Nature

It is a truism that plants, like people, benefit from good grooming. And, as with people, good grooming practices differ from plant to plant. When I’m busy anthropomorphizing my plants, I envision that they appreciate what I’m doing to enhance their looks. Of course, this lies in my imagination because the reason plants produce flowers and the reason I think they produce flowers are two entirely different explanations.

This season I’m trying out some forthcoming Wave petunias that are faring well. Although pleased with them, I’m now saddled with a chore I don’t enjoy. If you’ve grown petunias you know what I’m about to say — they are sticky.

In our last column, Mark Weathington mentioned that turf was terribly labor-intensive, soil improvement was imperative and we should buy good plants while disposing of those plants that failed to perform. Here are the additional points that he makes:

I have a ridiculously small garden that is both a source of frustration and relief. While there are dozens of plants I yearn to add to our landscape I’m relieved that I don’t have to dig the holes. So, while my expansive-garden friends are toiling in their fields, I can relax, happily researching potential candidates for our tiny patch of heaven. 

Global pandemic, crazy weather, invading pests: things feel beyond my control — but only when I forget about my gardening super powers. I imagine you’re finding solace in your garden these days, too. Digging in the dirt has never been so satisfying, it helps anchor my sanity. Having just finished Doug Tallamy’s new book, “Nature’s Best Hope,” I’m now feeling more powerful than ever.

If a global pandemic disrupts food supplies, I’ll be ready — at least that’s what I told myself when I planted eight cucumber plants. Yes, there’s a story lurking here of mismanagement, poor planning and my inability to pick just one variety of cucumber. But I’ll save that for another day.

A long time ago in a graduate history course, the professor marked in red the monotonous rhythm of the sentences in one of my paragraphs. Every sentence began with subject/verb, subject/verb. From that one paper I learned the invaluable lesson that it’s important to vary the rhythm in writing.

My adventures in basildom all began when Lise gave me a cutting from a new basil she was testing for PanAmerican Seed. The stalks had densely layered leaves with a fantastic aroma, accompanied by great tasting leaves. Alas, because it was still in the testing stage, it wasn’t available to the public.

A pretty insect lays its eggs on a stone. That stone is part of a global supply chain that starts in Asia, arrives in Pennsylvania — and now threatens North Carolina’s tourism, wine and Christmas tree industries. A thin line of North Carolinians stands between us and this invading menace. North Carolina’s Department of Agriculture and Consumer Services has fielded teams of experts…

When I’m thinking about a plant I like to start at the beginning, with its name. Today, I’m thinking about foxglove. A few weeks back, Kit told you a foxglove plant mysteriously appeared in my garden. After much debate, she and I concluded that my garden gnome was responsible for planting foxglove seeds.

Recently, friends who have come over to see the garden have commented on my Japanese roof irises, Iris tectorum, that are in full bloom. While I’m not an iris aficionado, I am quite fond of these irises, having planted them throughout the garden. Now, there are a lot of irises out there.

It began innocently enough: a small seedling turned into a foxglove, Digitalis purpurea. Lise sent me a photo of her new-found treasure, wondering how it got there as she knew the history of her neighborhood – and it didn’t include gardens.

Like a lot of kids, I dreamt of exploring exotic locations, perhaps conducting research in far-away lands.

I’d never thought much about Baptisia until recently. For some unaccountable reason, this genus has been much on my mind. Perhaps it’s because I vaguely feel guilty about not having incorporated more native plants in my garden…

Recently Lise wrote an article describing invasive exotic plants that caused me to ponder over plants we consider invasive and those we do not. Obviously, kudzu is an invasive exotic plant but what about Helleborus x hybridus?

Eventually we all leave home, only to have someone take our place. Sometimes the newcomers are like us and occasionally they are different. If enough “different” newcomers arrive the character of the area changes.

One of my main glories as a gardener is that I’m a talented hand puller of weeds. And, the older I get, the less trustful I am of garden chemicals.

For years I struggled to find a good marking system for my plants. When I first started to garden, I had a large area to fill.

“Excuse me, do you have jumper cables?” a young woman said as she approached me at the gas station. Turning, I saw her car, hood propped open, in the bay next to my car. “I’m sorry, I don’t,” I replied…

It has become increasingly clear to me that the longer I garden, the more often I return to the basic questions about gardening.