Today is the final day of Cathy’s garden meme. I’ve enjoyed revisiting many of my garden favorites, even if I only managed three out of seven days.
A tip of the hat to the other gardeners who shared photos and checked in all week, and to Cathy for inviting us to share.
As we head toward the winter solstice, we can look back and forward, while enjoying the in between. It’s time for spring and summer gardens to rest, so that they can burst forth with color, energy, and strength the following year. I realized today that most of my spring garden favorites have an intoxicating scent. I’ve gradually introduced seven of the ten most fragrant flowers.
Now close your eyes and imagine the warming earth, bulbs breaking ground, and finally flowers releasing that wonderful scent. Floral scents attract birds, bees, bats, and other pollinators, each fragrance drawing the right crowd. Who’s to say that we don’t play a part as well as we breathe in that aromatic scent, breathing out a bit of energy as we inhale, exhale, inhale, and repeat.
Cathy of Words and Herbs is hosting a week-long meme celebrating the stars of our gardens over this past year. It’s a chance to look back and also to imagine forward, as to garden well, is to plan. That doesn’t mean all goes according to plan, but you learn that planting lettuce in the heat of the summer or forgetting to get your bulbs in the ground on time can lead to disappointment.
Without further ado (it’s day five, but this is the first day I’ve had time to post), here are a few of my garden darlings, and an adorable photo of our grand-pooch.
Our pink and blue hydrangeas are summer stunners. These are known as Bigleaf Hydrangeas(Hydrangea macrophylla).They span shades of fuchsia to cranberry, periwinkle to admiral blue, and even shades of green. It all comes down to the soil pH.
Oversized Hydrangea blooms
According to Wikipedia:
“The pink hydrangea has risen in popularity all over the world, especially in Asia. The given meaning of pink hydrangeas is popularly tied to the phrase “you are the beat of my heart,” as described by the celebrated Korean florist Tan Jun Yong, who was quoted saying, “The light delicate blush of the petals reminds me of a beating heart, while the size could only match the heart of the sender!”[36]
Hydrangeas were used by the Cherokee people of what is now the Southern U.S. as a mild diuretic and cathartic; it was considered a valuable remedy for bladder stones.
If you follow this link to Cathy’s page, you will find other garden bloggers sharing their favs.
Thank you for hosting, Cathy, and for all the goodwill.
After several years of near-constant pain and impaired mobility, I had my right hip replaced in February, followed by a new left hip earlier this month. I’m relieved to have both surgeries behind me. To pass the time, I cropped a photo of one of my new joints, added a pair of eyes, and created a less clinical image of the new joint.
Screenshot
Today, my in-home PT assessed my balance using the Berg Balance Scale, and I scored 47 out of 56. A score of 41-56 indicates low risk and independent walking. I’ll take it.
Over the next four weeks, I could dislocate my hip if I move it past a 90-degree angle, which, in garden-speak, translates to averting my eyes as the weeds sprout. After an unusually mild November, we’re finally seeing true fall weather, including rain. All those weed seeds have been waiting in the wings for their grand entrance.
They’re unlikely to go to seed any time soon, and the wet ground will make removal easy when I can finally kneel in the dirt, so for now I must bide my time.
As I heal, I’m able to take photos from a standing position. Mike’s also taking me on daily drives for a change of scenery. Nature is a balm.
From the car window, I watched a crow enjoy a slice of sidewalk pizza in nearby Los Gatos.
I snapped this view of Silicon Valley in the misty fog at the top of Harwood Hill in San Jose.
Heteromeles, commonly known as toyon, are native to our California coast. Not only do they provide food for birds, bears, and coyotes,
“The plant has been used as a treatment for Alzheimer’s disease by indigenous people of California, and recent research has found several active compounds that are potentially beneficial to Alzheimer’s treatment. These include icariside compounds, which protect the blood-brain barrier and prevent infiltration of inflammatory cells into the brain.” Source Wikipedia
The brilliant red berries brighten autumn’s grey days.
These Canada Geese were impervious to the rain outside the Cambrian Community Center. It must be nice to have a built-in raincoat.
Closer to home, a neighbor’s cat named Thor visited our front deck.
This potted alstroemeria recovered well after a broken pipe nearly drowned the plant. Once the roots dried and the heat of summer passed, it made a full recovery.
I plan to follow in the plant’s footsteps and make a full recovery as well.
A dozen years ago, Cathy at Rambling in the Garden started a meme called “In A Vase On Monday”, or IAVOM. She wanted to challenge herself to regularly cut and arrange flowers and greens from her garden. She also challenged fellow garden bloggers, launching a wonderful garden blog meme. It’s a simple concept: cut flowers from your garden, arrange them in a jar or vase, and share them virtually with others. Gardeners post from the UK, Germany, the US, and other parts of the world. Charming, eh?
I’ve enjoyed sharing a garden vase, off and on, over the years, but I lack the dedication of the Monday Vase die-hards. I applaud all of you.
I’m sharing two vases today that highlight my joy of blogging. For me, it’s about the community formed through sharing photos and words, about finding your people in this sometimes fractious world. “In A Vase on Monday” does just that.
I’ve followed Cathy at Words and Herbs for close to 14 years. She posts a beautiful vase most Mondays.
The vase below holds crocheted flowers, a Mother’s Day gift from my youngest son; however, kitty’s “scarf” is an intended bookmark, straight from Cathy’s crochet hook.
Cathy mailed several crocheted bookmarks for our Little Free Library all the way from Germany. Sweet, right? I placed some of her bookmarks in our tiny library; one became a gift topper for a friend,
This second vase is a treasured teacup, a gift from my university friend, Carrielin. I’ve had it for forty years. In mid-October on Eliza Waters’ IAVOM post, I spotted the same cat design. I checked with Eliza to confirm, and sure enough, it’s from the same collection of porcelain art, Couer Minou-ettes, by Portuguese designer C. Pradalie. The pieces aren’t rare, but even so, it delighted me to spot the same design, with flowers, from a fellow garden blogger. Eliza shares from her beautiful garden most Mondays.
If you would like to see what these gardeners and others have shared in a vase today, please follow this link to Cathy’s blog, then check the comments for additional vase posts.
Wisteria symbolizes longevity and grace. For years I longed to have one in our garden. Aren’t they stunning? They need space to grow, though, and space is always at a premium in the garden, because nature abhors a vacuum, and this gardener feels compelled to plant any available earth.
Then opportunity knocked.
When our young Magnolia became infested with scale, I tried to save the tree by manually scraping the scale into a bucket —an arduous, odiferous task. The scale quickly returned, along with ants. I pruned away the center, looked at organic options, and eventually contacted an arborist, but it was all for naught.
It’s tough losing any tree, but here was my chance to grow a Wisteria vine. We repurposed an arch from the back garden, placed it at an angle in the front garden, and planted the vine. The first year of growth was underwhelming, as it often is, but in the years that followed, the vine took off. It flowered vigorously in early Spring, then sent out a second set of blooms later in the year.
At some point, though, the tree went from vigorous to invasive. I couldn’t keep the tendrils off our roof, our neighbor’s roof, a nearby tree, and so on. Clearly, I should have done my research, as I recently read that it is “known for its vigorous and potentially destructive growth.” Now they tell me.
I get attached to plants and trees, and this was no exception, but I’m pragmatic as well. Risking life and limb, damage to the house and the tree nearby meant it had to go.
It was labor-intensive. I started with small garden shears, graduating in size to the base of the tree’s substantial girth. I tried digging out the roots, then Mike had a go, until it became apparent the roots would need to be removed by a tree stump removal service.
Space after removing Wisteria
The space looked empty for a time, but I’ve since planted several succulents that had outgrown their pots. They took to the spot immediately, and by next Spring, they will be well established. They’re also water-wise plants that don’t require much fuss. The freesias came up quickly around the stone walkway, but it will be several months before they flower.
As we head into the cooler autumn months, I’ve been reflecting on a few garden projects, notably thrifting, painting, and arranging mirrors along the corner garden fence.
I’ve hung mirrors in the garden before, and continue to enjoy the placement. (summer, 2021) Why look at a dull, brown fence when you can hang mirrors instead?
It wasn’t easy finding mirrors. I went to several thrift stores before my luck changed, and I found four mirrors at one of our local Goodwill Industries shops. Three of the mirrors had black frames, and the fourth was a shiny silver. I painted it a warmer color and hung it above my wall-mounted fairy garden.
I hung the remaining three mirrors on the fence under the tree, only to realize I needed a few more to fill the space. Eventually, I found enough mirrors to fit the bill, and I’m pleased with the extra light and reflection they bring to that corner.
About a year ago, I made another change by removing the ferns growing under the orange tree in the same corner. The orange tree is about fifty years old, so the fruit it produces is no longer sweet. Further, the oranges are challenging to harvest. When we were younger, I climbed on the ladder to get some of the low-hanging fruit, but it wasn’t all that safe. We bought one of those extending poles with a fruit-gathering basket on the end, but it proved cumbersome. It also tended to break the branch with the fruit. The tree continues to provide shade and the wonderful scent of orange blossoms, but it had become a dumping ground of partially consumed fruit from hungry overnight critters. In the end, I hired a tree service to prune the tree, fruit and all, away from the fence. We’ve enjoyed a year without the mess of rotting oranges, fruit flies, and broken branches. I wish I had thought of it sooner.
Note: Move the slider, below, to see the orange tree and ferns, a year apart.
The last adjustment involved moving a molded panel with a leaf motif to disguise the enclosed compost system. Mike attached one side of the panel to the fence, and we repurposed a post to support the other side.
These changes opened up the space, allowing us to add a couple of chairs and small tables to accompany the glider. Removing the ferns lets us see the rock wall and the plants behind it, and we can now walk to and from the compost bin, especially in the wetter months, without rubbing up against wet ferns. I put down gravel and the self-seeded nasturtiums are coming up as predicted. They’re easier to manage, lower in height, and beautiful.
Another significant change to the garden involved removing our beautiful wisteria. It wasn’t a decision I took lightly, but in the end, it made sense. I’ll write more about that this week.
American humorist Erma Bombeck once quipped that when she wanted her children to take their vitamins, she threw them on the floor and commanded, “Don’t touch those.” She always made me smile.
In recent years, I’ve loosely applied this approach to planting sunflowers. (This year’s “self-seeded sunflower gallery picutred below).
It’s not the seed’s fault that they are tasty morsels before they hit the ground. Over the years, I’ve planted seeds “three to a hill” as the packet recommends, only to have them dug up the following day. I’ve started seeds indoors, but end up with leggy transplants. I bought domes to cover my plantings a few years ago, and that seemed to work, but again, the plants weren’t as sturdy.
Last year, I bought a pair of tender seedlings from a local farm stand. One creased, folded, and closed up shop almost immediately. The other eventually succumbed as well.
Then a wonderful thing happened. On the other side of the planting bed, a small sunflower plant appeared. Then another one. I couldn’t believe my luck. I didn’t plant them, yet there they were, tall and proud and happy in the sun.
Sunflower
I checked on them every day, welcomed the bees with whispered tones in case my neighbors were within earshot, and enjoyed those golden flowers reaching toward the sun. As the flowers faded and the seeds formed, our neighborhood squirrels knew what to do.
In this scenario, the squirrels are Bombeck (dropping the seeds), and they’re also the kids on the floor (scrabbling to pick them up). Since they can’t eat all of them (did you ever hide the last cookie from a sibling?), they happily bury a few on the spot. Your’s truly becomes the “middle manager” nodding in agreement while sipping a bevy and checking social media every ten minutes while those squirrels get to work.
By early spring, I’m dreaming of the promise of delicious, home-grown tomatoes. They are one of the great summer pleasures, succulent, sweet, and refreshing on a hot day.
When the goddess of gardens bestows her goodness on a crop, I bow to her greatness. I no longer take credit for a good season, nor do I blame myself for a mediocre one. Tomatoes are a fussy lot, requiring wind, but not too much; heat, but not excessive; just the right amount of water; and a placement in the garden that would make a garden landscaper proud.
If you find locations for your tomato plants that are akin to a witness protection program, you might avoid nasty pests like hornworms, aphids, whiteflies, and spider mites. That said, no guarantees.
When I traveled to Ohio for a week in July, I made sure that the men at home checked on the fruit production daily. You would think we were raising chicks instead of tomatoes.
All this fuss has been worth it. Both the Beefsteak and the Cherry Tomato plants have produced mouthwatering fruit. We’ve enjoyed caprese salads, improved lunchtime sandwiches, enhanced green salads, and popped cherry tomatoes as a snack.
I harvested this magnificent crop of Beefsteak tomatoes on August 3. Tomato carnage began three days later.
The first and largest tomato on the vine was the first to go. Just a few nibbles at first, but of course, more followed. In the ensuing days, I found a tomato splattered on the walkway, half-eaten fruit on the plant, and, comically, some critter dragged the remains of a tomato half way up the bougainvillea. Meanwhile, the plant continues to grow taller, parallel to the self-seeded sunflower, but as we head into September, it’s all but done.
All is not lost, though. The cherry tomato plant appears free of fruit until you peek behind the foliage. Tiny orbs of goodness continue to color unmolested, sure to delight our taste buds for a few more weeks.
One of my fairy gardens is just outside our back door, mounted on the side of the house at eye level. It’s a daily reminder to stay in touch with my inner child, my muse, and lately, my sanity. Puttering in the tiny garden draws my attention away from reality for a few hours.
When we were young girls, my sister Sharon and I loved rearranging the furniture. It was a way to change our environment and to surprise our mother when she came home from work, and it didn’t cost us anything. We still laugh about it.
This week, I decided to rearrange the elevated fairy garden. I’ve had two small succulents planted there, but one has been struggling for a while.
They’re only a few inches apart, but one is getting too much sun. I transplanted it to a shady spot, considered buying another one, but in the spirit of rearranging the furniture, I opted for the assorted treasures I already had.
I moved the tiny garden bench to the spot vacated by the plant. Shade is essential during San Jose summers, so I crafted a wee sun umbrella. The umbrella’s structure is a lotus pod rescued from a floral arrangement sent to me as a thank you a few years ago. It’s been in the background of the fairy garden for a while. It’s now the base of the umbrella, with dried bracts from the bougainvillea held in place with sewing pins. I replaced the too-short stick with a twig from the fruit tree. Ah, shade.
A couple of small seed pods were the perfect size for tiny toss cushions, creating a relaxing resting spot for imaginary visitors with wings. Next to the garden bench, I’ve improvised a side table from a small bit of garden debris, topped with a green finding from my button jar. I wrapped the base of the table with a ring purchased in Victoria, Canada, a few years ago. I loved the look of the ring, but it is so uncomfortable that I never wore it. It works well in this miniature garden, and I can enjoy it in a different way.
Mike suggested a solar light for the garden and I happily agreed. I wrapped the light with sticky tape, then rolled it in dirt and gravel to help it blend in. It’s nestled in the remains of twigs that once covered hanging lights.
Next up, I added a garden arch that now separates the table and chairs from the lounge.
I braided three lengths of Nepeta, also known as catmint, while it was still soft, gently bending them into an arch and holding them in place with a length of florist wire. It’s drying nicely into a scented and wispy arch.
I invite you to close your eyes and imagine yourself in flight with gossamer wings and a light heart. The garden is ready for you. All are welcome.
We enjoyed our first, albeit small, cherry tomato harvest last week, sweet and perfectly formed orbs of goodness. The plant looks healthy, with clusters of green tomatoes just a few days away from another harvest.
Garden fresh cherry tomatoes
Our second tomato plant is an heirloom beefsteak variety. The fruit is taking longer to form, given its size, but soon they’ll ripen as well. Eating garden tomatoes is one of the great pleasures of summer.
Ripening Beefsteak Tomato
Our highly anticipated plum and apricot haul has been a bust, unless you’re a bird, an opossum, a tree rat, or a squirrel.
Bluejay foraging in the fruit tree
When the dog’s away, the rest of the critters play, moving through the branches, sampling the fruit, then moving on as the fruit loosens from its stone and falls to the ground. One of the not-so-great aspects of summer is sun-baked, rotting fruit and the fruit flies that love them.
Apricots on the treeSampled fruitDinner for the fruit flies
Not for the first time, I’ve mused that since we’ve encroached on nature to a great extent, allowing the neighborhood critters to feast from the tree seems reasonable. There’s always a local farmer’s market.
Last week, I crawled along one of the pathways in the late afternoon and cleared most of the stubborn weeds that grow under the gravel and the stone path. I counted on the late-afternoon shade to get the job done.
Cleared of weeds for now
Gorgeous pink Gladiolas came and went, spectacular while they bloomed. I’m still not burying the bulbs deep enough, so the plants lean as they get taller and heavier. I need to dig even deeper. That said, they were spectacular just the same.
Sloping gladiolas
A few weeks ago I discovered a praying mantis ootheca or egg case on the fence. The case looks like half of a walnut shell. These insects are coveted by gardeners, so much so that you can buy egg cases at nurseries and online. I’m delighted to have spotted it when I did, and pleased to have the resulting hatchlings in my garden.
Praying Mantis ootheca, also know as an egg case
We see several fence lizards this time of year. This one played an unwitting game of hide-and-seek with me, darting under a flower pot when I walked up the path, then returning to the sun when the proverbial coast was clear.
Eastern Fence Lizard
We would forget about each other, carry on with gardening and sunbathing, and then startle each other again.
A single sunflower seed planted itself not far from our bedroom window, and it’s now twice as tall as the tomato plant and quickly approaching the height of our house.
That corner is nearly impassable these days, between the sprawling bougainvillea, the expanding tomato plant, the sky-high sunflower, and the overhanging succulents. I like to think of it as my secret garden each time I squeeze through.
Here are a few parting shots of this summer’s garden. It never fails to delight.
Gardening Nirvana 
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