I don't know what is the official definition of "woods." I mean, I know it's a place with trees, but is there a numerical standard? How many trees does it take to make a "woods"? I hope I have enough. But it would be a close call probably. You can take the path through the middle of my woods out to the back meadow in about thirty seconds--if you walk slowly. Now, to walk it from one side to the other takes longer. It does stretch the entire width of my Acres. And yes, I do have a path for taking that trek. In fact, I have another path through the trees--uh, I mean the woods--from the house to the meadow that is more of a winding longer trail. And, of course, my woods connect with the woods on Dennis' acres. The deer often come across 25, slip up through Dennis' woods, cut through mine, and then meander on down to Aaron's pine trees--especially in the winter. They love those pine trees. Protects them from the weather some I reckon. Oops--I mean, protects them from the weather some I "guess." Sorry, didn't mean to slip into Southern lingo there.
The great thing about the woods is that it gives me another "eco-system" for planting--experimenting--with flowers, trees, and shrubs. It's full shade heaven in the woods themselves. It's partial shade to full shade along the edges. To be honest, I haven't had a great deal of success in the woods, but the edges are doing well. I would someday like to build an old country wall between the woods and the edges on the house side. Not just so I can quote "Mending Wall," my neighbors would be totally unaffected by such a wall anyway--but so that I can define the edges into easier to maintain garden plots. Keep the woods at bay a little bit. I'd also like to add a little definition to an area just on the meadow side of the woods, right to the left of the center path. I've tucked a rhododendron, red twig dogwood, bleeding heart, and some daffodils in , there. Such miracle constructions are a long way off, but while I'm prophesying, I'd like to make the paths in the woods more substantive as well. Cobblestones of some sort maybe? Any suggestions are welcome.
On the edges of the woods that face the house there are a great number and variety of flowers and shrubs. There is a bigger "edge" directly behind the house than on the other side of the path on the house side. There's also a large wooden shed right behind the house on this edge. In fact, the winding path through the woods begins right behind this shed. A secret path. =) Anyway, right behind the house on the edge of the woods are three forsythia, a rose of Sharon, a redbud, and a bleeding heart. All of these bloom each year, except for one of the forsythia. Flowers that I've planted here are a lot (tip: "a lot" means at least a dozen) of crocus, daffodils, lilies, hosta, tulips, Dutch iris, grape hyacinth, rosy Alpine bells, and stardrift. Sprinkled among these beauties are a few phlox, iris, astilbe, huechera, aconite, Lenten roses, anemones, wood hyacinth, bluebells, coral bells, fern, corydalis, balloon flowers, and sedum. Lots of sprinkling! Bring your flower umbrella! It's quite an extensive garden. I do have a problem here with squirrels taking some of the bulbs despite the fact that there are two huge walnut trees over here, and the ground is littered with nuts. Did I happen to mention in this "history" that I hate squirrels and walnut trees? I thought so. I hate squirrels and walnut trees. Anyway, this is a beautiful spot from early spring to frost, though I am in constant warfare with the encroaching woods. And the squirrels.
The other edge of the house side is not nearly as wide. It has "lots" of crocus, a redbud, bleeding heart, and two forsythia that bloom each spring, the Acres' only mountain laurel, and a "sprinkling" of daffodils, dwarf iris, tulips, lilies, hosta, fern, and fall crocus. Most of this area is full shade though one small area has some sun. There's an encroachment battle over here as well. That's why that idea of a wall keeps ricocheting around my empty brain.
The other "edge" of the woods--the meadow side--is mostly flowering trees and shrubs that have not yet fulfilled their purpose. They are growing nicely, just not blooming. A rose of Sharon and a magnolia bloom every year, but not any of the other stuff: two redbud, another magnolia, a crab apple, a hawthorn, four dogwoods--one pink, and two blue spruce. Of course, the spruce won't bloom. Now, there are a couple dozen daffodils over here that bloom each spring and a patch of black-eyed Susan that bloom in the summer. (God planted those. I can't take credit.) The rhododendron that I already mentioned was about to bloom this last spring, but one of the deer traipsing through my woods stopped to munch. Ugh. At least it's still alive so there's hope. There are some aconite, hosta, lilies, and iris over here, but they don't bloom much. This edge does get a little sun, but just a very little. That's undoubtedly the problem, but I'll keep hoping. The things that have bloomed keep my hopes alive.
As mentioned, I have not had much success in the forest. (Whoa, in just a few paragraphs it's grown from a maybe woods to a forest! Ah, the power of the pen!) God has a nice bouquet of May apples in here and a large swath of Dutchman's breeches, and numerous violets. And He has some trillium in here that have not yet bloomed. I'm sure they will one of these springs. I have tried all sorts of flowers and shrubs in here and failed. All flora that were supposed to be full shade lovers, woodsy plants. But. . . I do have some daffodils and crocus that bloom in here before the trees get their leaves. And some fall crocus after the leaves have fallen. And there are a couple Lenten roses and ferns that I've put in here still alive. But not nearly the number I've planted in here. Any suggestions for things to try would be welcome. There may be a bunch of Arbor Day saplings in here. When I first moved here, I planted a bunch of them in here, but I have no idea how they're doing. I didn't think to mark where I put them. Brilliant, eh? I have stumbled on a redbud and dogwood that are growing in here, but the others, who knows? Maybe twenty years from now who ever owns Iten's Acres after me will wake up some spring morning and go, "Wow, honey, come look at this. It's a miracle. The woods are all abloom." I don't think I qualify as a miracle producer, but it's fun to imagine such a moment sometime in the future. My gardening angels and I can give each others high fives in heaven. Can you give a high five to someone with wings?
Anyway, you can come and hike the woods with me anytime--edges and all--without the slightest chance of getting lost or without the slightest chance of not encountering some beauty. Come in the winter, and we can quote "Stopping by the woods on a snowy evening," and we won't even have "miles to go before we sleep." It's just a couple steps to the back door.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Friday, December 16, 2011
Chapter 14: Space: The Flower Frontier
When I first arrived at Iten's Acres, there was a large open space to the right of the house practically devoid of any plants save grass and a walnut tree. For some reason my predecessor had planted a clump of blackberry bushes--four or five--right behind the privacy fence at the edge of the parking area. Why he put them there or why he planted so many I do not know. But by the time I became "park ranger," they were huge--white blossoms in the spring, lots of berries by mid-summer. I have been surprised by the apparent lack of interest in the fruit by the birds and wildlife, but the only creature that snacks on them is a chubby old bald thing. Well, some visiting dignitaries once made a pan of blackberry cobbler. But other than that . . . There were, also, two metal sheds on this side of the house, a pair of horseshoe pits, the frame of a doghouse, and a line of trees--mostly walnut--between my property and my neighbor's. I don't know why my predecessor left only the frame of a doghouse--he took the large "cage" that was there and the outside of the doghouse. I don't know if the line of walnut trees is on my property or Aaron's, but I do know that if I ever get my hands on a chainsaw, they may just "disappear." Aaron may come home some day and find himself the victim of deforestation. Hope he doesn't mind. In my happy dreams I can see the walnut trees going up in smoke in someone's wood burning stove.
As you may have guessed by now, the area around the house is the exact counterpoint to the front of the Acres. Up there, most of my property is to the left of the driveway. Back here at the homestead, after the driveway has wound its way around the ancient maple and the pond, most of the space is to the right of the driveway/parking area. Naturally, all that space needed some decorating. And over time, a plan was instigated, acted upon in stages, and some beautiful "stars" have been planted in this space.
Step one was the obvious one. I mean, what would any sane gardener do with horseshoe pits other than turn them into flower beds? Duh. One of the pits is now a bed of shade flowers. One of the pits is now a bed of shade and sun flowers. In fact, this second bed was doubled in size this autumn. The stars of the shade garden are a Lenten rose, a yellow corydalis, a lily, some phlox, crocus, and hyacinth. The stars of the "dappled" bed are a meadow sweet, creeping phlox, lilies, daffodils, crocus, and glory of the snow. Neither bed has ever complained about the change in its job description. Just thought I would throw that in there.
Step two was just as obvious--at least to this old man. Do something about the doghouse area. It's quite huge--forty feet long by eight to ten feet deep. It's shady in the morning but gets some sun in the afternoon. In other words, I can plant whatever I want in there, anything goes--or should I say anything grows. A flower lovers dream. In the spring the stars of this area are wild phlox, anemones, snowdrops, white iris, daffodils, tulips, and pink columbine. All of these are not only gorgeous but aggressive "spreaders." In summer the stars of this area are phlox and oriental lilies--most of them orange tiger lilies. Both of these flowers grow eight feet tall or higher, bloom prolifically, and like their spring "pals," spread magnificently. And the phlox as they spread, change color! In addition, a variety of morning glories come up each summer from seed and wind their way up the phlox and lilies to add to the bouquet of flowers. By August this area is stunning. (There are other flowers in here, but these mentioned are the stars.) Every year because of the madcap spreading of all the varieties the "pattern" in this bed is constantly changing. The wildness of it adds to its appeal. Someday I will remove the old doghouse frame and allow them to race to fill in the new open area.
Step three involved the metal shed that is too readily visible as one walks toward the back/front of the house. The plan was to try to make it disappear--as much of it as possible--by putting a garden in front of the visible area. This, of course, required an emphasis on taller, wider, plants. The solution was a forsythia, a redtwig dogwood, lots of phlox, and some day lilies. These are the major beauties here and do quite well in "hiding" the shed from spring to frost. I love it when a plant comes together.
Step four was to put a huge--16 by 16--lily bed right in the middle of the area. It has other things in it as well--iris (duh), a lilac, phlox, daffodils, giant sunflowers, and moon flowers to name a few. But the lilies are the stars. There are, at least, forty different lilies in this bed and each year they spread out to claim more territory. At times in mid-June there are 150 blooms in this bed each day. Marvelous to see! I always put a number of gladiolas in here as well; they can tower as high as the lilies. And morning glories and larkspur come back each year from seed to add to the color scheme. I'm going to have to add some cosmos in here as well. They'll come back each year, too. And they last until frost. This bed will become the eighth wonder of the world--or at least, of Iten's Acres.
Step five--hey, there's lots of space--was to put in what I call the Conifer Garden, next to the doghouse zone. It has some non-conifers in it, but it started out all conifers until I made it into an actual bed. By mid-summer it is quite shady most of the day. What's in here? Glad you asked. Taxus, red and yellow barberry, false cypress, two elderberries, a Lenten rose, a few hosta, an iris, and some lilies are the main ingredients. There is one "special" bouquet here--toad lilies. They are strange but lovely little flowers that love the shade and bloom late in the year. I have a couple elsewhere, but in this bed they thrive! (Tip: elderberries do not last long once they ripen. They must be the filet mignon of the bird world. They are an exceedingly sweet berry--when I've been quick enough to get a bite or two. Maybe they're the milky way of the bird world?) Adding to the picturesque quality of this garden is a bird bath. It's lovely on summer afternoons to see a flock of goldfinch in full bloom flitting about the foliage here and gathering around the rim of the bird bath to drink. And to munch on elderberries too, no doubt.
This fall I did two last things to this space. (Well, not "last," but last so far.) First, I cut down the walnut tree! "To everything there is a season. . .A time to dance!" I hate those trees! The other "last" thing was to turn an old dilapidated fire pit into an iris bed. It's quite small but deep with the iris sitting on top of the soil. I'll be anxious to see if the experiment works. If it does, you'll probably see some more "pot bunkers" of various flowers popping up all over the Acres.
Ahhhh, I love large open spaces. Yep, I love being spacey. The more space, the more places to plant a variety of stars.
As you may have guessed by now, the area around the house is the exact counterpoint to the front of the Acres. Up there, most of my property is to the left of the driveway. Back here at the homestead, after the driveway has wound its way around the ancient maple and the pond, most of the space is to the right of the driveway/parking area. Naturally, all that space needed some decorating. And over time, a plan was instigated, acted upon in stages, and some beautiful "stars" have been planted in this space.
Step one was the obvious one. I mean, what would any sane gardener do with horseshoe pits other than turn them into flower beds? Duh. One of the pits is now a bed of shade flowers. One of the pits is now a bed of shade and sun flowers. In fact, this second bed was doubled in size this autumn. The stars of the shade garden are a Lenten rose, a yellow corydalis, a lily, some phlox, crocus, and hyacinth. The stars of the "dappled" bed are a meadow sweet, creeping phlox, lilies, daffodils, crocus, and glory of the snow. Neither bed has ever complained about the change in its job description. Just thought I would throw that in there.
Step two was just as obvious--at least to this old man. Do something about the doghouse area. It's quite huge--forty feet long by eight to ten feet deep. It's shady in the morning but gets some sun in the afternoon. In other words, I can plant whatever I want in there, anything goes--or should I say anything grows. A flower lovers dream. In the spring the stars of this area are wild phlox, anemones, snowdrops, white iris, daffodils, tulips, and pink columbine. All of these are not only gorgeous but aggressive "spreaders." In summer the stars of this area are phlox and oriental lilies--most of them orange tiger lilies. Both of these flowers grow eight feet tall or higher, bloom prolifically, and like their spring "pals," spread magnificently. And the phlox as they spread, change color! In addition, a variety of morning glories come up each summer from seed and wind their way up the phlox and lilies to add to the bouquet of flowers. By August this area is stunning. (There are other flowers in here, but these mentioned are the stars.) Every year because of the madcap spreading of all the varieties the "pattern" in this bed is constantly changing. The wildness of it adds to its appeal. Someday I will remove the old doghouse frame and allow them to race to fill in the new open area.
Step three involved the metal shed that is too readily visible as one walks toward the back/front of the house. The plan was to try to make it disappear--as much of it as possible--by putting a garden in front of the visible area. This, of course, required an emphasis on taller, wider, plants. The solution was a forsythia, a redtwig dogwood, lots of phlox, and some day lilies. These are the major beauties here and do quite well in "hiding" the shed from spring to frost. I love it when a plant comes together.
Step four was to put a huge--16 by 16--lily bed right in the middle of the area. It has other things in it as well--iris (duh), a lilac, phlox, daffodils, giant sunflowers, and moon flowers to name a few. But the lilies are the stars. There are, at least, forty different lilies in this bed and each year they spread out to claim more territory. At times in mid-June there are 150 blooms in this bed each day. Marvelous to see! I always put a number of gladiolas in here as well; they can tower as high as the lilies. And morning glories and larkspur come back each year from seed to add to the color scheme. I'm going to have to add some cosmos in here as well. They'll come back each year, too. And they last until frost. This bed will become the eighth wonder of the world--or at least, of Iten's Acres.
Step five--hey, there's lots of space--was to put in what I call the Conifer Garden, next to the doghouse zone. It has some non-conifers in it, but it started out all conifers until I made it into an actual bed. By mid-summer it is quite shady most of the day. What's in here? Glad you asked. Taxus, red and yellow barberry, false cypress, two elderberries, a Lenten rose, a few hosta, an iris, and some lilies are the main ingredients. There is one "special" bouquet here--toad lilies. They are strange but lovely little flowers that love the shade and bloom late in the year. I have a couple elsewhere, but in this bed they thrive! (Tip: elderberries do not last long once they ripen. They must be the filet mignon of the bird world. They are an exceedingly sweet berry--when I've been quick enough to get a bite or two. Maybe they're the milky way of the bird world?) Adding to the picturesque quality of this garden is a bird bath. It's lovely on summer afternoons to see a flock of goldfinch in full bloom flitting about the foliage here and gathering around the rim of the bird bath to drink. And to munch on elderberries too, no doubt.
This fall I did two last things to this space. (Well, not "last," but last so far.) First, I cut down the walnut tree! "To everything there is a season. . .A time to dance!" I hate those trees! The other "last" thing was to turn an old dilapidated fire pit into an iris bed. It's quite small but deep with the iris sitting on top of the soil. I'll be anxious to see if the experiment works. If it does, you'll probably see some more "pot bunkers" of various flowers popping up all over the Acres.
Ahhhh, I love large open spaces. Yep, I love being spacey. The more space, the more places to plant a variety of stars.
Monday, December 12, 2011
The Joy of Being in the Dark
The moon was huge tonight! Gorgeous! The sky was cloudless, clear. I could not resist walking Iten's Acres in the dark. One precaution must be taken. I must recruit Bonnie and/or Gus to join me. Their presence will protect me from strange encounters with the beasts of the field. And their presence will keep me from unexpected encounters with the two of them. Many a time as I walked at night on the Acres, awestruck, gaping at the stars, a furry body suddenly brushing up against me in the dark has shortened my lifespan. If I take at least one of them with me at the outset of the journey, fewer surprises interrupt my walking and only the night sky takes my breath away.
Tonight was a marvelous stroll. I started at the front of my property after I had deposited tomorrow's trash pick-up. Without moving, I go from the mundane of the ordinary chore to the magnificence of time alone. On a night like tonight the water in the swamp across the road is like another sky. As the light breeze passes over the pool, it reflects a shimmering expanse of stars intersected by a yellow brick road of moonlight. The trees at the far end of the field seem shadowy, eerie, yet beautiful. I imagine a herd of deer watching me, not sure if I'm substance or shadow. When I move, they know. But I would be too distant to cause them to fear. They often feed over there in the twilight. Calm in the open because of the nearest of the trees. At the first sign of danger, they would disappear into the woods with that majestic spring in their leap.
Gus joins me here. I see him coming from the Christmas lights on my neighbor's home. They do not mar the darkness. His house looks quite elegant. All the lights are white--like the stars in the sky, only near. I listen for the angels' song. I love the simplicity of the decoration. As I walk the front of the Acres pause must be taken at times to pet my friend who ricochets from place to place enamored not by the loveliness of the starry sky but by whatever movement or scent arouses his curiosity. The sky is a black cloth, glittering with a million diamonds. Even this late, Venus claims her superiority to the starry host.
The ancient maple and the Old Sentinel are majestic even in the dark. Their outline, their shape solidifies as the eyes adjust. In the winter there are no leaves to hide the stars. The pond imitates the swamp in its mirroring of the sky. A plane blinks its way across the first heaven. I wonder where it's headed. Do the people at the window sense that they are being watched, that a lone figure in the night is questioning the direction of their lives--a lone figure who may as well be as far away from them as the stars they see above them? The bench and lamp post by the pond and the shape of my house look as if they belong in some Shadowland fantasy.
The wafer moon seems to shrink as the night ages, turning from yellow to white. It moves almost imperceptibly across the sky. I slip through the trees behind the house and walk out into the meadow and over to the top of the hill. I could stand here forever. Gus is puzzled by the lack of movement, succumbs to his energy, and scampers off into the wild area. The stars appear to be even more numerous out here; there's more sky to see. Windows in the distant indicate the homes of my country neighbors, warm, and full of life. The occupants are unaware of the brilliance of the night that encloses their man-made caves. Immersed in loveliness, yet they sit unaware of the glory all around them, untouched by the Creator's handiwork.
I sit awhile in the chair at the top of the hill, trying to grow as silent as the darkness. A little chilled, but unable to let go of the sight of a universe of stars. So vast! So incalculable in number! "The heavens declare the glory of God." They speak of His divine power and infinite qualities. He who spoke them into existence in a moment of the time that He created knows them all by name. And miracle of miracles, here I sit in a near infinite universe, a lump of clay filled with the breath of life, gazing at His majesty, and He knows me by name. Me! He eyes are on me, His Al, basking in the beauty of the night, in the beauty of the darkness illuminated by pinpoints of blazing fire.
A cold nose on my hand breaks my reverie. Gus is anxious for attention and activity. I oblige. As I turn to head for home, the lights in the windows of my house beckon me. Somewhat reluctantly, I follow the beacon out of the darkness, through the paths in the trees, home.
I have loved my time being in the dark.
Tonight was a marvelous stroll. I started at the front of my property after I had deposited tomorrow's trash pick-up. Without moving, I go from the mundane of the ordinary chore to the magnificence of time alone. On a night like tonight the water in the swamp across the road is like another sky. As the light breeze passes over the pool, it reflects a shimmering expanse of stars intersected by a yellow brick road of moonlight. The trees at the far end of the field seem shadowy, eerie, yet beautiful. I imagine a herd of deer watching me, not sure if I'm substance or shadow. When I move, they know. But I would be too distant to cause them to fear. They often feed over there in the twilight. Calm in the open because of the nearest of the trees. At the first sign of danger, they would disappear into the woods with that majestic spring in their leap.
Gus joins me here. I see him coming from the Christmas lights on my neighbor's home. They do not mar the darkness. His house looks quite elegant. All the lights are white--like the stars in the sky, only near. I listen for the angels' song. I love the simplicity of the decoration. As I walk the front of the Acres pause must be taken at times to pet my friend who ricochets from place to place enamored not by the loveliness of the starry sky but by whatever movement or scent arouses his curiosity. The sky is a black cloth, glittering with a million diamonds. Even this late, Venus claims her superiority to the starry host.
The ancient maple and the Old Sentinel are majestic even in the dark. Their outline, their shape solidifies as the eyes adjust. In the winter there are no leaves to hide the stars. The pond imitates the swamp in its mirroring of the sky. A plane blinks its way across the first heaven. I wonder where it's headed. Do the people at the window sense that they are being watched, that a lone figure in the night is questioning the direction of their lives--a lone figure who may as well be as far away from them as the stars they see above them? The bench and lamp post by the pond and the shape of my house look as if they belong in some Shadowland fantasy.
The wafer moon seems to shrink as the night ages, turning from yellow to white. It moves almost imperceptibly across the sky. I slip through the trees behind the house and walk out into the meadow and over to the top of the hill. I could stand here forever. Gus is puzzled by the lack of movement, succumbs to his energy, and scampers off into the wild area. The stars appear to be even more numerous out here; there's more sky to see. Windows in the distant indicate the homes of my country neighbors, warm, and full of life. The occupants are unaware of the brilliance of the night that encloses their man-made caves. Immersed in loveliness, yet they sit unaware of the glory all around them, untouched by the Creator's handiwork.
I sit awhile in the chair at the top of the hill, trying to grow as silent as the darkness. A little chilled, but unable to let go of the sight of a universe of stars. So vast! So incalculable in number! "The heavens declare the glory of God." They speak of His divine power and infinite qualities. He who spoke them into existence in a moment of the time that He created knows them all by name. And miracle of miracles, here I sit in a near infinite universe, a lump of clay filled with the breath of life, gazing at His majesty, and He knows me by name. Me! He eyes are on me, His Al, basking in the beauty of the night, in the beauty of the darkness illuminated by pinpoints of blazing fire.
A cold nose on my hand breaks my reverie. Gus is anxious for attention and activity. I oblige. As I turn to head for home, the lights in the windows of my house beckon me. Somewhat reluctantly, I follow the beacon out of the darkness, through the paths in the trees, home.
I have loved my time being in the dark.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Chapter 13: Circling the House II
To the left of the house, just a little to the left, is another "enhanced" area--if flowers and flowering shrubs are part of your definition of "enhance." I call this the Canopy area because it's shaded by a few trees of various sizes. The trees were here when I arrived; well, most of them anyway. I did put a redbud in there that's doing quite well. I expect it to bloom one of these springs soon. 2012 anyone? I hope so. I added it because last winter I cut down a large vine in here that was strangling a dogwood. In fact, the top of the tree was already dead. A storm this summer blew down the top. Fortunately, the dogwood has sent up a number of shoots from the bottom, and they are starting to thrive. I've even moved some of its saplings to other places on the Acres. And they transplant quite well! Anyway, the removal of the vine allowed more sun into the area, and I want to keep it shaded; hence the redbud. I have a number of redbuds that I planted all at the same time in various places. I'm fascinated at the difference between how quickly some of them grow and how slowly others of them grow. It's amazing how where you are planted influences how quickly you grow and flourish.
There is a small bed at the edge of the canopy. Quite primitive in structure; it's made from cement blocks. I call this bed The Lenten Rose Bed. It has five of them in there. They are the stars! Lenten Roses are amazing. They thrive in the shade. They are green year around. They grow remarkably tall. They bloom earlier than anything--late February or early March--except maybe the pussy willow by the pond. And they keep their blooms for most of the summer. Gorgeous things! And like other stars they need a supporting cast. In this bed that includes tulips, white grape hyacinth, allium, and a mystery plant that is huge each spring but has never bloomed. I wish I could find my old records to "discover" what it is and understand why it hasn't bloomed. I have another one in another bed that is sunny. Same result. Tall, luscious, bloomless every year. Even the resident expert--Mom--doesn't know what it is. That's a semi-miracle! Perhaps by time I'm 98 it will bloom, and I'll be able to tell you what it is. Until then, the mystery remains. Where's Sherlock when you need him?
Once upon a time this bed was the source of forget-me-nots that I spread all over the property. Beautiful little blue flowers that you would never be able to forget once you saw them. And do they love to spread themselves. Well, they used to love to spread themselves. This spring--nothing. (Okay, there are a few in the Blue Bed and the Spring Bed.) But I had those lovely little flowers all over my property, and this spring they decided as a group to not show up--to forget that I was counting on them to add some beauty to the Acres. I miss them. I remember them. They are all but gone. Sigh. I have no idea what happened to them. Of course, they are on my shopping list for next spring when I wander out to Baker's Acres--the nursery that has every flower known to man and myriads that they've "invented" themselves.
The stars of the actual canopy area are the bleeding hearts. I have loved bleeding hearts since I was a small tyke in Wellston, Missouri. There are four large red ones, three large white ones, a dwarf red one, and a dwarf white one all under the canopy. Marvelous! And their wild cousins are here too--Dutchman's Breeches by the score! Combined with the two gigantic ones in the rock garden by the house which is right across from the canopy, this is the land of the bleeding hearts--and no one has shed a tear. (Except for the missing forget-me-nots, of course.) The supporting cast for these stars? Aconite, tulips, lily-of-the-valley, grape hyacinth, crocus, daffodils, a zillion yellow corydalis, bluebells, lilies, hosta, dwarf iris, fall crocus, hardy cyclamen, and a lovely Japanese fern. And this is the area where I have wild yellow violets! And--we're not done yet--in front of this area are three container gardens: impatiens, snapdragons, alyssum, marigolds, morning glory, begonia, coleus, dianthus, petunia, bright eyes. Since this area gets a dab of morning sun yet is still shaded for much of the day, a variety of annuals thrive here. Who doesn't love variety?
Abutting the Canopy is the beginnings of an azalea hedge that runs all the way to a magnificent white pine near the back of the house. I say "beginning" because only one has bloomed so far--an alluring lilac-purple. Like the hibiscus I thought azaleas grew and flourished only in the South. Wrong. Eventually--in my life or in the life of those who come after me--the lilac will be joined by a couple different reds and a goldish yellow. Should be stunning in about five or ten years. "Sprinkled" amongst the hedge (I love sprinkling flowers.) are three hydrangea, a peony, a bouquet of daffodils, two bouquets of phlox, and a small pink dogwood. The latter would be larger and blooming by now if some careless COBG hadn't lawnmowered it a couple years ago. Ugh. Oh, and there are several daffodils and crocus under the white pine.
I think I'm going to put a bench over here for idling in the shade on those hot August days. The shade is a lovely place to spend an afternoon loafing thinking of all the things you should be doing but have no intention of doing now and have no intention of even feeling guilty about not doing them. Drop by some hot August day and see what I mean. I'll scoot over. If you sit here quietly. Only the birds are allowed to sing.
There is a small bed at the edge of the canopy. Quite primitive in structure; it's made from cement blocks. I call this bed The Lenten Rose Bed. It has five of them in there. They are the stars! Lenten Roses are amazing. They thrive in the shade. They are green year around. They grow remarkably tall. They bloom earlier than anything--late February or early March--except maybe the pussy willow by the pond. And they keep their blooms for most of the summer. Gorgeous things! And like other stars they need a supporting cast. In this bed that includes tulips, white grape hyacinth, allium, and a mystery plant that is huge each spring but has never bloomed. I wish I could find my old records to "discover" what it is and understand why it hasn't bloomed. I have another one in another bed that is sunny. Same result. Tall, luscious, bloomless every year. Even the resident expert--Mom--doesn't know what it is. That's a semi-miracle! Perhaps by time I'm 98 it will bloom, and I'll be able to tell you what it is. Until then, the mystery remains. Where's Sherlock when you need him?
Once upon a time this bed was the source of forget-me-nots that I spread all over the property. Beautiful little blue flowers that you would never be able to forget once you saw them. And do they love to spread themselves. Well, they used to love to spread themselves. This spring--nothing. (Okay, there are a few in the Blue Bed and the Spring Bed.) But I had those lovely little flowers all over my property, and this spring they decided as a group to not show up--to forget that I was counting on them to add some beauty to the Acres. I miss them. I remember them. They are all but gone. Sigh. I have no idea what happened to them. Of course, they are on my shopping list for next spring when I wander out to Baker's Acres--the nursery that has every flower known to man and myriads that they've "invented" themselves.
The stars of the actual canopy area are the bleeding hearts. I have loved bleeding hearts since I was a small tyke in Wellston, Missouri. There are four large red ones, three large white ones, a dwarf red one, and a dwarf white one all under the canopy. Marvelous! And their wild cousins are here too--Dutchman's Breeches by the score! Combined with the two gigantic ones in the rock garden by the house which is right across from the canopy, this is the land of the bleeding hearts--and no one has shed a tear. (Except for the missing forget-me-nots, of course.) The supporting cast for these stars? Aconite, tulips, lily-of-the-valley, grape hyacinth, crocus, daffodils, a zillion yellow corydalis, bluebells, lilies, hosta, dwarf iris, fall crocus, hardy cyclamen, and a lovely Japanese fern. And this is the area where I have wild yellow violets! And--we're not done yet--in front of this area are three container gardens: impatiens, snapdragons, alyssum, marigolds, morning glory, begonia, coleus, dianthus, petunia, bright eyes. Since this area gets a dab of morning sun yet is still shaded for much of the day, a variety of annuals thrive here. Who doesn't love variety?
Abutting the Canopy is the beginnings of an azalea hedge that runs all the way to a magnificent white pine near the back of the house. I say "beginning" because only one has bloomed so far--an alluring lilac-purple. Like the hibiscus I thought azaleas grew and flourished only in the South. Wrong. Eventually--in my life or in the life of those who come after me--the lilac will be joined by a couple different reds and a goldish yellow. Should be stunning in about five or ten years. "Sprinkled" amongst the hedge (I love sprinkling flowers.) are three hydrangea, a peony, a bouquet of daffodils, two bouquets of phlox, and a small pink dogwood. The latter would be larger and blooming by now if some careless COBG hadn't lawnmowered it a couple years ago. Ugh. Oh, and there are several daffodils and crocus under the white pine.
I think I'm going to put a bench over here for idling in the shade on those hot August days. The shade is a lovely place to spend an afternoon loafing thinking of all the things you should be doing but have no intention of doing now and have no intention of even feeling guilty about not doing them. Drop by some hot August day and see what I mean. I'll scoot over. If you sit here quietly. Only the birds are allowed to sing.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Chapter 12: Circling the House I
When I acquired Iten's Acres, there was some beauty already up near the house. It actually was rather picturesque to drive up the driveway toward the abode. You would swing around the ancient maple, and there, right in front of you, up a small hill, was the home. Not postcardish, but picturesque--especially after I removed the ugly old shed/garage in front of the place. There are several trees at the end of the driveway, a couple of hickory trees just to your right (buffet in the winter for squirrels, wild turkeys, and deer). If you arrive in spring--I didn't; I came in August--there is a beautiful red crab apple to the left of the house situated at the front of an old rock garden. Behind the crab apple in the rock garden, you would find two huge bleeding hearts. When I arrived in August, the rock garden had a plethora of beautiful ferns, a few gigantic hosta, and some pink ladies.
There is also a lovely pine tree right behind the rock garden. And there is a rose bush in front of the house and one in back. Unfortunately, the roses have only bloomed once in my six years here--dark reds. On the other side of the house is a small privacy fence with a collection of large blackberry bushes--three or four--close by. Can anybody say "cobbler"? (The only thing directly behind the house is a cowbell on the patio. I always know when my granddaughter Evie has arrived by the clanging of the bell. I haven't been able to find any more cowbell seeds though.)
Having taken ownership in August, I had no idea how stunning the crab apple was, and I had no idea the bleeding hearts even existed. And I also did not know the mystery of the pink ladies. You can't imagine how thrilled I was to see the bleeding hearts come up my first spring. They are enormous and lush! The mystery of the pink ladies? (They look like dainty pink day lilies--but that's not the mystery.) The mystery is that their foliage comes up in the spring--a gorgeous green. Then, the foliage dies away. And in late July or early August, presto! the flowers come up and bloom. Not knowing the mystery that first spring, you can imagine my consternation when the foliage started to die. I watered and watered and watered, and they still "died." I in my ignorance was heartbroken. And then in August as I was circling the house, pink beauties everywhere! Amazing! If only all mysteries could end so majestically. From "death" came glorious beauty--sounds theological, eh?
Naturally, having a serious case of floral discontent, I have added to the beauty around the house. One of the first things I tried was to put a large container garden right in front of the rock garden. I, also, planted a couple forsythia that I had brought up from Mom's. The forsythia are doing wonderfully; the container garden has been moved to the front patio. In its place is a real garden. I call it the Rainbow Garden. Why? When I decided to transform it, I gave all the flowers to an artist friend of mine and asked her to arrange the colors for me into a "rainbow." Wow! Did she ever! The focus of the bed are, of course, iris. whites, lilacs, peach, tangerine, blue, purple, yellow, ocher, pink, red, striped. It is a marvelous panorama of colors--a rainbow. But the iris are not all! In the middle of the bed and rapidly spreading everywhere are blue balloon flowers. They are, in a sense, an accidental bonus. When I was moving the container garden, the pot that had the balloon flower in it wouldn't budge when I tried to pick it up. Here, the roots of the plant had gone through the bottom of the planter and settled in. I surrendered to its "wishes" and left it there. I had no idea what a spreader it was. Six years ago--one blue balloon flower. Last summer--at least fifty blooms a day for weeks, and it's still spreading. (And every year I dig up a few and move them elsewhere.)
But that's not all! Also in this rainbow are a number of lilies, triteleia, star of David, tulips, bee balm, hollyhock, two large clumps of sunflowers, phlox, gladiola, a giant coneflower, larkspur, cosmos,and morning glory from seed, and this year, God threw in some smooth ruella--a beautiful blue trumpet-like wild flower. I guess He thought I needed a little more blue in the back corner. No complaints, trust me! And this is the bed that Mom can see from her observation post in her bedroom. She gets to enjoy it from mid-March to frost, from yellow forsythia and purple crocus to the red hollyhocks of September. No, it's not a coincidence that the beauty of that bed is by Mom's window seat.
(A tip: Don't pull things up if you're not sure what they are. I was tempted this spring to pull up the ruella and the coneflower because I thought they might be weeds. I waited--thankfully. Just in case they weren't weeds. Patience is a good thing, you know. It's amazing how God can turn "weeds" into gorgeous flowers if you just keep your hands off and let Him work.)
As mentioned before, I think, I have a few container gardens around the house. There is a small one in the parking area, one by the fence, two on the front patio, and one on the back patio. Every year I put calla lilies in the one in the parking area; it on its own brings back every year some morning glories and love-in-the-midst from seed. The bed by the fence has some morning glory for climbing the structure and some bright eyes and marigold. The two on the front patio are in the sun so I fill them with the appropriate annuals: marigold, snapdragon, petunia, dahlia, bright eyes, dianthus, salvia, floss flowers, lantana, geranium, garzania. (Yep, there are lots of pots.) The back container garden is in the shade so I fill them with the appropriate annuals: impatiens, allysum. lobelia, coleus. They all do well. Since they're close to the house, it takes a good frost to end their blooming. From mid-May I can take Mom out on either patio, and she has lots of "bouquets" to enjoy.
In addition, I planted a rhododendron near the back of the house on one side and a rose of Sharon on the other side. The rhododendron is lovely; the rose of Sharon has not yet bloomed. I also added some grape hyacinth, snowdrops, cyclamen, and lily-of-the valley under the pine tree. Also, on each side of the pine are a number of phlox, and at the back of the rock garden I snuck in a hydrangea. On the other side of the house, is a snowball bush that has not bloomed yet. Along the back of the house is a row of lilies--white, purple, red. Someday, I may put gutters on the house. Out here in the country I don't really need them, but if I put them up, I can put a couple of long flower beds on both sides of the house--one in the sun, one in the shade. My imagination is running wild as I type.
So, that's the area right next to the homestead. I'll give you the history of the other areas circling the house at a later date. But you can visit anytime and just sit with Mom on the patio awhile and enjoy the loveliness that is right at "your fingertips." You don't have to walk far--or walk at all--on Iten's Acres to enjoy its beauty.
There is also a lovely pine tree right behind the rock garden. And there is a rose bush in front of the house and one in back. Unfortunately, the roses have only bloomed once in my six years here--dark reds. On the other side of the house is a small privacy fence with a collection of large blackberry bushes--three or four--close by. Can anybody say "cobbler"? (The only thing directly behind the house is a cowbell on the patio. I always know when my granddaughter Evie has arrived by the clanging of the bell. I haven't been able to find any more cowbell seeds though.)
Having taken ownership in August, I had no idea how stunning the crab apple was, and I had no idea the bleeding hearts even existed. And I also did not know the mystery of the pink ladies. You can't imagine how thrilled I was to see the bleeding hearts come up my first spring. They are enormous and lush! The mystery of the pink ladies? (They look like dainty pink day lilies--but that's not the mystery.) The mystery is that their foliage comes up in the spring--a gorgeous green. Then, the foliage dies away. And in late July or early August, presto! the flowers come up and bloom. Not knowing the mystery that first spring, you can imagine my consternation when the foliage started to die. I watered and watered and watered, and they still "died." I in my ignorance was heartbroken. And then in August as I was circling the house, pink beauties everywhere! Amazing! If only all mysteries could end so majestically. From "death" came glorious beauty--sounds theological, eh?
Naturally, having a serious case of floral discontent, I have added to the beauty around the house. One of the first things I tried was to put a large container garden right in front of the rock garden. I, also, planted a couple forsythia that I had brought up from Mom's. The forsythia are doing wonderfully; the container garden has been moved to the front patio. In its place is a real garden. I call it the Rainbow Garden. Why? When I decided to transform it, I gave all the flowers to an artist friend of mine and asked her to arrange the colors for me into a "rainbow." Wow! Did she ever! The focus of the bed are, of course, iris. whites, lilacs, peach, tangerine, blue, purple, yellow, ocher, pink, red, striped. It is a marvelous panorama of colors--a rainbow. But the iris are not all! In the middle of the bed and rapidly spreading everywhere are blue balloon flowers. They are, in a sense, an accidental bonus. When I was moving the container garden, the pot that had the balloon flower in it wouldn't budge when I tried to pick it up. Here, the roots of the plant had gone through the bottom of the planter and settled in. I surrendered to its "wishes" and left it there. I had no idea what a spreader it was. Six years ago--one blue balloon flower. Last summer--at least fifty blooms a day for weeks, and it's still spreading. (And every year I dig up a few and move them elsewhere.)
But that's not all! Also in this rainbow are a number of lilies, triteleia, star of David, tulips, bee balm, hollyhock, two large clumps of sunflowers, phlox, gladiola, a giant coneflower, larkspur, cosmos,and morning glory from seed, and this year, God threw in some smooth ruella--a beautiful blue trumpet-like wild flower. I guess He thought I needed a little more blue in the back corner. No complaints, trust me! And this is the bed that Mom can see from her observation post in her bedroom. She gets to enjoy it from mid-March to frost, from yellow forsythia and purple crocus to the red hollyhocks of September. No, it's not a coincidence that the beauty of that bed is by Mom's window seat.
(A tip: Don't pull things up if you're not sure what they are. I was tempted this spring to pull up the ruella and the coneflower because I thought they might be weeds. I waited--thankfully. Just in case they weren't weeds. Patience is a good thing, you know. It's amazing how God can turn "weeds" into gorgeous flowers if you just keep your hands off and let Him work.)
As mentioned before, I think, I have a few container gardens around the house. There is a small one in the parking area, one by the fence, two on the front patio, and one on the back patio. Every year I put calla lilies in the one in the parking area; it on its own brings back every year some morning glories and love-in-the-midst from seed. The bed by the fence has some morning glory for climbing the structure and some bright eyes and marigold. The two on the front patio are in the sun so I fill them with the appropriate annuals: marigold, snapdragon, petunia, dahlia, bright eyes, dianthus, salvia, floss flowers, lantana, geranium, garzania. (Yep, there are lots of pots.) The back container garden is in the shade so I fill them with the appropriate annuals: impatiens, allysum. lobelia, coleus. They all do well. Since they're close to the house, it takes a good frost to end their blooming. From mid-May I can take Mom out on either patio, and she has lots of "bouquets" to enjoy.
In addition, I planted a rhododendron near the back of the house on one side and a rose of Sharon on the other side. The rhododendron is lovely; the rose of Sharon has not yet bloomed. I also added some grape hyacinth, snowdrops, cyclamen, and lily-of-the valley under the pine tree. Also, on each side of the pine are a number of phlox, and at the back of the rock garden I snuck in a hydrangea. On the other side of the house, is a snowball bush that has not bloomed yet. Along the back of the house is a row of lilies--white, purple, red. Someday, I may put gutters on the house. Out here in the country I don't really need them, but if I put them up, I can put a couple of long flower beds on both sides of the house--one in the sun, one in the shade. My imagination is running wild as I type.
So, that's the area right next to the homestead. I'll give you the history of the other areas circling the house at a later date. But you can visit anytime and just sit with Mom on the patio awhile and enjoy the loveliness that is right at "your fingertips." You don't have to walk far--or walk at all--on Iten's Acres to enjoy its beauty.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Chapter 11: Home, Home, on the Acres
I have some news. Are you sitting down? Okay. Goooood. Now, take a deep breath. Exhale. Slowly. Ready? There is a house on Iten's Acres. Easy, easy there. Yes, Iten's Acres is not just meadows and a pond and zillions of flower beds and trees and an orchard and wild flower areas--there is actually a home on Iten's Acres, and I live in it. I first noticed it, briefly, when my real estate agent brought me here for the first time. And despite that discovery, I bought the place.
Now, originally, there was a metal structure in front of the house for parking your car. Since it blocked the view out the front doors to the acres I sold it. Poor guy that bought the thing not only paid money for it but also had to tear it down himself. By the way, even on the coldest, snowiest, rainiest days, as I scrape my car windows or shovel my car out of a snow drift or get soaked walking (it's against the law to run at Iten's Acres) to my car in a deluge, I don't miss it a bit. It's all about the view. The only creatures who miss the "garage" are the rabbits who use to congregate behind it under the eaves of the house in order to escape the storms. I don't feel sorry for them either--flower nibbling vagrants.
In addition to the house there are three sheds on the property. One has my lawn mower in it. One has my gardening stuff--rakes, shovels, etc. One has junk. I really don't need all three. The mice appreciate them. And the fox squirrels think the wooden one behind the house was built for them to nest in. When I cleaned it out this summer, the floors and shelves had layers of walnut husks. I finally stopped counting the number of buckets of empty walnut shells I hauled out of that place. The other two sheds are metal. Both the wooden one and the metal one farthest from the house have groundhog holes underneath them. Ahhh, the joys of country living, providing free food and shelter for the rodents of this world.
I do spend some time indoors. It's convenient for sleeping, for watching the Cardinals win the World Series, for using my computer, and for reading and writing. And I've been told it beats an outhouse--especially in the winter.
The house itself is a strange shape. (There may be a picture of it on fb in my photographs?) It's actually a converted shed of some sort. There are basically five rooms, unless you count the furnace "room." (I don't.) Then, there would be six rooms. (Again, I love showing off my majestic math skills!) The downstairs has three rooms; the upstairs has two. (There I go again.) Downstairs has the library/bedroom where Mom hangs out. Next to it is a long narrow room that runs the length of the house with a kitchen on one end--the front--and a "living room" on the other. The stairway to the second floor is at the back of this room. Right behind the library/bedroom is the furnace "place" and then right behind that is a little room I use as a TV room. Quite small. The back door enters into this room. I never--well, rarely--use the front doors. The back door is the real entrance to the home. Why not use the front door? It has the two big glass doors. Tons of light. It was--and still is to some extent--my indoor plant place. Mom, of course, has her chair right in front of the doors, but she is immersed in flowers and plants all around her. Not that she minds. She is their Lord Protectorate. "Ike, the lily needs water." "Ike, the Norfolk Pine is drooping. You should water it--a lot." "Ike, the . . ." You get the idea. They've never had so much love.
The library/bedroom is also the only room in the place that I've done anything to improve. (I have put on a new roof and added a new furnace.) The original walls have kind of a Southwestern adobe look. Yuk! The paint is not "smooth." I despise its color and texture. Anyway, I began the attack on the hacienda in the library. (You really didn't think that I wouldn't put a library in my house--no matter how few rooms there were, did you? Shame on you! In time I'll forgive.) My friends convinced me that in order to paint it correctly I needed to sandpaper the walls and make them smooth. Never again. I'm still coughing up paint dust. Anyway, three of the walls are now a creamy white color and the back wall is a deep plum red. There are six (full) bookcases in the room, a hospital bed for Mom, a table and chair for Mom to use for meals, and her viewing chair. Oh, and a chest for her clothes. It's very crowded for now!
The kitchen/living room is still in need of paint and brightening. There is a window over the sink looking out over the Acres. And there are a couple small windows on the outside wall of the house, and one at the foot of the stairs, but it's still too dark for my tastes. Someday, Lord willing, I'll put a huge bay window with a seat in it where the sofa is now. There's only one (full) bookcase in this room--and a table, a couple chests, my computer desk, a chair, and the aforementioned sofa. The kitchen area has the appliances and the washer and dryer. The only other area in here is "The Shrine." It consists of shelves that hold my collection of Pepsi bottles from around the world and a large Pepsi clock that the school gave me when they fell from grace and sold their souls to Coca-Cola. My eyes still well up when I think of the betrayal. No, I cannot forgive.
There is only one small closet downstairs. One. Yes, I'm emphasizing the lack of storage space.
The TV room has three (full) bookcases (got the idea yet?), a couple of chairs, the TV (duh), and two files filled with all my old school stuff. Once I go Home, I assume all that stuff will be relegated to a bonfire. Ahhh well, such is life. Maybe when I get a million dollars, I'll find a vanity press and publish my devotionals and an American Literature book? If books still exist by then, of course.
Upstairs there are two rooms--what used to be the bedroom and the inhouse. And five (full) bookcases. The once-upon-a-time bedroom is now merely an attic. Someday, Lord willing, I'll turn it into an office/second library of sorts. It is a dreadfully dark room. I need to put in a couple of sky lights or dormers or something. In the summer--one of the reasons it is no longer a bedroom--it gets really HOT up here. There's one small window at the top of the stairs that can be opened, but it doesn't create much of a draft.
There is only ONE tiny closet in this room.
The bathroom is bright--two large windows facing South--the front of the abode. But the place is quite dilapidated. The whole thing needs to be gutted and replaced. There is, believe it or not, some decent storage in this room. The room is fairly large as well. But again, everything needs to go, even the floor and lighting. Horrible. For now, it will do. It can still be flushed with success.
Yes, the house is small, but how much room does a chubby old bald guy need anyhow? It's more than enough room for me. No complaints. (Well, the closet thing . . .) But I spend most of my time outdoors anyway walking Iten's Acres. I will be content--even if I never make any updates. I wonder if there's a way to haul dirt into the house and plant some iris. . .
So, when you come to walk Iten's Acres, don't be surprised by the house. It has a patio out front and out back covered with planters to kind of hide its existence. But I confess, I go inside it to sleep and eat. And watch the Cardinals win the World Series--twice since I've moved here! Feel free to just come on in. Wait, wait. Back door, remember? Mom will enjoy chatting with you. You'll have to go back outside to find me.
There are three sheds outside but NO closets.
Now, originally, there was a metal structure in front of the house for parking your car. Since it blocked the view out the front doors to the acres I sold it. Poor guy that bought the thing not only paid money for it but also had to tear it down himself. By the way, even on the coldest, snowiest, rainiest days, as I scrape my car windows or shovel my car out of a snow drift or get soaked walking (it's against the law to run at Iten's Acres) to my car in a deluge, I don't miss it a bit. It's all about the view. The only creatures who miss the "garage" are the rabbits who use to congregate behind it under the eaves of the house in order to escape the storms. I don't feel sorry for them either--flower nibbling vagrants.
In addition to the house there are three sheds on the property. One has my lawn mower in it. One has my gardening stuff--rakes, shovels, etc. One has junk. I really don't need all three. The mice appreciate them. And the fox squirrels think the wooden one behind the house was built for them to nest in. When I cleaned it out this summer, the floors and shelves had layers of walnut husks. I finally stopped counting the number of buckets of empty walnut shells I hauled out of that place. The other two sheds are metal. Both the wooden one and the metal one farthest from the house have groundhog holes underneath them. Ahhh, the joys of country living, providing free food and shelter for the rodents of this world.
I do spend some time indoors. It's convenient for sleeping, for watching the Cardinals win the World Series, for using my computer, and for reading and writing. And I've been told it beats an outhouse--especially in the winter.
The house itself is a strange shape. (There may be a picture of it on fb in my photographs?) It's actually a converted shed of some sort. There are basically five rooms, unless you count the furnace "room." (I don't.) Then, there would be six rooms. (Again, I love showing off my majestic math skills!) The downstairs has three rooms; the upstairs has two. (There I go again.) Downstairs has the library/bedroom where Mom hangs out. Next to it is a long narrow room that runs the length of the house with a kitchen on one end--the front--and a "living room" on the other. The stairway to the second floor is at the back of this room. Right behind the library/bedroom is the furnace "place" and then right behind that is a little room I use as a TV room. Quite small. The back door enters into this room. I never--well, rarely--use the front doors. The back door is the real entrance to the home. Why not use the front door? It has the two big glass doors. Tons of light. It was--and still is to some extent--my indoor plant place. Mom, of course, has her chair right in front of the doors, but she is immersed in flowers and plants all around her. Not that she minds. She is their Lord Protectorate. "Ike, the lily needs water." "Ike, the Norfolk Pine is drooping. You should water it--a lot." "Ike, the . . ." You get the idea. They've never had so much love.
The library/bedroom is also the only room in the place that I've done anything to improve. (I have put on a new roof and added a new furnace.) The original walls have kind of a Southwestern adobe look. Yuk! The paint is not "smooth." I despise its color and texture. Anyway, I began the attack on the hacienda in the library. (You really didn't think that I wouldn't put a library in my house--no matter how few rooms there were, did you? Shame on you! In time I'll forgive.) My friends convinced me that in order to paint it correctly I needed to sandpaper the walls and make them smooth. Never again. I'm still coughing up paint dust. Anyway, three of the walls are now a creamy white color and the back wall is a deep plum red. There are six (full) bookcases in the room, a hospital bed for Mom, a table and chair for Mom to use for meals, and her viewing chair. Oh, and a chest for her clothes. It's very crowded for now!
The kitchen/living room is still in need of paint and brightening. There is a window over the sink looking out over the Acres. And there are a couple small windows on the outside wall of the house, and one at the foot of the stairs, but it's still too dark for my tastes. Someday, Lord willing, I'll put a huge bay window with a seat in it where the sofa is now. There's only one (full) bookcase in this room--and a table, a couple chests, my computer desk, a chair, and the aforementioned sofa. The kitchen area has the appliances and the washer and dryer. The only other area in here is "The Shrine." It consists of shelves that hold my collection of Pepsi bottles from around the world and a large Pepsi clock that the school gave me when they fell from grace and sold their souls to Coca-Cola. My eyes still well up when I think of the betrayal. No, I cannot forgive.
There is only one small closet downstairs. One. Yes, I'm emphasizing the lack of storage space.
The TV room has three (full) bookcases (got the idea yet?), a couple of chairs, the TV (duh), and two files filled with all my old school stuff. Once I go Home, I assume all that stuff will be relegated to a bonfire. Ahhh well, such is life. Maybe when I get a million dollars, I'll find a vanity press and publish my devotionals and an American Literature book? If books still exist by then, of course.
Upstairs there are two rooms--what used to be the bedroom and the inhouse. And five (full) bookcases. The once-upon-a-time bedroom is now merely an attic. Someday, Lord willing, I'll turn it into an office/second library of sorts. It is a dreadfully dark room. I need to put in a couple of sky lights or dormers or something. In the summer--one of the reasons it is no longer a bedroom--it gets really HOT up here. There's one small window at the top of the stairs that can be opened, but it doesn't create much of a draft.
There is only ONE tiny closet in this room.
The bathroom is bright--two large windows facing South--the front of the abode. But the place is quite dilapidated. The whole thing needs to be gutted and replaced. There is, believe it or not, some decent storage in this room. The room is fairly large as well. But again, everything needs to go, even the floor and lighting. Horrible. For now, it will do. It can still be flushed with success.
Yes, the house is small, but how much room does a chubby old bald guy need anyhow? It's more than enough room for me. No complaints. (Well, the closet thing . . .) But I spend most of my time outdoors anyway walking Iten's Acres. I will be content--even if I never make any updates. I wonder if there's a way to haul dirt into the house and plant some iris. . .
So, when you come to walk Iten's Acres, don't be surprised by the house. It has a patio out front and out back covered with planters to kind of hide its existence. But I confess, I go inside it to sleep and eat. And watch the Cardinals win the World Series--twice since I've moved here! Feel free to just come on in. Wait, wait. Back door, remember? Mom will enjoy chatting with you. You'll have to go back outside to find me.
There are three sheds outside but NO closets.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
The Blahs?
Mid-November is non-flower time. Okay, there are a few fall crocus here and there. And some lilac alyssum in a planter is still defying any and all attempts by the frost to kill it--so far. And the pussy willow by the pond is covered with red buds, some of which have already started to open and reveal their silver blooms. I guess, it hasn't quite learned yet that winter comes before spring. And the heuchera keep their color--yes, color--all winter, purple, yellow, red. And some flowers stay green all winter, such as the Lenten roses, mountain laurel, rhododendron. So, there is a dab of color here and there, but not much. Nothing at all like spring, summer, and fall. Does that leave me with the "blahs" as I walk my acres these days? Not a chance.
If I get in an early morning walk, the reunited outlaw gang of Bonnie and Gus join me on my trek. You should see Bonnie in her winter coat! Gorgeous. Whenever I go walking, Gus always comes running no matter how far away he is, delighted to let me pet him. I'm sure he thinks that's why I go on my walks. How can you feel blah when you have such furry friends to accompany you on your walks? Impossible.
And though it's almost winter, the birds are active. Cedar waxwings devouring the crab apples. Robins, that I assume have come from farther North and are on their way to the South, love the dogwood and hawthorn berries, and they don't mind socializing with the waxwings in the crab apple trees. Snow birds scatter through the woods and wild areas as you approach displaying the subtle black and white "V" of their tail feathers. A hawk soaring above me screams out his presence to the world below--fearless. Yes, it sounds exactly like a scream. A flock of crows in the plowed farm land across County Road 25 are cawing away complaining about everything. The gold finch, faded but still beautiful--congregate around the bird baths for their daily drinks. The chickadees and titmice love the evergreen trees--traveling companions it seems, year around. Some birds that are not "regulars" on Iten's Acres show up this time of year. I guess they're just passing through looking for a place to spend the winter--pine siskins, evening grosbeak, for example. Cold weather doesn't decrease the bird activity, and with the trees barren they are actually easier to spot. Binoculars are as important as "layering" walking the Acres in mid-November.
There is always, of course, serenity in just being outside walking. The hands are in the pockets on some days, but the eyes can see much if one is willing to actually look at what's around them. The clouds, whipped by the winds, are incredible. Fluffy white on an azure blue canvas or slate gray shapes playing peek-a-boo with the sun--it's calming just to walk and watch them soar; or, to sit in my chair on the hill and take in the ever changing colors and shapes of the clouds. Eat your heart out Van Gogh! You can't match God's artistry.
The starkness of the leafless trees contrasted with the beauty of the evergreens--firs, pines, junipers--is lovely as well. The bark of the trees, hidden from spring to fall, are distinctive in their own right. Multi-colored, textured, the papery browns of the river birch, the scars on the deer munched willows, the gnarled bark of the ancient maple--all these are marvelous. I have a surge of empathy for the 'tree huggers" of the world.
Even on days when the chilling wind touches the bones, walking Iten's Acres is a joy--in the front, around the pond, through the trees, across the meadow, down the hill, through the paths in the wild area--yes, joyous. Walk slow. Enjoy the company of your furry friends, laugh at their antics. Pay attention to the busyness of the birds, listen to their song. The coldest wind cannot dim their chorus, still their voices. Clear the mind. Meditate on the beauty of the sky's constant transformation. To be alone on such a day is good for the soul, and we all, believe it or not, need more time alone. The blahs of November? No. Oohs and ahhs are still in vogue walking Iten's Acres. You'll need a hooded sweatshirt or a fleece jacket, but the walk is lovely and serene and colorful even this time of year. Oh, and don't forget your binoculars.
If I get in an early morning walk, the reunited outlaw gang of Bonnie and Gus join me on my trek. You should see Bonnie in her winter coat! Gorgeous. Whenever I go walking, Gus always comes running no matter how far away he is, delighted to let me pet him. I'm sure he thinks that's why I go on my walks. How can you feel blah when you have such furry friends to accompany you on your walks? Impossible.
And though it's almost winter, the birds are active. Cedar waxwings devouring the crab apples. Robins, that I assume have come from farther North and are on their way to the South, love the dogwood and hawthorn berries, and they don't mind socializing with the waxwings in the crab apple trees. Snow birds scatter through the woods and wild areas as you approach displaying the subtle black and white "V" of their tail feathers. A hawk soaring above me screams out his presence to the world below--fearless. Yes, it sounds exactly like a scream. A flock of crows in the plowed farm land across County Road 25 are cawing away complaining about everything. The gold finch, faded but still beautiful--congregate around the bird baths for their daily drinks. The chickadees and titmice love the evergreen trees--traveling companions it seems, year around. Some birds that are not "regulars" on Iten's Acres show up this time of year. I guess they're just passing through looking for a place to spend the winter--pine siskins, evening grosbeak, for example. Cold weather doesn't decrease the bird activity, and with the trees barren they are actually easier to spot. Binoculars are as important as "layering" walking the Acres in mid-November.
There is always, of course, serenity in just being outside walking. The hands are in the pockets on some days, but the eyes can see much if one is willing to actually look at what's around them. The clouds, whipped by the winds, are incredible. Fluffy white on an azure blue canvas or slate gray shapes playing peek-a-boo with the sun--it's calming just to walk and watch them soar; or, to sit in my chair on the hill and take in the ever changing colors and shapes of the clouds. Eat your heart out Van Gogh! You can't match God's artistry.
The starkness of the leafless trees contrasted with the beauty of the evergreens--firs, pines, junipers--is lovely as well. The bark of the trees, hidden from spring to fall, are distinctive in their own right. Multi-colored, textured, the papery browns of the river birch, the scars on the deer munched willows, the gnarled bark of the ancient maple--all these are marvelous. I have a surge of empathy for the 'tree huggers" of the world.
Even on days when the chilling wind touches the bones, walking Iten's Acres is a joy--in the front, around the pond, through the trees, across the meadow, down the hill, through the paths in the wild area--yes, joyous. Walk slow. Enjoy the company of your furry friends, laugh at their antics. Pay attention to the busyness of the birds, listen to their song. The coldest wind cannot dim their chorus, still their voices. Clear the mind. Meditate on the beauty of the sky's constant transformation. To be alone on such a day is good for the soul, and we all, believe it or not, need more time alone. The blahs of November? No. Oohs and ahhs are still in vogue walking Iten's Acres. You'll need a hooded sweatshirt or a fleece jacket, but the walk is lovely and serene and colorful even this time of year. Oh, and don't forget your binoculars.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Chapter 10: The Five Beds
The Five Beds. They say, is it at Lookout Mountain, Tennessee?, that you can go to the top of the mountain, stand somewhere, and see, what is it--five, seven, fifty states? I can't remember the number (so much for the power of ads on billboards). A lot anyway. And isn't there a Four Corners out West--Utah, and three other states, I guess, (I'm a math genius) come together so that you can stand somewhere and see them all? When I taught in Bainbridge, Georgia, we lived just an hour from Alabama and an hour from Florida. In fact, we went to church in Alabama and shopped for groceries in Florida. (They didn't have a sales tax on food. I don't know if that's still true. It should be. The next amendment to the Constitution should make sales tax on groceries illegal.) In addition, one of my life's greatest highlights took place in Florida. The birth of my first born--Bradford Daniel Iten! Now, going to Alabama there was a time change. It was great getting to church in the morning. More sleep. Not so great coming back at night after church was over. I don't know if there is a place down there, a Three Corners; you know, someplace you could stand and see all three states: Georgia, Alabama, Florida.
But I have such a "historical" site on Iten Acres: Five Beds. You can stand at the bend in my driveway and be surrounded by five beds of flowers: The Super Iris Bed, The Redwhite Bed, The Spring Bed, The Bluepurple Bed, and the Shrub Bed. I reckon you can figure out what's in each of them.
The Super Iris Bed is one of the original beds on Iten's Acres. It has been re-done once and, quite frankly, is ready for another re-do. Of course, as you've figured out by now, just about every bed has some irises in it, but this bed is "stuffed" with iris. From mid-May until the first week in June there are one hundred or more iris blooms in this bed every day--a dozen or more colors. It's stunning. Visually and aromatically. And right next to the bed are three huge hibiscus and a glorious rose: deep red, white with a maroon eye (you can guess where they came from), and pink.
The Redwhite Bed is--you guessed it--filled with flowers that have either some shade of red, white, are a combination of both. It's just to the right of the hibiscus. At first there was just a pinkish Rose of Sharon here. And then I decided to expand the area and make a bed. I do that a lot. Anything I plant by itself should enjoy its independence while it can. A bed may very well be in its near future. It will be the star of the new bed, but it will have to learn to share the oohs and aahs. Actually, the idea behind the bed was to build a hummingbird/butterfly area--thus, all the reds. The ruby throats do love this bed, but I haven't noticed any particular butterfly population. I suppose the wild area out back has an even greater buffet to offer.
The Spring Bed is on the right side of the driveway, close to the mound/big maple area. As the name implies, it is magnificent in March and April: crocus, corydalis, daffodils, a dozen "clumps" of grape hyacinth, regular hyacinth, white grape hyacinth (We need a committee to make sense of flower names--WHITE grape hyacinth? Come on. They also come in pink and bi-color.), tulips, forget-me-nots (I love to remember them!). The bed is filled to overflowing with beauty: yellows, reds, blues, pinks, purples, whites, oranges--it's the star of spring on the Acres. Naturally, it has beauty all summer and fall too, but nothing like it shines in the spring. Just outside of this bed, by the way, is a lovely red rhododendron.
The Bluepurple Bed exists simply because blues and purples are my favorite colors. It abuts the Spring Bed. It has over thirty different kinds of blue and purple flowers--different shades, different shapes, different heights, different leaves--all contribute to the loveliness. Obviously, filled with my favorite colors, it's one of my favorite beds. Everything blooms in its time--some of the iris twice. The blues don't have to be sad. Even for someone born and reared in St. Louis.
The Shrub Bed is a little southwest of the last two beds--closer to the front of the property. It started when Mom gave me a dwarf conifer and a white rose bush. Those two became the centerpieces in this bed--the rose in the front, the conifer in the back. It has an oval shape, sort of. Between the rose and the conifer are two hibiscus, a weigala, a peony, a Rose of Sharon, a flowering almond, and an orange phlox. (Shhh, There are some flowers hiding among the shrubs. Well, the cosmos don't hide very well. They grow eight to ten feet tall. Showoffs!)
The Five Beds. There are no billboards or painted barn roofs to help you find it. There are no mountains to scale. No matter where you stand you'll only see one state--good old Ohio. But find your way to the bend in my driveway, turn slowly in any direction, and you'll be immersed in beauty any time of year. Stand real still for awhile from June to September and you can "visit" with the ruby throats. Relax. That loud buzz behind you is not a twenty pound bee.
The Five Beds flower progression. There's a lot! Hey, it's five beds worth.
March: crocus, corydalis, daffodils, glory of the snow.
April: hyacinth, tulips, creeping phlox, white, pink, and grape grape hyacinth, regular hyacinth, forget-me-not, campanula, flowering almond.
May: German iris, Dutch iris, honey garlic, mountain bells, allium, dwarf iris, spiderwort, columbine, gaura, false indigo, rhododendron, camassia, blue bells, Jacob's ladder, painted daisy (alyssum).
June: lily, bee balm, keys of heaven, meadow sweet, agatasche, stoke's aster, candle flower, peony, balloon flower, scabiosa, (petunia, salvia, larkspur, gladiola, morning glory, cosmos, marigold).
July: hibiscus, hollyhock, coneflower, rose, Rose of Sharon, butterfly bush, phlox, hydrangea, aster, love-in-the-midst.
August: cardinal.
September: sedum, monkshood.
October: delphinium, fall crocus, re-blooming iris.
PHEW! Made it.
But I have such a "historical" site on Iten Acres: Five Beds. You can stand at the bend in my driveway and be surrounded by five beds of flowers: The Super Iris Bed, The Redwhite Bed, The Spring Bed, The Bluepurple Bed, and the Shrub Bed. I reckon you can figure out what's in each of them.
The Super Iris Bed is one of the original beds on Iten's Acres. It has been re-done once and, quite frankly, is ready for another re-do. Of course, as you've figured out by now, just about every bed has some irises in it, but this bed is "stuffed" with iris. From mid-May until the first week in June there are one hundred or more iris blooms in this bed every day--a dozen or more colors. It's stunning. Visually and aromatically. And right next to the bed are three huge hibiscus and a glorious rose: deep red, white with a maroon eye (you can guess where they came from), and pink.
The Redwhite Bed is--you guessed it--filled with flowers that have either some shade of red, white, are a combination of both. It's just to the right of the hibiscus. At first there was just a pinkish Rose of Sharon here. And then I decided to expand the area and make a bed. I do that a lot. Anything I plant by itself should enjoy its independence while it can. A bed may very well be in its near future. It will be the star of the new bed, but it will have to learn to share the oohs and aahs. Actually, the idea behind the bed was to build a hummingbird/butterfly area--thus, all the reds. The ruby throats do love this bed, but I haven't noticed any particular butterfly population. I suppose the wild area out back has an even greater buffet to offer.
The Spring Bed is on the right side of the driveway, close to the mound/big maple area. As the name implies, it is magnificent in March and April: crocus, corydalis, daffodils, a dozen "clumps" of grape hyacinth, regular hyacinth, white grape hyacinth (We need a committee to make sense of flower names--WHITE grape hyacinth? Come on. They also come in pink and bi-color.), tulips, forget-me-nots (I love to remember them!). The bed is filled to overflowing with beauty: yellows, reds, blues, pinks, purples, whites, oranges--it's the star of spring on the Acres. Naturally, it has beauty all summer and fall too, but nothing like it shines in the spring. Just outside of this bed, by the way, is a lovely red rhododendron.
The Bluepurple Bed exists simply because blues and purples are my favorite colors. It abuts the Spring Bed. It has over thirty different kinds of blue and purple flowers--different shades, different shapes, different heights, different leaves--all contribute to the loveliness. Obviously, filled with my favorite colors, it's one of my favorite beds. Everything blooms in its time--some of the iris twice. The blues don't have to be sad. Even for someone born and reared in St. Louis.
The Shrub Bed is a little southwest of the last two beds--closer to the front of the property. It started when Mom gave me a dwarf conifer and a white rose bush. Those two became the centerpieces in this bed--the rose in the front, the conifer in the back. It has an oval shape, sort of. Between the rose and the conifer are two hibiscus, a weigala, a peony, a Rose of Sharon, a flowering almond, and an orange phlox. (Shhh, There are some flowers hiding among the shrubs. Well, the cosmos don't hide very well. They grow eight to ten feet tall. Showoffs!)
The Five Beds. There are no billboards or painted barn roofs to help you find it. There are no mountains to scale. No matter where you stand you'll only see one state--good old Ohio. But find your way to the bend in my driveway, turn slowly in any direction, and you'll be immersed in beauty any time of year. Stand real still for awhile from June to September and you can "visit" with the ruby throats. Relax. That loud buzz behind you is not a twenty pound bee.
The Five Beds flower progression. There's a lot! Hey, it's five beds worth.
March: crocus, corydalis, daffodils, glory of the snow.
April: hyacinth, tulips, creeping phlox, white, pink, and grape grape hyacinth, regular hyacinth, forget-me-not, campanula, flowering almond.
May: German iris, Dutch iris, honey garlic, mountain bells, allium, dwarf iris, spiderwort, columbine, gaura, false indigo, rhododendron, camassia, blue bells, Jacob's ladder, painted daisy (alyssum).
June: lily, bee balm, keys of heaven, meadow sweet, agatasche, stoke's aster, candle flower, peony, balloon flower, scabiosa, (petunia, salvia, larkspur, gladiola, morning glory, cosmos, marigold).
July: hibiscus, hollyhock, coneflower, rose, Rose of Sharon, butterfly bush, phlox, hydrangea, aster, love-in-the-midst.
August: cardinal.
September: sedum, monkshood.
October: delphinium, fall crocus, re-blooming iris.
PHEW! Made it.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Chapter 9: The Pine Tree Zone
There are several pine trees on Iten's Acres. The purpose of pine trees is to give winter's snows a place to show off. They also provide good shelter for the birds--a port to ride out the storms. And anytime of the year they can nestle among the needles, sing loudly, and be invisible. Yes, there are lots of pine trees on Iten's Acres, and then, there is THE PINE TREE. THE PINE TREE sits near the front of the property. It is monstrous--sixty to seventy feet high I would imagine, covered with deep scarlet pine cones from spring to summer, so wide that standing on one side you can't see what's on the other, and you should see it after a snow. Without any "decorations" it has a singular beauty all its own.
But could I leave the area alone untouched by Iten hands? Of course not. Originally, I just did a few simple things to enrich the area. I put daffodils in front of the tree facing County Road 25. (I love the name of my road. It sounds agrarian.) I, also, put a weeping willow a tad to the southwest, and an iris bed hidden on the western side of the tree invisible to anyone coming down the driveway; you'll have to walk Iten's Acres to see it. And I added a red rose, a small juniper, and a wooden planter with a daylily in it right next to the iris bed. The daffodils--all yellow--bloomed the very first spring and have been multiplying every year as good daffodils should. The iris bed blooms every year, a dozen or so colors. The weeping willow is growing despite a deer luncheon. The juniper has tripled in size since I first planted it. The red rose and the lily--orange--are beautiful. A walk around the pine tree is brief, but worth the surprises.
One would think that a normal chubby old bald guy would be satisfied with Phase One. Come on, you know me better than that. Phase Two of THE PINE TREE zone improvement society program (does one person make a society?) was uncomplicated: another bed on the driveway side of THE PINE for those too lazy to get out and walk, and an expanded bed on the hidden side of the tree that included the rose and the planter. Bed Two--the one facing the driveway was originally an iris bed (imagine that--again). I did put two dark red daylilies in there, a few white daffodils, and a white hibiscus with a maroon "eye." In addition, I put a pink rose right next to the bed. Bed Four--the one surrounding the rose and lily planter--I filled with a hodge podge of different flowers of all shapes and colors.
The hibiscus in Bed Two, however, has taken over. I should name it the Hibiscus Bed. There, consider it done. (You have just experienced a historical moment!) This year there were over half-a-dozen hibiscus that bloomed in this bed, and that was after I dug up and transplanted another half-a-dozen or so. Anyone need some hibiscus for their yard? Drop by next June. The lilies don't seem to mind the take-over attempt so I've added a couple more to the mix. For the iris, though, it has been a different story--and a sad one (if you have the right flower priorities). Three springs ago, tons of gorgeous blooms. The next spring, not so many. Last spring, barely any. (Fight back those tears.) As a result of this growing tragedy, this fall I dug up most of the iris in this bed and transplanted them elsewhere. Now, I will have to wait a couple of springs to see if they like their new homes. Meanwhile, I'm sure the hibiscus and the lilies are gloating. Good thing they're beautiful in their own right.
Bed Four--the rose/lily planter bed--has done well. I wasn't too sure because with the size of THE PINE TREE it's in shade all morning long. It does have a sunny afternoon and that appears to be enough. As I've mentioned it's eclectic--a little bit of everything from March to frost, including by the way a myriad of yellow cosmos I got from my sister Chloe. Whoever heard of yellow cosmos? (Until now, of course.)
Was the improvement society satisfied? Content at last? Nope. Phase Three started modestly enough. I just expanded that first iris bed I mentioned. Shall we be creative and call it Bed Three? Added a few more iris! And some other things. Actually, the enlarging led to a wonderful historical surprise: a flower-of-an-hour sprung up in the expansion and has been blooming every year since--wild, Ohioan, and beautiful: the first and, so far, only of its kind on the Acres. God wanted to add His touch to the area I suppose and assigned one of the Gardening Angels to do a little planting for my pleasure.
But, ahhh, that was not the end of Phase Three. One day my imagination got the best of me. One fine day (all the days at Iten's Acres are fine days by the way) as I was creeping down the driveway taking in the beauty everywhere that I could see, it dawned on me--in the middle of the afternoon no less--that you couldn't see what was on the northern side of THE PINE TREE until you were perpendicular to it on the driveway. An idea began to ricochet around my brain: what if I put a collection--an arbor--of flowering trees and shrubs in that area so that the visitors to the Acres would suddenly be surprised by a beautiful burst of color that he or she couldn't see from Country Road 25 but couldn't miss seeing when they drove past THE PINE TREE? Tuh-duh! The idea took up residence in my consciousness, and the arbor has begun to take shape. I will be Home before it has grown up enough to match my vision, but the "portrait" has begun to materialize. I like being a flower artist (and deeply admire those who are real artists). Here's what is in the Surprise Arbor so far: two redbuds, a crab apple, a dogwood, a hawthorn, an elderberry, a Rose of Sharon, a hibiscus, a golden barberry, and a small iris bed with a burgundy rose. They are all doing splendidly for little tykes. I hope to add another more mature redbud, a couple of mature weeping cherries, a flowering almond, and a more mature red crab apple in the near future to give the arbor a jump start as I wait for the other beauties to mature. The rose has already bloomed. If the Lord graciously gives me five more years to complete my three score and ten, I should see the redbuds, elderberry, Rose of Sharon, hibiscus, and flowering almond all bloom. Just thinking about it, stirs my soul. If you come by the Acres and see me pulling part way up my driveway, backing up, and doing that over and over again, please don't think me crazy. I like surprises! And whoever comes after me is going to have a lovely surprise arbor to burst into view when his or her visitors drop by and drive slowly by THE PINE TREE. Color splash indeed!
I'm sure THE PINE TREE has already outlived the genius who planted it. I'm sure it will outlive me. But it will spend its days surrounded by beauty to compliment its own. I should put a bench here in the middle of the arbor so that when I get tired of walking around THE PINE TREE zone and surprising myself with the loveliness that is hiding around "every turn," I can sit and rest awhile. And surprise my visitors as they come creeping down my driveway.
Flower progressions for THE PINE TREE zone--not counting the year around greenness, the spring and summer scarlet cones, and, naturally, the snow covered branches of winter:
March: crocus
April: tulips, grape hyacinth, hyacinth, daffodils
May: dwarf iris, German iris, Dutch iris, bluebells, coral bells, lavender mountain lilies, allium, honey garlic
June: lilies, foxglove, roses, bee balm (snapdragon, dahlia)
July: coneflowers, hollyhocks, hibiscus, balloon flowers, (cosmos, gladiolas, morning glory, larkspur)
August: flower-of-an-hour
September: monkshood, re-blooming iris, red aster
November: mums, fall crocus, topaz fall daffodils
Walking tours are free--with or without a guide.
But could I leave the area alone untouched by Iten hands? Of course not. Originally, I just did a few simple things to enrich the area. I put daffodils in front of the tree facing County Road 25. (I love the name of my road. It sounds agrarian.) I, also, put a weeping willow a tad to the southwest, and an iris bed hidden on the western side of the tree invisible to anyone coming down the driveway; you'll have to walk Iten's Acres to see it. And I added a red rose, a small juniper, and a wooden planter with a daylily in it right next to the iris bed. The daffodils--all yellow--bloomed the very first spring and have been multiplying every year as good daffodils should. The iris bed blooms every year, a dozen or so colors. The weeping willow is growing despite a deer luncheon. The juniper has tripled in size since I first planted it. The red rose and the lily--orange--are beautiful. A walk around the pine tree is brief, but worth the surprises.
One would think that a normal chubby old bald guy would be satisfied with Phase One. Come on, you know me better than that. Phase Two of THE PINE TREE zone improvement society program (does one person make a society?) was uncomplicated: another bed on the driveway side of THE PINE for those too lazy to get out and walk, and an expanded bed on the hidden side of the tree that included the rose and the planter. Bed Two--the one facing the driveway was originally an iris bed (imagine that--again). I did put two dark red daylilies in there, a few white daffodils, and a white hibiscus with a maroon "eye." In addition, I put a pink rose right next to the bed. Bed Four--the one surrounding the rose and lily planter--I filled with a hodge podge of different flowers of all shapes and colors.
The hibiscus in Bed Two, however, has taken over. I should name it the Hibiscus Bed. There, consider it done. (You have just experienced a historical moment!) This year there were over half-a-dozen hibiscus that bloomed in this bed, and that was after I dug up and transplanted another half-a-dozen or so. Anyone need some hibiscus for their yard? Drop by next June. The lilies don't seem to mind the take-over attempt so I've added a couple more to the mix. For the iris, though, it has been a different story--and a sad one (if you have the right flower priorities). Three springs ago, tons of gorgeous blooms. The next spring, not so many. Last spring, barely any. (Fight back those tears.) As a result of this growing tragedy, this fall I dug up most of the iris in this bed and transplanted them elsewhere. Now, I will have to wait a couple of springs to see if they like their new homes. Meanwhile, I'm sure the hibiscus and the lilies are gloating. Good thing they're beautiful in their own right.
Bed Four--the rose/lily planter bed--has done well. I wasn't too sure because with the size of THE PINE TREE it's in shade all morning long. It does have a sunny afternoon and that appears to be enough. As I've mentioned it's eclectic--a little bit of everything from March to frost, including by the way a myriad of yellow cosmos I got from my sister Chloe. Whoever heard of yellow cosmos? (Until now, of course.)
Was the improvement society satisfied? Content at last? Nope. Phase Three started modestly enough. I just expanded that first iris bed I mentioned. Shall we be creative and call it Bed Three? Added a few more iris! And some other things. Actually, the enlarging led to a wonderful historical surprise: a flower-of-an-hour sprung up in the expansion and has been blooming every year since--wild, Ohioan, and beautiful: the first and, so far, only of its kind on the Acres. God wanted to add His touch to the area I suppose and assigned one of the Gardening Angels to do a little planting for my pleasure.
But, ahhh, that was not the end of Phase Three. One day my imagination got the best of me. One fine day (all the days at Iten's Acres are fine days by the way) as I was creeping down the driveway taking in the beauty everywhere that I could see, it dawned on me--in the middle of the afternoon no less--that you couldn't see what was on the northern side of THE PINE TREE until you were perpendicular to it on the driveway. An idea began to ricochet around my brain: what if I put a collection--an arbor--of flowering trees and shrubs in that area so that the visitors to the Acres would suddenly be surprised by a beautiful burst of color that he or she couldn't see from Country Road 25 but couldn't miss seeing when they drove past THE PINE TREE? Tuh-duh! The idea took up residence in my consciousness, and the arbor has begun to take shape. I will be Home before it has grown up enough to match my vision, but the "portrait" has begun to materialize. I like being a flower artist (and deeply admire those who are real artists). Here's what is in the Surprise Arbor so far: two redbuds, a crab apple, a dogwood, a hawthorn, an elderberry, a Rose of Sharon, a hibiscus, a golden barberry, and a small iris bed with a burgundy rose. They are all doing splendidly for little tykes. I hope to add another more mature redbud, a couple of mature weeping cherries, a flowering almond, and a more mature red crab apple in the near future to give the arbor a jump start as I wait for the other beauties to mature. The rose has already bloomed. If the Lord graciously gives me five more years to complete my three score and ten, I should see the redbuds, elderberry, Rose of Sharon, hibiscus, and flowering almond all bloom. Just thinking about it, stirs my soul. If you come by the Acres and see me pulling part way up my driveway, backing up, and doing that over and over again, please don't think me crazy. I like surprises! And whoever comes after me is going to have a lovely surprise arbor to burst into view when his or her visitors drop by and drive slowly by THE PINE TREE. Color splash indeed!
I'm sure THE PINE TREE has already outlived the genius who planted it. I'm sure it will outlive me. But it will spend its days surrounded by beauty to compliment its own. I should put a bench here in the middle of the arbor so that when I get tired of walking around THE PINE TREE zone and surprising myself with the loveliness that is hiding around "every turn," I can sit and rest awhile. And surprise my visitors as they come creeping down my driveway.
Flower progressions for THE PINE TREE zone--not counting the year around greenness, the spring and summer scarlet cones, and, naturally, the snow covered branches of winter:
March: crocus
April: tulips, grape hyacinth, hyacinth, daffodils
May: dwarf iris, German iris, Dutch iris, bluebells, coral bells, lavender mountain lilies, allium, honey garlic
June: lilies, foxglove, roses, bee balm (snapdragon, dahlia)
July: coneflowers, hollyhocks, hibiscus, balloon flowers, (cosmos, gladiolas, morning glory, larkspur)
August: flower-of-an-hour
September: monkshood, re-blooming iris, red aster
November: mums, fall crocus, topaz fall daffodils
Walking tours are free--with or without a guide.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Chapter 8: The Morning Glory Bed
When I told my realtor that I wanted a home with at least five acres, and that I was willing to go up to an hour away from school, I think he thought I was insane. Well, I have not yet come to my senses. I didn't mind the drive--it was mostly freeway--though when the gas prices skyrocketed, it did get a little expensive. The distance was a first step toward the Lord moving me out of Worthington Christian. And the house was a perfect place for taking care of my mom. And Morrow County Hospice has been incredible in helping me take care of her, and she has been a great witness and encourager to them as well. Honestly, she has done more for them then they have done for her. They wonderfully meet her physical needs. She wonderfully touches their hearts spiritually. Don't believe the lie that as you grow older, God can't use you anymore. Did I imagine or foresee any of this when I began looking for my first house at the ripe old age of fifty-nine? Nope. I didn't have an inkling of what God was up to in my life and in the life of my mom. But His plan was perfect--again. Imagine that.
I, of course, wanted all the land for flowers and shrubs and flowering trees and "regular" trees and all that stuff. I've always been a lover of flowers and plants. It's a family disease. But it was rather difficult to do much in an apartment. Sure, I had plants in every window, in front of any and all sliding glass doors, and lots of planters on any deck or patio. Now, however, I had an opportunity to actually have real flower beds with real flowers--lots of flower beds with lots of flowers. And the Acres were perfect for a myriad of flower and shrub types: sunny meadows, shady areas, a small section of woods, a pond and boggy wet area, and a huge meadow to just let grow wild. The Lord couldn't have given me a better "Eden," though this one comes with weeds. (Some weeds, by the way, are gorgeous.)
So when I arrived at Iten's Acres six years ago this August, the pressing "problem" was where to put the first flower beds. Naturally, one area I chose was at the front of the property, next to the driveway, and in full sun for the star attraction--Iris, of course. Mom had given me a ton of them from her gardens in South Carolina. I had no idea what color they were, but what did that matter? An iris is an iris. The royalty of flowers.
Most of my beds are constructed in the same way. Using bricks or wood, I form an "outline" for the bed. Then, newspapers are put down to retard the growth of weeds and grass. Next, the top soil is put on top of the newspapers. Finally, the flowers. Now, I admit that because I'm a "no mulcher," every three years or so I have to re-do most beds because of the weeds and grass, but there is something therapeutic about manual labor, and manual labor outside is exhilarating. Isn't feeling tired after a day of hard work outside actually restful?
In my years here, many a bed has gone through transformation. Thus, it was with this bed: Bed One--The Morning Glory Bed. Originally, it was built behind a large stone that is on the Acres. It was way too heavy to even think about moving. In addition, originally the bed was shaped like a huge triangle. And as mentioned, it was primarily an iris bed. There were a couple of daylilies--a double orange was actually outside the bed in front of the stone--and a second daylily was in a large wooden planter placed right in the front of the bed. A couple of phlox were planted in the middle of the iris. Since then, it has been expanded to include the stone in the bed itself and a couple of feet were added to the back of the bed. And it is no longer a triangle but a square of sorts. The phlox were moved up to the house as well. Much too tempting to the deer.
The first spring, not one iris bloomed. Nary a one. They were all lush and green, but no blooms. Horrors! (Thus was established the theory that iris like a year to just move in and get comfortable before they bloom.) The second year they all bloomed. Gorgeous! Breathtaking! Marvelous! Stunning! Exhilarating!--you get the idea. At this moment, I assume, you are wondering why I call this bed The Morning Glory Bed and not The Iris Bed, especially considering my "bias" toward irises. (Is it bias if it's true?) Well, three years ago I planted some morning glory seeds in this bed. Wow! Have they taken off! I do have morning glories in most of the other beds and in many other places, but in this bed they have flourished. From mid-June to frost, this bed--the entire bed--is a sea of morning glories, seven or eight different colors. (See the adjectives above for a description.) Fortunately they come up and start blooming after the irises and other spring flowers have done their blooming--crocus, daffodils, grape hyacinth, tulips, and so on. So when those beauties "disappear" under the "waves" it's no problem. There is some competition for the morning glories, but they are all taller plants: the daylilies, oriental lilies, bee balm, hollyhock, cosmos, gladiolas, and tall snapdragons. These all rise above the glories and actually enhance their beauty by giving the morning glories flowers they can climb. Turn into Iten's Acres in April and May--beautiful iris, daffodils, grape hyacinth, tulips will meet your gaze. Turn into the Acres in mid-summer, and you will be greeted by an ocean of morning glories "interspersed" with their taller cousins. And guess where I get most of the morning glory seeds that I use to spread their beauty elsewhere in the Acres?
The Yearly Progression of Beauty in The Morning Glory Bed: (The months mentioned are when the flowers START blooming. The parentheses indicate annuals that are added in May and bloom until frost or in the case of snapdragons and larkspur--beyond frost.)
March: crocus
April: grape hyacinth, daffodils, tulips
May: dwarf iris, German iris, mountain bells, allium, lavender mountain lilies (portulaca, salvia, snapdragon, dusty miller. I've had a difficult time finding a place to put my portulaca. I love them, but the creatures love them too. Thankfully, they do well here and have not been found by the hungry beasts.)
June: Dutch iris, bee balm, love-in-the-midst, lilies, morning glories
July: Hollyhock (larkspur, cosmos, gladiolas)
November: re-blooming iris
Feel free to schedule your visit/visits according to the flowers you love best. (If that's not the iris, I'll add you to my prayer list.) Small bouquets of cut flowers are permitted. Bring your own vase. Come every month. Just let it slip out that iris are BY FAR your favorites.
I, of course, wanted all the land for flowers and shrubs and flowering trees and "regular" trees and all that stuff. I've always been a lover of flowers and plants. It's a family disease. But it was rather difficult to do much in an apartment. Sure, I had plants in every window, in front of any and all sliding glass doors, and lots of planters on any deck or patio. Now, however, I had an opportunity to actually have real flower beds with real flowers--lots of flower beds with lots of flowers. And the Acres were perfect for a myriad of flower and shrub types: sunny meadows, shady areas, a small section of woods, a pond and boggy wet area, and a huge meadow to just let grow wild. The Lord couldn't have given me a better "Eden," though this one comes with weeds. (Some weeds, by the way, are gorgeous.)
So when I arrived at Iten's Acres six years ago this August, the pressing "problem" was where to put the first flower beds. Naturally, one area I chose was at the front of the property, next to the driveway, and in full sun for the star attraction--Iris, of course. Mom had given me a ton of them from her gardens in South Carolina. I had no idea what color they were, but what did that matter? An iris is an iris. The royalty of flowers.
Most of my beds are constructed in the same way. Using bricks or wood, I form an "outline" for the bed. Then, newspapers are put down to retard the growth of weeds and grass. Next, the top soil is put on top of the newspapers. Finally, the flowers. Now, I admit that because I'm a "no mulcher," every three years or so I have to re-do most beds because of the weeds and grass, but there is something therapeutic about manual labor, and manual labor outside is exhilarating. Isn't feeling tired after a day of hard work outside actually restful?
In my years here, many a bed has gone through transformation. Thus, it was with this bed: Bed One--The Morning Glory Bed. Originally, it was built behind a large stone that is on the Acres. It was way too heavy to even think about moving. In addition, originally the bed was shaped like a huge triangle. And as mentioned, it was primarily an iris bed. There were a couple of daylilies--a double orange was actually outside the bed in front of the stone--and a second daylily was in a large wooden planter placed right in the front of the bed. A couple of phlox were planted in the middle of the iris. Since then, it has been expanded to include the stone in the bed itself and a couple of feet were added to the back of the bed. And it is no longer a triangle but a square of sorts. The phlox were moved up to the house as well. Much too tempting to the deer.
The first spring, not one iris bloomed. Nary a one. They were all lush and green, but no blooms. Horrors! (Thus was established the theory that iris like a year to just move in and get comfortable before they bloom.) The second year they all bloomed. Gorgeous! Breathtaking! Marvelous! Stunning! Exhilarating!--you get the idea. At this moment, I assume, you are wondering why I call this bed The Morning Glory Bed and not The Iris Bed, especially considering my "bias" toward irises. (Is it bias if it's true?) Well, three years ago I planted some morning glory seeds in this bed. Wow! Have they taken off! I do have morning glories in most of the other beds and in many other places, but in this bed they have flourished. From mid-June to frost, this bed--the entire bed--is a sea of morning glories, seven or eight different colors. (See the adjectives above for a description.) Fortunately they come up and start blooming after the irises and other spring flowers have done their blooming--crocus, daffodils, grape hyacinth, tulips, and so on. So when those beauties "disappear" under the "waves" it's no problem. There is some competition for the morning glories, but they are all taller plants: the daylilies, oriental lilies, bee balm, hollyhock, cosmos, gladiolas, and tall snapdragons. These all rise above the glories and actually enhance their beauty by giving the morning glories flowers they can climb. Turn into Iten's Acres in April and May--beautiful iris, daffodils, grape hyacinth, tulips will meet your gaze. Turn into the Acres in mid-summer, and you will be greeted by an ocean of morning glories "interspersed" with their taller cousins. And guess where I get most of the morning glory seeds that I use to spread their beauty elsewhere in the Acres?
The Yearly Progression of Beauty in The Morning Glory Bed: (The months mentioned are when the flowers START blooming. The parentheses indicate annuals that are added in May and bloom until frost or in the case of snapdragons and larkspur--beyond frost.)
March: crocus
April: grape hyacinth, daffodils, tulips
May: dwarf iris, German iris, mountain bells, allium, lavender mountain lilies (portulaca, salvia, snapdragon, dusty miller. I've had a difficult time finding a place to put my portulaca. I love them, but the creatures love them too. Thankfully, they do well here and have not been found by the hungry beasts.)
June: Dutch iris, bee balm, love-in-the-midst, lilies, morning glories
July: Hollyhock (larkspur, cosmos, gladiolas)
November: re-blooming iris
Feel free to schedule your visit/visits according to the flowers you love best. (If that's not the iris, I'll add you to my prayer list.) Small bouquets of cut flowers are permitted. Bring your own vase. Come every month. Just let it slip out that iris are BY FAR your favorites.
Friday, November 4, 2011
The Winds of Change
"Calm" is a word rarely applicable to my walks at Iten's Acres. It is always windy, or so it seems. That's not a negative. On the hottest days of summer, breeze is good! Wind always makes the wild area shimmer regardless of the colors on display. What would fall be like without the leaves dancing in the wind? (Or being blown away by the wind so that I don't have to rake them!) And even in winter the wind enhances the beauty of the snowfall--whirling flakes, drifting snow banks, and even the "roar" it makes in the tops of the trees. The wind is always welcome at Iten's Acres.
Even the "winds of change." Some of the change this year has been man-made--chubby old bald guy made. Two of the old flower beds have been expanded--one by the pond and one in an old horseshoe pit up by the house. Bigger beds. More flowers. Sounds good to me! Six new small iris beds have been scattered about on the property as well. Small beds mean less weeding. And you can never have enough iris. Of course, several flowering shrubs and trees have been "sprinkled" here and there on the Acres as well. And new bulbs have been added to each of the old beds. I, also, believe it or not, removed a lot of iris from one bed and replanted them elsewhere. They just weren't doing well where they were, so I moved them to sunnier locations. These changes were all planned and executed for the purpose of the beautification of Iten Acres.
Some of the change was done by God's gardening angels assigned to my place. Bluish purple seemed to be one of the colors in play for 2011. The "angels" planted a glorious smooth ruella in the flower bed up by the house, the one Mom can see from her "windows." I didn't know what it was when it first started coming up and was tempted to pull it up as a weed. But I have learned to let "unknown" things grow and mature before taking any drastic action. Acting out of ignorance is not exactly a wise choice. And indeed, the wisdom of waiting was wise in this case. The ruella is a stunning bluish purple trumpet-like flower growing three feet tall or so. I pray that it has found a home in the bed and feels so welcome that it spreads everywhere. In a bed adorned with fifty or so blue balloon flowers that bloom throughout the summer, it fits right in. Good color coordination job "angels." Wild flowers are always welcome even in "tame" flower beds. Oh, and for good measure, they added some bluish spiderwort in a couple of places in the wild area. Lovely flowers. The "angel" in charge of the blues was active this summer at Iten's Acres!
The yellow gardening angels were even busier this year in the change department. Yellow poppies came up by the dozens in the wild area on the hillside. Some dark yellow primrose came up for the first time in the middle of the wild area. There was a new yellow flower in the bog--kind of a dreary mustard yellow. (I'm not complaining "angels." Name tags would be nice though.) And the yellow highlight of the year was a patch of prairie coneflowers near the back of the wildness. I was delighted to read: "Large colonies of prairie coneflowers often turn fields into a sea of yellow." "Large," "colonies," "often," and "sea of yellow" are lovely expressions, don't you think?
The last change by the "angels" was in the bog area. The "winds of change" are particularly welcome here since man-made attempts to beautify this area have been a struggle. Here the "angels" planted a "sea of monkey grass." It doesn't, in my opinion, look anything at all like a monkey in shape or color. But you can call it anything you wish as long as it keeps spreading and making the bog area more beautiful. Sometimes change is completely out of our control. That doesn't mean that it's a bad thing. How can bluish purples and "seas of yellows" and "seas of monkey grass" possibly be a bad thing? Yep, you can keep the change.
The third winds of change are a mystery; in fact, they have resulted in a change back to the days of yore. Well, okay, back to 2010. If you've been reading this blog, you know that the outlaw gang of Bonnie and Gus was somewhat separated by the arrival of a third party to the doggie scene--Stella the black lab wonder dog. I enjoyed my walks with Stella but missed my treks with the old gang. Old habits are comfortable. Curiously, though, Stella vanished. I have no idea what happened to her, and I haven't been able to talk to Aaron and see what happened. (Perhaps I'm afraid that the answer to the mystery will be too sad.) The aftermath, though, of her disappearance has been the beginning of a revival of the outlaw gang of Bonnie and Gus. We're not entirely back to the "good old days," but we're getting there. The path between Bonnie's house and Gus's that runs through my property is getting worn again--well-traveled. I encounter Bonnie and Gus together much more often when I take my walks and work in my yard. (Can you call five-and-a-half acres a yard?) Soon I hope to re-institute my daily meanderings with the gang.
Sometimes we bring about change in our lives by our own choices. Sometimes it's a complete surprise--catches us off guard. Sometimes "friends and acquaintances" enter our life or leave it. Adjustments must be made. We miss those who are gone--and that's a good thing. Dare I say great thing. We cherish those who are still here perhaps with a deeper appreciation and heart of gratitude. The winds of change are always blowing. There are not many moments of calm. But embracing the beauty and the positives of change can bring serenity--even in the strongest winds.
Even the "winds of change." Some of the change this year has been man-made--chubby old bald guy made. Two of the old flower beds have been expanded--one by the pond and one in an old horseshoe pit up by the house. Bigger beds. More flowers. Sounds good to me! Six new small iris beds have been scattered about on the property as well. Small beds mean less weeding. And you can never have enough iris. Of course, several flowering shrubs and trees have been "sprinkled" here and there on the Acres as well. And new bulbs have been added to each of the old beds. I, also, believe it or not, removed a lot of iris from one bed and replanted them elsewhere. They just weren't doing well where they were, so I moved them to sunnier locations. These changes were all planned and executed for the purpose of the beautification of Iten Acres.
Some of the change was done by God's gardening angels assigned to my place. Bluish purple seemed to be one of the colors in play for 2011. The "angels" planted a glorious smooth ruella in the flower bed up by the house, the one Mom can see from her "windows." I didn't know what it was when it first started coming up and was tempted to pull it up as a weed. But I have learned to let "unknown" things grow and mature before taking any drastic action. Acting out of ignorance is not exactly a wise choice. And indeed, the wisdom of waiting was wise in this case. The ruella is a stunning bluish purple trumpet-like flower growing three feet tall or so. I pray that it has found a home in the bed and feels so welcome that it spreads everywhere. In a bed adorned with fifty or so blue balloon flowers that bloom throughout the summer, it fits right in. Good color coordination job "angels." Wild flowers are always welcome even in "tame" flower beds. Oh, and for good measure, they added some bluish spiderwort in a couple of places in the wild area. Lovely flowers. The "angel" in charge of the blues was active this summer at Iten's Acres!
The yellow gardening angels were even busier this year in the change department. Yellow poppies came up by the dozens in the wild area on the hillside. Some dark yellow primrose came up for the first time in the middle of the wild area. There was a new yellow flower in the bog--kind of a dreary mustard yellow. (I'm not complaining "angels." Name tags would be nice though.) And the yellow highlight of the year was a patch of prairie coneflowers near the back of the wildness. I was delighted to read: "Large colonies of prairie coneflowers often turn fields into a sea of yellow." "Large," "colonies," "often," and "sea of yellow" are lovely expressions, don't you think?
The last change by the "angels" was in the bog area. The "winds of change" are particularly welcome here since man-made attempts to beautify this area have been a struggle. Here the "angels" planted a "sea of monkey grass." It doesn't, in my opinion, look anything at all like a monkey in shape or color. But you can call it anything you wish as long as it keeps spreading and making the bog area more beautiful. Sometimes change is completely out of our control. That doesn't mean that it's a bad thing. How can bluish purples and "seas of yellows" and "seas of monkey grass" possibly be a bad thing? Yep, you can keep the change.
The third winds of change are a mystery; in fact, they have resulted in a change back to the days of yore. Well, okay, back to 2010. If you've been reading this blog, you know that the outlaw gang of Bonnie and Gus was somewhat separated by the arrival of a third party to the doggie scene--Stella the black lab wonder dog. I enjoyed my walks with Stella but missed my treks with the old gang. Old habits are comfortable. Curiously, though, Stella vanished. I have no idea what happened to her, and I haven't been able to talk to Aaron and see what happened. (Perhaps I'm afraid that the answer to the mystery will be too sad.) The aftermath, though, of her disappearance has been the beginning of a revival of the outlaw gang of Bonnie and Gus. We're not entirely back to the "good old days," but we're getting there. The path between Bonnie's house and Gus's that runs through my property is getting worn again--well-traveled. I encounter Bonnie and Gus together much more often when I take my walks and work in my yard. (Can you call five-and-a-half acres a yard?) Soon I hope to re-institute my daily meanderings with the gang.
Sometimes we bring about change in our lives by our own choices. Sometimes it's a complete surprise--catches us off guard. Sometimes "friends and acquaintances" enter our life or leave it. Adjustments must be made. We miss those who are gone--and that's a good thing. Dare I say great thing. We cherish those who are still here perhaps with a deeper appreciation and heart of gratitude. The winds of change are always blowing. There are not many moments of calm. But embracing the beauty and the positives of change can bring serenity--even in the strongest winds.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Can You Dig It?
One of the great things about fall at Iten's Acres is digging holes to plant some new stuff for next year, moving some plants to different places because they weren't doing so well where they were, and mulching some of the flowering trees and shrubs to help them keep warm this winter. The air is cool and crisp, visions of 2012 are dancing in my head, and Bonnie and Gus are faithful "helpers." I feel like a male "bag lady" hauling my "treasures" in bags of top soil, bags of bulbs, bags of dark mulch.
I walk Iten's Acres all afternoon, sun or drizzle, retracing my steps, putting down newspaper and mulch, digging holes and putting in the bulbs. If I was organized, I would walk a lot less, but what fun would that be? The bulbs--and a few actual plants--come in these little bags that tell you what they are, how deep to plant them, and what amount of sunlight they prefer. Crocus in one bag; daffodils in another bag; lilies in another bag; hyacinths in another bag--you get the picture. Now, some beds will get say, crocus and daffodils; some beds will get crocus and hyacinth; some will get tulips and daffodils, etc. If I was organized I would get my own little bags, sort out the bulbs, and put everything that's going into one bed in its own bag. That way I would only have to take one trip to each bed, plant the bulbs, and be finished much earlier. I would save much time and shoe mileage. No thanks. I love to be outside. Why would I want the time to go quickly?
Now, I confess, the mulching is more organized. I start out front, move to the area around the house next, and then mulch the stuff out back in the meadow. I don't mulch the beds yet. It inhibits some of the flowers from spreading through the dispersion of their seeds: the cosmos, larkspur, balloon flowers, phlox, for example. I'd rather have those flowers come back every year and come back in greater numbers than mulch the beds. Yes, that means I have more weeds and grass in my beds. Ahhh, well. That's just one of the hazards of going wild. (I wish some horticulturist genius would invent something that would kill weeds and grass and not harm the flowers.)
How do I decide what goes where? A couple beds are color coded. One is all blues and purples. One is all reds and whites. Another factor is sunlight. Some flowers need lots of sun, some like partial shade, some like all shade. (God covers all the bases. Beauty everywhere!) Another factor is the calendar. I want blooms in each bed from April to frost. The last factor, and I think I've reached it or am getting tragically close, is saturation. How many flowers can one bed hold? Sadly, not nearly enough for a flower addict like myself. No, I'm not looking for a cure. New beds anyone?
My helpers, Bonnie and Gus, are indispensable. They think ricocheting from place to place and back again is great fun. They "hound " me, chase each other, and, on rare occasions, just sit and watch me work. Sometimes, naturally, they sit right in the middle of the bed I'm trying to plant. And, naturally, they think that my trying to get them to move is just another game worth playing. Gus likes to "dance" on his hind legs like the pigs in Animal Farm, but he's as close to brain dead as an animal can be. Great fun, gentle, cute as can be, brain dead. Bonnie is brilliant except that she has one eccentric behavior. When I'm not giving her enough attention, and she wants to be petted, she growls at me. Hey, it works. Gus, by the way, specializes in fertilizing. On top of the new mulch is his favorite doggy "litter box."
So, the fall walking of Iten's Acres is for the beauty of 2012, the extra time outdoors for the old man, and for "going to the dogs." Got a small spade? Don't be afraid to dig in.
I walk Iten's Acres all afternoon, sun or drizzle, retracing my steps, putting down newspaper and mulch, digging holes and putting in the bulbs. If I was organized, I would walk a lot less, but what fun would that be? The bulbs--and a few actual plants--come in these little bags that tell you what they are, how deep to plant them, and what amount of sunlight they prefer. Crocus in one bag; daffodils in another bag; lilies in another bag; hyacinths in another bag--you get the picture. Now, some beds will get say, crocus and daffodils; some beds will get crocus and hyacinth; some will get tulips and daffodils, etc. If I was organized I would get my own little bags, sort out the bulbs, and put everything that's going into one bed in its own bag. That way I would only have to take one trip to each bed, plant the bulbs, and be finished much earlier. I would save much time and shoe mileage. No thanks. I love to be outside. Why would I want the time to go quickly?
Now, I confess, the mulching is more organized. I start out front, move to the area around the house next, and then mulch the stuff out back in the meadow. I don't mulch the beds yet. It inhibits some of the flowers from spreading through the dispersion of their seeds: the cosmos, larkspur, balloon flowers, phlox, for example. I'd rather have those flowers come back every year and come back in greater numbers than mulch the beds. Yes, that means I have more weeds and grass in my beds. Ahhh, well. That's just one of the hazards of going wild. (I wish some horticulturist genius would invent something that would kill weeds and grass and not harm the flowers.)
How do I decide what goes where? A couple beds are color coded. One is all blues and purples. One is all reds and whites. Another factor is sunlight. Some flowers need lots of sun, some like partial shade, some like all shade. (God covers all the bases. Beauty everywhere!) Another factor is the calendar. I want blooms in each bed from April to frost. The last factor, and I think I've reached it or am getting tragically close, is saturation. How many flowers can one bed hold? Sadly, not nearly enough for a flower addict like myself. No, I'm not looking for a cure. New beds anyone?
My helpers, Bonnie and Gus, are indispensable. They think ricocheting from place to place and back again is great fun. They "hound " me, chase each other, and, on rare occasions, just sit and watch me work. Sometimes, naturally, they sit right in the middle of the bed I'm trying to plant. And, naturally, they think that my trying to get them to move is just another game worth playing. Gus likes to "dance" on his hind legs like the pigs in Animal Farm, but he's as close to brain dead as an animal can be. Great fun, gentle, cute as can be, brain dead. Bonnie is brilliant except that she has one eccentric behavior. When I'm not giving her enough attention, and she wants to be petted, she growls at me. Hey, it works. Gus, by the way, specializes in fertilizing. On top of the new mulch is his favorite doggy "litter box."
So, the fall walking of Iten's Acres is for the beauty of 2012, the extra time outdoors for the old man, and for "going to the dogs." Got a small spade? Don't be afraid to dig in.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Chapter 7: The Pond, the Bog, and the Mound III
The mound is adjacent to the bog as alluded to in the last chapter. The ground around the mound on three sides is quite boggish itself. The mound itself and the front of the mound area are dry. The mound, as the name implies, is just a pile of dirt under the old red maple. It is, along with the bog, perhaps my greatest challenge as a gardener. You have the boggish "margins," the mound itself--completely shaded once the maple gets its leaves, and the dry front that is mostly shaded as well. The ancient one is quite large; it's branches, and the "influence" of its leaves, extensive. By mid-May there is some sun on the northern margins facing the house, but the rest is in the deep shade.
A couple of summers ago a new feature was added to the mound area--one third of the old maple--the entire huge middle section. It was deposited there by Hurricane Ike. Do you Ohioans remember when the winds from that storm came roaring up the mid-section of the country from the Gulf and struck this area with ninety-mile-an-hour winds? To my surprise the only tree on the Acres that suffered a significant blow was the old maple. I was walking the Acres, of course, reveling in the savagery of the storm--bending trees, not just limbs, turning the wild area into an ocean of white, yellow, and purple waves, and literally cracking some trees in half. (My neighbor Dennis, unfortunately, had to live off his generator for quite a few days.) The winds were quite a "show." Don't worry--it's too late for that anyway--I did most of my walking out in the meadow and the wild area where nothing could possibly fall on me, though the "cannon shot" of one of Dennis' trees breaking in half and ripping down his power line did startle me enough to take a couple of seconds off my life. But after the winds had abated, and I walked to the front of my acres, I discovered the damage to my old friend the maple. I thought that if anything would be damaged it would be the Old Sentinel, but it was unaffected. Stately as ever. Unfazed by some puny hurricane's attempt to take it down. The maple was a different story--the massive middle of the tree lay prone across the top of the mound. I suppose I could have cut up the wood--the fallen section of the trunk and the larger attached limbs--but being a wilder, I prefer to let things lie where they fall. Ergo, the mound is "home" to a third of the maple tree. You guessed it. I love it that way.
A rabbit trail: It is only fitting that a Hurricane Ike did the decorating. Some of you probably don't know this, but most of my adult life from college until I came to Worthington Christian, I was known as Ike. Ike Iten. I got the moniker my freshman year at college. I was playing pick-up basketball in the university gym, and I guessed I impressed someone. Afterwards a senior cornered me outside the gym and asked me what my name was. Being extremely shy--yes, believe it or not, I am an incredibly timid person--I lowered my head and mumbled my name. Somehow, he heard "Ike" not Iten, and I guess not my first name at all. And, somehow, as those things do, that name spread all over campus and stuck. I don't even remember ever talking to that senior again. Life is strange, eh? From college on, I was known as Ike; even my family called me by that name. In fact, when someone calls my name in a crowd, I can tell if they knew me BWC or AWC. (And don't tell them, but they also give away their age.) End of rabbit trail.
Back to the mound. (Sounds "baseballish." Go Cards! 2011 Champs! Sorry, had to get that in somewhere.) In the wet margins of the mound, I have had a modicum of success. I've planted daffodils, march marigolds, Siberian and Japanese Iris, and camassia. God has planted orange hawkweed, ironweed, and cardinal flowers as some of His main attractions. All of them are doing splendidly--the "tame" and the wild.
On the mound itself it's a different story. I've planted a number of ground covers: lamium, pacysandra, yellow and red sedum, periwinkle, creeping myrtle. These are all holding their own, but not blooming much. The yellow sedum, in fact, is like a carpet in many places, but it must not get enough light to bloom--it just spreads like crazy. Searching for the sun perhaps? I've also added some other things: glory of the snow, crocus, more daffodils, tulips, heather, grape hyacinth, ferns, toad lilies, coral bells, a daylily, and hosta. Some of them bloom; some of them don't--yet. A number of them that bloom do so because they are able to do so before the maple gets all its leaves. They are all alive. Just not all blooming. Again, I'm sure it's a sun thing. In May, I put impatiens and alyssum on the mound. Loving the shade, they bloom until frost. I've also planted a couple of redbuds in the area. The one that gets the most sun is five times as large as its shady brother. Imagine that.
On the dry side--shady too, remember--I've planted several types of ferns, more hosta, more daffodils, more grape hyacinth, a couple of Lenten Roses, and a heuchera. The daffodils and hyacinth bloom in early spring.
Another "problem" I have here: chipmunks. They love to nest in the mound, and the fallen tree limbs only seem to have added to the attraction of the place. The real problem is that they love bulbs. I periodically have to replant crocus and tulips because the little varmints (i.e. vermin!) have stolen them. Some to eat, I'm sure. Some, they just move to other areas and do their own redecorating. No. I don't appreciate it. Thankfully, they don't appear to have a taste for daffodils. Hopefully, there will be no chipmunks on the New Earth, when I, hopefully, get an eternal Iten's Acres to garden.
The pond, the bog, and the mound. My Dismal Swamp is quite glorious--despite the challenges. I enjoy them immensely on my daily strolls. I had nothing to do with their creation. I've just been the decorator. With some lovely help from the Head of the Beauty Department.
A couple of summers ago a new feature was added to the mound area--one third of the old maple--the entire huge middle section. It was deposited there by Hurricane Ike. Do you Ohioans remember when the winds from that storm came roaring up the mid-section of the country from the Gulf and struck this area with ninety-mile-an-hour winds? To my surprise the only tree on the Acres that suffered a significant blow was the old maple. I was walking the Acres, of course, reveling in the savagery of the storm--bending trees, not just limbs, turning the wild area into an ocean of white, yellow, and purple waves, and literally cracking some trees in half. (My neighbor Dennis, unfortunately, had to live off his generator for quite a few days.) The winds were quite a "show." Don't worry--it's too late for that anyway--I did most of my walking out in the meadow and the wild area where nothing could possibly fall on me, though the "cannon shot" of one of Dennis' trees breaking in half and ripping down his power line did startle me enough to take a couple of seconds off my life. But after the winds had abated, and I walked to the front of my acres, I discovered the damage to my old friend the maple. I thought that if anything would be damaged it would be the Old Sentinel, but it was unaffected. Stately as ever. Unfazed by some puny hurricane's attempt to take it down. The maple was a different story--the massive middle of the tree lay prone across the top of the mound. I suppose I could have cut up the wood--the fallen section of the trunk and the larger attached limbs--but being a wilder, I prefer to let things lie where they fall. Ergo, the mound is "home" to a third of the maple tree. You guessed it. I love it that way.
A rabbit trail: It is only fitting that a Hurricane Ike did the decorating. Some of you probably don't know this, but most of my adult life from college until I came to Worthington Christian, I was known as Ike. Ike Iten. I got the moniker my freshman year at college. I was playing pick-up basketball in the university gym, and I guessed I impressed someone. Afterwards a senior cornered me outside the gym and asked me what my name was. Being extremely shy--yes, believe it or not, I am an incredibly timid person--I lowered my head and mumbled my name. Somehow, he heard "Ike" not Iten, and I guess not my first name at all. And, somehow, as those things do, that name spread all over campus and stuck. I don't even remember ever talking to that senior again. Life is strange, eh? From college on, I was known as Ike; even my family called me by that name. In fact, when someone calls my name in a crowd, I can tell if they knew me BWC or AWC. (And don't tell them, but they also give away their age.) End of rabbit trail.
Back to the mound. (Sounds "baseballish." Go Cards! 2011 Champs! Sorry, had to get that in somewhere.) In the wet margins of the mound, I have had a modicum of success. I've planted daffodils, march marigolds, Siberian and Japanese Iris, and camassia. God has planted orange hawkweed, ironweed, and cardinal flowers as some of His main attractions. All of them are doing splendidly--the "tame" and the wild.
On the mound itself it's a different story. I've planted a number of ground covers: lamium, pacysandra, yellow and red sedum, periwinkle, creeping myrtle. These are all holding their own, but not blooming much. The yellow sedum, in fact, is like a carpet in many places, but it must not get enough light to bloom--it just spreads like crazy. Searching for the sun perhaps? I've also added some other things: glory of the snow, crocus, more daffodils, tulips, heather, grape hyacinth, ferns, toad lilies, coral bells, a daylily, and hosta. Some of them bloom; some of them don't--yet. A number of them that bloom do so because they are able to do so before the maple gets all its leaves. They are all alive. Just not all blooming. Again, I'm sure it's a sun thing. In May, I put impatiens and alyssum on the mound. Loving the shade, they bloom until frost. I've also planted a couple of redbuds in the area. The one that gets the most sun is five times as large as its shady brother. Imagine that.
On the dry side--shady too, remember--I've planted several types of ferns, more hosta, more daffodils, more grape hyacinth, a couple of Lenten Roses, and a heuchera. The daffodils and hyacinth bloom in early spring.
Another "problem" I have here: chipmunks. They love to nest in the mound, and the fallen tree limbs only seem to have added to the attraction of the place. The real problem is that they love bulbs. I periodically have to replant crocus and tulips because the little varmints (i.e. vermin!) have stolen them. Some to eat, I'm sure. Some, they just move to other areas and do their own redecorating. No. I don't appreciate it. Thankfully, they don't appear to have a taste for daffodils. Hopefully, there will be no chipmunks on the New Earth, when I, hopefully, get an eternal Iten's Acres to garden.
The pond, the bog, and the mound. My Dismal Swamp is quite glorious--despite the challenges. I enjoy them immensely on my daily strolls. I had nothing to do with their creation. I've just been the decorator. With some lovely help from the Head of the Beauty Department.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Chapter 6: The Pond, the Bog, and the Mound II
The Bog, "child" of the pond, is a swampy area of tall grasses that runs along the eastern side of the pond--maybe five yards wide--and then expands into a considerable larger area between the pond and the front of the Acres. In addition, it has a very miniscule little "sister" between the house and the pond--a very, very, very, small area that is, nevertheless, boggy most of the year. Actually, at one time the bog connected with the mound area, but I have separated them with a path for my walking Iten's Acres treks.
When I first arrived, I was not certain about the "value" of the bog. Early during the first summer I bush hogged the area and talked some with my neighbor Aaron about putting in pipes to drain it. The next summer I just let it grow. Ahhh. A wise non-decision. You know, that if you have to do something, but don't do something, you've actually done something. Now, I love strolling between the pond and the bog with the tall grasses forming a roofless "tunnel" that towers over my head. Serene. Honest. I would love to cut another path right through the middle of the bog for my walks, but it's probably too wet to do that. Perhaps someday I can build an elevated boardwalk for my journeys.
Anyway, I find its wildness appealing. And the creatures love it as well. I hope Aaron doesn't disown me as a neighbor, but I wouldn't dream of draining it or cutting it down now. I do admit, however, that I haven't had a great deal of success finding flowers and shrubs that will thrive there. God has planted some of His favorite wildflowers in there: trollius, bluets, monkey grass, cardinal flowers, to name a few I can identify. I've tried some others: Japanese iris, Siberian iris, camassia, and this fall as an experiment I put a leopard lily out there because it was "advertised" as liking wet feet. Next year will tell. Only the camassia have bloomed consistently--lovely bluish purple flowers. The others are alive, but inconsistent in their flowering efforts. Some years, yes; some years, no. I often flip through my Ohio wildflower book taking note of the flowers that like wet areas and wonder if God will add them in the future or if somewhere there is an Ohio wildflower store where I could purchase such beauties. So far, I just "window shop" and let my imagination hope. Yet, even if I never find more flowers or shrubs that will thrive in the bog, I will be well content with God's additions--flowers and grasses.
The little bog area on the house side isn't doing much right now either--except for tall grasses and a spindly excuse for a pine tree. For the first few years here it was alive with a huge bouquet of dark purple Siberian iris. Every year there were more of them, rising from the tall grasses in their magnificent color. My cousin Eddie painted a gorgeous rendering of them from a photograph my mom had of the area. It adorns the wall in my living room right now. In fact, I'm admiring it at this very moment as it sits just above my computer. The problem is that last year the number of flowers decreased significantly, and this summer, nada. Nary a one. I have no idea what happened. Since the area is boggish, the tall grasses have always been there so it shouldn't be a matter of competition. The scraggly pine tree has been there all along as well. A mystery. Sad mystery. I'm going to mow the grasses and cut down the pine--it shades a garden I have behind it anyway, and I want more sun on that flower bed. Hopefully, I will find some iris under all the grass, and they can be encouraged to resume their beautiful display. If not, I'll always have the painting, But I would love the real thing too. Greedy of me, eh?
Behold the bog. It survived the thoughts of destruction and has become a favorite walking ground for chubby old bald men. Ahhh, the power of a non-decision.
When I first arrived, I was not certain about the "value" of the bog. Early during the first summer I bush hogged the area and talked some with my neighbor Aaron about putting in pipes to drain it. The next summer I just let it grow. Ahhh. A wise non-decision. You know, that if you have to do something, but don't do something, you've actually done something. Now, I love strolling between the pond and the bog with the tall grasses forming a roofless "tunnel" that towers over my head. Serene. Honest. I would love to cut another path right through the middle of the bog for my walks, but it's probably too wet to do that. Perhaps someday I can build an elevated boardwalk for my journeys.
Anyway, I find its wildness appealing. And the creatures love it as well. I hope Aaron doesn't disown me as a neighbor, but I wouldn't dream of draining it or cutting it down now. I do admit, however, that I haven't had a great deal of success finding flowers and shrubs that will thrive there. God has planted some of His favorite wildflowers in there: trollius, bluets, monkey grass, cardinal flowers, to name a few I can identify. I've tried some others: Japanese iris, Siberian iris, camassia, and this fall as an experiment I put a leopard lily out there because it was "advertised" as liking wet feet. Next year will tell. Only the camassia have bloomed consistently--lovely bluish purple flowers. The others are alive, but inconsistent in their flowering efforts. Some years, yes; some years, no. I often flip through my Ohio wildflower book taking note of the flowers that like wet areas and wonder if God will add them in the future or if somewhere there is an Ohio wildflower store where I could purchase such beauties. So far, I just "window shop" and let my imagination hope. Yet, even if I never find more flowers or shrubs that will thrive in the bog, I will be well content with God's additions--flowers and grasses.
The little bog area on the house side isn't doing much right now either--except for tall grasses and a spindly excuse for a pine tree. For the first few years here it was alive with a huge bouquet of dark purple Siberian iris. Every year there were more of them, rising from the tall grasses in their magnificent color. My cousin Eddie painted a gorgeous rendering of them from a photograph my mom had of the area. It adorns the wall in my living room right now. In fact, I'm admiring it at this very moment as it sits just above my computer. The problem is that last year the number of flowers decreased significantly, and this summer, nada. Nary a one. I have no idea what happened. Since the area is boggish, the tall grasses have always been there so it shouldn't be a matter of competition. The scraggly pine tree has been there all along as well. A mystery. Sad mystery. I'm going to mow the grasses and cut down the pine--it shades a garden I have behind it anyway, and I want more sun on that flower bed. Hopefully, I will find some iris under all the grass, and they can be encouraged to resume their beautiful display. If not, I'll always have the painting, But I would love the real thing too. Greedy of me, eh?
Behold the bog. It survived the thoughts of destruction and has become a favorite walking ground for chubby old bald men. Ahhh, the power of a non-decision.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Chapter 5: The Pond, the Bog and the Mound
There are three eco-systems at Iten's Acres that are intertwined: the pond, the bog, and the mound. They are undoubtedly related to each other. I assume the pond was dug first, the mound is the dirt from digging the pond, and the bog is the aftermath of the raising of the ground level with the sides of the pond. It's my version of William Byrd's Dismal Swamp. I love it!
To be an accurate historian, I suppose I should discuss these areas chronologically. Though they are more a chronological entry idea-wise than time wise. I mean, as they dug the pond, they "built" the mound, and as the sides of the pond rose, the first good rain, I'm sure, created the beginnings of the bog. Anyway, for some reason, my predecessor decided that he wanted a pond. I really can't give you much of an idea as to its size being lousy at estimating area, but suffice it to say: not very big--an old country pond. It sits, at least the western corner of it, right in front of the house. My mom's viewing window looks right out at about half of the pond. Not that she can see it. It's low and surrounded by tall grass and cattails. You'll have to come and walk around it in order to "see" it. When I first arrived, it had a "fountain" right in the middle. But when I compared my fountain-off electric bill with my fountain-on electric bill, the fountain became a memory. (Anyone out there want a pump for a fountain for their pond? Come and get it! It's free! Bring wading boots.)
The previous owner claimed that he had fish in there at one time but that they were devoured by a mink. My sister Chloe has tried a couple of times to introduce gold fish to the pond, but the success of that effort has not been fully proven. But we're hoping. I would love to put some game fish in there as well--bluegill, bass--so that when the world-wide famine hits, I'll have a meal or two. And a pond with fish could probably entice my fisherman friends to drop by on occasion. (I can remember when I lived in Bainbridge, Georgia, for a couple of years, and we would go out to the pond behind my "landlord" Gene's place and catch dinner once a month or so. Deep fried bluegill--they called them brim--homemade hush puppies, and French fries. My mouth is watering. But that's another story for another time, perhaps.) This pond does have plenty of frogs, a couple turtles, and a black water snake of some sort. The small green heron drops by in the spring to eat tad poles and frogs I guess. A pair of mallards will drop by once in awhile, but they never move in. The tall grey-blue heron has been by on occasion to check out the menu. The red-winged blackbirds nest here every spring and congregate here by the hundreds--literally--before they migrate South. In the pond itself I do have a couple of water lilies, one yellow, one red.
Around the pond is a different story. I have two forsythia--still small but blooming--right across from each other. A gorgeous river birch. It has grown rapidly and is loveliest in the winter when its bark shows. There's also a humongous pussy willow on the eastern side that starts turning silver in mid-February. It, too, is gorgeous! It's turning into a tree! There's a sixty or seventy foot tall "regular" willow on the same side, a weeping willow on another side, a small mountain ash on another side (don't tell the beetles), and three Rose of Sharon on the western side. My predecessor put four white crab apples around the pond--stunning in the spring--a redbud, and two pines. In addition, in the spring there are a few iris, a few crocus, and fifty or sixty daffodils. Trust me; it is magnificent in April and early May when all these beauties are blooming. Ahhh. Just to think of it makes me long for spring, and we haven't even done winter yet!
Later in the year there are a couple of day lilies that have just started to expand--a yellow and an orange clump. The Rose of Sharon don't bloom until August--white, blue, rose, and pink. And there's a hibiscus that blooms about the same time as well. The last pond beautification is . . . what? Oh, sorry. The water lilies start blooming in June. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, the last pond beautification is a flower bed. It blooms all season--crocus, daffodils, iris, dwarf iris, hardy geraniums, tulips, butterfly plants, hyacinth, lilies, balloon flowers, cosmos, asters, morning glories--you get the idea. Lots of variety. Lots of color, late March right up to frost. Oh, did I mention that there are half-a-dozen planters around the pond as well--filled with annuals?
The pond also is home to the Sentinel--the giant, dead guardian of Iten's Acres. Some of its limbs have crashed to earth--you'll have to step over a couple of them as you traverse the pond, the branches are woodpecker pocked, and the honey bees have a hive in a hole almost at the very top. It is magnificent in its starkness. Difficult to visualize I suppose, but when you see it--camera worthy in its majesty. I assume that the digging of the pond caused its demise. I put a bluebird house on its trunk. Makes it a tad more picturesque if I don't say so myself, but the bluebirds don't like the neighborhood, I guess. When I first put it up, they checked it out, but no homesteaders yet. At the base of the tree each July are a number of trollius, tall, bright yellow, lovers of wet places, wild flower inhabitants of Ohio. They are not afraid to compete with the other beauties in the area. And they shouldn't be.
Conclusion: the bench by the pond was a marvelous idea. You could spend hours there any day and have your "fill" of the beautiful, from the winged creatures, to the pond denizens, to the flowering trees and shrubs, to the flowers perennial and annual, to the different textures of the trees and their leaves, to the old master Sentinel wondrous in its death. Come. Have a seat. Join me. Rest awhile.
(This is a long entry! Sorry. I'll muse about the bog and the mound on another day.)
To be an accurate historian, I suppose I should discuss these areas chronologically. Though they are more a chronological entry idea-wise than time wise. I mean, as they dug the pond, they "built" the mound, and as the sides of the pond rose, the first good rain, I'm sure, created the beginnings of the bog. Anyway, for some reason, my predecessor decided that he wanted a pond. I really can't give you much of an idea as to its size being lousy at estimating area, but suffice it to say: not very big--an old country pond. It sits, at least the western corner of it, right in front of the house. My mom's viewing window looks right out at about half of the pond. Not that she can see it. It's low and surrounded by tall grass and cattails. You'll have to come and walk around it in order to "see" it. When I first arrived, it had a "fountain" right in the middle. But when I compared my fountain-off electric bill with my fountain-on electric bill, the fountain became a memory. (Anyone out there want a pump for a fountain for their pond? Come and get it! It's free! Bring wading boots.)
The previous owner claimed that he had fish in there at one time but that they were devoured by a mink. My sister Chloe has tried a couple of times to introduce gold fish to the pond, but the success of that effort has not been fully proven. But we're hoping. I would love to put some game fish in there as well--bluegill, bass--so that when the world-wide famine hits, I'll have a meal or two. And a pond with fish could probably entice my fisherman friends to drop by on occasion. (I can remember when I lived in Bainbridge, Georgia, for a couple of years, and we would go out to the pond behind my "landlord" Gene's place and catch dinner once a month or so. Deep fried bluegill--they called them brim--homemade hush puppies, and French fries. My mouth is watering. But that's another story for another time, perhaps.) This pond does have plenty of frogs, a couple turtles, and a black water snake of some sort. The small green heron drops by in the spring to eat tad poles and frogs I guess. A pair of mallards will drop by once in awhile, but they never move in. The tall grey-blue heron has been by on occasion to check out the menu. The red-winged blackbirds nest here every spring and congregate here by the hundreds--literally--before they migrate South. In the pond itself I do have a couple of water lilies, one yellow, one red.
Around the pond is a different story. I have two forsythia--still small but blooming--right across from each other. A gorgeous river birch. It has grown rapidly and is loveliest in the winter when its bark shows. There's also a humongous pussy willow on the eastern side that starts turning silver in mid-February. It, too, is gorgeous! It's turning into a tree! There's a sixty or seventy foot tall "regular" willow on the same side, a weeping willow on another side, a small mountain ash on another side (don't tell the beetles), and three Rose of Sharon on the western side. My predecessor put four white crab apples around the pond--stunning in the spring--a redbud, and two pines. In addition, in the spring there are a few iris, a few crocus, and fifty or sixty daffodils. Trust me; it is magnificent in April and early May when all these beauties are blooming. Ahhh. Just to think of it makes me long for spring, and we haven't even done winter yet!
Later in the year there are a couple of day lilies that have just started to expand--a yellow and an orange clump. The Rose of Sharon don't bloom until August--white, blue, rose, and pink. And there's a hibiscus that blooms about the same time as well. The last pond beautification is . . . what? Oh, sorry. The water lilies start blooming in June. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, the last pond beautification is a flower bed. It blooms all season--crocus, daffodils, iris, dwarf iris, hardy geraniums, tulips, butterfly plants, hyacinth, lilies, balloon flowers, cosmos, asters, morning glories--you get the idea. Lots of variety. Lots of color, late March right up to frost. Oh, did I mention that there are half-a-dozen planters around the pond as well--filled with annuals?
The pond also is home to the Sentinel--the giant, dead guardian of Iten's Acres. Some of its limbs have crashed to earth--you'll have to step over a couple of them as you traverse the pond, the branches are woodpecker pocked, and the honey bees have a hive in a hole almost at the very top. It is magnificent in its starkness. Difficult to visualize I suppose, but when you see it--camera worthy in its majesty. I assume that the digging of the pond caused its demise. I put a bluebird house on its trunk. Makes it a tad more picturesque if I don't say so myself, but the bluebirds don't like the neighborhood, I guess. When I first put it up, they checked it out, but no homesteaders yet. At the base of the tree each July are a number of trollius, tall, bright yellow, lovers of wet places, wild flower inhabitants of Ohio. They are not afraid to compete with the other beauties in the area. And they shouldn't be.
Conclusion: the bench by the pond was a marvelous idea. You could spend hours there any day and have your "fill" of the beautiful, from the winged creatures, to the pond denizens, to the flowering trees and shrubs, to the flowers perennial and annual, to the different textures of the trees and their leaves, to the old master Sentinel wondrous in its death. Come. Have a seat. Join me. Rest awhile.
(This is a long entry! Sorry. I'll muse about the bog and the mound on another day.)
Saturday, October 22, 2011
The Four Seasons
Walking Iten's Acres in late fall is a trek through the four seasons. No, really. Spring is here in the fall variety of crocus--lavender, white, yellow, pink, and rose. They are the surprise flower. Their foliage comes up in the spring; then in autumn they suddenly thrust their blooms to the sky. One morning as I walk, there's not even a hint of the beautiful lurking under the soil. The next morning they are popping up all over--in the flower beds, in the trees, in the middle of the lawn. Surprise! Spring resurrected. A feast for old eyes. In addition, spring reappears with the re-blooming iris--whites, yellows, and this year, a blue. And the other "spring" returner is the autumn topaz daffodil--a brilliant yellow. October spring. Gorgeous.
Summer is everywhere as I walk. Since Jack Frost has not yet arrived, the annuals in the beds and in the planter gardens are at their peak. They've had six months to grow and mature. Some, like the alyssum, roses, daisies, and snapdragons, love the cooler weather and are rejuvenated. Others just keep blooming beautifully as usual--if "usual" actually applies to flowers. The cosmos are the stars. By mid-October many of them are ten to fifteen feet tall and loaded with blooms. The taller ones--some of them anyway--are so top heavy that they fall over. When I find one of these as I walk, I carry it to the wild area, toss it in a promising place, and reap cosmos next year in the wild until frost. Summer is in every bed as I stroll the Acres, and, as mentioned, in all the planters as well.
Fall is here. The calender says so. The cold rains and the winds have de-leafed many of the trees--particularly the nut trees and the maples. The dogwoods are half and half--maroon. The forsythia, brilliant yellow blooms in spring, are dark maroon as well--even darker than the dogwoods--in autumn leaf. The pin oaks are brilliant red. The red buds, willows, and pear trees are as green as ever. Contrast is everywhere I look. And the fun part--dare I say joyous--is to scuffle along amidst the fallen leaves propelling them into the air and wishing I had the energy to rake them into a pile for "diving." (One dive would put me in traction for months, but it's fun to remember the "good old days." Shouldn't they be called the "good young days"?) I'm even tempted to kick the piles of newly laid black mulch dotting the lawn like blotched eye shadow.
Winter, of course, is in the barrenness of those trees that have lost their coats of leaves. A stark beauty. The old dead sentinel by the pond fits in again. On the barberries, hawthorn, dogwood, and half de-leafed crab apples the berries already stand out waiting for their white winter coats of snow. You can bet the birds have their eyes on them as well. And, as I walk, winter is in the air. Chilling winds reach down to the bones. My baseball hat grabs on to a gust of wind and scampers away flip-flopping across the lawn joyous in its temporary freedom. The robins are gathering for the trip South or, perhaps, discussing if they dare to brave the Ohio winter. The goldfinch have faded. The woodpeckers are bugling the alarm--cold is coming. The last couple of days the cold rain felt as if it should have been snow.
Walking Iten's Acres in October is exhilarating. Each of the seasons seems to have come together for a beauty contest. And the winner is . . .
You'll have to choose. I love all four.
Summer is everywhere as I walk. Since Jack Frost has not yet arrived, the annuals in the beds and in the planter gardens are at their peak. They've had six months to grow and mature. Some, like the alyssum, roses, daisies, and snapdragons, love the cooler weather and are rejuvenated. Others just keep blooming beautifully as usual--if "usual" actually applies to flowers. The cosmos are the stars. By mid-October many of them are ten to fifteen feet tall and loaded with blooms. The taller ones--some of them anyway--are so top heavy that they fall over. When I find one of these as I walk, I carry it to the wild area, toss it in a promising place, and reap cosmos next year in the wild until frost. Summer is in every bed as I stroll the Acres, and, as mentioned, in all the planters as well.
Fall is here. The calender says so. The cold rains and the winds have de-leafed many of the trees--particularly the nut trees and the maples. The dogwoods are half and half--maroon. The forsythia, brilliant yellow blooms in spring, are dark maroon as well--even darker than the dogwoods--in autumn leaf. The pin oaks are brilliant red. The red buds, willows, and pear trees are as green as ever. Contrast is everywhere I look. And the fun part--dare I say joyous--is to scuffle along amidst the fallen leaves propelling them into the air and wishing I had the energy to rake them into a pile for "diving." (One dive would put me in traction for months, but it's fun to remember the "good old days." Shouldn't they be called the "good young days"?) I'm even tempted to kick the piles of newly laid black mulch dotting the lawn like blotched eye shadow.
Winter, of course, is in the barrenness of those trees that have lost their coats of leaves. A stark beauty. The old dead sentinel by the pond fits in again. On the barberries, hawthorn, dogwood, and half de-leafed crab apples the berries already stand out waiting for their white winter coats of snow. You can bet the birds have their eyes on them as well. And, as I walk, winter is in the air. Chilling winds reach down to the bones. My baseball hat grabs on to a gust of wind and scampers away flip-flopping across the lawn joyous in its temporary freedom. The robins are gathering for the trip South or, perhaps, discussing if they dare to brave the Ohio winter. The goldfinch have faded. The woodpeckers are bugling the alarm--cold is coming. The last couple of days the cold rain felt as if it should have been snow.
Walking Iten's Acres in October is exhilarating. Each of the seasons seems to have come together for a beauty contest. And the winner is . . .
You'll have to choose. I love all four.
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