I have been enjoying white flowers since January's delightful snowdrops, followed by white crocus-buds in February-- February 3rd!!! a record, three snow-bunting blooms, followed a week later by a large golden crocus. Perhaps it is c. ancyrencis, but it is large enough to be a dutch crocus, and the other yellow dutch crocuses seem to open immediately afterwards... whatever, they bloom in February in the shelter of my sunny south foundation, and they are delightful.

The snowdrops and crocuses are closed at night, but the closed white buds are still clearly visible, and a living touchstone of God's provision and grace in a cold, dark winter night. These were followed by chionodoxa, "Glory of the Snow." I was happy to discover that the white centers of the blue chionodoxa were clearly visible at night!

When the hyacinths and Ice Follies daffodils started opening, we had several mild nights, and I went out for a nighttime stroll through the oval garden. Between the star-strewn, glittering sky and the flower-strewn, scented garden, a sweet breeze stirred like the breath of God; I was immersed in wonder, and could only thank Jesus for his stunning creation.

After the Ice Follies Daffodils went by, the Poet's Narcissus followed, together with the woodland Phlox, a pale blue that is softly visible at night; more perfume. Creeping phlox and tulips followed, but it was not a good year for tulips, perhaps because of the rain, or the deer. The white and purple creeping phlox didn't bloom as well as the deep pink; perhaps the rain, the deer, or the coolness of the spring?

While not particularly visible, the lilacs smell glorious at night. If you are just planting your moonlight garden, how about white lilacs? Mine are not blooming size yet, but I've seen them in friends' gardens, and they are glorious.

Tiny yellow jonquils are pretty at night and fragrant as well. Woodland geranium (that delightful weed they call "spotted cranesbill") is gently visible. I can't decide whether it is pale pink or pale lavender and perhaps it can't either.

Another surprise delight is the blueberry blossoms! Delicate little white bell clusters glow gently at night, both on the highbushes and the lowbushes. Yet another reason to treasure my wild blueberries; thank you, Lord of Hosts.

Star of Bethlehem is a gorgeous, tiny white flower; unfortunately it closes at night! And the bud doesn't show very well. So it's not moonlight material...

The daisy buds are showing white at the tips; they'll be open soon. In the past, they have always been the height of my moonlight garden; lots and lots of daisies... stars beneath the stars. After the daisies there will be feverfew and lilies... all in due time.

The Spring Annual Purchases have just been planted. Determined to narrow the purchases this year to either white flowers or scented, and hoping to find many that were both white and scented, I shopped harder than usual and sniff-tested stubbornly. While I searched and searched for the white scented petunia that I had enjoyed so much in previous years, I did not find any that responded to the sniff test. A deep purple did (spicy) so I bought just one pack. I found pale pink stock (spicy) and pale pink dwarf snapdragons (sweet), and white rocket snapdragons (also, hopefully, sweet; not blooming yet). The clerk insisted that white verbena is scented-- wrong! I bought one pack but I should have stuck to my guns. One six-pack of white pansies (unscented); two six-packs of white dianthus (very mild spice). Then I searched far and wide for white violas, unbelievably absent from most of my favorite greenhouses; I finally found them. They are unscented, but I discovered happily that their yellow cousins are not (candy-sweet!), and got some of them too. An obligatory six- pack of dwarf marigolds for the mailbox garden, and the Spring Purchase was complete.

White alyssum seed and white Sonata cosmos seed have been sown and watered; the moonflower seeds and the white morning glory seeds have been soaked and planted and watered (the morning glories are for daytime interest); pastel phlox seeds have been scattered; seeds for cosmos sensation, larkspur, and shirley poppy have been scattered behind the bleeding hearts, and there should be some whites among the mix. If I opt for mostly white cosmos, I have heard that the stem color of the seedling is a good indicator; green seedlings will have white flowers, and purple stems will have pink and red flowers. So I can move the purple seedlings somewhere else, and enjoy...

The oxeye daisies are in full, blowsy, clouds-of-white bloom. They glow in the moonlight. I took some twilight pictures with ASA 400 film, leaning on a tree. I hope they come out.

Actually, this year's daisy bloom is fairly modest compared to last year, and the asters will be too, because I moved them both in April. Asters prefer to be spread out for better ventilation, and the daisies needed more room, so I alternated daisy, aster, daisy, aster. When I cut back the daisies, I will also prune back the asters to make them bushier. My neighbor gets great results from her asters this way.

No rush, however. Daisy season is glorious. Perhaps it's one of my favorite seasons in the garden. The feverfew is also opening and the little petals will turn white in a few days. The wild pinks ("Bladder Campion" according to my neighbor) are in bloom as well, and perhaps I will let them spread at will.

There are lots of buds on the Sundrops-- I don't know whether they will be open at night. And the tall yellow Coreopsis has buds. I don't recall how visible these yellows are at night.

Rain, rain, rain. The rain has been wonderful for the newly planted blueberry "hedge", so I'm not complaining! I can deal with flattened dianthus and sprawling daisies by looking forward to a successful blueberry hedge. Even the sorriest-looking blueberry plant that I had given up on is showing leaves now. So in a few years, the blueberry hedge on the north side will be sporting delicate white bells in May... lovely in the moonlight.

All of the buds on my white asiatic lilies were eaten for dessert by My Friend Bambi. Venison, anyone?

The feverfew is in its prime. I now regret having weeded so much of it out. It's one of the most successful plants I have, so why not let it shine? Bambi leaves it alone, and it's lovely at night. When I rip out the ladybells from the angel garden, I think I will replace them with feverfew, balloon flower, and perhaps rose campion. I love the ladybells, and if they'd just bloom, I would turn them loose. But in the Angel garden, all they do is leaf out-- everywhere. I have two flower stalks for about thirty square feet of leaves. And they are crowding my easter lilies. So-- out they go! I have more successful patches of it elsewhere anyway.

The moonflower seedlings are doing wonderfully this year. I have five seedlings, two of which have put out their first true leaf. I believe I have discovered a good method for starting moonflowers from seed. Soak them until the shell splits, the little baby root comes out, and you can SEE the folded leaves through the now-translucent shell. Sometimes this takes a week, or more, of soaking! Then plant GENTLY with the little rootling pointing down, and put enough dirt on top so that it will pull off the shell of the seed as it arches out of the ground. Then keep it moist. (All this rain helped with those, too.)

The Grim Season

Normally the Grim Season is August around here, but thanks to Bambi, it has moved up a month.

While we were away on vacation, Bambi revisited my gardens. Tiger lilies-- gone. Easter lilies-- gone. Oriental lilies-- gone. Trumpet lilies-- all but four plants, gone. I have a couple of species lilies left, probably half. Hostas, evening primroses, mallows. Gone.

I am considering moving my lilies (and tulips, perhaps) closer to the house in the hopes that Bambi won't come right up to our windowsill. Otherwise, my garden design priorities are shifting. What did they leave alone? In my case, balloon flowers, feverfew, and rose campion; butterfly flower; the asters (praise God); blackeyed susans; most of the goosenecks; most of the yarrow. They did eat the leaves off of many of the coneflowers, but those are recovering, and adding new flower buds as they go. Likewise the Just Susans (I have learned that they are also called False Sunflowers).

So I am thinking hard about Plants That Recover From Munching. Asters would recover if devoured, so they remain high on my list as favorites. And I've cut back goosenecks before, early in the season, and gotten reblooms; likewise yarrow. Between Bambi and the beetles, the Coneflowers look ratty now, but they are coming back strong and loaded with buds. Likewise the Just Susan/False Sunflowers.

They also left the daylilies alone. Fascinating. Was it just because they weren't in full bud yet? Or do they dislike them? I'm not sure. If they truly dislike them, I will start collecting pale-colored daylilies. But I think I'll wait and find out. (I've been wrong before. ) Meanwhile, the four daylilies are the focus of the oval garden and going strong.

The cimifuga was completely untouched. Praise the Living God who endures forever. Because of the heavy rains, the blooms are straight and stiff as a poker. It looks the best it has yet. Gary hates the smell, and I must admit it is disagreeable. But the visual impact is ethereal. Now I know why they call it Fairy Candles. The bees love it too.

Some of my cosmos are bravely putting out buds, but any blossoms are immediately gnawed by the beetles. I am hoping that the cosmos in partial shade will fare better. Likewise there are Shasta daisies out front, but they get chewed too. I am promising myself an investment in Milky Spore.

With the demise of most of my lilies and the feverfew being past prime, the only moonlight impact is from the beetle-chewed white coneflowers, the Cimifuga, the Hyperion, the goosenecks (quite good). But it's scant loss at this time of year. The moon is low in the summer anyway, and it gets dark very late. If I'm outside in the dark, I'm stargazing, binoculars in hand. At least Bambi doesn't eat the stars.

17 September 1998

The Asters Are Coming!

I have several favorite mini-seasons in the garden, when a certain type of flower comes into bloom and there is plenty of color. My favorite "seasons" are: daffodil, creeping-phlox (hopefully with the tulips), oxeye-daisy, and aster. Iris season was once a big hit, but although Bambi doesn't eat irises, he tramples them hunting for other munchables. So this year, iris season was a flop. Lily season used to be a big favorite until Bambi showed up and ate all the buds. Perhaps now that all the lilies are next to the house, I will get to see some blooms next year.

But that's not my current focus. Aster season is coming! Oh, so terribly exciting! I have two plants showing lavender blooms, and several more budding, including the royal purple. The low hedge of white asters will even show in the moonlight. (I have the wild, small-flowered type.) The lavender and the pink asters may show a little by moonlight, but I'm not sure. The purple and rose-red won't. But that doesn't dim my enthusiasm for the abundant, bushy blooms!

Although I have taken pictures of daffodil season and creeping-phlox season, and I have a few daisy pictures somewhere, I have sadly neglected photographing the best aster displays of past years. Two years ago was probably the best display I've ever had; they were tall (unpruned), healthy, and un-chewed, and loaded with blossoms. But being tall is a disadvantage for them; beetles prefer tall plants, three or four feet high, and being tall and crowded, they get mildew as well. Last year between the mildew and the beetle damage, they weren't worth taking pictures of!

This spring, I divided and re-arranged them all. The Oval Garden is ringed with asters around the perimeter, alternating with the daisies... daisy-aster-daisy-aster, all the way around. Due to transplant shock, the daisies bloomed modestly this spring, so I expect the same modesty from the asters, but they do look better. Since they are now less crowded and have better air circulation, and have also been pruned back hard, they are healthier and much shorter, and the beetles have lost interest in them (praise God). They look much more appealing. So perhaps I will take pictures of them despite their just-transplanted, modest sizes. I am looking forward to seeing the pink, lavender, deep purple, and rose-red color ringing the whole garden.

When I rearranged the oval garden asters, I also took small pieces and started new plants, so now I have two small aster borders flanking our front yard. They are tiny (most of the new plants are barely a foot high) but still, I am looking forward to seeing them bloom.

An especially good combination is asters and cosmos together. The colors team up well, and the asters provide mounds of solid color with the cosmos airily tossing in the wind. This year, I don't think the seeds fell in such a way to bring the two close together in my garden... a pity. Perhaps next year I can help them along. This year's cosmos plants are small, since I was too mad at the deer to fertilize (why promote soft, fresh growth for them to devour?)

It will be a modest year overall. In the shade gardens, the four-oclocks that have survived Bambi are blooming now. Under the witchHazel, the purple petunias with white alyssum are a good morale boost; there are promising snapdragon buds, and last year's chrysanthemums are loaded with buds. In the Angel garden, there are a few white dianthus blossoms scattered very thinly about, and some annuals meagerly blooming; the brave and stubborn anemones are putting out blooms despite being munched. It looks much better now than it did a month or two ago, when Bambi mowed most of the garden to the ground. (I've read that deer don't like dianthus. So far, they've been left unchewed.)

Someday I'll match chrysanthemums with asters; I keep promising myself a sweet autumn clematis, likewise to go with the asters. I'd also like a Boltonia, which is basically a large, bushy white aster; I saw one this spring, but I passed it up.

20 November 1998

MUSINGS AT SEASON'S END

Except for the Dianthus growing in the shelter of the south foundation, and several snapdragons and alyssum, and those wonderfully tough larkspur, the garden by and large has retired for the winter's rest.

Oak leaves are everywhere, and I need to decide whether to let them lie as mulch, or rake them out and use something that costs either labor, money, or both. Except for the delphineums which demand good air, I suspect that the leaves will remain, perhaps with an occasional fluffing.

What did I learn? What will I change for next year?

The main thing I learned this year is that I have to keep up with the onion spray. I found a recipe on the net a while ago: Half an onion, red pepper flakes (a tablespoon or so) and several cloves of garlic; boil well in two quarts of water; remove and let cool; strain; add a spoonful (tsp?? tblsp?? whatever) of dish soap or hand soap. Spray on plants. Works great while it lasts. The smell goes away in an afternoon or so.) It must be reapplied every week and after every rain, but if you keep up with it, Bambi leaves your plants alone. You MUST be diligent... one slip, and there goes your hostas, your anemones, your lilies...

Another thing I learned about my yard and the moonlight is that in the summer, when the sun is high, the moon is low. Areas that are well-lit by moonlight in the spring, are in deep shadow by midsummers eve. We're considering removing some oak trees that are over the lawn because they acidify the lawn, and that may help, but in general, I'm going to enjoy the prolific spring moonlight, and relax about the summer. The daisies in June glow in the dark anyway, if there's any light at all. July gets rather drab except for the daylilies, and August--with the beetles-- is really grim. September begins to soften, color returns, and the beetles leave; and October is totally delightful.

One additional ploy to consider for keeping some white flowers in the moonlight, will be to plant on the south edges of the Laurel Grove. I think it is far enough away from the south path to catch some slanting moonlight. I can plan this quite carefully by measuring where the sun-shadows of the bare treetops fall at the end of December; that should be exactly where the full-moon-shadows fall on midsummer's eve.

Interesting how astronomy and gardening suddenly find a common ground.

One comment about white alyssum: Plant More Next Year. Let it self-sow with abandon. I have become very fond of the soft white blooms and the softer scent.

The toadflax was delightful (Plant More Next Year.) It wasn't completely visible in the moonlight, some of it being deeper shades of pink or violet, but some of those had yellow throats and that part was visible.

The snapdragons were good; tall white ones and dwarf pale pink... (PMNY). Additional delight was provided by peppermint-colored dianthus, which produced rose-red edged white blooms through the worst of everything-- invasions by Bambi, beetles, drought, what have you. The dianthus were unperturbed. PMNY.

The annual yellow violets and the white annual violets (I think of them as yellow or white "Johnny Jump Ups") were great while they lasted. Perhaps they would be happier with a touch of afternoon shade. Their other disadvantage is that Bambi finds them delectable. Onion spray...

The Annual pastel phlox got rather neglected, and didn't do well at all. But I may try them again.

Despite the Moonflower vines getting off to the most hopeful start I've had in three years, Bambi decided that they were very yummy. I had morning glories, but no moonflowers. Onion spray, onion spray.

I like Mums... Plant More Next Year. Perhaps they will be the main fall purchase since I am having trouble finding places to plant daffodils these days. Assuming I remember to fertilize the asters, and water them during the drought, the combination of asters and mums should be very good. (It was in the Angel garden this year.) So far Bambi has left the mums alone except for a particular white dwarf (mum, not star). I've decided to spray them anyway, though. Anything in bud or blossom gets sprayed. Better safe (and smelley) than sorry.

I think mums look better the second year that they bloom; they are less spheroid, less regimented. I have two from a friend that tumble gloriously about. And the two pots by the front steps still need a permanent home; I'd better get serous about that. Mulch well...

Feverfew is the best. I am going to stop weeding it out unless absolutely neccessary. It performs better than the stuff I'm trying to protect. And-- it glows, so delicately, in the moonlight.

7 December 1998

A TINY BUT SWEET SURPRISE

I have three snowdrops in bloom. What a delightful surprise. We are having a mild December and we had a harsh October, and I suppose that for a few snowdrop bulbs, this October was "winter" enough. They are blooming under the Jelina witchHazel.

I'm glad that snowdrops are tough little flowers; they're built for winter snow, with their nodding shape and tough leaves. I've had snowdrop blossoms survive through several snowstorms before and I'm not worried about these. I'm going to relax and thank God for them. He's so good at sending many different little messages of hope and joy and faith and blessing. These snowdrops are one of those messages.

The strange thing is that the autumn flowers are not quite gone. The colors have been changed a little by the frost; the white snapdragons are still carrying cream-colored blossoms, with slightly frost-browned edges; there is white alyssum which has been frostily edited to a cream-color, and a few toadflax blossoms, with darker yellows and maroons, bravely hanging on. I had decided not to clean them up but to leave them, preferring a washed-out look to no blossoms at all.

But amidst the faded blossoms and the fallen oak leaves, suddenly a small, clean, bright white spot catches the eye, and then another larger, and a tiny third... it looks like two Nivalis and one Elwesii.

Normally I would rake out all of the oak leaves prior to "bulb season", but with blooms present, I will do much of that by hand. No sense risking damage to these "modest maids of winter". I doubt that my schedule will permit it anyway, at least before Christmas. So, the snowdrops are cheerily blooming amidst a chaos of oak leaves, snapdragon greenery, and faded mum plants.

That's okay. I know where to look.