Thinking about summer...again

Back in fall 2009 I posted these photos, which I was intending to print and frame for a "winter garden" on one of our walls. Since almost nobody saw them and since we are enjoying a week of plus-30 degree weather instead of minus-30, this seems a perfect time to post them again.

Phlox

Bellflowers and roses

Red Admiral butterfly

Clearing a space for myself

I spent all of last summer nursing a broken leg and damaged ankle, and my garden went untended. I did no weeding, no mulching, no cutting back of overeager perennials or overhanging tree branches.

This year, for reasons including sketchy weather and a dance recital, I didn't start gardening until about ten days ago. That's when I finally took a good look at the state of things.

Everything was overgrown. Perennials wrestled one another for territory and threatened to swallow the lawn furniture. Weeds looked especially proud of themselves for having taken over the entire strip behind the garage--a challenge I'm ignoring for now. The stepping-stone paths I had carefully created were invisible under on-rushing greenery. And the giant horse chestnut tree (which may instead be a buckeye but experts can't agree), which is too large for a small urban lot in the first place, formed a low-hanging canopy all the way around the back yard. It gave me a choking sense of claustrophobia.

Last weekend I spent three days cutting back, clearing weeds, spreading the eight bags of mulch still in the garage from two years ago. On Sunday I got out a ladder and spend several hours cutting overhead branches. In the post I wrote that evening, I mentioned that thanks to dancing I had a lot more stamina, a statement I based on the fact that I had perhaps never spent so many hours working in the yard.

Monday morning I couldn't move. My neck and shoulders were so stiff and sore, and so resistant to the usual pain meds, that I began to wonder whether I had some kind of dread disease.

Then I remembered that I have fibromyalgia, a chronic condition that can kick in when I eat too much sugar or become too sedentary or, ironically, overexert. It's a tricky balance, staying active but not too active. Fibro kicked in last summer after I sat around favoring the broken leg, for example. But this flareup was stronger. My upper body felt as though it had seized up, and it stayed that way for much of the week. My sleep was disrupted, which only makes things worse. Eventually gentle exercise and massages from Peter helped enough for the meds to do their job.

So now I'm back in the garden, being a bit more cautious and aware. I always enjoy the work of gardening, but I have to remember to stop periodically and look around, admiring the progress I've made while allowing my body to regroup. It feels good to know that I'm in charge of this space again. There is room for me and mine to walk the paths, sit on the benches, smell the roses.

The last peonies greet the first purple coneflower.

Yesterday I took a few photos to share. A cleared and mulched pathway, a few planters now populated with petunias and calibrachoa, and a cleared and mulched seating area where last week we sat outdoors with guests. Small victories, but satisfying.

Life is good.

Hoarfrost

Last Saturday we awoke to hoarfrost. I learned that it forms when the air is very moist or foggy and the temperature then drops below freezing. When the moisture in the air touches something - anything - it freezes in place.

The azalea buds, which form in the fall, have been growing, encouraged by our warm days. I hope the cold snap keeps them from opening prematurely. 

The barberry shrubs are a favorite photo subject after it snows. It was more difficult to capture the frost, and I was using the newer camera, which I haven't yet mastered. Time to reread a few sections of the manual!

Even the wind chime had its share of hoarfrost. Was it just me, or did the tiny ice formations seemed especially dagger-like and ferocious this time?

The prodigious blogger Connie, aka Far Side of Fifty, had posted especially striking pictures of frost and fog in northern Minnesota just the day before I took these.

July in the sun garden

At last, the sunny portion of my garden is bursting into bloom.

Purple coneflowers, which began with three tiny plantlets, run rampant along the fence. Gorgeous yellow daylilies just glow, even when the sun has moved to the other side of the house.

Spikes of liatris help attract butterflies...

as do the butterfly weed and milkweed, blooming in pink and white this season.

Phlox is just beginning to open, and its sweet smell never fails to remind me of my childhood.

I've seen a few butterflies enjoying the garden, and I hope slightly cooler temperatures bring even more of them in coming weeks. 

Wednesday's Word: Kudzu

Kudzu-covered house and trees

The first time I heard about kudzu, "the weed that ate the South," I was--what?--horrified... grossed out... frightened, even. I mean, it looks downright spooky when it covers entire landscapes including houses and trees.

I have met my kudzu.

Out behind our garage is our sunniest garden spot. Currently, it's planted with catmint, a few coneflowers, and liatris. Only you wouldn't know about the liatris, because it's been smothered by a nasty little vine that has wound around the stalks and heads of the liatris, binding them together before forcing them down with its weight. 

Liatris covered in vines

I recognize this vine. It was a tiny thing, just barely making an appearance over the last few years. I didn't bother pulling it because it seemed harmless. Now it has not only taken over a big swath of garden, it has gone to seed! This hummer will be sprouting up everywhere, including all up and down the alley, where most of the neighbors also have plantings. How could this happen, I asked myself. The answer is simple. I've been enjoying the garden outside my office window, and tending to its needs. Haven't been behind the garage for weeks. Barely even glance in that direction when I'm driving in or out of the garage.

We often paraphrase the quote, "Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty."* Also, apparently, the price of freedom from kudzu.

Healthy liatris

*This quote is variously attributed to Thomas Jefferson, Andrew Jackson, and abolitionist Wendell Phillips; it apparently originated in a speech by John P. Curran in Dublin in 1790.