Rain Garden Revisited

In February, it seems that winter will never end. I was organizing photos and came across a bunch of the yard. It was heartening to see the lushness of spring and summer and be reminded that the world will take on more shades of green.

In early spring, the rain garden isn't much to look at, but the fountain draws in birds like crazy. That white PVC is the power cord and it will soon be covered in leafy lushness. We have nesting blue jays, robins, and cardinals that call the yard home. The robins especially love a pool party and nest in the lilac tree overlooking the fountain.

By June, the China Snow Pekin lilac (Syringa pekinensis 'Morton') is in full glorious bloom and perfumes the entire block. Although it may sucker like crazy, it's now two stories tall and probably will keep going. It provides shelter for birds and blooms when few other trees are putting on a show. That's a Rivers purple beech (Fagus sylvatica 'Riversii') which I simply adore for the fact that it's emphatically purrrrrple!

In July, the rain garden really kicks into gear as it is planted mostly in natives and of those, many prairie species. It's a butterfly magnet and if you click on the photo, you'll see an Eastern tiger swallowtail deeply enjoying the liatris. This is when we are lured to the little patio to watch the garden literally buzz with insect life.The prairie plants keep on dazzling well into September, so we are a nice pollinator pit stop, too.

This is a functioning rain garden. It is about 10 x 12 feet and it holds about a quarter of the roof volume. It keeps that side of the basement dry and percolates in mere hours. We are spoiled with deep black loamy clay soil that drains, so I didn't have to do any amending when we dug this. Beneficial and beautiful!

Ice Storm Interlude

This week's ice storm gave the yard a platinum finish of crystal. Already a slippery, stormy, memory, the ice does create some garden magic.

 The little bluestem is finally bowed, but not broken.

My little Pusch Norway spruce shrub was nicely gilded. This little darling only grows an inch or two a year. I love it's spring cones that are lipstick purple.

This Lespedeza sp. continues to delight in September when it is covered in hot pink pea-like flowers. The ice gives its winter shagginess new elegance. Like Buddleia, it gets cut to the ground each spring, fountaining up six feet each year.

The front yard with redbud and the inimitable hackberry in the parkway. That huge tree let fly volleys of ice all night, but didn't drop a limb!

Meticulous Mummifying of Trees

These are fairly mature Freeman-type maple trees. I bet they have bark fissures under there.

Things that make a horticulturist go 'hmmmmm' are many and varied. This, however, was a new one for me. Out on a lunch date with a good friend, we turned down this lovely suburban lane. I understand, even recommend, wrapping thin barked trees for winter protection. I like the brown paper tree wrap, but you can go this fancy with the burlap. Why wrap trees in winter?

1). Protect thin bark from sun scald which may cause cracks in the bark to form. On bright, sunny winter days, bark can warm up enough to stimulate cellular activity. Once the sun goes down and temperatures plummet, those cells freeze and die. You'll often see vertical cracks or fissures on the south or west sides of young maple trees, particularly the Freeman types. Tree wrap helps keep the temperatures at the bark from fluctuating as much.

2). Protect tree bark from animal grazing from rabbits or voles. Hungry critters will dine on thin tree bark when they run out of other options. They can be particularly fond of fruit trees or fruit bearing trees like apples, crabapples, and serviceberries. I fence my tender trees, shrubs, and roses in winter to keep the bunnies from grazing. Rabbits have preferences, so don't be afraid to ask when you purchase woody plants if they are favored by the bunnies. Tree wrap acts as a barrier between rodent and bark, which is why you want to go all the way down to the soil level.

In these photos, however, are a bunch of mature trees with nice thick insulating bark. They aren't species that rabbits favor and besides, they've got mature corky bark, not thin, delicate, tasty bark. Someone has done a very elegant job of wrapping these trees, but it is utterly unnecessary. Plus, they are located in an old suburb and have large, mature trees around them, minimizing the chances of sun scald on those maples. As we continued driving down this particular street, trees were wrapped like this over and over again with newly planted trees ignored. So bizarre. Such a waste of time and money. At least they weren't volcano mulched.

This is an ash tree. The tree wrap doesn't go down far enough and is utterly pointless on this type of tree. I hope they are treating it for emerald ash borer.

(Thanks, Jen, for putting up with my swearing and taking the photos! Check out her new business - dayhouse coworking)

Amaryllis for Sanity or Flower Power in Winter

Amaryllis 'Amadeus'

This week, Chicagoland is taking a page from the tundra and dipping into perhaps historic lows in the negatives. So of course...my first amaryllis bloomed! The other three are dragging their little green feet. I don't really mind. January, I can tough out. It's February and March when I start to get twitchy. It looks like I will have weeks of huge tropical flowers to keep me happy and somewhat sane.

There's quite some complicated taxonomy in the background of my innocent flower. The botanic name for my amaryllis is Hippeastrum and it is native to South America. True Amaryllis are native to South Africa and are sometimes referred to as naked ladies as they first will produce foliage, then go dormant, and finally send up flower stalks. Linnaeus described Amaryllis first, then explorers disccovered Hippeastrum and botanists started wrangling over which plant went where on the taxonimic tree all the way until 1987!

The Hippeastrum we call amaryllis and buy in quantities at Christmas has been a popular houseplants since the 1800s. It's easy to see why. Amaryllis are pretty low maintenance and they reward your neglect with amazing flowers for weeks and weeks!

I get my amaryllis to re-flower every year by forcing the bulbs into dormancy in the fall. I basically stop watering them for six weeks. My father goes to great lengths and tucks them in the basement where it's cool and dark. Mine seem to do fine with just restricting water and happily populate the south window in my study. I have had the occasional scale outbreak, but systemic houseplant insecticide does the trick nicely.

What flowers save your sanity in winter?

A Forgiveness of Snow

Backyard magic

January seems to have finally arrived with a nice bit of snow and a wintry mix of ice, sleet, rain, and whatever else Mother Nature contrives to throw at us. I love the snow. I love how it blankets and slithers through the landscape, covering any number of gardening sins or neglect. A bench left out becomes a piece of garden architecture. Trees become magical scaffolds limned in white. And you can't see all the pesky weeds.

Snow also insulates the soil and gives a low slow seep of moisture when we thaw. My snowdrops are safely tucked away for now. For this northerner, it isn't winter without a canvas of the white stuff. It magnifies the shifting colors of the evergreens. The sun patterns it with etchings of branch shadows. Tracks of rabbits become secret paths as foxes stalk their routes.

I even enjoy shoveling it. Pushing piles of buttercream around as the cardinal couple gossips in the hedges on a quiet frosty morning is my favorite form of cardio. What kind of weather magic do you love?

Seasons of Schizachyrium

Summer loveliness

Schizachyrium scoparium or little bluestem is my favorite grass. This tough prairie native thrives in full sun and puts up with part shade. I have fallen head over heels for its steely blue foliage, spectacular fall color, and elegant winter silhouette. 

I've planted a bunch in the rain garden in different zones. What has been interesting is where it chooses to seed itself. Note, this is not an aggressive self-seeding grass, but when given ideal conditions, it seems to wander around a little bit. The rain garden is allowed to be a free-for-all of self-seeding and colonization. The little bluestem has been at the core of my (continually) evolving sense of garden design and maintenance. Perhaps it was two years immersed in ecological restoration, but at this point my focus has shifted. I'm going to plan and plant the garden areas and then, other than weed, see what they do. I'm not keeping plants to rigid forms or the inflexible order of rows or patterns. I want to see what, when allowed to do their thing, plants communities form or dissolve. Call it survival of the fittest. Darwinian garden design?

With it's friends Amsonia illustris in the fall.

I have straight species little bluestem plus the cultivars 'Carousel' and 'Standing Ovation' planted in the rain garden. They are hanging out in the shadier section and sort of just sitting there. I have two self-seeding plants. One is in the mid-tier of the garden that will on occasion flood if we get several inches of rain. The other is on the upper tier in the most sun. That one is something very special. It is right at the edge along the path. It is topping out around three feet and staying in a nice tidy clump. In summer it is a glorious lace curtain powdery blue-green softness and really shimmers in the sun. The fall color is typical of  Schizachyrium - a mauve, carmine, sand, purple, sienna, maroon kaleidoscope of autumn. What has impressed me this year, though, is it is still standing in winter. Now an attractive sandy blond, it keeps popping back up, even after a heavy wet snow. So much to love with this grass! 

Hanging out in winter

If you get a chance, I urge you to try a little bluestem in your gardens. Not only is it gorgeous in every season, it also feeds a host of skipper butterflies and some songbirds. Beauty and beneficial!

Suddenly Snowdrops!

See those charming little green tips poking out from under the leaves? Snowdrops! One day in the 50s and pop! They appear. I'm leaving them be in their cozy nest of katsura and Allegheny viburnum leaves. The dollop of rabbit scat will give them some extra nutrients.

I don't think they will do much besides poke their noses out of the leaves until March when we get a solid stretch of highs in the 50s. Maybe. All bets are off with climate change. Last year it snowed in April.

Snowdrops are one of my favorite flowers. I admire their ability to be supremely elegant in flower while remaining tough as nails. I cherish their fleeting ephemeral grace that reminds me that beauty is everywhere if we take the time to look for it. I'll be checking on these lovelies every day until they flower and fade. It gives me an excuse to trot out to the back end of the yard and see the homestead from a different perspective. Plus, katsura leaves become fragrant when they turn and fall, so it's with a zing of spiced sugar that I crouch down and check on these markers of spring.