The days continue to grow longer here in the northern latitudes as the calendar progresses toward the summer solstice, and our garden is proof of that inescapable rhythm.
It finally has rained, although not much. Yet, we are extremely grateful for the precipitation, in spite of the fact that some of it fell as we were conducting our book sale.
I have no doubt that much of the death of perennials and shrubs I’ve observed this year is due to the constant need to irrigate with city water. Treated water is not nearly as beneficial as rain. On the bright side, a few plants I’d given up as dead are starting to show some life and as North Dakota gardening expert Don Kinzler said, one must have patience in a year like this. Sadly, my shrub rose is dead as a doornail.
I’ve resisted the urge to transplant two shrubs I have plans to relocate, given that this is the year our house is on the garden tour. Tweaking and moving is a constant way of life for the gardener. I keep a notebook throughout the year with my tasks for the garden.
Jim proclaims that the vegetable garden looks as good as it ever has and last Thursday we ate the first fresh lettuce. Jim also pointed out to me that the first blossoms are on the Bloody Butcher tomatoes, plants he sprouted from seed he had saved from last year’s crop. Meanwhile, the weeds are thriving in every location and keep us on our knees in removal mode.
Last week, a hellacious wind howled through in the night and blew about a billion elm seeds from the neighbor’s tree two houses over into drifts on our patio (below). Armed with a broom and dustpan, I scooped these up, knowing that next year I’ll be pulling the sprouts from the perennial beds by the thousands.
We’ve also grown very weary of all of the pine pollen in the air, which drifts in through our open windows and coats every flat service in the house (above). Hopefully, the rain of the past few days will take care of that problem.
The dwarf iris blooms have subsided and the remainder of bearded irises show hints of blooms to come. Lilac time has come and gone, except for the Korean lilac we have in (mostly) shade that blooms late and does not bloom profusely. I put it there because I had the idea that the aroma would float into our bedroom and bring us pleasant dreams. And so it does.
In their place are the blooms of the anemone, bleeding heart and violets. In one bed that has increasing shade as our trees grow taller, I’ve allowed the columbine to spread and am slowly moving the daylilies to sunnier locations. Yes, I know that columbine can be invasive; after the blooms are spent, I’ll take some action.
I hit up a neighborhood plant sale this past weekend and added two new daylilies and three new hostas to my collection. When I was weeding Tuesday, I watched a sleek, chocolate-colored vole scamper through the flower bed.
To replace the two vines that died or were killed by rabbits, I’ve planted a Trumpet vine and replaced the Autumn Revolution bittersweet. Shortly after this purchase, I discovered that the bittersweet vine that had been severed by the rabbits is sprouting from the root. It will take about five years for the bittersweet to grow to the size it had been. I’m going to carefully protect these with wire next fall.
Memorial Day has come and gone. We attended this year’s program at the nearby North Dakota Veterans Cemetery, where all of the speakers praised the rain that was dampening attendees. Our priest, Monsignor Chad Gion (left, with Jim, a U.S. Navy veteran) gave a marvelous closing prayer, encouraging us to “lead heroic lives.”
These days, when we sit down for a spell on the patio, the goldfinches on the sock thistle feeder entertain us. Around the back of the house, I heard a robin pitching quite a fit, which tells me that one of its hatchlings must be on the ground. Our resident house wren pair cheers us each day.
And another three-tenths of an inch of rain Tuesday night is so very welcome. The front yard hosta garden under the Red Oak tree looks marvelous this year. Jim is off to fish almost every day. June just may be the best month.
“If the light is in your heart, you will find your way home.” — Rumi