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.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
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.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Westward, Ho!
I struggled with a name for this chapter. Do I use a literary, historical reference or go with a floral name like Hibiscus Row? I decided on the historical one. After all, this is a "history," and I, also, didn't want to give away the star blooms on this side of the Acres prematurely. Oops. Guess I just gave it away anyway. (Clever of me, don't you think?)
The Western Border to Iten's Acres is even more a "guesstimate" than the eastern property line--at least up front. I do not have the slightest idea where it is. I just continue to cut the same line that my predecessor mowed, but I don't know if it's accurate at all. In fact, I have serious doubts about it. There is a good size--and beautiful--white pine along this side that was obviously planted by someone so maybe that is the line. I don't really know. Not that it matters. I have planted flowers and trees further in the mowing line just in case though I know Dennis won't mind if I've planted beautiful things on his side of the "official" property line. He, too, is a lover of the beautiful. His property is immaculately landscaped. Stunning.
When I first moved in, the west side was barren like most other places on Iten's Acres--except for the pine. This side does go up all the way to the house because the pond and bog don't extend over the driveway/scenic drive. "Westward, Ho" goes all the way up to the end of the driveway.
I've planted a bunch of baby trees--is sapling the right word?--along this side. Most of them are from the Arbor Day Foundation. I became acquainted with them when I lived in Traveler's Rest, South Carolina, in my sister Janice and her husband's house with my two little boys right after my divorce. It was a great little house out in the country to some extent, and I ordered some trees for the yard from Arbor Day. They sold saplings ten for ten dollars (now, it's ten for fifteen dollars). So when I bought my acres in Ohio, I purchased a plethora of trees. I could only get ten for me, so I recruited (bugged merciously) my family and a couple close friends to buy ten trees for me as well. Poor abused family and friends! Do I feel guilty for using them? Right. Anyway, I have planted these little trees everywhere. To be honest, the survival rate is probably about fifty percent at best. (Tip; red buds and hawthorns appear to be the hardiest--in case you're tempted to order ten "babies" of your own.) Anyway, along this border there are seven of them surviving--two dogwoods, a crab apple, a red bud, two pussy willows, and a lilac. The pussy willows are already "blooming," and I think the red bud will next year. The three of them have grown stupendously. The others are still growing, just slowly. I guess the lilac is doing very well; it just hasn't bloomed yet.
The pussy willow are first in line (from the road), and they turn silver in late February, early March. When the others grow up, they'll beautify from mid-March to late April. And I have added other things as well (but yes, there's room for more!). There's a line of nine hibiscus, four butterfly bushes, a daffodil shrub, a flowering almond, a red barberry, a flowering plum, a small iris bed, of course, a Rose of Sharon, and a wild garden way up at the end of the driveway. The wild garden is a "teaser" for the massive wild area out back--postage stamp size compared to the "real thing." It has crocus, daffodils, iris, Dutch iris, lilies--day and oriental, white phlox, a few Rose of Sharon, liriope, and a lilac. Not to mention, naturally, all kinds of wild flowers from the violets of April to the asters of September. The lilac hasn't bloomed yet, but everything else is contributing it's share to the loveliness. It's a gorgeous little "stamp."
The stars of the west, however, are the hibiscus. Early August is there time to shine--huge blooms, a diversity of colors--six or seven varities, bigger every year, and lasting into late September. I always assumed hibiscus were Southern plants, but one day at Oakland Park Nursery I saw a stupendous deep red "hardy hibiscus." With undeniable misgivings I planted it. And behold! Hardy indeed! The family has grown to nine--so far. Amazing beauty. The four butterfly bush bloom at approximately the same time--purples, whites, lavender--but only one of them has reached any size. Not to suggest, that they, too, are not beautiful.
The flowering almond hasn't bloomed yet, nor the daffodil shrub, flowering plum or Rose of Sharon, but I expect them to do so any year now. The barberry is just red from spring to frost with red berries in the winter. It will grow significantly as well. The iris bed is right in front of it--touching it, if you will.
So, if you have no aspiration to move out West someday, I offer you my western property line as an alternative vacation spot--year around beauty now with more to come each year. Westward, Ho!
The Western Border to Iten's Acres is even more a "guesstimate" than the eastern property line--at least up front. I do not have the slightest idea where it is. I just continue to cut the same line that my predecessor mowed, but I don't know if it's accurate at all. In fact, I have serious doubts about it. There is a good size--and beautiful--white pine along this side that was obviously planted by someone so maybe that is the line. I don't really know. Not that it matters. I have planted flowers and trees further in the mowing line just in case though I know Dennis won't mind if I've planted beautiful things on his side of the "official" property line. He, too, is a lover of the beautiful. His property is immaculately landscaped. Stunning.
When I first moved in, the west side was barren like most other places on Iten's Acres--except for the pine. This side does go up all the way to the house because the pond and bog don't extend over the driveway/scenic drive. "Westward, Ho" goes all the way up to the end of the driveway.
I've planted a bunch of baby trees--is sapling the right word?--along this side. Most of them are from the Arbor Day Foundation. I became acquainted with them when I lived in Traveler's Rest, South Carolina, in my sister Janice and her husband's house with my two little boys right after my divorce. It was a great little house out in the country to some extent, and I ordered some trees for the yard from Arbor Day. They sold saplings ten for ten dollars (now, it's ten for fifteen dollars). So when I bought my acres in Ohio, I purchased a plethora of trees. I could only get ten for me, so I recruited (bugged merciously) my family and a couple close friends to buy ten trees for me as well. Poor abused family and friends! Do I feel guilty for using them? Right. Anyway, I have planted these little trees everywhere. To be honest, the survival rate is probably about fifty percent at best. (Tip; red buds and hawthorns appear to be the hardiest--in case you're tempted to order ten "babies" of your own.) Anyway, along this border there are seven of them surviving--two dogwoods, a crab apple, a red bud, two pussy willows, and a lilac. The pussy willows are already "blooming," and I think the red bud will next year. The three of them have grown stupendously. The others are still growing, just slowly. I guess the lilac is doing very well; it just hasn't bloomed yet.
The pussy willow are first in line (from the road), and they turn silver in late February, early March. When the others grow up, they'll beautify from mid-March to late April. And I have added other things as well (but yes, there's room for more!). There's a line of nine hibiscus, four butterfly bushes, a daffodil shrub, a flowering almond, a red barberry, a flowering plum, a small iris bed, of course, a Rose of Sharon, and a wild garden way up at the end of the driveway. The wild garden is a "teaser" for the massive wild area out back--postage stamp size compared to the "real thing." It has crocus, daffodils, iris, Dutch iris, lilies--day and oriental, white phlox, a few Rose of Sharon, liriope, and a lilac. Not to mention, naturally, all kinds of wild flowers from the violets of April to the asters of September. The lilac hasn't bloomed yet, but everything else is contributing it's share to the loveliness. It's a gorgeous little "stamp."
The stars of the west, however, are the hibiscus. Early August is there time to shine--huge blooms, a diversity of colors--six or seven varities, bigger every year, and lasting into late September. I always assumed hibiscus were Southern plants, but one day at Oakland Park Nursery I saw a stupendous deep red "hardy hibiscus." With undeniable misgivings I planted it. And behold! Hardy indeed! The family has grown to nine--so far. Amazing beauty. The four butterfly bush bloom at approximately the same time--purples, whites, lavender--but only one of them has reached any size. Not to suggest, that they, too, are not beautiful.
The flowering almond hasn't bloomed yet, nor the daffodil shrub, flowering plum or Rose of Sharon, but I expect them to do so any year now. The barberry is just red from spring to frost with red berries in the winter. It will grow significantly as well. The iris bed is right in front of it--touching it, if you will.
So, if you have no aspiration to move out West someday, I offer you my western property line as an alternative vacation spot--year around beauty now with more to come each year. Westward, Ho!
Friday, October 7, 2011
The Scenic Drive
The Scenic Drive is just a grandiose name for my driveway/cow path. It has, by the way, seen more traffic, probably, in the last year-and-a-half than in its entire previous history. Hospice comes at least five days a week every week, I run a short errand or two every day, family visitors have been by, and even the mailman comes down the drive this time of year to deliver bulbs to be added to next year's flower displays. Poor old driveway--traffic, traffic, traffic. You can't see a great deal of wear and tear except for one section that has worn down but only in one tire "track." No, I don't know how that works. Tilted driving. At least on the lawn mower. Yep, I have to mow my driveway.
The historical key, of course, is how scenic is the view as you meander down the drive? Can you drive from County Road 25 up to the house and actually see some of the beauty scattered here on the Acres? Of course! I must admit, though, that it had some beauty marks before I arrived. There's a gnarled old apple tree gorgeous in white blooms in the spring. Interestingly, there's a good size new apple tree coming up right in the middle of the old one. (Gives you some idea how long it's been there.) The second spring I was here the old veteran tree barely bloomed. Mom suggested that I "jolt" it out of its apathy by driving a few old rusty nails into its trunk. What did I have to lose? In went the nails. Presto! Full of blooms every spring since. Nope, I can't explain the logic or the horticultural implications, but I can attest to the outcome. A lovely blanket of white every April.
Also, along the driveway is the ancient red maple. The bark is distinctive all by itself year around. And in the fall the leaves are breath-taking--a tree on fire. And if beauty doesn't take your breath away, I pity you.
Three other trees were along the "scenic drive" as well when I took ownership. Just past the maple are a redbud and a white crab apple right next to each other. In the spring the mesh of red and white is stunning. And right across from these two competing beauties is an old dogwood. A mound of white blooms itself in April. In the winter the crab apples and dogwood are covered with red berries that sparkle in the snow. I must "tip my hat" to the previous owners, whoever they were, that planted these lovelies before I came. They must have seen me coming. Yes, I must admit, the "scenic view" was already lovely especially in March and April. And, of course, the red maple owns October.
Was I satisfied with the view along the driveway? Of course not. I have added a few beauties myself. Some are already on display; others are still maturing for later "wows." First, a "tourist" can see seven or eight of the Acre's flowers beds as they cruise down the path. And I added a new one this fall: a little iris bed of yellow, orange, apricot, and gold for hopefully next May and certainly for the Mays to come. Any slight glance left or right will bring resplendent flower beds into view as you drive SLOWLY done the lane.
In addition, I've added a couple of Rose of Sharon--pink, a flowering plum--white with purple leaves all summer long, a lilac bush (roll down the window for the scent)--lavender in spring and again in the fall, another redbud--already mature enough to bloom, and a forsythia--yellow someday. There's also a giant willow; I love its silvery shimmering. (Tip: willows grow like crazy!) This one has also proved its toughness by surviving a deer attack its first spring.
Flower-wise I've added two bouquets of Siberian and Japanese iris at the bend in the driveway. It's low there and thus under water whenever there's a heavy rain. Most of the winter, in fact, it's frozen over. (Yep, ice.) But the Siberian and Japanese iris don't mind wet feet. And as an added bonus, they bloom later than their German and Dutch cousins--June instead of May. (In fact, the largest Japanese iris usually doesn't bloom until July--purple and white.) This fall I'm going to add some camassia to the bouquets. They don't mind wet feet either, and they'll add some gorgeous purple blooms in April and early May.
There are also some small ferns along the drive, a row of hosta (5) that bloom in July, a hydrangea that will bloom one of these Junes, an immature dogwood--no blooms yet, a few crocus in late March, two hibiscus--plum and white in August, a couple small junipers, two miniscule Arbor foundation trees that I'll have to live thirty years to see mature into "real" trees, three lovely burning bush for October, and a couple "patches" of morning glories all summer long.
All in all, the "scenic drive" offers beauty from March to frost. (Not including the berries in the snow.) Sorry, there's no scenic overview to pull into, but if you just drive up to the house, you can park your car and walk back, do the drive in reverse. Walking Iten's Acres is better than a scenic drive anyway. Walk slowly so you don't miss anything. And come back periodically--the scenery is always changing. And the change is lovely.
The historical key, of course, is how scenic is the view as you meander down the drive? Can you drive from County Road 25 up to the house and actually see some of the beauty scattered here on the Acres? Of course! I must admit, though, that it had some beauty marks before I arrived. There's a gnarled old apple tree gorgeous in white blooms in the spring. Interestingly, there's a good size new apple tree coming up right in the middle of the old one. (Gives you some idea how long it's been there.) The second spring I was here the old veteran tree barely bloomed. Mom suggested that I "jolt" it out of its apathy by driving a few old rusty nails into its trunk. What did I have to lose? In went the nails. Presto! Full of blooms every spring since. Nope, I can't explain the logic or the horticultural implications, but I can attest to the outcome. A lovely blanket of white every April.
Also, along the driveway is the ancient red maple. The bark is distinctive all by itself year around. And in the fall the leaves are breath-taking--a tree on fire. And if beauty doesn't take your breath away, I pity you.
Three other trees were along the "scenic drive" as well when I took ownership. Just past the maple are a redbud and a white crab apple right next to each other. In the spring the mesh of red and white is stunning. And right across from these two competing beauties is an old dogwood. A mound of white blooms itself in April. In the winter the crab apples and dogwood are covered with red berries that sparkle in the snow. I must "tip my hat" to the previous owners, whoever they were, that planted these lovelies before I came. They must have seen me coming. Yes, I must admit, the "scenic view" was already lovely especially in March and April. And, of course, the red maple owns October.
Was I satisfied with the view along the driveway? Of course not. I have added a few beauties myself. Some are already on display; others are still maturing for later "wows." First, a "tourist" can see seven or eight of the Acre's flowers beds as they cruise down the path. And I added a new one this fall: a little iris bed of yellow, orange, apricot, and gold for hopefully next May and certainly for the Mays to come. Any slight glance left or right will bring resplendent flower beds into view as you drive SLOWLY done the lane.
In addition, I've added a couple of Rose of Sharon--pink, a flowering plum--white with purple leaves all summer long, a lilac bush (roll down the window for the scent)--lavender in spring and again in the fall, another redbud--already mature enough to bloom, and a forsythia--yellow someday. There's also a giant willow; I love its silvery shimmering. (Tip: willows grow like crazy!) This one has also proved its toughness by surviving a deer attack its first spring.
Flower-wise I've added two bouquets of Siberian and Japanese iris at the bend in the driveway. It's low there and thus under water whenever there's a heavy rain. Most of the winter, in fact, it's frozen over. (Yep, ice.) But the Siberian and Japanese iris don't mind wet feet. And as an added bonus, they bloom later than their German and Dutch cousins--June instead of May. (In fact, the largest Japanese iris usually doesn't bloom until July--purple and white.) This fall I'm going to add some camassia to the bouquets. They don't mind wet feet either, and they'll add some gorgeous purple blooms in April and early May.
There are also some small ferns along the drive, a row of hosta (5) that bloom in July, a hydrangea that will bloom one of these Junes, an immature dogwood--no blooms yet, a few crocus in late March, two hibiscus--plum and white in August, a couple small junipers, two miniscule Arbor foundation trees that I'll have to live thirty years to see mature into "real" trees, three lovely burning bush for October, and a couple "patches" of morning glories all summer long.
All in all, the "scenic drive" offers beauty from March to frost. (Not including the berries in the snow.) Sorry, there's no scenic overview to pull into, but if you just drive up to the house, you can park your car and walk back, do the drive in reverse. Walking Iten's Acres is better than a scenic drive anyway. Walk slowly so you don't miss anything. And come back periodically--the scenery is always changing. And the change is lovely.
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