Kiss the Earth

So I was complaining to a colleague about how my back hurt from five hours of gardening on Sunday, way too much time and more than I usually spend, but it was warm and I'm feeling behinder and behinder with weeding, mulching and planting.

He looked at me and said, "Yeah, but it's a good kind of hurt." True enough.

All better now and rarin' to get back to it. And feeling a sense of accomplishment. Yes, there's a ton more to do but a lot's been done.

Were you out working in the sunshine on Sunday? it was a glorious day. I planted eight containers, all of them large and half of them new. They needed so much potting soil, I made two trips to the garden center. But guess what.

Even after interviewing experts on container gardening last fall, watching one plant several of them (with incredible results) and writing a story about it, I found I'm still a novice when I tried to do it myself.

Shopping for annuals to plant in the containers was an exercise in impulsive shopping rather than creative study. I remember one garden designer suggesting that we choose plants and place them in the cart as they would look in the container and decide from there how they'd look in our pots at home. That was great advice. Too bad I didn't follow it. There was so much to choose from, I had a devil of a time making up my mind.

The good news is that no matter what goes into the container, once it grows it'll probably look fine. I'm trying cannas and cardinal climber for the first time, along with an array of snapdragons, hanging geraniums and other stuff. As the experts always say to do, I tried to mix color, size and texture. Can't wait to see how they do.

I guess a back that hurts from gardening is like the pain of childbirth. Once you're feeling better, you forget how bad it was. It gets distilled into "a good kind of hurt" - and you find yourself thinking the once unthinkable .. that you might even try it again sometime.

Spring is a time for old friends to return, which is how I think of everything coming up in the garden right now. Wow! Look at the grapevines twirling to life. Check out the roses, awakening from winter. But the other night a real live visitor returned, one I'd thought may well have perished.

My husband and I were enjoying a late dinner on the sunporch. We'd watched the sun go down, turning the sky into a pale pink swirl over the treetops. It grew dark. We talked on. All of a sudden I saw something long and skinny move in the yew next to the porch. Could it be ...

It was an opossum, slowly climbing up the yew and parking himself on a branch. Opossums only live a couple of years, so perhaps this wasn't the original we "met" on the back patio five years ago, or the one that sat the next year, nose to nose, with one of my (less intelligent) kitties on the stone wall around the garden in the back.

Perhaps it was another generation of marsupial (the opossum being North America's one and only) but there he was up in the tree, sitting silently and motionless, which is how the expression "playing 'possum" got going. These guys can do that for hours, even days.

When we first encountered an opossum in the back yard, it was a scary experience. They're kind of funny looking, to be kind, with rat-like tails, pink, pointed noses, tiny sharp teeth and thumbs on their feet. This one walked up the steps from the garden and headed right for us on the patio. I jumped up, ran in the kitchen and started banging some pots and pans. The opossum bared his teeth, hissed at me and slowly lumbered back down into the garden.

Later, he showed up in the yew tree and soon not only did we grow used to his nocturnal visits, we looked forward to them and enjoyed them. All summer long he came to visit, sitting up in the yew tree or waddling quietly through the gardens.

One night last summer, a small crowd formed on the sidewalk below. "Look at that thing!" someone cried. They had seen our friend, who by then we were calling "Nosey," for his big schnozz and his penchant for poking around.

Nosey and company are quite harmless, good citizens who rid the garden of rodents (which means fewer to get into my house, thank you very much), insects, berries, grass, leaves and carrion. Occasionally, they eat vegetables. I've long suspected Nosey as the perpetrator of those mysterious little teeth marks in my pumpkins, tomatoes and squash.

These funny creatures go foraging at night. They don't bother anyone, but whenever I see our little visitor, I worry that he'll end up as road kill. The humans in the neighborhood drive way too fast, especially at night.

Whichever generation our visitor the other night was, we were awfully glad to see him. We reacted as if an old friend had unexpectedly knocked on the door. We tiptoed outside, stood at the bottom of the yew tree and whispered a welcome back. He looked right at us without blinking.

We went back inside and then to bed, with Nosey benignly ensconced in the tree. It was nice to see him again.

Yesterday I met Carol Ann Moyer, a master gardener who's transformed the old iris garden at Delaware Valley College in Doylestown. (Story to come in the paper soon) She's invented a neat system for labeling her hundreds of irises and other plants.

Her inspiration came from Good Morning, America, where Diane Sawyer mentioned some startling statistics: Each person, in his or her lifetime, leaves behind 26,408 aluminum cans and 900 wire hangers, most of which end up in landfills. That's frightening and awful and Carol was shocked into action.

She makes plant labels out of soda cans and hangers, and though this isn't a great picture, you get the idea. Carol says, "Your plant collection is only as good as your I.D. system," so gardeners everywhere, listen up.

She takes an old (clean) soda can, cuts the top and bottom off with a box cutter or razor knife. She does this by holding the can sideways and rotating it. Once the top is off, she puts a water bottle into the open end to hold the can rigid - and then she cuts the bottom off.

She cuts along the bar code line with scissors - insisting that this is very easy and not dangerous. She cuts a piece big enough to fold over twice, inside out. If the edges aren't smooth, she uses a paper cutter to make clean lines.

She cuts a coat hanger in the middle (as you're looking at it), which produces two U-shaped stands. The bent hook part is cut off and not used. Then Carol attaches one of the stands to the newly fashioned label with a dab of hot glue. You can write your plant's I.D. with a Sharpie or make a plastic label.

Sounds more complicated than Carol swears it is. "This is my contribution toward making a greener planet," she says.

Ah, to be a Longwood lady, to have an uncluttered day to wander the paths of this endless garden. I was there yesterday on assignment - I know, it's tough! - and enjoyed many things. The topiaries, for one. I'm not a big fan of small topiary shrubs but these are enormous and very atmospheric, especially with the kids running around giggling. For a minute there, I thought for sure I was in a Merchant/Ivory film minus the great wardrobe.

Then there were the hydrangeas. Now these, I love - all types and colors. One of my favorites was the bigleaf hydrangea 'Tokyo Delight,' a startling rose color, that was planted next to 'Apple blossom' snapdragons with long stems and huge flowers. They were exactly the color of apple blossoms - fresh pink and mint green. What a combination!

The lilacs were blooming and sending their sweet scent over the lawns and the fountains were putting on a show for a group visiting from India. Those folks were paying close attention. Can't say the same for a couple sitting on a bench. Technically they were facing the fountains but their eyes were locked on each other. Ah, spring.

Some of us looking at the swaths of foxglove and sweet broom and bluebells were laughing about how, sure, if we had gazillions of dollars to spend on huge quantities of everything, our gardens would look pretty spectacular too. But we don't, and that's why we love to visit places like Longwood.

It's been a few months since I'd visited. It's great to see the changes each new season brings and to be reminded of two things. One, that we have some of the finest public gardens in the world in this region. And two, when I finally am a Longwood lady, I'll have lots to see in my many hours of free time.

As I do every year around this time, I'm taking next week off to get my gardens at home in shape. Doing a little here and there makes the task take forever, so it'll be all gardening all the time for me over the next few days.

I hesitate to say it'll be "done," even after that. Let's put it this way ... it'll be closer to being done!

When I return, there will be lots more to write about and more gardens to visit, both public and private. Meanwhile, happy gardening, everyone.

It was only a week's vacation, but it felt much shorter and what a lot of work! I spent the first five days mulching my gardens, a job made much harder by lack of access. I had to have bags of mulch delivered, rather than a pile, and then drag them one by one through the kitchen to the back gardens. Each bag weighs 42 lbs. and if you don't think I was tired and sore after five or six hours of this per day for five days ...

But the end of the week found me in Colorado visiting my son and his wife and helping them plant some native Rocky Mountain flowers and three large containers of vegetables and herbs. They love to cook and eat organically and this, I think, is the beginning of something exciting. We all agreed that if things go well this summer, we'll be more ambitious next year. I may have to schedule another trip this fall!

We were lucky enough to stumble on a plant sale/fundraiser sponsored by the master gardeners at Colorado State University. All the seedlings had been lovingly grown by master gardeners, who are among my favorite folks in the whole world, and many of the gardeners were on hand to answer questions. It was a win-win for everyone.

My own garden is almost entirely mulched. One small area - the same one I neglected last year for the same reason (fatigue) - remains unfinished. I hope to get to that in a bit. But my nails are still dirty, my hands stiff and my back sore from the hard labor of last week. I need to give it a rest!

When people ask why I am working so hard .. is it worth it? It is, most definitely, because the garden looks fresh and pretty. But next year, I may .. may .. hire someone to help - or do it for me. They could probably do it all in three days, maybe less. Imagine. I could have a vacation that's truly a vacation.

But now it's time to sit back, enjoy and let the parties begin ... I'll take some photos to show you what I mean. And to show you how hard I've been working!

So the other night we were having a late dinner on the patio overlooking the back garden. It was such a beautiful evening, and even though it was dark, you could still see the vibrant green lettuces and purple salvias.

Suddenly there was a crunching sound, a munch, munch ... no, it wasn't the human diners. We had visitors - two huge raccoons, and they were digging in the mulch I'd so carefully laid the week before.

Several minutes of shooing and yelling ensued, but the critters were unfazed. They "hid" behind a tree, presumably to wait us out. That's exactly what happened. We went to bed and they went back to their late-night buffet!

Word comes from Boulder that the pots we planted last week - nine varieties of tomatoes, a ton of basil, three vines (two zucchini and a pumpkin), six peppers, parsley and cilantro - are growing up a storm.

And speaking of storms ... the weather in Colorado is so crazy!

It was hot when I was there, but this week temperatures plunged to the upper 30's in Boulder and a town nearby, in the mountains, had six inches of snow! This explains the common refrain out there: "If you don't like the weather, wait a few minutes."

It also explains why, every time I go, I have to pack for three seasons.

It's great to hear the excitement these pots have created in my son's household. Every day, he and his wife check on their garden's progress. Already, of course, what we planted is growing.

Every spring, I think gardeners revel in the beauty and wonder of the spring growing season. It's the best. Watching tomatoes grow or basil shoot up inches every week has got to be the best reality show going!

I came across an interesting new report today called The Gardener's Guide to Global Warming, from the National Wildlife Federation, available to download from http//www.nwf.org/gardenersguide/. It's got a lot of suggestions that make sense of a problem that sometimes seems so huge, we wonder how we can help in our own backyard gardens.

It suggests replacing regular outdoor light bulbs with compact fluorescents, installing outdoor automatic light timers and buying solar-powered garden products. Here's a biggie: Reduce the use of gasoline-powered yard tools. Now I know you fellas out there like your toys to go vroom vroom, and man, I hear you on Saturday mornings just having a ball out there. But there are millions of you, all fired up, in every community in the country. Think about that next time you get revved up to whack more weeds. Give us all a break.

The report also suggests we get rid of invasive plants in the garden and fill those spaces with a good mix of natives and trees, that we try to lower water consumption using rain barrels, mulch and xeriscaping, and that we finally kick into gear with composting.

I hear so many people say they love the idea of composting. Well, do it then! it's easy. You don't need fancy equipment. Many of you have suburban back yards, a heck of a lot more space than I have, and I manage to squeeze two large compost bins in there.

Here's another suggestion I really like: Encourage local home centers and garden retailers to carry energy-efficient products. Green is suddenly in (yeah, like the actor who works 20 years before being "discovered") and lobbying business people probably wouldn't be hard. The more buyers pester sellers, the better response we'll see. Our wheels can squeak pretty loudly!

None of this is heavy lifting. It's just a matter of changing habits and speaking up. And I think people are doing that more and more. Thanks, Al.

Gore, that is.

Well, how spectacular was that Memorial Day weekend? Best of all, it was topped by two heavy rainstorms, at night, so we could enjoy the rain as we fell asleep and be happy in the knowledge that everything we've planted would have a good soak. Perfect.

Have you finished planting in your garden yet? I sowed more lettuce and spinach seeds for harvesting later in the season, while enjoying arugula, baby butterhead and a leafy green lettuce whose name I can't remember. It made a luscious salad last night with some fresh parsley from the garden.

There was a lot of weeding to be done, and monitoring of poison ivy, which seems to afflict my neighborhood in spades. I know birds love this stuff, but it's generally bad news for me. The first year in our new house, I had it three times. It was everywhere, and it seems nothing but a nuclear treatment (with chemicals) will snuff it out.

All that aside, this is a time for strolling around and enjoying the bright colors and freshness of new shoots. Now it's back to work ... can it be almost June already? A colleague remarked recently that this spring seems more beautiful than most. I agree. I almost don't want summer to follow.

Doesn't take much, just a little homegrown lettuce, to make me want to create beautiful salads for friends and family. Friends are coming this weekend and I plan to treat them to a big bowl of greens from the garden.

The more we read about tainted food from China, bad spinach from California and who knows what else, the more appealing the idea of growing our own becomes. You know exactly where it came from - the back yard. It's inexpensive - a few dollars for seed. And it tastes fantastic.

At this point, I'm a splintered shopper when it comes to food. Some comes from the food co-op. Some comes from the Reading Terminal or Whole Foods near work. And some, what I can't avoid, comes from the ghastly supermarkets that plague Northwest Philadelphia.

Often when I go to the suburbs, I marvel at the markets. There are shopping carts whose wheels go in the right direction when you push. Imagine! The people who work there are pleasant and helpful. Some even say hello before you do.

Not long ago, I asked in my neighborhood supermarket where to find something and the young man shrugged. "I have no idea. They keep changing things around." And that was that.

This was a few months after the Great Pineapple Showdown. Looking through the prepared pineapples, I noticed an expiration date of that very day. I asked the produce worker if he had any pineapples with a farther-away expiration date. He said these pineapples were fine. But might you have others? I asked. "I'm tryin' to help you, lady," he boomed, "but you won't let me." And he turned and walked away from me.

Almost every trip to the supermarket for me is an exercise in frustration and disgust. Lousy corn. Blueberries and tomatoes, in prime season, that aren't from New Jersey! Rotten service. What's the matter with these people? And what's wrong with shoppers that they don't complain?

So I'm making changes this year. I'm going to the supermarket as little as possible. I'll support Weavers Way food co-op in Mount Airy and the merchants at the terminal. And I'll grow as much as I can out back.

I'm feeling better already!

In the early morning light, some things in the garden pop out like the colors of a cartoon. I went outside this morning and was stopped in my tracks by the bright colors, the scents, the scene. It won't be looking like this all summer, I know, but for now, it's glorious. I don't want to go to work! That's not entirely true. I love my job. Even so, it's hard to tear myself away in the morning - especially at this time of year.

Cardinal climber is blooming in my back yard for the first time. It has tiny trumpet-shaped red flowers with yellow centers and wispy foliage. In fact, it looked so wispy I thought it would take a lot longer to support any blooms.

But there it was this morning, along with the chartreuse buds on the hydrangeas and the creamy white blossoms of the sweetbay magnolia. This is a quiet member of my gardening community. It's not flashy, except perhaps in colder weather when its fire-alarm red fruit feeds half the birds in Southeastern Pennsylvania. Or it just seems that way.

The official name of this lovely tree is Magnolia virginiana, and it blooms after its bigger pink cousins. I've never found those as fascinating, and they've got nowhere near the scent of this one. It's hard to describe, but if you put your nose right into the blossom, and drink deeply, you're stunned to discover that it smells kind of like perfume. A fine one. It's citrus-y. People say it's lemon-y. I don't know what to call it, but I know it wafts over the garden, hooks up with the honeysuckle hugging a wall nearby and travels on.

Open the kitchen door, walk outside and it's everywhere. The other night I just sat on the patio and inhaled. Yes, I inhaled! With eyes closed.

Tomorrow I'll be on the road in Brigantine, spending time with Stephen Scanniello, the rose guru who's a Jersey Guy through and through despite his international fame as a rosarian. Ron Tarver, staff photographer - and gardener - par excellence, will join me, as will Samantha Templeton, a Drexel intern this summer who's our resident videographer. This is all for a story on roses, of course, since we're sailing into rose season.

This being the new age of journalism, when you finally see our work, it will include a story with beautiful photos, an online version with more photos and a video that Samantha will shoot. I hope we can take you on a tour of the rose garden, a sort of "you are there" experience that only this crazy new age affords.

I'm really looking forward to seeing Stephen's rose garden and picking his brain about one of the world's favorite flowers. Mine, too, though like many gardeners they intimidate me with all the talk about pruning and spraying ...

One of the interesting things about Stephen is his desire to find environmentally friendly alternatives to all the chemicals rose lovers have traditionally used. Despite their delicate-looking flowers, a lot of roses get nuked with chemicals. You'd think they'd burn up or at least look brown around the edges.

I know someone who didn't understand the directions and so didn't dilute the chemical powder he was using to get rid of Japanese beetles or something. For some strange reason the roses didn't die. But for years afterwards, you'd lean down to smell a blossom and you'd get a blast of chemicals up your nostrils.

Like springtime in Chernobyl, if you will.