Meg’s Wildlife Sanctuary and Boot Camp

Oak

2008-10-14T21:06:00.006-04:00

The oak overstory in our garden is 16 red and white and perhaps black oaks. Years ago a woodcutter identified each one, but that was before it mattered to me and I no longer remember the details.

In the late 1970's we bought our first home in a quiet shady neighborhood in Columbus, Ohio. The soil was deep and black and rich, and all manner of flora grew easily there. On a street near our home was a long and low ranch house, sided in gray wood. In front of the house stood a grand white oak, perhaps 100 feet tall, one massive trunk weathered to a light gray, anchored solidly in the front yard, extending its limbs the full length of the house, 70 feet or more. It was an inspiring gift from nature, probably assisted by an arborist.

I often thought I would buy that house (oak) if it came up for sale, but by the time I saw the realtor's sign in the yard, we were already moving to North Carolina.

Fifteen years later, we were passing through Ohio and drove to our old neighborhood in Columbus. On the side street, the gray house was still there, but the oak was long gone, perhaps lost to lightening or lawn lust. The ranch was now an ordinary gray house, and the street was an ordinary midwestern street. Lawn after lawn, a sea of kelly green grass.

Gentle spirit

2008-09-30T21:38:00.017-04:00

This post is dedicated to Betty R., who lost her son a year ago.

I am carrying her heart in my heart today.

This morning, this baby hare sat quietly for a long moment beneath the lantana. When she saw the camera, she ran into the underbrush.

This Painted Lady butterfly is often seen in autumn. Today she nectars on the lantana while I photograph the baby hare.

A regular visitor, this stout toad sits silently on a damp spot behind a flowerpot and waits for an unsuspecting insect.

I am remembering his gentle spirit today.

And you are in my thoughts and prayers.

You

2008-09-23T21:14:00.004-04:00

At dinner, my daughter mentioned my blog.

"It's so 'you.' "

The fiance added, "I think it's nice in a Brady Bunch kind of way."

They must have overlooked the hot steamy beds of zinnias and lantana.

And the abundant maiden ferns scattered throughout my garden.

I wish I had photographed the stinkhorn before it disappeared. I never saw one of those on the Brady Bunch.

Endings

2008-09-21T11:00:00.007-04:00

Today is the last day of summer. After three long months of sweat and mosquitos, the mornings cool and suddenly summer is at its end.

Late flowers are abundant. Perennial heliopsis lasts well into autumn and annual pentas are at their peak. Impatiens continue to seed themselves about, although their sprouts will not mature by frost.

Asters are among the last to flower and they bloom until mid October. Bees adore these plants and you can hear them humming from inside the house.

Trees begin to change color. The buckeye along the path is among the first to turn, a reminder that life is a cycle of birth and death.

Not much has changed in the garden in memory of my Dad. Today is the anniversary of his death. I miss him.

Late summer

2008-09-14T22:19:00.006-04:00

The outside temperatures have been in the 90's for the past several days, but that doesn't stop the late summer flowers from strutting their stuff.

White snakeroot, Eupatorium rugosum, planted itself in the back yard next to the false sunflower, Helianthus helianthoides, as goldenrod, Solidago rugosum, tried to sneak up through the back. In this part of the garden, these natives attract bees in the early afternoon, but at no other time of day.

The asters starting blooming today. I moved them to their current spot last February and they are thriving, although rabbits nibble on them constantly.

I planted red pentas for the first time this year because I read that they attracted hummingbirds and butterflies. Unfortunately, that was not my experience. Still, they look great next to our native Solidago rugosum "Fireworks," a pollinator magnet.

The green headed coneflower, Rudbeckia laciniata, blooms in fairly heavy shade. It is a native, and I would love to buy more, but I only find seeds for sale. I have no luck with seeds.

The abundance of late summer in a backyard wildlife habitat.

Wedding venue - Lodge

2008-09-08T21:31:00.004-04:00

Ten miles north of Durham, the city created a park by the shore of Lake Michie, the source of the city's drinking water. There are trails through the woods and along the lake. Campsites are scattered here and there. High above the lakeshore is a lodge, built in the 1930's with round logs with chinking between them, in the Adirondack style.

Inside the lodge, the rooms are rustic and seem to ramble here and there. In the center are two large rooms with wood burning fireplaces, which are operable. These fireplaces are made of fieldstone with heavy wood mantles. The walls are log-cabin style and the floors are hardwood. The beams are thick and solid.

This fireplace is in a smaller room that opens wide to the side of the first. Outside this room is a rustic open air porch surrounded by a tangle of trees and vines and through it all, you can catch a glimpse of Lake Michie.

Outside there is a wide grassy area, an acre or two, with two grand tulip trees that cast dappled shade. The grass is mowed to the edge of the woods, thick with vegetation, a peaceful and restful spot, even on a hot afternoon.

September

2008-09-02T21:37:00.004-04:00

In the heat of summer, we wait quietly for September. Mornings are cool on some days and after a 90 degree afternoon, the sun shows some mercy by setting before 8:00.

On Labor Day, leaves on the ironweed begin to yellow and the foliage on the passionvine begins to turn grey. But sunflowers and goldenrod are yellow beacons in the garden and purple spiderwort begins its second bloom of the season.

Caryopteris clandonensis is past its peak but is still attractive to pollinators.

Black swallowtail caterpillars arrive on our parsley in September. And crickets sing their loudest every evening, in hopes of mating before the frost, and even then a few survivors continue a dirge until Christmas.

Berry producing plants are at their peak in September. This beautyberry, Callicarpa americana, planted itself in the side garden. It is more attractive to birds than its parent, which is ignored until its fruit falls off in late winter.

The fruits of the passionvine remain green, even when fully ripe. Heavy with fruit, our passionvine produces few blooms in September, but bumblebees continue to work their magic on the flowers.

Milkweed

2008-09-01T21:01:00.003-04:00

Asclepias syriaca is a bold plant. With coarse foliage and tall stalks, it looks best with tall finely cut leaved plants. Beside the driveway, it mingles with garden giants like tall coreopsis, Coreopsis tripteris, and ironweed, Vernonia noveboracensis.

In spring, common milkweed produces pink clusters of flowers with a heavenly fragrance. Bees go crazy for milkweed, which plays a trick on them. The flowers trap the legs of insects in tiny sticky holes. As the bees shake free, they insure pollination. Our wildlife garden hums with activity when milkweed comes into bloom.

Milkweed wanders around the garden but rarely seeds itself about. Surprisingly, a milkweed sprout popped up near the button bush on the opposite side of the garden. Under a leaf, I discovered the first monarch caterpillar of the season.

Milkweed, misfortunate name for a delightful plant.

Wedding venue - Farm

2008-08-31T21:24:00.002-04:00

The farm was the most complicated site that we visited.

As visitors approach, the silo announces that this has been a working farm.

The structure where receptions are held has white wood shingles and a grey tin roof, surrounded by traditional Southern shrubs planted a generation ago.

One side of the structure had a rambling porch.

The other side had a covered porch with wide wooden tables for a cookout. In the grass were traditional roadside picnic tables.

Inside is a series of quirky rooms on several levels. In this one, brown wooden booths line the walls.

The dance floor is on the lowest level, where brown columns are topped by a tangle of branches, lit by hundreds of tiny lights.

Formerly a dairy farm, rolling hills and countryside surround the buildings. Many brides choose to be married under a massive oak tree with a pond near by. I wish I had gotten a photo of the tree.

Wedding venue - Barn

2008-08-31T20:42:00.006-04:00

For rustic weddings and receptions, the barn is a most popular site and brides make their reservations more than a year ahead of the date.

The barn lives up to its name in appearance. The wood is beautiful in color and contains no lingering scents. It was originally built for conferences and has never been a working barn.

The barn has long and deep covered porches. This porch is near the driveway.

A second porch is along the back of the house.

The barn is surrounded by 85 acres of woods. Nearest to the barn, the woods are young with many saplings.

In a clearing, there is a pond.

On a square deck surrounded by the woods, the fireplace is a warm and cozy place to exchange vows. There is kindling nearby and for music, there are speakers.

Inside the barn is a large room for dining and dancing. The room is nicely proportioned and the wood is a warm brown tone.

Brown

2008-08-24T21:09:00.005-04:00

Happy Birthday, Brown eyed girl

This butterfly is known as a buckeye and it rests on a passion vine in my August garden. Spots on butterfly wings are "eyes" and on this buckeye, they are deep brown in color.

This takes me back to a time 40+ years ago, when you insisted that your favorite color was brown. You came under considerable pressure to alter your opinion, but you could never be persuaded that pink or green or blue was a better choice.

Brown -- the perfect choice for an August birthday girl.

Rich dark chocolate cake.

The icy shimmer of root beer on a hot summer day.

Thick mud squishing between your toes on a rainy afternoon.

You're my brown eyed girl.

Sha la la la la la la la la la la te da.

Wedding venue - Historic inn

2008-08-16T17:41:00.006-04:00

Today we started looking for a place to celebrate a wedding. We visited a historic house in town with three acres of lawn and gardens.

The house is on the historic register, the Hall-Mann house. The house is set back from the street and the porch is inviting.

Most of the lawn is in the back. This is a long view across the yard.

Between two mature trees is a sitting area.

Another view of the sitting area.

I love the furrowed bark on this old tree. The birdhouses in the trees are really lights for evening parties.

Another view across the yard.

To the side is a shelter. I didn't care for the style, but it has electricity. The owner suggested serving the food here and placing a tent in front.

Down the yard to the pond.

At the end of a wide lawn is a wooden swing in the shade. Nearby is a circular concrete picnic table with umbrella. There are many seating areas around the garden for small groups.

Side yard savanna. This side of the yard also has a grape arbor and a pear tree loaded with green pears.

Other side yard with trellis with Carolina jessamine. Behind the fence is a seating area and pond with the biggest koi I have ever seen.

Picture window

2008-07-30T21:36:00.007-04:00

I moved a university library this weekend. Not alone -- we hired a company that specializes in library relocations, plus a second firm to move our office belongings.

Our new library is glass and steel with wide views of an oak/hickory forest on the North and South. My office has a big picture window, a thin sheet of glass that separates the calm green of nature from the chaos of boxes and bins in my office.

As I boxed up 25 years of worklife, I found a notecard on my bulletin board, A Fairy Tale by Carlton A. Smith. For years, I have treasured the image of a mother and two daughters from the 19th century. Inside, a message to me was written in 1986 by a former employee, a sensitive and bright young woman with brown hair. She had moved to Durham alone right out of college, and her first job was in our library. She avoided speaking about family and rarely mentioned friends. If she grew lonely, she never said. She worked intensely with us for several months and then moved on.

22 years later, I read her card in my new office. As she speaks to me again, I sense her fragility with an ache in my heart. I search for her on the internet and find someone with the same name and of the proper age, who seems to be homeless and insane. I file the card away but am haunted by her memory.

Please say a prayer for my sweet and gentle friend.

Futile plans

2008-07-25T15:11:00.006-04:00

In the South, between the burst of bloom in spring and the rave of color in fall, there is a long hot humid summer, which is mostly green. Even annuals tire out mid-season.

Years ago, I made a plan to spice up the green doldrums -- a red and white garden to bloom in July. A man from the local gardenshop looked at the site and suggested crape myrtles. I planted three red crapes against the back fence. White crapes would form a beautiful contrast to the red. Deep green oaks would be the backdrop. That was the plan.

The red-and-white theme continued in the flowersbeds nearby, with white Phlox paniculata "David" and red bee balm, Monarda "Jacob Kline." By the end of fall, all plants were healthy and strong. So far, the plan was working perfectly.

The first summer, the red crape myrtles bloomed a garish pink color. Still, the blooms looked good against the deep green of the oaks and the fluffy white blooms of the other crapes.

By the second year, one of the white trees began to show a smattering of pink blooms, which increased every year. Today, one of the "white" trees is completely pink, in a soft shell tone. The three reds are deep pink. The remaining white crape took a direct hit from an oak tree in a hurricane and has been in recovery for years.

The red and white perennials are gone also. The soil in the bed nearly proved too dry and shady for bee balm and phlox. They were moved and in their places, I am trying white wood aster and black cohosh.

The red and white July garden that I planned years ago is not red or white in July. Summer is green. But I have learned to love the color green. This year, we have gotten ample rain and the garden is lush and verdant.

Views

2008-07-20T16:34:00.005-04:00

Except for a brief excursion to the curb each Thursday morning, trash bin #9605219 stands stoutly in the side yard. This is what it sees:

The old Chrysler minivan no longer has air conditioning or back seat, but it does have a pretty view of impatiens every weekend.

Here's what the Rain King sees:

Brush

2008-07-19T09:45:00.010-04:00

Wildlife garden writers often suggest adding a brush pile in a remote corner of the yard. A brush pile in a wooded area is one of the most valuable parts of a wildlife garden, they advise. In spring and summer, a brush pile provides a nesting spot for birds, amphibians, and small mammals, and in winter is a refuge for many creatures.

For several years, we piled our tree trimmings in a corner of our pie-shaped lot. Eventually, it formed a pile about 3 feet in height and 6 feet in diameter. Our next door neighbors have a 6 foot fence so we didn't hear any complaints.

In the fall, I decided to compost oak leaves on that spot, so I moved the brush pile about 10 feet farther back, under mature oaks, and young maples and hickories.

I concentrated when picking up each piece of wood, to avoid an encounter with a snake. I was startled by a sound. The neighbor who lives behind us stood at the edge of her yard, her eyes small and hard. "I've beeen watching for you," she hissed. "What are you doing?" I explained about the brush pile. "BULL!!" she said. "You are moving the pile there to antagonize me." My husband was nearby and came to speak to her, but in the end she moved on saying, "Why can't you have a yard like everyone else's."

I left my brush pile in place, although I am careful to keep it under three feet in height. I often hear scratching and scurrying in that woody area. Birds search for insects among the branches and chipmunks make a quick get-away into the brush. Squirrels and rabbits are invited make their homes in this small corner of our garden, just has humans have made their homes throughout the neighborhood.

Crape myrtle

2008-07-13T00:07:00.010-04:00

The crape myrtle at the end of the driveway is at its peak for your birthday, Lizziebrod. I wish I could give it to you as a gift.

One hot summer, a cardinal raised her family there. She seemed annoyed whenever I would check on the progress of her brood.

This week I noticed the twiggy nest of a brown thrasher in the holly tree. The babies stretched their skinny necks helplessly into the air, while the thrasher chirped a warning from her post nearby. When I went to check on them the next day, the nest was empty.

I hope I am the first to say happy birthday to the crazy bird lady of St. Louis.

Hope

2008-07-12T16:33:00.005-04:00

To my sister with a heavy heart and healing hands. Thanks for going on, even when you didn't want to, so I could wish you a happy birthday. I hope today brings you a moment of unexpected beauty.

Monastery

2008-07-12T13:00:00.004-04:00

In Nice in June, I took the bus up a tall hill to the Matisse museum. A tiny old woman sitting near me on the bus spoke only French, but she advised me on the proper bus stop for the museum, then added that the Cimiez monastary nearby had magnificent stained glass windows created by Chagall. At least, that's what I thought she said.

At Cimiez, the church had only small windows, which predated Chagall by a few centuries. I walked up to the second floor of the monastary, where a small crowded Franciscan museum showed the way of life for monks in the 17th century. Gregorian chant played softly in the background. In one small stone room, a woman stood weeping quietly with her back to the door.

Outside in the formal Italianate garden, brightly colored flowers like cockscombs, marigolds and petunias were mixed together and framed by tidy strips of grass. It was hot in the midday sun and I found an old bench under an olive tree that offered views of the hills of Nice below and beyond that, the sea. An elderly woman walked over and I invited her to share my bench. She spoke to me in French for a long time, although I could not understand or reply.

France

2008-07-06T19:37:00.006-04:00

At the end of June, I went to Nice, then on to Provence. Sunny and hot, Nice offered wonderful food, beautiful architecture and interesting museums. People were welcoming and patient. We stayed in an expensive hotel across the street from the Mediterranean Sea, as my husband was on business.

Plage means beach, but Nicoise plages are nothing like NC beaches. The water is still and blue, and the shore is covered with smooth blue-gray stones. I didn't see any nude sunbathers there, but heavy and hirsute men in Speedos satisfy any voyeristic tendencies.

I had imagined Nice as a bouquet of flowers. Some residents grew bouganvilla and lantana in windowsboxes that overlook the narrow streets, but most public gardens have trees, shrubs and grass with wide concrete paths and classic benches and fountains. Someone advised me to see parc de la colline du Chateau at sunset; you take the elevator to the top of a cliff overlooking the Meditaranean and you can see all the way to Monaco, they said.

We started out at 7:15 and walked quickly in the 90 degree heat. When we reached the ascenseur, we found it closed, requiring us to walk a million steps in the hot sun to the top. Heat reflected off the stone cliffs beside the stairs. When we finally climbed to the summit, a policeman appeared and blew a whistle to announce the park was closing. Everyone out.

We made our way back down the stairs and ate dinner at the marketplace in midieval Vieux Nice, choosing a table near the old Roman arches. The breeze was refreshing. As we ate, French families arrived from all directions to eat at the cafes in the marketplace. As darkness fell, televisions appeared in the cafes, tuned in to the national soccer semifinals. The mood was light. We were hungry and the food was fresh. It was one of our best meals in France.

Alaska

2008-07-05T23:26:00.007-04:00

My daughter is leaving for Alaska. She is 23 years old with her whole life ahead of her. When I was 23, I found my first full-time job, bought my first car and rented my first apartment. That spring, I planted coleus on a thin strip of earth bordering the concrete patio. This was my first gardening mistake as they burned up over the summer.

Now 33 years later, my garden is a third of an acre, and mature, with an oak overstory 50+ years old. The azaleas beneath them were already established when we bought our home 20 years ago. Understory trees like dogwoods and pawpaws are at least 10 years old. Garden beds with a variety of shrubs and perennials meander here and there, reflecting my interests over the years.

There is a satisfaction in the ease and familiarity of a mature garden. I enjoy the constancy and comfort of memories spanning 20 years. A garden slowly takes shape after a thousand small decisions over time. And while I ask myself why I didn't plant redbuds instread of crape myrtles, for the most part, I am comfortable with my garden.

Sometimes at night, I dream I am 23 years old. I wake up longing to have those years back. But if that were possible, it would require giving up my garden.

June

2008-06-18T22:59:00.005-04:00

It felt great outdoors today -- after two weeks of temperatures around 100 degrees. Heat and humidity in NC summers make gardening a challenge.

Plants that normally get no respect (Hemerocallis fulva, for example) shine during tough times. When I was a new gardener, orange daylilies were the first plants I tried. I used a hatchet to chop a hole in the compacted soil beside the driveway. When the daylilies bloomed the first year, I concluded that gardening was easy in NC. That is true, as long as you stick with orange daylilies.

Monarda 'Jacob Kline' likes a moist sunny spot. He wandered around my garden for a few years and ended up in a large plastic pot. Last year, I tore fistfuls of Jacob out of his pot and planted him along the pathway to the front door. He grew tall and stately, but when the scarlet flowers were at their peak, the stems flopped over onto the blue Brazilian sage, Salvia guaranitica. Jacob was humiliated and I cut him to the ground. This year, he returned.

Native passionvine (Passiflora incarnata) thrives in the heat and humidity of Southern summers. Bees love to crawl through the intricate flowers. Chipmunks are said to enjoy the fruit, although I have never seen any evidence of this in my garden.

Disappointment

2008-06-17T21:41:00.007-04:00

Last weekend was spent at a family reunion in Indiana, and I left my garden in the care of my husband. I appreciated his willingness since he has rated my garden as too large to manage.

Four days later, I returned at midnight and I woke early the next morning to walk about my garden. I put fresh water in the birdbaths and noted the need for a vigorous scrubbing. I pulled the passionvines (Passiflora incarnata) off the salvia (Salvia guaranitica) and the crossvine (Bignonia capreolata) off the blue mist shrub (Caryopteris 'First Choice'). I gave the potted plants a good dose of water. Then I noticed the tub pond. The fish were dead and a small bird was floating on its side, covered in maggots. The water was a murky brown with a bad odor.

I asked my husband if he he knew what had happened with the pond. He had fed the fish on Sunday and everything had seemed fine. He expressed his regrets, especially for disappointing me.

A memory came to mind:
One Sunday morning when I was 17, I asked my aunts Esther and Rena to take me to Mass with them at the Cathedral downtown. My aunts were unmarried career women with one child between them. At the time, my mother was in the hospital, having birthed her 13th child. As I left the house, my father called me to his bedroom and told me how disappointed he was in me because I was not taking my younger siblings to our parish church across the street.

As Esther pulled the car out of her garage, the door hit my shoulder. It hurt but not terribly. In the car, I cried for several minutes while everyone sat in silence, as is our way.

God's creatures

2008-06-08T14:00:00.007-04:00

Many creatures are at home in my garden. While my amateur camera skills prevented me from photographing birds this weekend, a few creatures were kind enough to remain still for a second or two.

Birds throw seeds from the feeders to the chipmunks waiting below. This little one has a mouthful.

Our garden has 16 oaks, with a squirrel's nest in almost every one.

Bumblebee on Salvia guaranitica. Bees and hummingbirds love blue Brazilian sage. In March I dug out and discarded a big clump of it because I thought the roots were diseased. Mistake. Tony Avent reported in his newletter this month that the tubers store water during dry spells, making the plant drought tolerant.

Behind the bee balm (Monarda 'Jacob Kline') and daylilies (Hemerocallis fulva), a sweet creature is willing me to go inside our cool house on a hot afternoon.

Pond

2008-06-03T21:14:00.003-04:00

When we purchased our house in 1987, the spring peepers chorused their mating songs in the wild swampy areas around our neighborhood for a few weeks each spring. Once these areas underwent development, these sounds faded until they ceased altogether.

Late one winter, I bought a round black tub at the garden center on15-501, as well as two water plants, corkscrew rush (Juncus effussus) and golden club(Orontium aquaticum). I set up the tiny pond and waited for months, but no spring peepers appeared.

In the summer, my friend Ellen found a green frog in her own small pond. The frog attracted the attention of her cat, so Ellen scooped the frog into a bucket and released him into my pond. He seemed happy enough. Ellen and I celebrated our success at lunch at Shanghai, but when we returned, the frog was floating in the water, dead.

When Ellen returned home 30 minutes later, there was already another frog in her pond. She didn't offer to bring it to my pond, not that I blame her. She assured me that another frog would find its way to my pond before the end of summer. But by October, my pond was still barren. In the winter, I moved it to a shady part of the garden, where it was partially hidden by cinnamon ferns (Osmunda cinnamomea) and common daylilies (Hemerocallis fulva).

This spring I bought goldfish. They disappeared into the black water. After a week, one fish was discovered floating on it's side in the pond. That night, I brought a flashlight to the pond and tried to pierce the darkness with light. There was only the reflection of the round white beam. I wondered about the still water. I plunged my hand deep into the black pond. It was colder than I imagined. I felt around for goldfish, but came up disappointed.