Happy Easter (in September)

Surprise! This dried-up, former grocery store potted Easter Lily (Lilium longiflorum) has borne unexpected fruit. Or flower.

It was rescued from its way to the green bin in the front hall of ma belle-mère (mother-in-law) this summer and plopped into a spare corner of the back garden. Just in case.

Ta da! It is now making lily lips at the 'Janet' hosta.

Daytrips: St. Jacob's Farmers' Market

On Sunday, while in Waterloo, we went a few clicks further north to visit St. Jacob's. I was in dire need of fresh-picked apples, and hoped we'd have time to visit the farmers' market.

The huge market in St. Jacob's is open on Thursdays and Saturdays all through the year. Sundays are much smaller, but still with a choice of farm-grown goodies.

While there, I was drawn to this profusion of lilies – Asiatics, Orientals, trumpets, all blooming at once – and started chatting with the grower.

Have you ever wondered where all the fresh-cut lilies come from? They come from people like this fellow who buys his lily bulbs in a dormant frozen state, and controls his bloom times by staged plantings throughout the growing season. As they're frozen with a full root system, not dessicated the way bulbs sold in sacks of sphagnum can be, they don't waste any time developing new roots.

Batches planted earlier in the season might take 10 weeks to bloom; those planted later, when the sun is stronger, might take a few weeks less. But nature often has its own ideas about timing.

He sells his unsold lilies – like a big order that bloomed too late for a wedding – by the pot at the market. Ridiculously affordable. I was most sorely tempted but, with my Grand Simplification underway, had to resist.

Apples were what brought me there, and I was on the hunt for sweet, crisp, refreshing 'Honey Crisp' apples, which come into season in mid-September. I scored some 'Royal Gala' and, that ultimate cooking apple, 'Northern Spy' first before finding my intended quarry at the organic stand at the top of this post.

St. Jacob's is a pretty little town, about an hour and a half's drive from Toronto, and since we first visited it this time last year, we've promised ourselves we'll go there more often.

Here are some scenes from last year's visit.

The view from the bridge over the Conestogo River which runs through the town.

Downtown's blend of trendy and homespun is perhaps on the cusp of being over-commercialized. But the goodies from this bakery were worth elbowing our way to an umbrella table for.

On a back street, we accidentally stumbled on the fantastic salvage shop, Artefacts. Here, not only is there great stuff, but it's cleverly arranged to make you want it all. Very badly.

Plenty of things there for garden applications, too, including this arbour and mirror combo, which, if you look very closely, captures a shot of yours truly.

The area is home to a large community of old-order Mennonites, some of whom still use horse-drawn carriages as everyday transportation. This, frankly, is one reason St. Jacob's has become such a tourist attraction. I actually wonder how they feel about being "an attraction." As producers of much of the farm goods, quilts and furniture in the market, though, I guess the crowds who come to shop (and gawk) allow them to make a living.

Another world, just a short drive away from home.

P.S. I forgot to mention, we were surprised to learn that St. Jacob's is the birthplace (and still head office) of Home Hardware, a Canadian retailer that competes against big guys like Home Depot and Lowe's. This is the original store.

OOTS: Ever-blooming architecture

Last weekend, I had one of those What the heck is that?!? must-stop photographic urges as my husband and I drove along King Street in Kitchener, Ontario on our way to its conjoined city Waterloo.



I ran over, furiously snapping, as is my wont, and accosted two passersby, who told me that this is the new University of Waterloo School of Pharmacy Building, designed by Hariri Pontarini Architects and Robbie/Young + Wright Architects.

[Well, really, for the sake of Truth in Blogalism, I should note that what they really said was: Oh, it's U of W's new pharmacy building, or words to that effect. The rigorous linkiness is not their fault.]

The glass cladding covers enlarged watercolour images of what are clearly old medicinal plants.

At home, Google found me this January 24, 2009 Globe & Mail review by Lisa Rochon, which describes the building's story in greater detail.

The reviewer feels that the botanical images, while cool, feel rather out of place in the context of the building design. I disagree, and think that time will be kind to this unlikely combination. But then, perhaps that's my High-QQ-factor coming through. Full disclosure: For me, the initially controversial OCAD Sharp Centre for Design was a case of love at first sight.

So. What do you think of all those flowers?

More grist for the Out on the Streets mill for VP at Veg Plotting, who advises us to keep our eyes fresh for ideas in our own back yard.

Snow-on-the-Mountain (fire in the skin...?)

Today's oblique musical reference is about Euphorbia marginata, also known by evocative common names such as snow-on-the-mountain, smoke-on-the-prairie, ghost weed, or summer icicle. All refer to the frosty-edged bracts of this Poinsettia cousin, in "bloom" right now in sunny Toronto gardens.

The "fire" in this icicle relates to the toxic milky sap, common to all euphorbias, that exudes from its cut stems and can cause intense skin irritation. Use sensible caution, such as wearing gloves when weeding, trimming or cutting the stems for bouquets. Even if wearing gloves, don't do anything silly like rub your nose or eyes if you have sap on your hands. And watch out for splashes from any water the newly cut stems have been sitting in.

That being said, I've read that you can condition them to make a handsome addition to flower arrangements – and perhaps floral expert Deborah at Kilbourne Grove can set me straight here – by dipping the cut ends in boiling water for half a minute, or simply by rinsing the sap off under the tap till it ceases to ooze. They're said to make long-lasting additions to the vase.

This hardy annual euphorbia self-seeds, and sometimes arrives in gardens without being invited. I wish it would do so in mine, as it can be a nice foil for the hot colours of late summer and autumn. Like Poinsettias, the colour comes mainly from the variegated, leaflike bracts. However, the tiny white flowers are attractive to bees and butterflies.

P.S. For any garden bloggers at the Garden Writers Association conference in Raleigh, North Carolina this weekend, keep watch for our own Toronto Gardens gal and inveterate Tweeter, Sarah Battersby. Wish I could be there – have a smokin' time (and, possibly, have a frosty one for me).

Your votes mean a lot to us!

As our mum would have said, Sarah and I are frilled, just frilled to be among the five garden blog finalists for the Blotanical Awards 2009 in the Best Canadian Blog category. Thank you for your votes in phase one of the process! As relative new kids on the garden block, we're honoured to be in such great company.

These include the prolific and knowledgeable Jodi from Bloomingwriter in Nova Scotia; the irrepressible Joy at GardenJoy4Me in Eastern Ontario; the creative and observant Nancy at Soliloquy, another Nova Scotian; and the undeterred by Zone 3 chilliness NS at Northern Shade Gardening of Alberta. And Toronto Gardens, of course. Did I mention that?

All are excellent reads and, to all my fellow Blotanists, I'd encourage you to visit each of us before voting... for Toronto Gardens. Just kidding. Not. Whatever you decide, it's still exciting to be here. Congratulations to all the finalists.

Today, I passed you on the street...

And my heart fell at your feet. I can't help it if I'm still in love with Q (for Quirky).

Hank Williams may be rolling in his grave as I steal his words, but my High-QQ (Quirk Quotient) kicks in whenever I pass this little house with its Dr.-Seussian topiaries.

Garden snobs may sniff, but is there any reason why such a lovingly crafted, perfectly scaled display in a small urban garden should be any less acceptable than similar clipwork in the grounds of an Elizabethan manor?

While seeking simplicity for myself, I can't help but admire something complex crafted by others. Yet, this is simplicity in a way. It's a single, and single-minded obsession, each wayward leaf stopped in its tracks. This is clearly a work of passion, and its exuberance is catching.

That requires the kind of dedication that usually goes into creating the perfect lawn. Yet, here, rather than dandelion-zapping herbicides or the constant glugging of water, we have a row of privet and cedar shrubs, and the intensive care comes mostly from human hands.

I like it. But enough about me. How about you... what's your QQ?

Snatching simplicity from the mouth of chaos

Disclaimer: The images in this post are not pictures of my garden. They are gardens of simple inspiration from around the city.

A new season: Time to take stock of the garden. Starting back where it began, twenty-two autumns ago in November, when we took possession of two rectangles of sparse lawn, with a house sandwiched between.

The front lawn had one badly pruned forsythia, planted too close to the walk, one gangly bridalwreath spirea (Spirea vanhouttei) that looked like Charlie Brown's Christmas tree, one mock orange (Philadelphus) and a long privet (Ligustrum) hedge – all of which, except for the mock orange, are now gone. All were sitting in lank grass on sand under the dense shade of 60-year-old (now octogenarian) Norway maples (Acer platanoides).

Again, this image and the next are not my garden. And not English cottage gardens. But simple and, likely, sustainable.

I dreamed of an English cottage garden and, in my ignorance, tried to create one. To my credit, it has sort of succeeded. Sort of. It does have that jumbled, seed-where-you-willy-nilly quality.

But, here's the thing. It's a lot of work.

Know that expression, you can't fight Mother Nature? Notice the word "fight"? Going against the inherent tendency of soil, light and moisture is a struggle, a battle against natural forces. For me, it has been a 22-year-long hard slog.

At this stage of my life, it's time if not to surrender, then at least to declare a truce. I'm going to stop fighting Mother Nature.

Especially after such a dry September as 2009, autumn is where all my mistakes become most glaring. The flops are at their floppiest. Shrubs, stressed by un-ideal growing conditions, have been weakened and open to pests and disease. They're unhappy. They're telling me what's working and what isn't.

Time to listen. Time, as they say, to accept the things I cannot change, to change the things I can, and have the wisdom to know the difference. Time to simplify. This will be my goal over the months to come. Stay tuned.

A field to have a field day in

Right next to our community garden is a field of white asters. Wow, I thought, the bees must be having a field day. Then I noticed. They were!

This one makes me think of a bee angel.

Hard at work, busy doing all the things that bees do.

Hanging around, packing in the nectar and pollen.

Buzzing off to the next flower. So many to choose from!

Behold, my first (possibly only) tomatoes

One, one, one li'l 'Sungold'. Two, two, two 'Bloody Butcher.' Three, three, three li'l tomatoes. Well, you get the idea. Considering that this is how they looked when first planted two months ago and then this is how the Sungolds looked in mid-August, that's worth singing about.

And with the unprecedented dry spell of August-September 2009*, it's a particularly proud achievement. These are gung-ho tomatoes. In fact, that's not a crack you see. It's warpaint. Still to come in the tomato department are some 'Garden Peach', 'Gardener's Delight' and possibly, though this one might not happen, 'Principe Borghese.' All of these were what the heck, plant 'em and see what happens gifts from friend Karyn Wright of Terra Edibles.

I guess we will see. The late planting (due to late aquisition of a community garden plot) might not yield its money's worth of vegetables (not this year anyway), but it has been enormously entertaining.

Look at the rest of my haul of lettuce, stringbeans, a few fingers of baby baby carrots, not to mention about six pea pods and, wait for it, a radish!

We have more leaf lettuce, more carrots, more stringbeans, peppers starting to form, herbs. And the scarlet runner beans have put on their party clothes and are reaching for the sky.

*I should amend "unprecedented" to say that with 18 days without rain, counting today, Toronto is on its dry way towards the 26-day record of 1938 (according to today's Toronto Star).

Lust List: Heaveny Blue

By September, I'm usually the Girl from Ipomoea, with a garden totally, er, beribboned and festooned (aka choked) with morning glories.


Mine are not the ones pictured here. They're the pretty but common Ipomoea tricolour, likely old-fashioned Grandpa Ott, the first seeds of which were probably sown about the time the foundations of our house were laid in the late 1920s. Grandpa and I have a complicated, love-hate relationship.

Perhaps he knows that in truth I'm always pining for this blue-eyed stunner, Ipomoea 'Heavenly Blue'. Whenever I see it in someone else's garden I get a little, well, weak in the knees. This is blue; heavenly, heavenly blue.

But, thinks I, why should I plant more morning glories. Really, I need more morning glories like I need heavenly blue holes in the head. So I don't.

Sigh. My rational mind is seriously flawed sometimes.

East York Blooming Contest 2009

The Judge's Choice in the Community category, East York Blooming Contest. This shot would be better if the road beside it weren't being chewed up by large earth movers.

How do you winnow 135 nominees to a select few gardens for the official judge of the East York Blooming Contest? Send out ten teams of two volunteer judges to pre-score the nominees. This July, I was among them. Not only was it a privilege, it was enormous fun.

Last Wednesday was the fourth annual awards ceremony, a packed house at the East York Civic Centre. The winners at the Judge's Choice level will go on to the Toronto Garden Contest in 2010. Due to timing, that's the way it works apparently. I never knew such a contest existed, did you? Must keep my eye out... careful not to damage it on a passing branch.

At left, the Judge's Choice in the Residential/Traditional category. My picture, shot at high noon during our initial scoring, doesn't do it justice. The pristine edging alone should be in a category by itself.

And, right, is one of my favourite gardens on our judging team's list, and a Garden of Merit in the Residential/Environmental category.

I assure you, this is a garden completely created by the owner, who hand-selected each rock from his in-laws' cottage. The garden was in a bit of a lull when we scored it, but the bone structure was all there. It includes a fountain with a drinking basin for passing pups.

Another interesting aspect of the awards ceremony was a presentation by Andrea Dawber of GreenHere, a non-profit environmental organization dedicated to increasing Toronto's urban forest, especially in less advantaged neighbourhoods. I'll write more about GreenHere and its inspiring efforts with greening schools, parks and neighbourhoods later.

Blooms Day: Mid-September in Toronto

Hope you like nasturiums; hope you like orange; and really hope you like orange nasturtiums. Because you'd see an armload of them in my garden this September of 2009.

The three packages of Tropaeolum majus 'Paintbox' planted last May would be appropriately named. If... if... most of the little squares in your paintbox were filled with orange. Then again, this orange is vibrant enough to have its very own dimension. There's something to be said for that.

A colour that hot and bright, and the autumn palette has so many of those, is nicely balanced by silver or white -- like the garlic chives (Allium tuberosum) here.

(Please ignore the weeds. These are at such a level right now, that with better conscience I might write about Garden Bloggers' Weeds Day.)

So you don't get the wrong idea when looking at that sweep of orange in the back garden: at left, witness the result of the nasturtium seeds I planted in the front (oh so dry, oh so shady) garden.

Not only did it produce just one measly plant, just one from a whole packet of seeds, but it's one measly plant.

And it's... orange.

Thank heaven for foliage at this time of year. Daphne 'Carol Mackie' is looking divine after our summerless summer, and even better paired with Hosta 'Striptease' -- one of my favourite foliage couples.

(Please ignore the filigree in the hosta leaves. This year, all my hostas quickly entered the ABC category: Already Been Chewed.)

Atypically, the morning glories which usually devour my garden by mid-September seem to have gone on a bit of a diet.

Big-sister Toronto Gardener garden not on the menu this year, eh? Oh, but look who's coming to dinner.


To see what's blooming in mid-September in gardens around the world, visit May Dreams Gardens, where on the 15th of every month, Carol invites garden bloggers to share their experience.

Garden Daytrips: Virginia's Garden

Another garden gem in the Bruce Peninsula, at the northern tip of Dyers Bay is Virginia's Garden. It's nestled in a slightly sloping pocket between the road and the towering limestone cliffs behind--a unparalleled backdrop of rock cliffs and towering trees. Gravel paths guide you through the garden, Virginia Dolliver's labour of love for many years.Virginia manages the garden on her own, including creating the gravel path, foot by foot, wheelbarrow by wheelbarrow. That's tenacity.

Virginia is an avid collector, with a real love for plants and their individual characteristics, always finding beautiful combinations to set them off. Stealing garden ideas is my Modus Operanda when I visit gardens, and one of the pairings I stole from my first visit to Virginia's garden was her combination of deep red Bishop of Llandgraff dahlia and scarlet Crocosmia Lucifer, planted together in a large tub. Stunning combo. As a collector, Virginia knows what she likes, and what she doesn't. We talked about the new types of Coneflowers that are being introduced: The odd pom-pomm-y shapes, and varieties that look like they are being tortured into submission. She definitely does not like them. One garden hybrid she does admire however is the Shasta daisy variety, Crazy Daisy. The pure white petals are frilled every which way, and it's showy, without being over the top. She described this one to her granddaughter as "a daisy in a party dress". I agree.



Below: I was dazzled by the undulating colour sweep of three softly changing tones in a sea of anthemis: yellow, white and a variety called "Hollandaise". Buttery yellow "Hollandaise" and the pure white varieties softened the intense chrome yellow of the original anthemis. The mass planting makes the effect: 'painting with a broad brush' really works. I'll always want these three combined in my garden now. Spectacular.


I've been very slow to warm up to grasses, er, let's make that "actively resistant", as I have so much invasive twitch grass in my garden in the country. Why do I need to import it? However, this summer I bought my first ever ornamental grass from Virginia after seeing how statuesque it can look. Another oversized beauty, and a favourite of Virginia's is the plume poppy. Here it is blocking out the sky, trying to reach up to the cliffs behind.



I've never visited the garden without seeing Virginia busy with a project--her wheelbarrow is always out in the open, being put to good use--but she has always taken the time to answer questions or even walk the garden with me for a mini tour, or to point out something special. This Fleece Flower persicaria behind the wheelbarrow is a real standout. The large scale plants Virginia uses really work well here. When you've got competition in the form of limestone cliffs hundreds of feet high, you'd better have something solid to balance things out. It is hard to capture in a picture just how high these cliffs are. Take it from me, they are high! She sells potted plants from the garden, and if you are lucky, like me, she might even dig one up for you if it's not in a pot already.

Because drainage is so sharp here, Virginia has made good use of drought tolerant plants, like grasses and masses of fleabane, in pinks and purples. These are flanked by a blue-green grass. The colours are exquisite together, and makes me wonder why I've never planted fleabane. The climate here is kind however, as the snow cover in winter allows cultivation of many things that are slightly less winter hardy, like the red hot poker.

Red hot poker, centanthrus and a sea of yellow spiky lysimachia, with the forest in the background. The little pointy house is where you can throw your $3 admission fee.



A Little Tweak to the Trellis Makes all the Difference
Virginia ordered this standard sized wooden trellis, which was the usual width -- a bit pokey. She then customized it by having her handyman add a piece in the middle to make it wider, much nicer for two people to pass under. The patch was done quite seamlessly. All her painted wood accents are coloured a dusky blue which works well with the varied garden hues, adding a soft rhythm of colour.
As you wind up the gravel path you are flanked with daylilies, geraniums, campanula and self seeded annuals. Also that frilly little yellow perennial that my sister can grow that I can't. The name escapes me at the moment! Helen? Local limestone rocks anchor the the pathway.








Below: I simply wanted to dive into this ocean of frothy alchemilla. I love the common name of this one: Lady's Mantle.





The contrast of the deep purple of the sage and the intense orange of the California poppies was very satisfying. Airy dots of scabiosa flowers added a random pinky-red accent.





Down the side of the house, with a foresty backdrop is the shade garden. Beautiful collection of foliage, and a carefully tended Japanese Maple (borderline hardy here) is interspersed with the delicate flowers of astrantia. Virginia pointed out to me the lovely growth habit of this delicate fern, below, which grows in a spiral form.




A segment of antique wrought iron fence has been brought in to create an airy wall to enclose a little sitting area, giving a litttle privacy from the road.



As Larkwhistle is close by, there is a lot of cross-garden-pollination going on. More than once I asked about a particular plant that wowed me, see below, a striking tall Nepeta, and learned It Came From Larkwhistle. It's nepeta sibirica and has a kind of stacked flower on tall stems. The blue is very pure and intense and the individual flowers are larger than a nepeta mussini, the kind I grow. Here it's peeking out from behind a swath of centanthrus ruber. Another garden delight came from the superb nursery further south at Red Bay: a deep purply blue Japanese iris with variegated foliage. There's lots going on in the Bruce Peninsula. It's lovely the way all the gardens interconnect and mingle.