Hurry up and wait

I've said it before and I'll say it again: gardening is an exercise in patience. Much needed patience, to be sure, because around here it often feels like there is nothing but time--endless time--stretching out before me and any tangible "goal" is hopelessly distant. Time is an enemy to be vanquished.

The, um, misguided former owners of this property filled most of the garden beds with red volcanic rocks rather than plants, you know, those living things most sensibly found in a garden. I have spent years removing these rocks, which have burrowed 2-3" into the soil thanks to about 20 years of residence time. The efforts are just now beginning to pay off. Often it has felt like I've been spending time in a labor camp.


Here you see a convalescing bed on the north side of our yard. It gets decent sun for being on the north side. Now the rocks are gone and topsoil, compost, and not enough mulch have taken their place. A purple daylily and alchemilla seedlings so small you can't even see them are here, thanks to the very generous Mr. McGregor's Daughter who let me raid her garden recently. They will be joined by soon-to-arrive spring bulbs and other perennials.


Along the back fence I've replaced the rocks with wild ginger (Asarum canadense, not pictured) and woodland phlox (P. divaricata), also thanks to MMG. I moved an unknown hosta cultivar here from a forgotten spot that received absolutely no sun. My native alumroots (Heuchera richardsonii) and pink coral bells (Heuchera don't-know-the-species) are also here. Unfortunately, the electric, gas, and cable lines for the entire neighborhood run directly along this fence (hence that red spray paint), so my digging and planting options remain limited. In response I'm focusing on groundcovers and tough foliage plants.

Now that the plants are in I must wait for the groundcovers to spread, the transplants to acclimate, and the bulbs to simply arrive. The perennials will mostly abide by the three-year choreographed dance of "sleep, creep, leap." Time is a challenge to be overcome.

So at times like this, when I'm happy but impatient with progress, I must remind myself how precious time really is in the garden. I have to look around now, not keep focusing on the future, to appreciate the current beauty here, however small or fleeting it may be. Time is a friend to be embraced.

(A bumblebee enjoying Joe-Pye weed in full bloom only happens a few weeks of the year.)


(Catching a dragonfly, even a blurry one, is a rare, momentary garden treat.)

I must also remember that time moves so quickly that soon it will be past me. Just 6 months ago my rain garden was a barren, muddy patch of ground near my daylilies. Now it's flush with sedges (Carex spp.), obedient plants (Physostegia virginiana), and other healthy natives just waiting for their turn to leap.

(Rain garden before...)


(Rain garden after)

It's just an exercise in patience.

For more thoughts on time in the garden, check out the Garden Bloggers Design Workshop at Gardening Gone Wild.

Garden Blogger's Design Workshop

This month's Design Workshop topic at Gardening Gone Wild is of constant concern in my garden: shade. I deal with it all year long, thanks to the seasonal changes to my deciduous trees and the constant shadows thrown by the house itself and the surrounding fences. On one hand, I'm happy to have mature, beautiful trees on my property, which are a rarity in my suburb where most subdivisions have scraggly saplings at best. On the other hand, my garden is already afflicted with nutrient-poor, hard-packed, poorly drained clay. Adding shade to those conditions is the proverbial insult to injury.

I've tried to find the silver lining, however, despite my thwarted attempts at growing vegetables, sunflowers, and the like. I'm a flower fan, so I have learned to appreciate woodland flowers, which are usually spring-bloomers but make up for their relatively short bloom time by displaying extremely unique flowers. There are a number of Dicentra species perfect for part shade. I grow D. spectabilis and D. eximia, and I look forward to adding D. cucullaria soon. As I've said before, it never ceases to amaze me that a flower evolved to have such a shape as a heart dripping blood! I love the fuzzy foliage of Astilbe, which is perfectly complemented by the panicles of flowers. And many woodland flowers dangle, such as shooting stars (Dodecatheon meadia) and columbines (Aquilegia spp.). These flowers don't shout for attention like peonies, daisies, or bee balm, but they're so lovely they don't have to. They just brighten up those shadowy garden spots.


(Aquilegia canadensis in a partially shady location)

For the later part of the growing season, foliage is really the way to spice up shady areas. There is no need for me to re-hash how varied and creative the Heuchera genus has become. The options with these plants are endless, and you'll get some more dangling flowers too! Of course Hostas fall into the same category, but aside from those stalwarts there are ferns that provide rich color, interesting variegation, and tactile texture. Personally, I never get tired of a Japanese painted fern (Athyrium niponicum). For truly colorful foliage, annual Coleus is a quick and easy solution.


(Everyone loves a Heuchera)

Like most gardeners, I still struggle with dry shade. I continually try Midwestern savanna plants (i.e., those shooting stars, columbines, and others like Polemonium) because they'll at least have a chance of surviving. I cherish the sunny parts of my yard where I have much more latitude with my plant choices, and I've taken to growing vegetables in containers because that's the only way to maximize the sunniest part of my yard. (The gas line runs directly underground on the south side of the house. Why is fate so cruel?) But I try to view the shade challenge as just that--a constant learning experience that has a definite silver lining!

GGW Design Workshop: Water-Wise Gardening

I am new to the Garden Bloggers Design Workshop on Gardening Gone Wild, but I was moved by this month's topic, Water-Wise Gardening, because it is an issue close to my heart. Nancy's post raises a great point: xeriscaping can go beyond cacti and gravel in desert environments, which is the usual conception of that term. Here in northern Illinois we are certainly not in a desert, but that doesn't mean we can be careless with our water resources. Rainfall can be unpredictable here in more ways than one.

The short- and tallgrass prairies that evolved in Illinois after the last Ice Age were composed of extremely drought-tolerant plants, and with good reason. As any resident will remember from last fall, we can have deluges and flooding that now result in losing large amounts of rainfall as runoff and wasted stormwater. Conversely, we experience periods of intense drought when our clay soil becomes a parched brick. (Remember the summer of 2005? How about 1988?) These inconsistencies have been occurring since long before corn fields and urban sprawl consumed the prairies, so the native grasses and forbs developed huge root systems to deal with them. When the floods come, those roots store extra water for use when the rains stop. And if the drought is bad enough to exhaust that supply, the 6-foot, 8-foot, and 10-foot root systems can reach the water table underground.

What does this matter for water-wise gardening? Personally, this information helped convince me that restoring native landscapes is crucial to the health of our gardens, our soil, and our overall environment. Growing the bluestems, prairie dropseed, asters, baptisias, and the like means that gardeners don't have to water their gardens regularly, if at all. You've all heard me sing the praises of Canadian columbine for this very trait, and my asters, goldenrod, and coreopsis, to name a few, enjoy the same drought-tolerance.

On the other side of that coin, my great blue lobelia (L. siphilitica) and Joe-Pye weed help soak up the water that puddles in a certain low spot in my front garden. I'm planting a rain garden this spring in a part of my back yard that is particularly prone to flooding. The sedges, cardinal flower (L. cardinalis), swamp milkweed (Asclepias incarnata), and other natives going there will use those fabulous roots to keep runoff from reaching our storm sewer.

This is an important benefit of prairie and savanna plants: they save water when it's around and go without it when it's scarce. Growing these types of plants is a water-saving gardening technique, and that is the definition of xeriscaping. This attribute definitely changed my gardening habits because I wanted to conserve water, and like Nancy said in her post, I wanted to make my life easier too. I try to explain this benefit to other gardeners in the hope that they will plant some natives, which can contribute to the broader health of our water resources. They may not be the yuccas that one pictures upon hearing the word "xeriscape," but many prairie plants can be just as important to wise water use in the Midwest!