Open Up Your Eyes

Hamamelis x intermedia 'Diane'

February is the month for garden seminars and I attended two last week that were top notch.

Douglas Tallamy, Prof. of Entomology and Wildlife Ecology at the U. of Delaware, spoke at the venerable Piedmont Landscape Assn.’s annual gathering in Charlottesville. He blew away the  650+ audience (ensconced in the splendor of the ornate Paramount Theatre) with his message of conserving the insect-bird-mammal chain that sustains us all. Spontaneous standing O at 10:30 in the morning.

Bottom line: plant oaks. At the top of his list, they sustain 534 different kinds of butterfly larvae. His beautiful photos of caterpillars alone were worth the price of admission.

I am avidly looking for his Bringing Nature Home (2007) which my friend, Hans, who tends the presidential gardens at RIT, says changed his life.

Three days later I encountered Eliot Coleman at UVA. Spritely author of Four Season Harvest and spouse of garden writer Barbara Damrosch, he spoke to a rapt audience of students and local gardener/foodies who soaked up his message of sustainable use of the land.

There is a yearning out there for making peace with this world.

Let us all blunder on.

Beech Watch Begins 2/16/11

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Milo’s Play Toys

Even though we live on a gravel road in the country, I still worry sometimes about what people think as they drive by. There’s the old cedar post fence we’ve been dismantling over the past couple of years, which is turning into a nice jumble of honeysuckle, mugwort and bittersweet, and the big pile of firewood dumped in a snaky line by the drive (we ordered double this fall after a mid-blizzard delivery of green wood last season).

And then there’s Milo’s play toys.

A Jack Russell terrier who came to us from a scrabble city lot 10 years ago with a plastic neck cone and a cast on his back leg, he rules his domain here in the hollow. If karma has any meaning, he is the reincarnation of someone who deserved a really, really good life on the next plateau.

He needs no store bought toys – a plastic cone filled with peanut butter, squeaky fluff balls or other such degenerate stuff. An empty plastic soda bottle (green Seagram’s ginger ale preferred) or  red coffee jug does him just fine and he’s a delight to see scampering about, piercing them with his teeth, tossing them in the air and turning on a dime to re-attack. I think Milo is God’s play toy.

It’s all recycling to me, but might look like trash to someone passing.

We can look and yet not understand what we see. But when I see Milo I know I’m looking at sheer perfection.

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A Better View

The view from the front porch to the potting shed is much improved without last year’s ice shelf and our soil looks better, too. There’s so much you can do when you don’t have to slog through 2 feet of snow.

Wood Ash

Over the winter we’ve  distributed old wood stove ashes (let them sit at least a week in a fireproof tub – no sparks!) on the vegetable garden, perennial beds and shrub borders. Our native clay will always be acidic because of the granite bedrock on this side of the mountain, unlike the limestone that underlays the Shenandoah Valley to the west.

Sweet or Sour?

Of course if you’re growing azaleas and rhododendrons and lots of wildflowers, they like their native soil just fine and but many of the old-fashioned ornamentals – like lilac, boxwood, bearded iris and herbs – prefer a non-acidic soil above 6.5 ph (7 is neutral and above that is “sweet” or alkaline). When I saw that moss was creeping into a bed of transplanted peonies and iris, I knew the wood ashes would be just the ticket.

From tree to firewood to heat for the house, to ash to organic potash to feed the soil and new roots – that’s a good closed cycle we try to repeat as much as possible here in the hollow.

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New Year

We’ve spent the first weeks of ought eleven clearing brush and thanking God for the dry weather, so different from the claustrophobic ice-cave of last year’s Snowpocalypse. Severe times make us grateful for what we have. This winter storms have sped up the coast leaving us high and dry in our little Blue Ridge hollow. A good time to attack the old fence line along the road that’s finally rotted into a mass of honeysuckle, spindly posts and bits of wire. When things are bare down to the bone, it’s a good time to do some clearing.

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