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.
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