theology&geometry

Here is a little gardening tip from me to you: If a man calls your cannas “daylilies,” do not take him up on his offer to “cut back your hydraniums.”

I spent some time outside today in the warmth, removing old dead plant stalks from their resting places, making room for the new growth that will be popping out of the ground in just a few short weeks.

I’m stupid excited to see the explosion of color that spring will bring to the yard. I was sort of shocked last spring at how beautiful things got before I even had a chance to do anything out there. It’s the azaleas that will make the biggest showing, but I’ve already got daffodil greenery several inches out of the ground, so I know blooms aren’t far behind. And those little oniony spring star flowers are already pushing their leaves up all across the yard.

Waiting is the hard part.

I’ve got a notion to do something big to the front yard. I sketched it up; maybe it will make sense to a landscaper. I would like to solve the parking issue elegantly, which would be the ultimate eff-you to my uppity neighbor. My idea, if the sketch is truly undecipherable, is this: Push back the perimeter of the front yard a couple of feet, placing a row or two of nice-looking pavers flush with the street so that the parking that will inevitably be done there won’t continue to rip up my grass and create muddy tire tracks. Install a retaining wall (texture, color, material, and pattern are up for debate) and build up the lawn to level off at the top of the wall. That won’t be too tough since there is already a decent slope to the yard, and I’m not necessarily talking about a very tall retaining wall. (It might be cool to put things in the bed along the wall that will creep and cascade down the wall. Creeping phlox, maybe, which I already have in the back yard.) The existing flower bed that is there will remain there, but I would like to flesh out the perimeter of the yard along the retaining wall with either low-lying flowering shrubs or more flat flowerbeds. Or maybe just some nice manicured grass along the perimeter. Regardless, the point is that I want to rip up the scrubby underbrush-type things that are parked out there right now. The yucca and the aucuba are okay, I guess, but the old stumps and brambles and poison ivy-type shit has got to go. My water main is out there, I think, so I’m betting MLGW would appreciate easier access to it.

Anyway, it’s an idea. I’m in touch with a landscape company so now begins the process of pricing what I want vs. what I can afford.

What do you think — would this be an improvement on the property?

Some sun for the green things today.

[Project 365]

Look at these sexy beasts!

I realize I just posted a picture of a marigold on Friday but I am just smitten with this particular bloom and I want to blow it up big and trace the little yellow outline with my eyes, again and again.

I have always proclaimed myself no big fan of marigolds. Frankly, their smell puts me off (I’ve come to tolerate it since they are supposed to repel mosquitoes), but this year the ones I grew from my mother’s second-generation seeds have been such late-blooming troopers that I’ve kind of had to reassess my feelings on marigolds in general. That’s right, internet, I sit around and contemplate flowers on a philosophical level. These grew so big and tall that one time when it rained (stretch your brain; it was more than two months ago), their big stalks — these babies are thick — just flopped over from the weight and then, since I elected to just leave them be — started curling up from the ground and reaching toward the sky again. And then, pow. These little orange blooms started winking at me when pretty much everything else was out there in the heat playing dead, so I’ve been deadheading and saving seeds in anticipation of making sure these guys are everywhere next year. They’re tough. And beautiful.

My marigold has a visitor.

Oh sweet relief: For the first time in months I am to be able to go outside and piddle in the yard without wishing instantly for the sweet release of death (when you’re a mosquito magnet, you can’t do your yardwork in skimpy, well-ventilated clothes unless you want to discover bites in places you’d rather just a select few people had access to). These past few days have just been beautiful and I’ve been able to get some things done I’ve been putting off all (wretchedly hot) summer. Namely weeding and mulching and beginning to clean out the shit I’ve let pile up in the shed, which, up until about two weeks ago, I was terrified to go into because it was grand central station for frigging CAMEL CRICKETS OH MY GAHHHH. (I lit into them with a dizzyingly intoxicating amount of bug spray and then stayed out for a week or two and now, when I go into the shed, I don’t hear hundreds of tiny six-footed critters skittering away from me with every step I take OH GOD RELIVING THAT JUST MADE ME VOMIT A LITTLE.)

I’m getting to plan next year’s beds for the first time, which is fun but sort of intimidating, as I am relying on what passes for common sense and, when I get panicky, Google searches and texts to mom. This year my gardening was all about watching to see what would come up that had been planted before I ever moved in, and supplementing with my own additions and transplants here and there and hoping that everything would just sort of pick up where it left off. Some things did not take kindly to the transplants; I am hoping they’ll make impressive comebacks next year.

I was just lamenting today that the caramel-colored coral bell my mom gave me just petered out over the summer. It looked puny and never flowered, and I never could get it to take to any combination of sun and shade. Now I’m wondering if I somehow overwatered it in my zealous attempt to fight heat fatigue. I don’t know. But it was in a big pot that I am itching to use for something else if it’s truly dead. But I wonder: Should I just let it be, and see if it comes back at all in the spring? Is there some way to tell if a plant is really really dead or just taking a breather until next year? Should I look at its root ball or something? I mean, coral bells aren’t supposed to lose all their foliage even in the winter. Sigh. Poor, poor coral bell. We hardly knew ye.

Coming this spring (so far, and in addition to the bulbs already lying in wait): Tulips, crocus, and purple sensation alliums. I want to get some coneflowers for next year but I’m torn on whether I want to start from seed or just buy a starter plant or two.

I’m open to suggestions for other (fairly low-maintenance) perennials. I’d like to plan better for 2011 so that I can have spring bloomers, summer bloomers, late-summer bloomers and some fall bloomers too.

Red spider surprise lilies, which really did pop up and surprise me. They are everywhere!

Look who came flitting through the yard today, taking a rest here and there long enough for me to photostalk. I’m almost positive this little guy came around because of the hazy asters I recently planted out back. It’s not been a terribly butterfly-friendly atmosphere in the yard this year, what with the heat pretty much keeping all the plants in a constant state of non-blooming fatigue. I’m finding, though, that as the toothiest of the heat subsides, the blooms are coming back around for another round or two. I’m glad; I missed the color.