Celebrate everything!

Last week I had a pair of chance encounters that bookended each other so neatly, they might have been scripted in one of those television movies with an uplifting theme. The first occurred while I was going through the self-checkout at Lowe's. I said hello-how-are-you to the young woman on duty at the register and, taking my pleasantry literally, she told me she had just had her birthday and she felt old. She was twenty. She couldn't believe it—she wasn't a teenager any more.

It was hard not to laugh. I was already married when I was her age, I'm closing in on my 60th birthday, and I'm undergoing chemotherapy (and doing fine—great, in fact). I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from saying the obvious things, such as "life has a way of throwing you all kinds of surprises so enjoy being young and healthy with your whole life to look forward to," yada yada yada.

Sempervivum 'Reinhard' (Hens-and-chicks)

What I did say to her is that life is great—too great not to celebrate it every day. I don't think what I said made an impression, but that's my mantra these days and I keep throwing it out there in case anybody is listening:  Life is great. Celebrate every day.

Then, on Friday, waiting in line at the Costco pharmacy, I noticed a man several years older than me sitting on one of the chairs in the waiting area. He and another man, about the same age, were having one of those conversations that seem to arise spontaneously whenever veterans encounter one another; some sixth sense tells them they have military service in common, and that gives them plenty to talk about. I could hear what they were saying, but didn't poke my nose into their conversation. I picked up my prescriptions and went off to finishing my shopping, then realized that I needed to park my cart and visit the restroom. The other man was gone but the first man was still in his chair, still waiting patiently, and I asked, "Are you the Duty Watch?"  Technically, that's a Navy term, and he had said he was Infantry, but he knew what I meant. He laughed and said he was, and agreed to keep an eye on my cart. When I got back, we chatted for a few minutes. I think the conversation started when he told me to have a good day, and I said, "All my days are good days. I don't have bad days anymore." 

Sedum sieboldii (October Daphne)

He laughed and agreed with that. He said he got up every morning and said to himself, "Good! Looks like I get to have at least one more of these."  Then I told him about the young woman whose best years were behind her now that she had attained the ripe old age of twenty. He laughed again and said, "On my twentieth birthday, I was stationed at Fort Hood in Texas. It was November 22, 1963, and all of a sudden we were ordered into battle gear and got into our trucks and took off down the road. We didn't know what had happened or where we were going, then we found out President Kennedy had been shot. It turned out it was just Lee Harvey Oswald, but we all thought it was the Russians. That was a terrible day."

That was a terrible day. I was in seventh grade and I remember it clearly. For the generations who were old enough then to comprehend what had happened, it was as terrible as 9/11. So then I told him about my youngest son, who in his early twenties was serving aboard a Navy cruiser that was abruptly ordered to sea after 9/11 to escort the aircraft carrier providing protective air cover over New York City. As a matter of fact, the carrier was the John F. Kennedy.

Sempervivum 'Ashes of Roses'

But truly terrible days are rare. Not even the day my oncologist told me "You have a malignancy" was terrible, because that was the day I learned a necessary truth and began the journey toward getting well. Since beginning my studies at the feet of my mentor, Big C, I've become aware how often I've allowed my focus to linger on things that bother or anger me—held bitter (and irrational) arguments in my head with relatives and friends because of something they said—worried endlessly (and lost sleep) over things I can't change—become irritated because laundry doesn't stay washed and folded, dishes keep dirtying themselves and piling up on the counter, and the furniture covers itself with dust the minute my back is turned. And for years, I waved off birthdays and anniversaries and Mother's Days with the comment, "I don't want to do anything special. It doesn't matter." 

Sedum rupestre 'Angelina'

Well, it does matter, and now I'm celebrating everything: every birthday, every anniversary, every Mother's and Father's Day. But more than that, reminding myself to appreciate all the mundane things that are easy to overlook: that first cup of coffee in the morning, yellow daffodils in springtime, red autumn leaves, phone calls from my kids, unexpected visits from friends, neighbors walking their bossy little alpha dogs, the chalk art that appears on the sidewalk in front of our house when the neighborhood children have been playing together. A hummingbird on the feeder. An unexpected sunny day in January (or May). The satisfaction of a clean desk. The view of Mount Rainier when I reach the top of SR410 on my way home. (Okay, that's not mundane, and it blows me away every single time I see it. It's like the moment in the novel Enchanted April when Mrs. Wilkins throws open the window of her room on her first morning in Italy:  "She stared. Such beauty; and she there to see it. Such beauty; and she alive to feel it."  I've never been to Italy, but my mentor has been doggedly teaching me to open my eyes and be aware of what's right in front of me:  Such beauty, and I'm alive to see it; such beauty, and I'm alive to feel it.)


And now we come to the garden portion of this post:

Lewisia cotyledon Sunset Series

But enough. This is getting to be way too serious. Time to lighten up and write about plants. The photo at the top of this post is one of the things I'm celebrating: for once I've managed to put together a container planting that actually turned out the way I envisioned it. Sometimes I wish I could put together brilliant container gardens, like those created by my friend Tina Dixon (of Plants a la Cart in Bothell), but we all have different strengths and I've accepted that containers are not my forte. It takes me a lot of tries to get my container plantings looking halfway decent; they're all right at first, but things tend to go downhill as the season progresses. I think this one might actually go the distance.

Sedum acre 'Aureum' (Goldmoss sedum)

This particular container—a big, heavy, concrete thing that looks like a weathered baptismal font from an old church—has been fighting me for years. I've tried everything from hanging fuchsias to a Japanese garden juniper trained to grow up a post and then trail downward. The juniper looked good for a couple of years, but the container is really too shallow for its root system and the juniper began to look stressed, so I took it out last summer and put it in the ground.

That's par for the course. Almost everything I've tried has struggled. I think part of the problem is calcium leaching out of the concrete into the soil, raising the pH of the planting medium (in other words, making the soil too alkaline for the plants). Another problem is that the perfect place for it, aesthetically speaking, happens to be the one spot in the front of the house that is inaccessible for a drip irrigation line. It has to be hand-watered, and I'm very bad about remembering to do that every day during the summer. On top of all that, it gets full hot sun and reflected heat from the stone wall behind it during the summer, but during the cold months it's in almost full shade. There aren't very many plants that tolerate, much less like, such extreme growing conditions.

Sempervivum 'Pacfic Taffy Pink'

I have high hopes this time because I've used a combination of shallow-rooted plants that prefer to stay on the dry side and need perfect drainage; the basin-like shape of the container should be well-suited for them—in theory, anyway. The soil is a mixture of the leftover potting soil from the juniper, plus the potting medium the new plants came in, plus a bag of cactus mix, some pea gravel, and small red lava rock. (I have no idea how I came into possession of a bag of red lava rock, which I think is ugly, but it came in handy for mixing the rocky, sharp-draining potting soil I wanted for these plants.) It's essentially a trough garden, and the plants are mostly succulents (sedums and sempervivums, also known as stonecrops or hens-and-chicks), with a pink-blooming Lewisia (a Northwest native alpine plant) and a saxifrage whose tag, I'm embarrassed to say, has gone missing. It's here somewhere; I'll find it eventually, and when I do, that'll be another thing to celebrate!

Texture, color, and even a few flowers

One more thing  


Here's an idea I read somewhere and have borrowed (as you might have noticed in the photos of the individual plants) to keep track of plant purchases—what the plant is and when you bought it: use your digital camera to take a photo of the plants with their tags (buying plants is like eating potato chips: you can't have just one). Then file the photos in a folder titled with the date and a brief description. I have a thing about dated folders and documents always being listed in exact chronological order, so the folder for these plants is labeled "20110507_Sedum_Container"—May 7, 2011—which happens to be the date I planted the container. Use whatever system works for you and allows you to quickly find the information when you need it.

Hard to reason with tomato-growin' season

Little Green Tomatoes in July

May Day was almost a miracle: warm (but not too warm) and sunny with a big blue sky overhead and not a cloud in sight. On such a day, if I was a betting woman, I would have bet myself a new pair of cowgirl boots that the local chapter of the Middle-Aged Guys Tomato Club (Puget Sound Region) would be out in force at McLendon's in Sumner.

To get into the store, you have to go through the outdoor nursery between the parking lot and the store entrance. When I was there on Tuesday of last week, that whole area was lined with racks of tomato plants, from 6-inch-tall babies in pony packs all the way up to husky 18-inchers already forming their first flower buds—put there deliberately to tempt gardeners, like the racks of candy and magazines flanking the checkout stands at stores. The weather was April at its worst—roaring like March—but in spite of the rain and cold wind, one diehard couple huddled beside a rack in their winter coats, closely inspecting the plants and discussing which varieties to buy. 

Come to think of it, I bet they were there to get first choice, and I bet it was the wife's idea. I bet she knew what I know:  on the first warm weekend after the danger of frost is just about past—which turned out to be May Day weekend—the place was going to be full of middle-aged guys pushing carts loaded with bags of potting soil and maybe a few tomato cages, circling every rack, checking out the tomato varieties and critically evaluating the quality of the plants.

I know about this club because my husband is a member. It's not a formal organization that you can join by filling out a form and sending in dues; they don't have secret handshakes or a newsletter or meetings. But once they've been bitten by the Gotta-grow-me-some-tomatoes bug, even without an organizational structure, or seeming to know each other if their paths cross next to a rack of tomatoes, when they do recognize another member of the brotherhood they'll happily talk tomatoes by the hour. They all have their special tomato-growing tricks, and their favorite varieties, of course. A former client of mine swore by San Marzano plum tomatoes, and his trick—eventually shared with my husband—was one shovelful of fresh horse manure in the bottom of the planting hole, then a layer of soil, and then the plant. It had to be horse manure, which isn't as hot as fresh steer or chicken manure; he said the heat from the manure really got the tomatoes going. (I'll bet it did.) He had a special corner in his back yard reserved for tomatoes, in an L of the back fence that faced the sun, with enough space to shift the position of the plants each year: semi-crop-rotation, you might say.

Container Garden in August

Western Washington is wonderful for growing almost everything except lawns and tomatoes—the two crops most guys love more than anything. (There are exceptions, of course, but I'm talking about regular guys, the ones who talk about cars in the off-season.) The fact is, our summers are too cool to grow tomatoes really well. Most people live on fairly small properties, with a lot of trees and shrubs, which provide shade and cool things down during the occasional summer hot spell. None of this is conducive to growing tomatoes, and most gardeners are lucky to have one perfect spot for them—that is, a spot that gets full, all-day sun with plenty of reflected heat from pavement or a nearby wall. And when you grow tomatoes in the ground you need three good spots, to allow for crop rotation because of soil-borne diseases.  

At our house we have one perfect spot: the south-facing deck across the back of the house, which gets every bit of light and heat as soon as the sun rises above the sloping, tree-covered greenbelt behind our property. It gets so hot there in summer that we can't use the deck until evening, so we use it instead to grow edibles in containers—a petite potager-en-pots, you might say. Fortunately, Bob has perfected his own tricks for growing tomatoes in containers, and we end up every summer with more tomatoes than the two of us can eat, all from one plant, grown in a large container on our deck.

'Sungold' in September

That plant is always 'Sungold'—a golden-orange cherry tomato with a short growing season. It ripens reliably, even with the cool summers we've been having lately, and its flavor is outstanding: sweet when you first bite into one, followed by a burst of tart flavor. We've tried growing 'Sweet 100' and yellow pear tomatoes, but they were bland and disappointing compared to 'Sungold' so now we stick with what works.

The Potager-en-Pots

For seasonal plantings on the deck, we have a collection of inexpensive, lightweight containers that look like stoneware but are easier to move around, especially when they're full of soil and plants. They're all about the same size:  about 20" tall and 20" in diameter across the top, and narrower at the base.

Here's how Bob does it:

• Empty the container of last year's soil and the weeds that took up residence over the winter, and scrub it well. (It's not that we were too lazy to do this job last autumn—well, not entirely.  The weight of the pots also anchors the stand for the offset patio umbrella that stays outside all winter.)
• Put about 4 inches of potting soil—whatever is your favorite—in the bottom of the container. (By the way, Bob tried Joe's horse-manure trick  once and it didn't seem to make much difference. I suspect the technique worked so well for Joe because a hole in the ground is still pretty cold at tomato-planting time, while a container warms up more quickly.)
• Remove the tomato plant from its pot, gently loosen the rootball, and neatly prune all but the top two or three sets of leaves from the stem.
• Spread the roots over the soil in the bottom of the pot and add more potting soil in layers, watering it in and firming the soil without compacting it, until the level comes up to just below the remaining leaves. (Roots will form all along the buried stem, increasing the plant's ability to take up water and nutrients.)
• As the plant grows, continue pruning off the lower leaves and adding potting soil until the level is 2 to 3 inches below the lip of the container.
• Now position the pot where it will spend the rest of the summer and put something under it to protect the deck from water. (For one idea, see my previous post on using dish-drainer trays as plant trays.) We position the tomato pot close to the drip irrigation line at the west end of the deck because consistent moisture is important: according to Alabama Cooperative Extension, blossom end rot (BER) in tomatoes "is caused by calcium deficiency, usually induced by fluctuations in the plant's water supply." A drip line in the pot, controlled by a timer, ensures a steady supply of water.



Tomato Cage in July

• Last comes the two-person operation of setting up the wooden tomato cage around the pot, leaving plenty of room for maintenance and harvest.  I must say, I'm really proud of that cage. We needed an open screen for a display garden I did with DeWitt Landscaping for the 2008 Point Defiance Flower & Garden Show (Silver Medal, not that I'm bragging or anything). I sketched out what I wanted, and Bob built and finished it in a day with help from Robert DeWitt's dad. I hoped someone would buy it from us, but no such luck. It's a modular design and was easily repurposed into the free-standing structure you see in the photo. The next year, our daughter and her husband built a duplicate and it worked as well for them as it did for us. 

(If the DIY lobe of your brain is starting to twitch, saying, "I could build that," I'll email you the materials list at no charge if you'll be kind enough to click on the "Followers" link at the top of the right-hand side of this page, sign up, and send me a message. I admit it: this is a shameless pitch to get more followers for my blog!  I believe you have to go through that annoying step of typing in a couple of nonsense words you can barely read, but that's to keep spambots from harvesting your email address, so I guess it's a small-enough price to pay for privacy.)

Tomato Cage in July: Another View

There are two great things about this cage. The second thing is that it still functions as a screen, albeit a different shape than originally planned. See, my Inner Martha doesn't think a tomato plant on the deck is ornamental, especially when it's right outside the dining room window; nor does she like the view of the gas grill on the barbecue patio next to the deck. The wooden cage blocks unwanted views fairly well and acts as a backdrop for the various containers grouped around it. But the first and most important thing is that as the tomato grows up and out through the top and sides, the cage holds everything up without anything having to be staked, braced, or tied. Every now and then I prune out some of the inside branches to let in more air and light, and later, reach in to gather the little orange fruits (a big one is barely an inch in diameter). We've tried growing other things in the pot with the tomatoes, such as basil and zucchini, but that wasn't very successful, so now the tomato has the pot all to itself.

The weather report for the week is now in, and it's supposed to start getting nice tomorrow. There's a bright yellow thing glaring through the overcast right now, so maybe the forecast isn't wrong. Time to start getting the tomato container ready for the seasonal planting, and stop by McLendon's for one (or maybe two) 'Sungold' plants. My mouth is watering just thinking of it. Yum-oh! Ooh la la! Bon appetit!

Idea Hamster Tip #1

You know what an Idea Hamster is, don't you?  That throbbing little area of your brain that's always running, generating ideas?  Over the years, my husband has developed a kind of nervous tic—an involuntary cringe whenever he hears me utter the words, "I have an idea..."

(The scary thing is that it seems to be hereditary.  My granddaughter Abigail has one, although at age 6, her hamster mostly generates goofy jokes and riddles.  Here's the latest, and to get the answer, you have to try to think like a 6-year-old, or any boy: "What do you get when you combine a turtle and a bird?"  Hint: The answer is a word of one syllable.)

Anyway, getting back to the truly bright idea my hamster generated a couple of years ago:  We have a Trex deck, which, as advertised, is fairly low-maintenance.  But in spite of raising the pots up on feet, over the course of time it still gets stained where water drains onto it from the large containers in which we grow flowers, herbs, and (occasionally) edibles.  What was needed, I decided, was some kind of tray that would collect the water and channel it over the edge of the deck or into the spaces between the decking.

And lo!  The idea hamster came through with a simple, inexpensive, readily-available solution:  Black Rubbermaid dish-drainer trays.  They're perfect:  slightly angled with channels on the top to encourage water to drain away, with flanges on the underside to raise them above the counter (or deck) surface.  They're fairly unobtrusive—I barely notice them now.  (My Inner Martha sniffs disparagingly at this comment—she notices them, all right—but I seldom listen to her.)  They're large enough to accommodate the bases of most containers, and they've withstood two full seasons now without cracking or fading—our south-facing deck collects plenty of heat during the summer, and since it's at the bottom of a low hill, is a cold-sink in the winter.  (Bonus Tip:  Note that in the upper photo you can see the drip lines that provide regular irrigation to the containers ... because the idea hamster is usually so preoccupied with other things that she forgets about watering the pots on a regular basis.)

Take heart, web-footed and mossy-fingered Northwest gardeners!  May is just around the corner, and believe it or not, the start of our dry season is coming.  Next post:  The Middle-Aged Guys Tomato Club, meeting in secret at a garden center near you:  How to spot them, and how to achieve success (a little bit of success, anyway) growing tomatoes no matter what kind of summer we have!

Working-Class Plants

Probably because I come from a long line of blue-collar people, I've always valued what I call "working-class plants."  Think of them as Cal Ripkens with roots and leaves:  every day, they show up for work and contribute something worthwhile to the landscape, you don't have to coddle or bribe them, and generally they make the rest of their horticultural teammates look good.



Nandina domestica 'Gulf Stream' showing winter color

Here's a very short list of a few of these plants that have never let me down.  All are broadleaf evergreens; GPP denotes Great Plant Picks selections (see link under "Things to Do"). 

In the interest of brevity—which, admittedly, is a problem for me—I'm going to keep comments to a minimum:

• Cistus x hybridus (rockrose)  GPP; many species and hybrids available
• Euonymus fortunei (wintercreeper):  available in an array of variegated cultivars such as 'Emerald Gaiety', 'Emerald n' Gold', 'Harlequin', 'Moonshadow', 'Blondy', and a cute steppable  miniature called 'Kewensis'
• Nandina domestica 'Gulf Stream' and 'Moon Bay' (Heavenly bamboo—don't let the common name fool you—these are woody shrubs, not true bamboo!)  GPP
• Viburnum davidii (David viburnum)  GPP
• Viburnum tinus 'Spring Bouquet' (Spring Bouquet laurustinus) GPP

Pink rockrose on Main Street, Sumner

Where can you buy these?  Hmm...how to answer this honestly without getting myself in trouble with serious plant people?  (Deep breath...)

Let me put it this way:  like most people, when it comes to buying food and household supplies, Bob and I have to stretch our budget by shopping for the basics at Costco, Wal-Mart, Grocery Outlet, WinCo, and Fred Meyer.  We like to visit the Puyallup Farmer's Market and local farmstands for fresh produce in season, and maybe hit Tacoma Boys now and then.  (Our goal this year is to look more diligently for "Made in USA" on the products we buy...but that's another post!)

So why not apply the same principle to buying landscape plants?  The plants listed above are easy to find at the big box garden centers.  Don't get me wrong:  I love specialty nurseries and support them every chance I get.  But I used to work at one (which is no longer in business) and I always wondered why we were competing with the big garden centers on plants such as those mentioned here—there was no way we could meet, much less beat, the big boys' price.  And guess what:  customers aren't stupid—we had a hard time moving those plants. 

I also respect my clients' budgets too much to suggest that they ought to pay higher prices for exactly the same plant (and often it's exactly the same—from the same source) if they can get it cheaper elsewhere.  They wouldn't listen to me anyway!



Viburnum davidii, end of winter, no maintenance

 So this is what I tell them:  by all means, if you can afford it, buy from the specialty nurseries as much as you can.  But if budget is an issue for you, shop the big garden centers for your basics in the Spring, when plants are constantly cycling through and not sitting there suffering with the vagaries of the weather.  Go to the specialty nurseries for your investment and accent and OMG! plants—specimen trees (such as dogwoods and Japanese maples), dwarf conifers, peonies, ornamental grasses, ferns, hellebores. . .and on and on. 

(And don't forget to check out the Spring plant sales—see the Miller Library link under "Things To Do").



Viburnum tinus 'Spring Bouquet' (with V. davidii at right)

By the way...finding myself in need of images of the two viburnums mentioned, I just moseyed outside and snapped the David viburnum next to the sidewalk in front of our house, and the 'Spring Bouquet' laurustinus a couple of doors down.  We had a brutal winter here, and this is how they looked today, with no pruning or maintenance to gussy them up for the camera.

Like I said:  working-class plants—they get the job done.





"I love your doorbell!"

Two polite people came to the door this morning and left some literature for us, and before they left, they told Bob they ring a lot of doorbells and ours is the coolest they've ever seen.  We've heard that compliment before, and I'm here to say the doorbell is not just cool—it combines clean, modern style with universal design. 



Spore Round Amber Doorbell


The doorbell was given to us as a housewarming gift by our former neighbors (good sports!—they didn't want us to move from the old neighborhood).  It was made in Seattle by Spore, which just happens to be owned by our ex-neighbors' son.  I'll add the company's blog to my "Friends With Blogs" list—and if you're looking for a great housewarming gift, or ready to replace your builder-cheap doorbell, check out Spore!  (Note:  The chime is separate.)

Website:  http://sporedoorbells.com/

Martha's Tulip Trick, the Sequel



First day, after conditioning

Here are the tulips (left), immediately after conditioning using Martha's pin-trick (see previous post), and then the same tulips two days later (below). 

A few were showing a slight inclination to flop at first, but now all are upright and perky.

Two days later



The Martha trick for tulips

It's tulip season, so here's a trick from Martha Stewart's book, "Arranging Flowers."  To keep tulip stems from flopping, after you trim the ends of the stems and place the tulips in water, push a sewing pin side-to-side through the stem, just below the flower head, and then pull it out.  The hole allows air to escape from the top of the stem so water can flow up and keep the stem turgid.  I've been using this easy trick for years—it works!