Yet in their responses to this wonderfully rhythmic and varying earth they are the most expressive of all forms of life.” (A Beginner’s Faith in Things Unseen)
     I also believe my plants express what they need if I am ready to “listen” with my eyes. The black-bearded irises “told” me to get rid of the bishop’s weed that’s choking it to death! The lilacs are clearly begging for a little wood ash to be worked into the soil around their feet. Plants, like children’s needs, are quite straightforward. Gardening is perhaps a combination of intuition and action. After a while you just know when it’s time to prune and shape that overgrown shrub. When we slow down and allow the garden to speak that’s when our faith in the process allows magic to happen.

Spring bulb camissia in bloom

As Barbara Cawthorne Crafton, Episcopal priest, spiritual director and author, wrote, “…so much care and feeding. Such competitiveness among the plants — some of them literally choke each other to death if you don’t get out there and put a stop to it. The big gorgeous ones get lots of attention, but then one comes along that looks almost dead all season and suddenly, almost overnight, blooms splendidly forth. Never write anybody off completely. You just don’t know.”
     As I write, I suppose I am thinking about time because I have been cooped up all winter and that does funny things to my sense of time. With the additional daylight comes the ability to break ground and the garden is made again. Ravaged by winter there seem to be a million chores and it’s easy to be caught up in the mad rush of “doing.” I have to remind myself to take a deep breath and see what is ― and to forget about what it should be.

Otto & Ruby Supervising

Daphne "Carol Mackie" in bloom

It is not yet spring at the pond.

The ice still clasps, in the shade,

the necks of weeds

bound all winter in the shallows.

Above, it is cold, still, blank.

Willows stand and, if watched, show nothing.

Below, in the war rooms of the mud,

algae scheme of sunlight and scum,

of climbing over rocks, eating

leaves, saturated, succulent.

In the catatonic carcasses of fish

chemicals mix, begin to stir.

Motors will move, scales twitch,

fins guide opened eyes.

Cold water now is clear.  But

beginning spring who will win the water?

The groping lip, the filtering mouth?

Or splitting cells,

hanging down halls of light,

desiring to be so thick they can

caress, suffocate, cold-blooded fish,

bend them askew, off-course and down,

drive frog to loping across fields,

the great turtle to carrying its rock

toward a more habitable watery moon?

Or will some catch in the atmosphere

clear this water?  Spread

those slimy bastards like dead mustard

across the mouths of bass, tadpoles,

old granite-backed snapper?

The willows will know.

The ice will be gone.

The weeds will aspire.

Here in the cold there is hope for all,

for it is not yet spring at the pond.

Gary R. Stephens

This is a poem by my friend Gary and he has a new book of poems coming out this spring.

My wife just bought a non hardy variety from our grocery store and with its arrival came the feeling that spring is finally on its way. That’s how great these plants are! The common variety,  my favorite, is called primula vulgares and has pale yellow flowers and is very hardy. There are many hybrids in all sorts of bright colors, including several shades of pink, red, yellow, purple and white. They double up and can and be easily divided.  My second favorite variety is called Primula Japonica –Candelaba primrose.  A gardening friend gave me a flat of small seedlings and they have thrived in a damp shady area. This variety blooms later on in early summer. I like to collect their seed and spread it about in the late fall. The first time I did this I got a profusion of new plants so now I do it every year.

I also like to dig them up and put them in terra cotta pots and bring them indoors. I find the plants cheer up the house and me as we wait for even warmer days to arrive.

Primula obconica- store bought primula- Non hardy.

Primula obconica- non hardy variety

Primula Japonica potted up & brought indoors

10 Year old primula divided & brought indoors

Primula Japonica in shady site