{ Author Archive - April Demes }

How to repent and overhaul a flower bed

So, some of you may remember the horrid mess I encountered in one of my perennial beds this spring, thanks to my total neglect.

 

I continued my pattern of neglect right through the summer, but this week I decided the time had come to face up to my sins and fix things up. (Actually, I decided this last week, but it rained.)

If you, as I, have a nasty secret in your backyard, here are a few steps you can take to turn your life around.

1. Admit that you are powerless over quackgrass, that it really has become unmanageable.

2. Come to believe that a power greater than a trowel, fork, spade, or tiller is needed. Consider the merits of Roundup.

3. Start digging.

4. Put aside shame and ask for help.

5. Consider the layered newspaper thing. Smack yourself, remembering it is not a match for this particular problem.

6. Keep digging. Remind yourself that you really do need to divide the bulbs and the perennials anyway.

7. Lift all valuable plants. Marvel at the ability of grass roots to penetrate straight through an iris rhizome.

8. Stop for lunch.

9. Dig.

10. Consider Roundup.

11. Vacillate between replanting now, or stashing all the keeper plants in another part of the yard until the grass is really, really, really gone, either by Roundup or newspaper.

12. Remember that grass is never gone; stash plants/bulbs/etcetera in garage and put off decision for tomorrow.

Jack Frost comes to town

School is back in, the trees are changing color, and bugs are (attempting) to move inside: fall is unavoidably here. Some of you may still be weeks away from killing frost, but we’ve already had a couple of light ones here in Alberta.

Last winter I geeked out and did a bunch of reading on frost, thinking some theory might help my practical application this year. I had visions of early planting, and harvesting veggies and displaying flowers well into October. Not much of my vision materialized, as I still live in the real world, and I definitely haven’t reached the caliber of Niki Jabbour, but it’s cool to understand more about how weather works. And spreading sheets over the pumpkins with a flashlight after dark last week was totally worth buying them another couple of weeks’ growth.

Here’s a few things I’ve learned this year that may help you predict, and hopefully outwit, Jack Frost, and buy yourselves a little more time in the garden.

First off, find a weather website you like or buy one of those weather stations from the hardware store. The Weather Network actually has a Lawn and Garden forecast, including frost predictions and watering advice. A little info goes a long way.

Next, be prepared for frost. Have some old sheets or lengths of burlap ready to cover plants, as well as something to weigh them down against the wind. Small straw bales, a cold frame, or cloches will also do the insulating job. Have a spot in mind in the shed or garage to move containers of annuals to when you get a frost warning. Do a little research if you’re not sure which of your plants need frost protection. Bronze, hairy, or compact plants, as well as those closely spaced, will be naturally more protected, but don’t count on most annual flowers, squash, tomatoes, peppers, or corn to stand up to frost without being covered overnight. Carrots, beets, and most members of the cabbage family, as well as many other vegetables, don’t mind frost.

If you want to actually predict a frost, the first thing to do is look up. Clear, calm skies are a sign frost make strike, especially if afternoon temperatures start falling fast. Frost is less likely to occur under a cloudy sky, or when there is fog, as the day’s heat is trapped closer to the earth. This is part of why covering plants protects them–it traps some of the heat from the earth close to your plants.

Then assess the wind. If it’s strong, especially if it’s coming from the northwest, cover things up. Movements of large, cold air masses often bring on killing frost. But very still nights allow the coldest air to settle to the ground, also risking the temperature for your plants to hit zero. A light breeze will keep temperatures higher, unless that wind itself is below freezing.

Higher humidity decreases the risk of frost. This has to do with all the high school chemistry you’ve blocked out regarding warmer air being able to hold more water molecules. (See the next bit on dew point.) I’ve known people to water in annuals to protect them when a light frost threatens, though I’ve never tried it myself. The science backs them up: when the air is dry, evaporation sucks warmth out of the soil, making for chilly plants. By attempting to increase the moisture available, these gardeners “insulate” plants from the cooling effect of evaporation. Same goes for the old standby of covering things–it keeps the moisture close to your plants.

So here’s the real nitty-gritty of how frost actually appears–feel free to skip this paragraph if you’re not into scientific explanations. Basically, the dew point is the temperature at which the moisture vapor in the air will condense back into liquid, based on the given factors, most importantly, humidity. If the air temperature drops to the dew point above freezing, you get wet summer grass and diamond-scattered spiderwebs. If the dew point is below zero, and the temperature drops to it, the water vapor is changed directly into solid form–ice–and you see lovely feathery crystals on the edges of everything. Now, if the dew point is below zero, and the air temperature drops below zero but doesn’t reach the dew point, you won’t technically have frost, but tender plants will be damaged by the freezing temperatures. The other thing that can happen is the water vapor condenses at a dew point above zero, leaving dew, but the temperature continues to fall below zero, forming a coat of ice. So if you know the dew point and the overnight low, you can predict a frost.

If you’re really of a mind to change your relationship with frost, you may want think right down to the bones of your garden, your location and its physical features. Ever noticed that your neighbor can get white tipped lawn when you don’t? Higher altitude increases frost risk because the air is thinner and the average air temperature is lower. But low areas in the garden can be more susceptible to freezing because cold air is heavier than warm and tends to sink. Gentle slopes that expose the garden to the sun are more protected, open spaces plagued by wind are not. Houses, fences, and water bodies can be heat sinks and/or wind breaks that protect from cold air. Allowing places in the garden where wind can move, and hence, cold air escape, will also be protective. And that old saw about starting with the soil if you want better plants? It’s true in this case too: Fertile soil holds more moisture and passes it into the air more efficiently compared with sandy or deficient soil. And we know that humidity is good.

There. Don’t you feel smarter?

 

 

 

It’s getting to be bulb planting time…

I’m not generally the type to pay a lot of attention to advertising, but I do have an admiration for a clever tagline or whimsical campaign. So when I first saw a Dig.Drop.Done magazine spot, it peaked my curiosity. A brightly colored home, with a vaugely Leave-it-to-Beaver mom at center, precariously icing a zillion-layer cake? And it’s for flower bulbs? I love bulbs. What is this?

I went and had a look at the website. It was started by a group of bulb companies to “promote the joy of bulb gardening and ensure its future in North America.” Much of it is aimed at the beginning gardener as opposed to the seasoned vetran, but some of the pop-up tips from the three “ladies” — mascots of bulb planting — were helpful to me though I’ve been planting bulbs for a good ten years.

Check out their “bulb-pedia” for planting and species info on a very respectable range of flowers; and the ladies’ videos if you’re up for a groan or two…

Cabbage, and that sense of accomplishment

With the first of the frost warnings bearing down on me, I’m in the mood for some warm comfort food. Especially if it’s made with — ahem — the first cabbage I have ever grown! Ta da! Not that cabbages are tricky, I’ve just never grown them before, and I must say, they are very satisfying and quite beautiful. I came into the house holding my lovely green prize (with only one slug hole apparent) and presented it to Chris, gushing, “Look what I made!” He was suitably impressed.

Here's a lovely red one that should be ready soon.

But then I actually turned it into supper the next day. There’s something really fulfilling about that. If you’ve never grown food, please try it. (You can sign up for the Seed to Supper newsletter, too.)

So the supper I turned my wonderful Brassica into was cabbage rolls. I’m not classically trained in the art, but I love them, especially if it involves as little work as this recipe does. I’d be sorely tempted to eat the whole pan myself if it weren’t for the… consequences…

LAZY MAN’S CABBAGE ROLLS

Serves 6

1 pound (500 g) ground beef
1 1/2 cups (375 mL) chopped onions
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
2 cans (10 oz./284 mL each) tomato soup
2 cups (500 mL) water
1 cup (250 mL) long grain rice
1 teaspoon (5 mL) chicken or beef bouillon mix
1/4 teaspoon (1 mL) freshly ground pepper
1/8 teaspoon (0.5 mL) cayenne pepper
1/8 teaspoon (0.5 mL) nutmeg
1/2 green cabbage, chopped (or 6 cups (1.5 L)coleslaw mix)
sour cream for serving

Brown beef, onions, and garlic over medium heat about 7 to 10 minutes, stirring to break up meat. (Use oil if needed.) Drain off any excess fat.

Stir in next 8 ingredients (tomato sauce through nutmeg). Bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for a few minutes.

Sprinkle half of cabbage over bottom of a greased 9 x 13 inch baking dish.

Spoon half of beef mixture over top and spread evenly. Sprinkle with remaining cabbage.

Spread remaining beef mixture over top. Bake, covered, at 350 F (170 C) for 1 1/2 hours or until bubbly and heated through.

Serve with sour cream. Really. I don’t care if you’re on a diet, it’s required.

What shall I do with the aphids?

I am really, really lucky when it comes to mean bugs. Knock wood. I’ve declared war on cabbage worms, and had flea beetles move in a couple of times, but that’s about it.

This spring however I had a bunch of aphids show up on my lovage plant and nearly destroy it. Having never faced in infestation like this, my guard was down and I didn’t really notice a problem until the seed heads popped up and the whole plant started yellowing. It was pretty bad, so I decided to cut the whole plant back and burn the tops. This seems to have done the trick.

But while doing dishes, I look out on my lovely mountain ash (which is doing very nicely, thanks for asking). I had noticed when we got back from our trip that one branch seemed to have died back–shriveled leaves and all. I didn’t think much of it until this week, when another branch near it started doing the same thing. Having been focused on catching up the veggie patch, the front garden had been neglected and sure enough, when I went to investigate, I found aphids cozied up all over, with ants coddling them right along. Luckily, a few diligent ladybugs had already showed up to do their part, but I doubt they can take care of the lot all alone.

Go, ladybug, go!

This is why the experty people tell you to do a tour of the whole garden once a week, looking for stuff like this, isn’t it? Maybe I should hire someone…

Now, cutting back my tree like I did the lovage is not an option. I sprayed the tree down with a jet of water–I seem to remember reading that somewhere–but what advice do you all have for my entomological conundrum? I’m going to go ask Google, but I’d like to hear from some of you in the trenches–what really works for you?

Worms, worms, everywhere

So here’s my story.

Mid-summer, my brother-in-law Jared sent me a rather cryptic message to “watch the mailbox”. What with postal strikes and summer adventures, it was soon mostly forgotten.

At the beginning of August, my friend Teri also sent me a message, inquiring whether I had ever tried worm composting, and would I like to take some equipment off her hands?

I’m a big believer in composting, and have two healthy piles going in my yard, though I’d never gotten into vermicomposting — having little red wiggler worms help the work along — but I told Teri I’d take some stuff off her hands, if only to help her in her downsizing. I could try it out and always pass it on to someone else if I wasn’t into it, right? If nothing else, it was blog fodder…

The next day she showed up on my doorstep with two Worm Factories, one full, one empty, a big bin of coconut fiber (for bedding), and a binder of information on vermiculture and vermicomposting.

Original Worm Factory - 4 Tray

This is the one Teri gave me; click for the latest model.

“You put your food scraps in the top bin, here,” she said lifting the lid and exposing a melange of vegetable bits, newspaper, and itty-bitty red worms. “The worms migrate up and eat it. Then you harvest the bottom bin of compost and rotate it to the top. That’s basically it!” She seemed a little too excited to ditch this stuff and run. Hmmm… what was I getting into?

I was eager to try something new, not so eager at the thought of worms in the kitchen, Teri’s recommended location for the bin. And I knew Chris would not be into that at all. The timing also sucked: we were leaving on our three week camping trip in three days. Apparently they could eat half a pound of scraps a day: could I load them up before I left? Would they survive? Where would they survive? I debated ditching all the worms into my regular bin and re-purposing all that gorgeous coconut fiber elsewhere in the garden (it’s amazing stuff for soil additive, mulch, growing medium…), but felt I owed it to Teri to at least give it a go. Plus, those worms go for 50 to 75 bucks a pound.

So I cleaned up a little corner of the garage where the temperature should remain fairly even through the summer (winter will be a different story) and got the full bin all set up, thinking I’d tackle the empty one on my return.

That weekend, Jenni and Jared came for a visit, and I showed Jenni my newly acquired castoffs (get it?). Sudden inspiration: Jenni could take the empty Factory, and some of my worms for a starter! Yay! But Jenni got this funny look on her face… remember the cryptic mailbox notice? You guessed it. Jared, in one of his characteristic bouts of generosity, had ordered me a Worm Inn, which was, at that very moment, in the dawdling hands of Canada Post.

WORM INN

The Worm Inn. Hanging contraption not included. I've still got to figure that out.

So, in not so much as a week, I’d gone from zero to three vermicomposting bins. How… interesting.

I filled the bin with as much worm food as I dared, covered it up and left the spigot open so it wouldn’t get to slimy, crossed my fingers, and went on holiday.

We were back two days before I remembered to check on the poor little wigglers– but they were alive. Still some food scraps showing, and not moldy either. Hmmm. Maybe I can do this. The Worm Inn has arrived, and I’ve got Teri’s binder (which turns out to be a full-on manual from the Organic Agriculture Centre of Canada). Looks like my kids aren’t the only ones in for learning some new things this fall. I’ll keep you posted.

One of my wigglers working on some beet greens.

The pre-autumn slump

I came home from vacation to find more than a bit of a mess in my garden. Three weeks of heat and a temperamental irrigation system meant that things didn’t get watered consistently and all the annuals are dead or flat-lining. I thought I’d gotten the weeds under control, but they were back, seeding their fool heads off. The peas were overripe, the broccoli bolting, the onions flowering. Sigh.

Half of me wants to start a flurry of work and get things ship-shape again (or finally, depending on your perspective), and the other half of me wants (gasp) winter to show up early to hide all my sins, and just start again next spring. (If the “s” word starts falling in the next 48 hours, I guess you can blame it on me.) I’ve spent the week trying to catch back up. Some things have gotten done, but the list is getting longer instead of shorter thanks to the fall chores starting to arrive.

I thought I’d cheer myself up by planting some trees. A neighbor gave us some seedlings he cleaned out of his windbreak: three maples, two ash, and a random crab apple. I got four in the ground, watered and mulched, and then it started raining. While out there, I also realized that four trees at the very back of our property which we were told were baby Manitoba maples when we put them in 6 years ago, aren’t maples at all. They’re ash trees. I’d taken some one’s word and never looked closely again until now.

I feel like an idiot.

And my garden is a mess.

And it’s raining. Okay, that’s actually kind of good, just not what I was hoping for…

Maybe things aren’t that bad. It’s just days like this that make me think I’m a better writer than I am a gardener. At least, I hope I am.

Wow. I’m sure I’ll get out of this funk when fall sets in properly; it’s this in-between that’s getting to me. Anyone want to join me at the greenhouse tomorrow to look at the pretties? Maybe I’ll choose some fall bloomers to disguise the travesties in my front yard. That should get me through until it’s dry enough to work again.

And please forgive me for even mentioning the season coming next.

What to visit in Victoria

I’m home again, but before I return to reality (three weeks can really do a number on a yard, even with the neighbors watering), I must share some of my adventures with you.

Not able to give proper credit to all the beautiful spots, both public and private, we saw, I am focusing here on our visit to Victoria, Canada’s “Garden City.”

The quintessential Victoria garden has to be Butchart, right? I know lots of people who have visited and thought it well worth the price tag. One day, I’ll get there too, but this trip, I was not equipped with the time or the pocketbook to make it happen. Besides, I thought, why not ask around for some of the lesser known spots that are worth a look?

Here’s a short list; feel free to add to it, those who know the area better than I. All of these were recommended more than once.

Hatley Castle, the administrative home of Royal Roads University, has extensive gardens set in the midst of 600-some acres of heritage trees. The pride of the grounds are the Italian, Japanese, and Rose gardens, but really, it all looks pretty impressive with the dramatic backdrop of a real, bona fide Edwardian castle. (Some of the X-Men movies were filmed here, too. I know this because I’m a geek.) There’s a restored 1914 greenhouse, too. Admission is charged; tours are available.

Hatley Park Castle

The castle, a National Historic Site, showing just a hint of the grounds.

Beacon Hill Park, right in downtown Victoria, has 200 acres to explore, so plan to spend all day. It looks great year round. There are water, rock, and alpine gardens; perennial beds and displays of annuals. There’s a petting zoo and a playgrounds for the kids, and lots of ducks, peacocks, and herons. Admission is free; horse-drawn carriage rides are available.

Tucked away on the University of Victoria campus is Finnerty Gardens, a 6.5 acre gem. Highlighted are rhododendrons and azaleas, but a full spectrum of plants are on display, many with identifying signs. We’re told it’s at it’s best in spring, but we thought it was just wonderful in August. No admission; follow the ring road around to the southwest and park at the chapel. While you’re on campus, you may want to wander down into the Mystic Vale, a protected wilderness area to the southeast, full of Big Leaf Maple, firs, and ferns. It’s breathtaking.

gardens in fall

A pond in Finnerty gardens.

The girls enjoying the hydrangeas. I wish I could post them enjoying the bamboo and everything else, but I've already put in too many pictures.

Don’t miss the Government House gardens– I almost did. I heard about them before we left, but saw something online about “tours by appointment only,” so I put it out of my mind as too much trouble for this trip. But we drove right by it while leaving the Craigdarroch Castle (also wonderful, but not much for gardens) and the gates were wide open! We were already late to get to my brother’s house, so Chris dropped me off and I did the five minute walk (gasping, groaning, and drooling as I went). It is open to the public, dawn to dusk, but tours are available, by appointment. See how I got confused? If you get the chance, please visit them properly, for me.

A quick shot of the herb garden, as I hurried by... There's a sunken rose garden right behind me...

There’s something about the forest…

“What would the world be, once bereft of wet and wildness?

Let them be left.

O let them be left, wildness and wet;

long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.”

–Gerard Manley Hopkins

Zone envy

In the last week I’ve seen a lot of gardens, from formal to cottage and pond-scape to desert-scape. We’ve crossed through several planting zones and I’ve seen plants I’ve only read about. It’s been fun, it’s been educational, and it’s been downright stressful–at least the part about choosing which gardens to see and which to miss.

And while I do pine for a magnolia hardy to Zone 3, and must lapse into ignorant silence when the conversation turns to rhododendrons, I’m a little perturbed by some of the innocent comments I’ve heard from warmer zone gardeners. They seem to communicate that it is somehow better to garden in Victoria compared to Calgary, that I, in my winter-wonderland region, am to be… pitied.

No disrespect meant to all you lovely people in Zone 5 and higher, but sometimes I feel like a second class citizen. You Edmontonians, Winnipeggers, Saskatchewanians: I think you know what I mean.

You open the latest issue of Canadian Gardening, and get ALL exCITed about a featured plant, let’s say… hellebores, just for example… the array of attractive colors, the siting options. The gears start turning in your head and you’ve half designed a cozy little space for them, only to have your little heart break when you realize every variety listed is out of your league, based on one factor: the location you chose to set up shop.

There’s a few things going on here. I’ll admit, part of it may be sour grapes–I really do want hellebores.

But also, there are lots of things we can grow in colder climes, for instance, I’ve got very happy Munstead lavender in my front garden, despite many experts (not this one) rating it at Zone 5. There are varieties of many plants that will stand up to lower zones if you select carefully and maybe plan for a little extra protection.

And who says “more plants” is the only Ace in the gardener’s pocket? Can you grow a greater variety of plants on the west coast? Indubitably. But guess what? I’m not fighting ivy. On my home turf, it’s only hope is as a houseplant. I’ve got more limited choices, but don’t need to worry about road salt or moss or most fungal diseases.

So while I am drooling out here on the island, I’m still looking forward to going back home. I don’t believe one spot is better than any other; the gardener’s cupid pricks us all with a different thorn. My own little plot, with all its weeds and clay, is still mine. It’s my classroom, my cathedral, and no way would I trade it in.

But I will thumb my nose and plant some hellebores… just as soon as my windbreak is established.

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