July begins the months of true plenty here on the farm, when the vegetable gardens start to shower us with bounty and the cutting gardens offer up armloads of fetching blossom to bedeck our rooms. This blissful fecundity also describes our animal population right now, most notably in regard to our population of birds, "populate" being the operative word.



We have had a number of females of various descriptions "sitting" for the past month or so and, as in every year, there is some anxiety as to whether all that effort will actually result in offspring. Often, when a female starts to sit, she simply disappears from view, finding some deeply hidden little nook of safety unknown to or unreachable by foxes and racoons. And, often, we have prematuraly mourned the loss of some well loved goose or duck, only to discover her leading a little parade of ducklings or goslings around the pond after a month's absence.



In recent years, however, the geese, especially, have taken to nesting right up against the house so as to thwart the attentions of foxes and racoons, who are leary of coming so close to human habitation. This last month, we have had a White Embden female nesting in our basement windowbox, a gray Toulouse sitting in the crook of our air conditioning unit, another White Embden below the kitchen porch, and our Whooping Swans taking up residence just across the driveway in front of the milk barn.



"Sitting" is far from a solitary occupation. First of all, most waterfowl mate for life and are intensely devoted, so the anxious father is never far away. As well, all the related aunties and uncles stand religious and insanely noisy guard around the expectant mother, warding off anything, including us, that violates their precincts with a great honking and hissing and flapping of wings.



This year our female Whooper sat for at least two months with her devoted husband in attendance, with, sadly, no results from her cache of three eggs. The White Embden beneath the kitchen porch is still sitting, but her nest of eggs has diminshed from a total of six a few weeks ago to just two now as something is eating them (racoon?) when she takes her occasional bath break.



However, the White Embden in the window box, two weeks ago, gave birth to two fine goslings, and, at about the same time, a pair of our mallards materialized from some cloistered spot in the woods with five handsome ducklings. But surely the most amazing birth on the farm must belong to our female Muscovy Duck, who, several years ago, nested eight feet up in the knothole of a tree near the pond. How she got herself and, eventually, her brood, in and out of that tiny space is still a mystery to me, but one morning we awoke to find her proudly leading a family of six tiny yellow offspring around the pond.



The gift of new life is one of the profound joys of the summer season, always balanced, of course, by the losses of winter, and year round fatalities pinned to snapping turtles, hawks, foxes, racoons, and the like. But that's the rhythm of the farm and, in fact, of all of nature: birth, loss, rebirth. To join in it is to reap both peace and understanding, which, as Martha would say, is definitely a good thing.

As that great American musical Oklahoma so accurately opined: "June is busting out all over!" and, surely, that is the case this month on the farm. After a cool, wet spring, then that spate a few weeks ago of sweltering, record setting days, the gardens are positively gushing with blossom and anything that was loitering in the coolness, waiting for a bit of heat to get it moving, has burst forth most accomodatingly, seemingly growing inches overnight.



There isn't a spot in our thirty cultivated acres that isn't putting on a pretty show right now, which is a very gratifying thing indeed. Finally, it seems these past nearly thirty years of gardening and planting and waiting for things to mature and fill their alotted spots have paid off. It would be foolish to say that it's almost as if the gardens are doing it all by themselves now, but that is close to how I feel as I take a walk around. Certainly, we still work hard at trimming and pruning, mulching and weeding and mowing, etc., but as I meander, I feel nearly like a visitor in my own garden, so happily entranced am I by what I encounter.



Those infant plants we planted ten or twenty years ago in the perennial borders are unrecognizable as the brawny stands of astilbe and iris, clematis and fairy rose currently in bloom. Likewise the red hot pokers, coreopsis, daylilies, and heliopsis blazing away in the summer borders. The tiny tufts of thyme and sedum, gentian, daisy, and evening primrose we tucked between the stones in the pool garden are now great carpets and drifts of color and blossom. The roses we planted at the feet of the hoops that surround the French garden now climb twelve feet to festoon them in the most lavish of flowering arches.



This month, even the annual vegetables in the kitchen garden seem to have taken on a life of their own. The lettuces are in high dudgeon, lasting far longer in the prevailing cool temperatures than usual, and the Ruby Perfection cabbages bordering the bean tuteurs are putting on a terrific blue and purple show right now, looking like big moon blossoms. At the same time, the heat of a few weeks ago has also jump-started the more reticent types like the pole beans and squashes, which are beginning their sinuous coiling out of the ground. A particular joy in the vegetable garden right now is also the big stands of variegated horseradish, which, after five years, have finally stopped reverting to green and are displaying their vivacious true colors in a most winning fashion.



And finally, let me praise some of the trees and shrubs we have planted over the years that have finally reached some kind of arboreal majesty. Chief among these are the California redwood we planted twenty years ago at the curve in the drive that now must stand at sixty feet, and the trio of lacy golden locusts in the yellow garden that are brightening the woodland. I am also forced to toss a few accolades at the great drifts of purple smokebush, and purple and golden barberry that are currently adding drama to the summer borders, as well as the weeping copper beeches behind them that provide such a spectacular visual foil.



This is perhaps the greatest joy of gardening: that moment in time when all the work you have put into your space finally achieves the stature you had envisioned for it in those long ago beginnings. And, as if by magic (all right -- and a good bit of annual effort...), you reach that elusive but completely compelling goal of a surrounding and comforting beauty that makes you sigh with pleasure. Such has been this month for me.

Here we are approaching the end of May and I have been sadly remiss in terms of reopening this blog for spring, my only excuse being that this has been a month of intensive planting here on the farm and I have found it very difficult to compose with a trowel in my hand. But what a glorious spring it has been: cool and wet, with everything holding long and strong from the daffodils and muscari that carpeted the woodland three weeks ago to the azaleas, alliums and bluebells that are among our chief glories now. We planted a sweep of miniature triandrus daffodils ‘Hawera’, tall purple allium ‘Gladiator’ and short pinky-lavender allium karativiense down by the creek in front of the house last fall, and they have been blooming nonstop, first the daffodils, now the allium, for a full month now. The amsonia, bachelor buttons, and hardy geraniums are currently brightening the perennial borders, the weigelas and mock oranges are getting ready for their heavenly show, and the peonies are just “golf ball size and showing color”, just the way they like them in the flower market, so next week should be a triumph in the peony ribbon.



Of course, as with all things achieved in concert with Mother Nature, every moment of glory will be balanced with a bit of loss or defeat, and this spring is no exception, as we have seen the demise of two of our most true blue perennial stars: the magnificent 75 year old Japanese maple that graced our front lawn, and the ‘Red Delicious’ apple espalier that has decorated the façade of our upper barn for the past twenty plus years. Their time, simply, was up. The maple has been visibly weakening for several years now, it’s formerly lush, burgundy intensity growing more fragile and airy with each new season, and this spring only about a quarter of it leafed out at all. So yesterday, down the great lady came. I saved some of her prettiest branches to keep in a tall vase in the living room for a bit. Luckily she managed to fling off a few offspring before she met her maker, and we have a number of her progeny following in her footsteps on the terrace and down by the stream walk. We have decided not to replace her as the now open vista down to the creek (where those alliums are so perky right now) is a nice change. The apple followed much the same path: a visible weakening over the last few seasons, the entire right side going feet up two years ago, and the middle section giving up the ghost last summer. We’re going to plant a new one this season and trust we’ll be around long enough to see it achieve the roofline of the barn.



In the vegetable gardens, the beds are amended and tilled, and the cool weather crops (brassicas, lettuce, radishes, carrots) are in. Additionally, our bamboo structures for the beans and tomatoes are built in the beds behind the chicken house this year, and they are looking very handsome indeed, although it’s still a bit early for those heat lovers to go into the ground. The triumph of the bamboo structure, naturally, has been balanced by Mother Nature with a galloping case of bursitis in my left shoulder from the overly zealous jamming of canes into the ground and too much working overhead. Humbly, I have learned my lesson: a few aches and pains are surely part of the gardening life and are, generally, ignored, but sometimes it is wisest to listen to your body when it urges you to stop what you are doing. So, as it is the same shoulder that powers my computer mouse, I believe, that is what I will do for now. Welcome to spring and I will see you next month!

At this point in the garden season, there is always that tug between the impulse to neaten up and the knowledge that dead plant matter left to rot over the winter will provide loads of beneficial nutrients to the soil when forked under in spring. This is all a balance and I have learned that, on a purely visual basis, there are some things I can stand to leave and others that simply must go, however horticulturally beneficent they might be if left to their own devices.



As we all know, it pays to allow most plants to die back to at least that forlornly limp and yellowish stage as this allows the plants to absorb sunlight and strength for next year. This is particularly important to bulbs, like daffodils and narcissus and the like, but also to most perennials. That said, I finally hacked down what was left of the peonies in the white border, as I was sick to death of looking at their blackened remains. Likewise the stalks of the spent shasta daisies, although their leaf clumps still look remarkably fresh, and the big, naked canes of the hearty hibiscus out by the pool.

This neatening impulse also took itself off to the cutting garden, where I pulled out the all dead zinnias, lopped off the tops of the very forlorn looking dahlias, and dug up the tubers to be stored over the winter. For those of you who are dahlia lovers and wish to do the same, the tubers are best stored in a crate of slightly moistened peat moss or wood shavings at a temperature between 40 and 50 degrees. Do check them, however, a couple of times throughout the winter to make sure they’re not rotting or shriveling.



In the vegetable gardens, I denuded the big bamboo structures of their limp bean, squash, and tomato vines, and raked up the remains of the nasturtiums, bush beans, and whatever else had succumbed to frost, leaving the die-hards to provide some becoming human fodder for a few more months. In fact, last night, I had a nice garlicky sauté of kale, chard, and arugula along with some mashed celery root to accompany a grilled steak. Also still thriving are leeks, cabbages, broccoli, the winter squash, which has been harvested and stored, and a good number of the herbs, including mint, parsley, and sage. There are still plenty of good meals to be had from the garden, even as December approaches.



I’m going to dedicate the last portion of this column to the subject of mulch and mulching in general, as this is the time of year when we should all be giving this subject some due consideration. First of all, let’s consider that blanket of fallen leaves that is currently covering most of our lawns. To many, this is a nagging chore involving aching backs and shoulders and mounds of useless debris perpetuated on unsuspecting man by an unfeeling Mother Nature. To others, however, this is certifiable brown gold, as valuable to the gardener as a bucket of earthworms or beneficial nematodes.

For if you rake your leaves into a pile and, even better, one encircled by a perimeter of stout wire fencing so that you can really pack them in, then leave them to degrade for two or three years, you will have achieved the wonder of humus, which is nature’s gift to your soil. As well, if you amend this pile occasionally with animal manures, kitchen waste, grass clippings: whatever presents itself in your household or on your land, and fork it thought every once and a while with a pitchfork, you will be adding veritable gems to your gold. The best scenario, if you have the room, is to have three or four of these piles going, in close proximity, so that you always have one sufficiently “aged” to employ immediately, and so that you can amend the others easily as you’re whipping your way by with your cart.



I'm going to retire this blog for the season here, as I'm sure all gardeners are looking forward to a little down time as winter descends, and I look forward to catching up with you again come spring. A magical holiday and triumphant New Year to you all.

If you’re at all like us, you’re about ready to throw up your hands and turn your voices to the sky in extravagant exhortation to the god of rain in the hopes that he will take pity on us and let loose a precious drop or three of that life-sustaining but sadly lacking liquid. I personally am envisioning a blissful, blustery fortnight of a lovely, steady, drenching soak right down to the very tips of the roots of our most substantial trees. Right now, as I look out on the borders and gardens, it seems like what hasn’t bolted has grown to some monstrous, straggly proportion and is littered with spent blossoms and forlorn-looking leaves. One is sorely tempted at this point in a season like this to say the hell with it and let nature take its unpretty course. This, of course, would be exceedingly foolish and it pays for all of us at moments like this to remember who we are, hike up our Wellies, and climb right back onto that currently uncooperative horticultural horse. We are not quitters and we will have the last word. Therefore: what?

Well, the first thing to do is to get back down off that horse, trundle off to the garden shed, drag out your hoses and sprinklers and give some sustenance to the worst victims. Forget the lawn: let it go the gold of prairie grass: it’ll come back as it gets wetter. Instead, give your attentions to any tree that shows signs of stress or drooping or yellowing leaves. Drag the hose over to its roots and just let it run full tilt for a good half hour, keeping in mind that the water’s going to have to permeate a good four or five feet of soil to do any good at all. Secondly, give your attentions to any groupings of shrubs or established perennials that are looking the least bit forlorn. Again, anything with an established root system is going to be overlooked entirely by any superficial watering such as that supplied by your typical lawn sprinkler, which probably only permeates to about six inches an hour, so take the time to stand there, hose in hand, and give each root system its due.

The next thing to do is to get out a good pair of clippers, some garden twine and a bundle of bamboo stakes, throw them into your wheelbarrow, and start doing some aesthetic damage control, particularly in areas like your perennial beds and the vegetable garden if you have one.
In the vegetable garden, if it’s bolted or spent (lettuce… dill… broccoli… corn… cilantro…), yank it out and re-seed with a fall crop of cold-hearty cultivars. Remember to keep these newly seeded patches moist as tender seedlings will fry in a second : a watering every day will be necessary until they’ve got a couple of sets of true leaves on them. If it’s grown into an unkempt, disheveled thicket (mint… lemon balm… New Zealand spinach… sorrel…), hack it back to within its originally prescribed bounds. Also, stake up tall specimens like pepper plants, eggplants, and Brussels sprouts to keep them from prostrating themselves too abjectly. You’ll be amazed how a couple of hours of work in this regard can turn an overgrown eyesore into something that at least has a nodding acquaintance with neat and orderly.


In the borders, follow the same game plan. Deadhead and cutback anything that’s over. Right now, that’s been meaning the big stands of shasta daisy, hollyhocks, stachys, and a good deal of the phlox. Use your aesthetic judgement on what’s left. If it’s sprawling, stake it up. It it’s too out of control to stake, reshape the stand, cutting back the most unruly culprits, then stake it. This has been particularly effective for those alarmingly tall stands at the back of the borders of things like Joe Pye weed (eupatorium maculatum) and purple loosestrife (lythrum salicaria).

At the front of the border, trim up anything that’s grown leggy and is over-spilling the path. In our case, this group includes cosmos, baby’s breath (gypsophila elegans), some hearty geranium, artemesia, and, of course, the lamb’s ears (stachys byzantina). Think of all this as a form of housekeeping: like cleaning up after an overly (or perhaps just sufficiently) festive party. Once you’ve shoveled through the detris, tossed out the garbage, put the plates and glasses away, and straightened up the sofa cushions, you find your living space has been miraculously restored to you, even if, in truth, the whole room could do with a fresh paint job.

So it goes with the September garden. In then end, just try to concentrate on what’s looking lush and lovely despite the heat and the drought, like our hydrangeas for instance. Or the big, sunshiny stands of heliopsis and helianthus at the top of the summer borders. Or the fall-blooming, sweet clematis paniculata montana that’s showcasing it’s frilly snowflakes on the vegetable garden arbor. And keep in mind that there’s still plenty more enjoyment to be gotten from your gardens straight through till frost.

For the past several weeks we have been fluffing beds and borders like there was not only no tomorrow but perhaps not even this afternoon, as this month is always a moment in the garden when some housekeeping is clearly of the essence. Our largest effort went into the perennial borders, where the first job to be done was some copious deadheading and cutting back of the spring and early summer blooming perennials. Among these were the early astilbes and shasta daisies, the wonderful shrub rose “The Fairy”, the lamb’s ears (stachys byzantina), baptisias, astrantias, and mountain bluets (centaurea montana), and the lady’s mantle (alchemilla mollis). The there was the corralling and shoring up of some the larger, late bloomers, like the lythrum and lysimachia and later shastas, which have the tendency to flop and sprawl come August. All this housekeeping accomplishes two things: certainly a far more orderly garden, but one, as well, that has revealed some clear pockets of want, to wit: blank soil where a stand of something once stood or lounged.

The answer? Popping in. “Popping in” is a twofold idea. First, it entails “popping in” to your local perennial supplier and loosening up your wallet a tad. Then it entails “popping in” what you have just purchased into the spots in your garden that are currently displaying a paucity of bloom and foliage. This is really an extremely enjoyable activity on a number of fronts. For one thing, it’s an excellent time to be shopping for plants not only because prices are excellent as growers look to unload a bit of their stock as fall approaches, but, also, because the gratification is absolutely instant. Unlike spring buying when you’re purchasing a fluff of green in a pot that might aspire to something tall and colorful in the future but is making only a nascent showing at the moment, August perennial shopping allows you to see exactly what you’re buying in all its glory, and have it give your garden an immediate boost.

We make it a point to always “pop in” in increments of three or five plants: one or two is never enough to make a good showing and it seems to me that an odd number will always give you the right “cloudy”, slightly freeform planting effect for which we gardeners strive. We’ll start, then, with the mid-border. There we added some of the prettiest of the blue delphiniums, in mixed clusters of five, specifically the deep purple-y blue “King Arthur”, the lovely, clear, medium blue “Blue Bride”, and the paler, very aptly named “Summer Skies”. In between, with, again, artful randomness, we added stands of white, highly fragrant Casablanca lilies, some of echinacea purpurea “Magnus”, the handsome, pinky-purple cone flower with the yellow eye, and a few of the really stunning phlox “Norah Leigh” with its variegated foliage and pale pink blossom with darker eye.

Of slightly more compact but no less winsome demeanor was the addition of two or three clusters each of physostegia virginiana “Crown Rose” with its pale pink spikes, the veronica “Sunny Border Blue”, which is spiked with blossoms of a true, deep blue, and the achillea ptarmica “The Pearl”, a very pretty white yarrow with tiny, almost daisy-like flowers. At the front of the border, for some nice, low jolts of authentic silver, we added some clusters of the artemesia “Silver Mound” and cerastium tomentosum, the poetically named “Snow In Summer”. For spectacular deep purple foliage, we added two varieties of heuchera, the beautifully veined “Cathedral Windows” and the new, strikingly ruffled “Stormy Seas”, which adds just a hint of green underbelly to the leaf. For further visual upholstery at the edges of the borders, we also added a couple of drifts each of the pink flowering baby’s breath, gypsophyla paniculata “Festival Pink”, and the lavender-hued pincushion flower, scabiosa columbaria “Butterfly Blue”. All in all, it added up to a veritable “border makeover”: from frowzy to fabulous in just a few days.