Meg’s Wildlife Sanctuary and Boot Camp

Brown

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 01:09:00 +0000

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 presure 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

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Sat, 16 Aug 2008 21:41:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 01:36:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 19:11:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 20:34:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Sat, 19 Jul 2008 13:45:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Sun, 13 Jul 2008 04:07:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Sat, 12 Jul 2008 20:33:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Sat, 12 Jul 2008 17:00:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Sun, 06 Jul 2008 23:37:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Sun, 06 Jul 2008 03:26:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Thu, 19 Jun 2008 02:59:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 01:41:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Sun, 08 Jun 2008 18:00:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 01:14:00 +0000

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.

Lily

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Sun, 01 Jun 2008 17:56:00 +0000

He had a few friends, but most people he met instinctively distrusted him. When I met him, he was a young man, in his mid-20's perhaps. As I grew to know him, I learned that he had come into this world addicted to cocaine. He had only met his father a few times and was estranged from his mother. Once she paid a surprise visit to his house and stole from him.

He gave my daughter two pink lilies as a gift. They were left in their pots, largely neglected. They came into my possession at the end of summer, but I waited until spring to plant them. I used leaf mold and compost to give them a good start, knowing that without tender care in the early years, life is a continual struggle.

May favorites

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Wed, 28 May 2008 22:55:00 +0000

Between the outburst of spring in April and the symphony of flowers that begins in June, is the quiet month of May. The garden is lush and green. A few favorites made their appearance in my garden this week.

The passionvine (Passiflora incarnata) started blooming this week. Bees adore this native vine and so do I. It wanders around the garden, but it is always interesting to see where it will pop up next.

My daughter painted this pot for me on Mother's Day one year long ago. The golden oregano (Oregano vulgare "Aureum") enhances the blue tones.

On the house, Jackson vine (Smilax smallii) is used a trellis for coral honeysuckle. Jackson vine is the kinder, gentler smilax, a well-behaved companion for the honeysuckle.

More coral honeysuckle. At the entrance to the backyard, Carolina jessamine (Gelsemium sempervirons) is used as a trellis for coral honeysuckle. A distorted oak tree is a trellis for the Carolina jessamine. This all sounds impossible, but this combination is mature this year and looks lush.

Pile o' Pipevine

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Mon, 19 May 2008 01:23:00 +0000

On the East side of my garden, beside the gate, is a tangled mass of pipevine (Aristolochia tomentosa) about 5 feet in diameter. I planted the pipevine years ago to feed the caterpillars of the pipevine swallowtail butterfly (Battus philenor).

This twisted mass started life as a red oak tree that shaded the bedrooms in our house from the hot summer sun. Twelve years ago, Hurricane Fran blew by, an unexpected event as our home is 200 miles from the ocean. The winds uprooted the oak, which grazed the neighbor's roof and fell with a sickening thud. It left a rootball standing 8 feet into the air.

When the woodcutter chainsawed the trunk, I asked him to leave the rootball. Thinking it might make an interesting sculpture, I spent the next many weekends chipping the soil off the exposed roots. What remained was a giant mass of twisted roots, Medusa.

The following November, an ice storm brought down a second oak tree standing nearby. This oak tree grazed the roof of the neighbor's house in the exact same spot and crushed half of my root ball sculpture. With Medusa unbalanced and broken, I hoped to create a second sculpture, twisted sister. But surprisingly, when the woodcutter cut off the trunk, the rootball jumped back, uprighting itself halfway into its original hole.

Now what? The rootball could not be budged. It was positioned on a diagonal with half the roots against the soil and the other half suspended in the air. In the end, I used pieces of the trunk to shore up the suspended rootball, creating a habitat for chipmunks. Over the top, I planted a native coral honeysuckle (lonicera sempervirens). A dogwood tree planted itself at the highest point and at the lowest, I planted a buttonbush (Cephalanthus occidentalis).

Near what remained of Medusa, I planted the pile o'pipevine. This year, a critter of some kind is shredding what remains of the trunk beneath. I have never seen nor heard it working so it is most likely a nocturnal creature, looking for a meal of insects in that old stump.

Chippy

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Mon, 05 May 2008 23:12:00 +0000

He was rescued from the mouth of a cat when he was a baby, which may explain the disappearance of half his tail. He spent the winter in the home of a botany professor, who fed him carrots and sunflower seeds, and named him Chippy. When spring came, he seemed depressed. So he was dispatched to my garden.

Chippy arrived in a box of shredded newspaper, secure inside a second box from an office supply company. His rescuer selected a spot at the edge of a sizable pile of brush in a shady corner of the garden. He opened one box, then the other, and watched for several minutes while Chippy looked around cautiously, then quickly made his escape. He disappeared into the garden.

I have been watching for Chippy and although I have seen dozens of chipmunks since then, they all seem to have tails of the normal length. Several times on Sunday, I walked by a spot of ivy on the shady side of a fence and heard the startled squeek of a chipmunk. Chippy?

I still leave sunflower seeds and carrots by his box. They are always gone whenI go back to check a few hours later. Maybe a squirrel is eating the food and Chippy is out enjoying the fruits of my garden.

On the menu today:

Salvia urticifolia and Baptisia 'Purple Smoke' Both natives

My favorite hosta, Sum and Substance

Chionanthus virginicus, native fringe tree

Coreopsis tripteris and Asclepias syriaca, both natives, look great together

Early spring garden, perfect for chipmunks.

Garden Art

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 03:01:00 +0000

For many years, I planted my garden using no decorative ornaments of any kind. No statues. No benches. No fountains. Even the birdbaths were selected with only function in mind. The plants provided all the ornamentation needed in my garden.

Then one day, I was walking down the street and came upon pile of picket fencing lying along the curb -- the flotsam and jetsam of someone's new landscaping. The sections of fencing were gently aged and nicely proportioned. I selected two of the sections and with some difficulty, I got them home, where the pickets looked perfect standing among the mayapples and columbine and Solomon's seal. After that, I began thinking about garden art.

Last month, I commissioned a garden sculpture from a young artist from Winston Salem. I didn't have a particular design in mind but I wanted the piece to be interactive with birds. The artist sent me a drawing through email and I liked it immediately. When the artist came to install the piece, he told me that he had made it at his grandfather's house. He had enjoyed working with his grandfather, welding, nailing, painting. Grandfather, grandson, working side by side. There is love in the creation.

I hope their creativity will spawn pro-creativity among the birds who live in my garden. Two different generations working together to encourage new generations in my garden.

Crossvine

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 01:22:00 +0000

For half its life, my orange and yellow crossvine (Bignonia capreolata) was planted at the base of our mailbox at the end of the driveway where it was drowned by runoff from spring rains, seared by hot Southern sun and poisoned by our next door neighbor.

Eventually, I moved the crossvine to the dying oak tree at the edge of the front garden. Having little faith in its recovery, I planted a plain orange one beside it and tied both to the tree with strips of old cotton cloth, which eventually rotted away as the crossvine wove its way to the top of the tree.

The oak was in decline and as it slowly died, the crossvine enjoyed more and more sun. After it climbed to the top of the tree, stormy winds and climbing creatures would knock the vines off the branches, eventually draping the trunk in a twisted mass. Later, the branches themselves would fall, becoming suspended in the tangled vine, which fell 80 feet down to the trailing verbena below.

A plant with attitude, a great humping mass of crossvine, magnificent in bloom.

Hummingbirds

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 01:33:00 +0000

My hummingbird flowers are blooming and yet no hummingbirds are to be seen. It is as if I lay a feast on the table and no one came. Here is what they are missing

Aesculus pavia

The large blooms of the red buckeye look striking with the white azalea. You would think a hummingbird would notice.

Rhododendron austrinum

This Florida azalea has a spicy sent. Irresistable, to me at least.

Rhododendrons

Many of azaleas in my garden declined to bloom this year, but these Asian hybrids are making an effort. Too bad the hummingbirds do not appreciate it.

Gelsemium semper virens

Carolina jessamine invites people and birds to the back garden.

Mertensia virginica
These Virginia bluebells planted themselves in my back garden.

Early spring garden, eagerly waiting for hummingbirds.

Dusk

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 00:56:00 +0000

I saw him just after dark, walking up the street, a dark figure on thin bent legs. His slacks were black with a sharp crease and his brogues were shiny and black. I froze in the driveway, willing him not to see me. I should have known he'd be back.

My garden has kept him at bay for 10 years. I planted to the edge on all sides, as I know he does not prefer to cross the plants. Now I see that the driveway grants him a portal. Him with his dark suit. I didn't see his eyes, but I sense they are sharp and blue, cold and keen, observant.

Ten years ago, he came to me often in dreams, a shapeless darkness outside a small room encased in walnut paneling. I stood silently wishing him to go away. Once there was a telephone in the room and in a brave or desperate moment I picked up the receiver. A dark hand reached through a small window and grabbed it away.

I should have known he was coming. The latest issue of of Birds and Blooms remained for days on the kitchen counter, wrapped in its plastic mailing, despite the alluring bluebird on the cover. And when I spoke to a visitor this week, my unconscious remarked that gardens were boring, a shock to both of us.

This morning, I planted three Virginia bluebells along the stone path even though I knew it would make me late for work. I reasoned that rain was predicted for today. Perhaps I also remembered that he does not like to cross the plants

Sweet Wild Things

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Mon, 17 Mar 2008 21:15:00 +0000

My sister Katie emailed me this morning to ask if I could update my blog, the first inquiry anyone has made. Katie is an organic farmer in Cloverdale, west of Indianapolis, and shares my interest in native plants and pollinators. I sent her my blog link to help ease a loss in her life. I pray my muse is with me today because this post is for Katie.

Background

It stopped raining last July and the Southeast experienced the worst drought since the 1930's. We were forbidden to water outdoors, except using rainwater, which took a toll on gardens. Since rain began in February, we have been upgraded from the 5th and worst stage of drought (exceptional) to the 4th stage (extreme). Here's what is happening to my garden survivors:

Sanguinaria canadensis

The bloodroot trail is in tatters. All of the newly planted ones are gone and only half of the long established colony returned this year. Still, this small patch along the driveway looked spectacular this afternoon.

Senecio aureus

The misfortunately named golden ragwort is a strong grower and a welcome sight in March, during the last few of weeks of winter. These were deprived of water in the summer and fall, trampled by the landscaper in the winter, then transplanted to new soil beside the path, where they have revived.

Hepatica acutiloba

Beside the driveway, this hepatica looked sweet this afternoon, but never as nice as in photos on the internet.

Aquilegia canadensis

The blue-green foliage on columbine is so pretty, it doesn't need to bloom to look good. Here it is used as a groundcover on a gentle slope in the backyard. After it blooms and goes to seed, I enjoy shaking the seeds out of the pods, listening to the shishing.

Viola cornuta

I planted these Johnny jump-ups in February because the landscaper said he was coming back to take pictures of the new stone path and I wanted something to be blooming. I don't know if he came back but these flowers welcome visitors to the door.

Aesculus pavia

The best photo of the red buckeye comes the day before the buds open. I have long wanted to photograph the huge pink scaled buds, but when I reach the critical day, I try to wait until the light is perfect, then I forget to do it. I so admire people with beautiful photos on their blogs.

Caninus vomitoria

My sweet dog Sadie, who is home sick today with a stomach virus. I went home to check on her at lunchtime and she helped me take these photos.

Hellebores

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 00:07:00 +0000

After the landscaper finished the new stone pathway to the front door, I asked for a small raised bed in front of the porch. He brought a pallet of mossy stones and some topsoil mixed with compost. When he was finished, a neighbor remarked that the bed looked as if it had always been there. A fine compliment to his work.

This planting area is sheltered between the porch and a stand of mature trees. Dry shade is a challenge here. In other parts of my garden, I have solved dry shade conditions by using spring wildflowers like mayapple and columbine, or false Solomons seal and woodland aster. In the most challenging areas, only vines like Virginia creeper or crossvine can survive. These are all native plants, as has been my focus for many years.

That was before I bought my first hellebore. Two years ago I attended the winter open house at a local mail order nursery. I was tempted by aHeronswood hybrid in pink. The next year, I bought a yellow one. Then friends gave me seedlings they had dug from their yards.

I confess, I love this plant. The foliage stays fresh and green, even in the heat and humidity of our NC summers. And in late January, when the holidays are over and winter seems long, dark and cold, the hellebores begin to bloom. I check them every day, as they can be easily seen through the living room window.

I wish hellebores were native. I searched the internet to see if they were valuable to wildlife. The only websites that made that claim were from England, where Helleborus foetidus is said to be native. I also read that many other hellebores originated in the Balkans as did my grandparents many years before.

Then yesterday I was sitting on our front porch admiring the hellebores, when a hover fly landed at my feet. It surveyed the hellebore flowers and flew off again. Are hellebores useless beauties or winter pollen providers? When I see seedlings, I'll know.