Ruminations

Blog dedicated primarily to randomly selected news items; comments reflecting personal perceptions

Monday, May 14, 2007

Container Gardens




This spring seems somehow to have accelerated all green growing things. It was as though winter, so reluctant to leave, finally did, so late that we were explosively thrust past spring into summer. One day we were huddling under the onslaught of a late winter storm, the next the snow melted and following that summer descended with uncommonly early heat, confusing us and the vegetation that surrounds us. Finally, the heat dissipated, bringing us back to the missing season. But again, the mystery that is spring awakening is so swift it has taken us aback at the alacrity with which tender green leaf-buds have been transformed into a full-blown green canopy.

Up until now I've planted a few more perennials in our gardens; delphiniums, phlox, that kind of thing. Their future dazzles my expectations of tall and regal flower stalks delighting our senses. The floral seed packets I've carefully hoarded would have to wait, I scolded my impetuous self, anxious to get out there and sow them prematurely, as has often been my wont, and their unfortunate cold-snap fate. Until today. Today, a sunny, balmy 20 degrees following a spate of several weeks of the same, seemed as auspicious a day as any to take the seed packets in hand and disperse them into the waiting, warmed garden soil.

The dahlias that I was eager to dig into the garden, but yet withheld that impulse, and installed in the basement to wait upon opportunity; the begonia bulbs that I'd carefully stored in a wooden box, the nasturtium seeds that I'd hoarded over winter, and the sole ipomea waited patiently for the right time. Meanwhile, in a burst of energy, my husband began hauling out all of our garden pots, the clay, ceramic and stone urns which we carefully place here and there and just about everywhere in our gardens, front and back. They comprise our Mediterranean-style garden when I bring out my mental artist-palette and arrange colour and texture and architecture in miniature displays of summer excess, cramming as many flowering treats and vines into each as possible.

It took hours for all the pots to be positioned, relying on memory and correcting for aesthetic appeal. And then began the task of mixing garden soil, peat moss and sheep manure to the desired texture, from the large bags containing same to the wheelbarrow for blending, then doling it all out, one wheelbarrow-full after another, into the waiting garden containers. When all of that heavy lifting was done, that's when I sprang into action, adding bone-meal to the potted soil, and dreaming of visiting our favourite nurseries. Knowing full well it would take more than merely one, two or three trips before acquiring sufficient quantities of mixed annual varieties for each floral-mix composition. That's scheduled for quite another day.

It sufficed this day to plant the dahlias in the little round garden surrounding our third-size copy of Discobolus, one each in front of the columnar cedars, beside the ball-cedars, in back of the still-luminous tulips. One of the dahlias has already sprouted, that cleverly eager living entity. Then attention turned to the boxful of begonias, most of which had already delightfully sprouted as well, one even hosting miniature red/green leaflets. Those were carefully planted in some of the many clay garden pots we've got assembled in the back gardens, and to ensure I would know what was planted where, I used black marker on popsicle sticks to identify what was planted, where. The ipomea, also sprouted delightfully in miniature, accompanied two begonias into a pot seated high on a pedestal, beside our Three Graces.

Then into the freshly-raked gardens, delicate seeds of gelato red Mesembryanthemum; new for our gardens, followed by varicoloured Nigelle, 'Persian jewels', all marked with identifying popsicle sticks in their little planted plots. Then to be dispersed, early-flowering, orange-brown, middling-sized sunflowers, planted here and there wherever it seemed sufficient sun would catch the flowers and there was ample room for each to reach to the sky. I dug out a few creeping Jenny vines from the rock garden to plant in a few of the pots alongside the begonias, and also planted seeds for black-eyed Susan vines. Looking good. And even though I've marked up popsicle sticks I know full well I'll make mistakes and mess things around, but some of the seeds will germinate and gift us with colour and texture and surprise.

The tender anemones, the snake-head fritallery, the Easter violets are still in bloom in the rock garden, joined now by the bergena, the bleeding hearts. The tulips are in every state, from still evolving, to full bloom, and some consigned to the past. Around we go to the front gardens, where nasturtiums are poked into a few hanging baskets, and mixed-colour asters are planted in the borders, along with azalea-flowered godetia. Tomorrow is another day, and it may perhaps be the day we decide to procure the many flats of annuals we require to fill the container pots. The challenge is yet before us, but the thrill of early-onset gardening has warmed our expectations and piqued our anxiety to get on with it.

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