the miserable gardener

I understand that the end of the world is supposed to occur in about two weeks. I guess I should be prepared.

I was also under the impression that there would be some sort of “zombie apocalypse”, and that the majority of people who survived this would undergo a process known as zombification, leaving the rest of the people just as they were, but with a lot less stuff.

I admit, I was a little worried when I saw this on the flagstone this morning.

It may look like some sort of hieratic script warning of impending zombification, but in fact, this is something entirely different. For gardeners living along the Front Range in Colorado, who may not recognize this, it’s evidence of a weather phenomenon known as rain.

It didn’t last very long, which was a relief because even that could have been a sign that the world was about to end.

So, pushing the end of world to the back of my mind (plenty of room there), I went about my daily chores. The work in the Burlap Garden is now complete.

believe it or not, I do realize the impression that this makes. it’s a replanted garden, so give it time ….if there is any.

There are two more rescued Arizona cypresses that need some sort of attention; these are shoulder-high conifers with two-gallon rootballs, and that doesn’t add up. I tried to be nice to them by giving them extra water this summer; one looks good, the other looks as if it won’t last another day. I used up all the burlap so I might have to run out and water their needles when no one is looking.

this looks good. out of focus, but good.

this looks not so good.

Since the world hasn’t ended yet, and Santa may need some hints for gifts if it doesn’t, here are a couple of tools I find useful when getting the garden ready for winter.

grass sickle from Hida Tool. razor sharp and cuts through clumps of ornamental grasses in seconds.

my trusty Opinel gardening knife. also razor sharp, and keeps the edge when sharpened.

still more inspiration

Nothing makes a garden look more well-tended than a bunch of plants wrapped in burlap. And, of course, wrapping plants can be elevated to a serious art form, if decent help is available.

There is a valid reason for doing this. The root balls of newly planted shrubs and trees are too small to provide sufficient hydration for the above-ground parts of the plant, prior to the onset of dormancy, and so the burlap helps–a little–in preventing desiccation from wind and sun. Everything has been watered up until a week or so ago and now it’s time to tuck the plants in for their long winter rest. I hope my little green friends know I’m thinking warm thoughts about them when it gets cold. I might even add some frost cloth if serious cold is predicted.

For some reason, I imagine my wrapping work to look as elegant as it does in other gardens, as at Great Dixter (the last picture, showing plants wrapped for the winter), but it always turns out like this instead.

This has to be fixed, of course. Squirrels have been tugging at the burlap trying to get strands for their nests.

I did the next one just this afternoon. A few Arizona cypresses were being thrown away by a nursery because they hadn’t grown well, and I’m trying to save them. The rootballs on these are very small. I leave the top open so the plants can take advantage of any snow that might melt on their leaves. (There are any number of websites that claim that conifers don’t absorb water through their needles. They are mistaken.) But the main point is making sure the cypresses have been sufficiently watered before they become dormant. How do you tell when they are? I don’t know, but you can certainly tell when they aren’t. So I give them plenty of water, when I remember to, up until about the first of December. (Cypresses don’t form resting buds for the winter, they just stop growing.)

I bent down to pick up a piece of twine and noticed this.

Looking around some more, I saw this. I don’t freak out about this like some people do; it’s nice to see flowers any time, even if snow wrecks them later. The main snowdrop display usually occurs in late January or early February here. (It’s strange to think how soon that can be.)

Also took a picture of one of the rock gardens, because I felt like it. Rabbits don’t touch acantholimons; maybe I should grow more.

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the miserable gardener

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