Happy Thanksgiving

I am thankful for this young solo heron that stood in my driveway and posed for me,  and I wish him well on his travels South. I am thankful for all the small trees and branches that came down in the early November storm. I used the branches to build a debris pile that I hope will shelter many a rabbit, vole and mouse through the winter. My geese love all the leftover scraps from the school's cafeteria and the flock of visiting Mallards love all the leftover scraps from the geese. The red squirrel who lives in the shed praises the grain and seed spilled each day as I feed the deer and the chickadees. I am thankful to whomever brought nine bags of leaves to the dump. I brought the bags home and used them to grow the pollinator garden ever larger for next summer's feast. And the leaves were chipped, how glorious and compostable is that? I am thankful to the woman in Blue Hill who places bags of horse manure and a Mason jar by her curbside. I am so happy to buy manure. All the brown-ness and bareness of November just seems like a rearranging of life to me. My Halloween pumpkin is happily rotting and destined to leave some seeds to sprout next May, a few winterberry branches are my bright red, next-holiday decorations on the deck - the cedar waxwings ate all the rest from the bushes. The bounty and the blessings are everywhere.

November News

Brown warblers, sparrows, chickadees, juncos and nuthatches are not pollinators now but my November garden is a-flurry with them and I am enchanted by their presence. All the brown stems, canes, and seed heads seem to be sprouting birds. If ever I had doubts about not furiously cleaning and tidying the "debris" of last season, those doubts are gone. Tidying can happen in April. It's easier to photograph the birds at the feeder than against a backdrop of brown, tan and yellow - so here's a view of just a few of my visitors. One feeder is slightly misshapen from nocturnal visits by raccoon and deer.

An early snowstorm walloped the Island last weekend and today was spent with the background noise of generators and chainsaws (we still do not have power). Spurred by the removal of broken branches and fallen trees, we were inspired to cut a path through trees and krummholz into a clearing. (One cannot do dishes or laundry when there is no electricity. The house is distressing. One must therefore remain outdoors in the sunshine.) Now there is a Secret Garden ready for suggestions. Acid soil, excellent drainage, partial sun, sort of south facing but surrounded by balsam and spruce. What do you think should grow there?

Compost Bonanza

I was ecstatic to find six huge bags of leaves at the burn pile at the dump, although I could only fit four of them into my Forrester (damn the need to buy groceries next). I had already placed a screen in front of my newest compost pile and begun the process of adding kitchen scraps and soiled hay to the existing layer of cardboard topped by grass clippings. Given the addition of a layer of seaweed and then the leaves, I have gone from "building a new compost area" to "waiting for Spring and the resulting fertile planting site" in a matter of two weeks. The location qualifies as partial shade as it is south-facing but also in the shade from the adjacent trees and the shed as the sunlight moves across the garden. Yes to well-drained, and let's not forget the need to be deer resistant. Spicebush? Serviceberry? Oregon grape holly? Rock cress aubrieta? Packera obovata? I love dreaming.

October Complacency

I was feeling quite proud of myself for planting absolutely nothing the last three weeks. Not only that, I have walked out of several nurseries empty handed, having visited for the sole purpose of buying a pumpkin or shopping in the associated Farmers Market. I worked on my Halloween display and I re-worked my stone wall. But no new plants for me, no-no-no. I toted water to the rhododendrons whenever there was a dry spell longer than six days. I pulled apart mature seed heads and distributed their contents. I envisioned cosmos and calendula and morning glory seeds in new places next season. I began a new compost pile and raked leaves from the roadside to aid to the soiled straw from the geese and soiled shavings from the rabbits. But I just said NO to the purchase of new plants. I cautioned myself that any week there will be hard frost, we are past a time for putting down new roots. I am past a time for daily check-ins to spot watering needs. I organized the shed, I brought in all the ceramic planters and birdbaths. My winter mode was switched on, the motor that plants from April onward was switched off. So I thought until I remembered alliums. I wanted to plant alliums this Fall. I wanted to see alliums sprout up giant and crazy and deer resistant next Spring. PayPal to the rescue, the bulbs are ordered, my trowel will not rest yet.

October Garden

I have been reading a lot of debate and ranting about the garden in Fall:  is it wondrous or is it barren of beauty? I'm not ready to exclaim that the October garden is as glorious as a May or July garden. But a garden is never without merit. The pollinators keep visiting, just varying their species in shifts. There is plenty of color and color contrast. Also, I side with the gardeners who do not tidy up and there is a bevy of small birds helping themselves to seed heads and no doubt other small creatures burrowing down through canes and fallen foliage in preparation for colder temperatures. Between the constant movement of the insects, birds and mammals and the daily changes of hue and texture, I believe my Fall garden is anything but dull.

September Terrarium

The most beautiful terrarium I ever possessed has been waiting for me in the woods behind my tool/rabbit shed.  I made my first terrariums in 1992 with my class of seventh graders and for twenty two years since I have been buying attractive glass containers and experimenting. I have bought books, I have Googled, I have done this and that and the other thing. I estimate I have created or supervised the creation of  more than thirty terrariums, less than seventy five. Most of them have turned into a bottle of wet dirt or a bottle of grass. Then this afternoon I was collecting moss for entirely another project and discovered this glass bottle with soil, moss, and ferns inside - one frond emerging from the mouth of the bottle. Perhaps I should have left it in the woods. But for just a little while, I have brought it indoors where it perches on a north facing windowsill. It stuns me.

On the other side of the garden,  a neon pink aster is blazing forth. You can read about it at http://www.abnativeplants.com/index.cfm/fuseaction/plants.plantDetail/plant_id/96/index.htm
I just call it Glamour-ata glamour-ata, love the color, loves the bees upon it, love the contrast with the zinnias nearby, love the fact it blooms when everything else other than black-eyed Susans are well past blooming. My September was full of ignoring but enjoying the garden. The sulfurs (yellow butterflies) are here, the wild asters and goldenrod abound but I have done very little to support the garden other than water the rhododendrons and think about the to-do list come hard frost. How lovely that the flowers thrive and surprise me nevertheless.

August, Come and Gone

I spent the majority of August traveling, first to Atlanta and then to Portland, Oregon. Beyond my Abuela Adventure, I saw a lot of personal gardens and I visited the Atlanta Botanical Garden and returned to Maine and visited the Coastal Maine Botanical Garden. I was most impressed by the horticulture mosaics and reminded that gorgeous plants and gorgeous plantings take a veritable army of gardeners to create them and maintain them.

Therefore, when I take note of my soil which still needs much amending and my lack of underground irrigation and the fact that my army of gardeners consists solely of ME, I am satisfied with the profusion of flowers that exists. Currently, there are zinnia, cosmos, rudbeckia, gallardia, echinacea, native bee balm and several varieties of goldenrod hosting fritillaries, red admirals and white admirals. It's my kind of jungle.