Public Garden: Ashbridge Estate

If you've travelled along Queen Street East, you've passed the white-picket fence enclosed Ashbridge Estate. This is the family homestead of one of the east end's earliest settlers. The Ashbridges – from whom Ashbridge's Bay gets its name – were Loyalists from Pennsylvania, granted 600 acres that stretched from the waterfront of Lake Ontario to Danforth Avenue.

Although this mansard-roofed house was constructed in the 1800s, in two installments, the Ashbridge family lived on this site continuously between 1793 and 1997. No other place in the city can beat that record. Ownership of their home was bequeathed to the Ontario Heritage Trust in 1972, and is today the offices of the Ontario Archeological Society.

At one time, the management of Canada Blooms had occupied this space (which would have been a great pairing), but I understand that that marriage didn't work out.

But, more to the point, it is a public space that welcomes polite visitors. I had no idea this was the case, till I ventured by on foot, naturally with a camera in hand. It's a quiet respite from busy Queen Street, and the TTC yards across the way.

From a garden perspective, it's a great place to see trees – really old trees. The rainy weather on the day of my visit really brought out the textures.

[But, soft, what light from yonder laptop breaks? It is my clock telling me I have to launch this post in order to fulfill my very last daily post of November, before the clock strikes midnight... BRB.]

Back again. The tiger-striping on the old paper birch (Betula papyrifera) above is extremely decorative, along with curls of exfoliating bark.

And, above, closer to what I imagine might have been the original homestead site (there's a plaque), the deeply grooved bark of one of two very old black locust trees (Robinia pseudoacacia). Farmers would have planted these to use their super-strong wood for tool stocks.

On the far side, the entrance to the drive is flanked by large horse chestnut trees (Aesculus hippocastanum), evident by the fat terminal buds, even when leafless.

Towards the back of the property, beside a hollow in the land that must have been the watercourse of a now buried stream, is an ancient weeping willow, so whittled away by time that it is surrounded by its own circle of chain link fence – to protect it from onlookers, or vice versa.

Behind the house, I was glad to see that the flower garden is piled up with fallen leaves.

Now that I've broken the ice, you know I'll be back: respecting the privacy of the tenants, removing my litter, cleaning up after my pets, and leaving the flowers for others to enjoy, just like the sign says.

Awards: Double-edged petals

I was thrilled on waking this morning to learn that my hosta photo had won Gold, amid stiff competition, in the Gardening Gone Wild Picture This photo contest for November 2009!

This, on top of Best Blog awards last week, conferred by Deborah of Kilbourne Grove/Green Theatre and The Violet Fern, for which we are grateful.

Awards seem to have become the Stella d'Oro of the garden blogging world lately; a little overplanted. So much so that Charlotte of the wonderful Galloping Gardener – coincidentally, the blogger who tagged us for our very first meme award – has declared an R.I.P.

We want to honour the kind intention of those who have recognized us, without burdening anyone else with an obligation.

Therefore, we simply want to suggest this. Read our post on Toronto Garden Bloggers from earlier this month. Or expand our blog roll and have a look. Or follow the links back from a tweet that you like. Check back often for additions.

Do the same when you visit other blogs. You're bound to stumble upon someone new you aren't following... yet. Chances are, if they're on the blog roll (think of it as an honour roll) of a blog you admire, they belong on yours, too. We all win by sharing that way.

It has been fun learning 10 honest things or 7 things we didn't know about our fellow bloggers. Perhaps we can find a way to hybridize this way of cultivating knowledge about our blogging community. I hope so.

Worth Repeating: Going Squirrelly

It's squirrel feeder bird feeder time again. So (as Sarah has been at a seminar all day, and I have been tending to family things) we thought you might enjoy re-reading this post of Sarah's from the spring. It's called: A Bit of a Chat with a Squirrel at my Bird Feeder




Me: Oh, it's you again.

Squirrel: Oh, hey, hi! If it isn't Lady Bountiful! Thanks for putting out this amaaazing spread! I LOVE what you're doing here! (Nom nom nom-like scarfing noises)

Me: Yeah. Really, um, about that. The spread. I actually.... how do I put this....the spread, It's really meant for...you know...the birds. The cardinal, the goldfinches...

Squirrel: THOSE deadbeats??? The ones who can't bother to fly over here - what is it - too far from the nest? Ohhhh, my arms - I mean my wings - my little helpless wings are getting toooo tired to make it allll the way over to this feeding station. Think I'll just hang out in this shrub a little longer...those guys???

Me: Yeah, those guys. All the birds. I've been trying to get them over here. I got the suet feeder, the special seed...

Squirrel: Oh, yeah, that crap. NOBODY likes that stuff, not even those deadbeat birds. You might as well hang up a sign that says: WILDLIFE: fly on by! THIS IS NOT THE KIND OF SEED YOU LIKE, NO MATTER WHAT IT SAYS ON THE PACKAGE!

ME: Well, it seemed like the cardinal was coming by. After you finished all the sunflower seeds, they came by for those white seed thingies. You know who I mean right? The bright red guy? The really pretty one. I LOVE that guy! He comes over once in a while, and brings his wife. So couldn't you...kind of....leave most of this food for them? They were the ones I actually invited to the platform feeder. Where you currently are. If you don't mind me saying.

Squirrel: Well, Ms. Bountiful, I got my invitation too. And I take the trouble to get here early, and every day. And, you know I always bring the guys too.

Me: Yeah, you've got rather a lot of guys. There's usually 4 or 5 of you running around out here...um...kind of....don't get me wrong, I'm happy to supply you with food, but you're kind of....trashing the place?

Squirrel: Hey, Ms. Bount, that's not MY guys, must be some other squirrels. A couple of trees over. Can't speak for them.

Me: Well, I do always put some stuff out for you. In the special Squirrel Feeder, remember?

Squirrel: Yeah, I've been meaning to talk to you about that special Squirrel Feeder. We appreciate the thought, Ms. Bount, we really do. You are TOO generous, God love you, but I gotta tell you, Mike still has head wounds from that hinged lid falling on top of him. He's not too happy about it. Plus he still didn't manage to get the peanut outta there! Do you think you could adjust the hydraulics or something?

Me: Well, maybe Mike needs to build up his arms, because I haven't seen any one else have any trouble with it. Tell him I'm sorry about his head, and I'll look into it. Maybe a notice that says: "lift carefully, then dive in".

Squirrel: It could help. Maybe not. There's definitely a technique you gotta perfect for that thing. I've got it down, but here's the thing you gotta know about us squirrels, we believe in doing something the most efficient way. You got seed here all spread out on a buffet, we're gonna go for that, we're not gonna mess around with that other contraption you got there where muscle power is involved. Get it?

Me: I've seen some interesting gyrations with some of your gang. That hanging upside down technique for my cylinder feeders. Pretty interesting.

Squirrel: Yeah, the hotshots get into that stuff. Can be a little dangerous. Well, Bount, it's been nice chatting to you, but if you don't mind, I've got a lot of munching to do. You might want to put some more peanuts on the list. I don't want to seem demanding, but, I've got a little lady back at the tree who could use a few. Time of year and all.

Me: Hey, I've been meaning to ask you. Don't you spend pretty much all fall, gathering nuts and acorns, just for that purpose, to get you through the winter and all?

Squirrel: Do we? That's ALL we frickin' do!! But can we remember where we put the frickin' things? I don't know how many times I'm walking under a tree, and I'm forgetting why I even came there! "Oh, yeah", I go: "nuts!" Then for the life of me, I can't remember where I put them. That's why people like you are so great. Really, you do a real service to us squirrels out here.

Me: Well, as I said before, it's really mostly for the birds.

Squirrel: Those fly by nights, who needs em? Squirrels - we're the dependable ones. You gotta admit, we show up every day. We frolic, we scamper, we eat with TWO hands, Come on, you gotta admit THAT'S ADORABLE!!! We've got the fluffy tails. Damn cute! Come on, you know you love us!

Me: Well, I do appear to be stuck with you. I mean, yeah, you have your own....personal charm I guess.

Squirrel: That's more like it.

TGI Friday Flowers: Spicing up the urn

A quick post to show off my fall urn, in a rather crummy photo, shot between raindrops, with frosted edges to disguise my neighbour's recycling bin. I hope you'll believe me: this looks better in real life.

The inspiration to get cracking and fill the negative space left by the retreating annuals came from fellow Toronto blogger Irena of My Roots Run Deep. Take a look, and I'm sure you'll be as impressed by her handiwork as I was. I even cadged her idea of using prunings from the euonymus as foliage. Thanks!

You'll also note a few 'Annabelle' hydrangea heads and a spray or two of my pyracantha berries. Free floral material always makes the skinflint in me happy.

The ever-greenery came from East End Garden Centre. As soon as I came away, I regretted not buying an $11.99 bunch of brown-backed magnolia leaves. But, other than twigs to create vertical line, the budget says that this will have to do.

A longer post soon, as Toronto Gardens has just received a Best Blog Award from both Deborah of Kilbourne Grove/Green Theatre and also from The Violet Fern. Sarah and I are honoured. The hardest part, as I'm sure all who have received one of these knows, is passing this chain along in a meaningful way. We are percolating on that topic.

Orchid Bloom: Patience Pays Off

My original plant. The offshoot came from a Keiki that grew on its old flower stalk.

2009 hasn't been my most stellar gardening year. I've been distracted and neglectful of my garden, both indoors and out, especially since P-Day: August 30th - The Day Izi, The Puppy, Entered My Life. Garden wise, sad to say, it's been all downhill since then. I'm amazed I still have a few plants that are alive.

Since P-Day I should dub myself the Intermittent Gardener, since I only notice my plants every now and then, while being dragged around by said puppy. I notice that they are thirsty. I notice that they are falling over. I notice they have strange bugs and holes in their leaves. I make a mental note to Do Something About It At The First Available Opportunity. Then I forget all about it, till the next time I pass by. And the cycle repeats. Sad, really.

"Forget the plants. You've got ME now, " says Puppy Izi.

But, happily, plants are tough, even orchids. My two orchids, the original, and offshoot, sat outdoors till quite late in the fall and suffered a few pretty cold nights. Eventually I noticed them giving me pathetic looks. "You aren't planning on leaving us out here for the winter, are you?" looks. By then they had been liberally chewed by snails and looked really quite miserable. On plant dating attractiveness scale, not even "average" would cover it. Not good looking plants. But they were still alive, so I scooped them up, found a spot to place them inside, after which, of course, I got right on the task of neglecting them in the warmth of my overheated apartment.
They were huddled together on a cold windowsill, and my sister, bless her eyes, noticed that the baby one, the one I wrote about here, actually had a flower bud on it! I'd been waiting for that flower bud for ages. Thought it was never going to happen. But happen it did! Yippee! I roared into action and got out the watering can and drainage pots. Now I could actually water them (yes, it's something plants actually like, apparently) And the misting bottle got dusted off. They are in a perfect spot right now, close to the south facing window, but not freezing on the windowsill. They are on top of my TV. Warm and sunny.

I await the growth of the flower bud with interest.

Out with old, in with new: Geranium 'Biokovo'

As someone who has grown bigroot geranium (Geranium macrorhizzum) for many years, I've long admired one of its daintier hybrid offspring. While similar in frilled leaf form, Geranium x cantabrigiense 'Biokovo' makes tidier mats of foliage, and its flowers poke up their heads without the long, scrawny necks of my bigrooted friend.

Then yesterday as I escaped outdoors for a brief, rainy camera safari, I was arrested by the scene above and below. Wow. That leaf colour sure puts my bigroots to shame.

Coincidentally, I came across an almost identical shot and excellent article at the blog of The Casual Gardener. Scoot over there and have a read. This leads me to think that the colour I spotted is not an isolated incident, and that 'Karmina' -- as the carminey name suggests -- might be a colourful variety to hunt for.

Much as I hate to rip out a plant that is performing reasonably well, it makes total sense to ensure that each square foot of ground is working its darnedest for effect. In fact, in my shady, dry, sandy garden, G. macrorhizzum reliably makes tons of leaves, but flowers only sparingly. Perhaps G. 'Biokovo' would do (or not do) the same. Yet who would care, with this paintbox of foliage to wrap up the season!

Anyone need some hardworking bigroots as ground cover for an impossible spot? Come knocking.

Tree profile: Callery Pear

Walking around the neighbourhood on a grey November day, you can't help but notice that the Callery pear (Pyrus calleryana) is the only light on the street. Look at that! The rest of the trees are denuded, but this fellow is still glowing.

Because I remember when neighbours had one planted in their front yard, I could have sworn that Callery pears were among the choices in Toronto's street tree program. However, they don't appear on the current list.

Perhaps it's because they have their detractors, especially of cultivars such as 'Bradford', disliked for its weak branches (not evident in an improved variety such as 'Chanticleer.') Others complain the trees are over used, which seems to be the fate of any generally trouble-free plant with multiple seasons of interest. In some areas of the continent, this Asian native has joined the list of invasive species, an important concern. I'm also not alone in finding that the spring flowers can smell like cat pee.

In the plus column, the white blooms are abundant and abundantly pretty. Afterwards, they leave ornamental (but unpalatable) reddish fruit, about the size of a cherry, amidst neat-looking glossy green leaves. The oval crown is well suited to smaller urban spaces.

But it's at this time of year they show their stuff, with brilliantly coloured foliage that seems to linger after the other trees shut down their fall show.

So there you have the pros and cons to make an informed choice – or at least to appreciate someone else's choice when you meet it on the street.

Gardening for the (not yet) Hard of Hearing

Commenting on my Leaf Eater review, wise Pomona Belvedere of Tulips in the Woods reminded me to wear ear protection. She's quite right. As someone who has a severe-to-profound hearing loss, I should know. And know better.

Called presbycusis – a great word to file away for Scrabble or crossword clues – my type of loss is in the high frequencies, where consonants reside. Ps, Bs, Ts, and so on, are easily confused for someone with presbycusis. In short: we usually know that you're speaking, but we might not get everything you say. A natural process of aging, it's accelerated in my case by genes. It was detected in my teens and has progressively worsened; I've worn hearing aids for 25 years.

But note this: Sudden or prolonged exposure to loud noise can also damage your hearing. Like my Leaf Eater, or your leaf blower or mower. Like the chainsaw (or, in the case of Kathy Purdy at Cold Climate Gardening, the reciprocating saw) you use for lopping or pruning. Or the circular saw you might be building your shed with. Or the music player you might wear as you do your weeding.

Take it from me, you don't want to lose your hearing. It's an almost invisible disability, making it doubly difficult to live with. People get annoyed when you can't understand what they're saying. Alarm clocks, smoke detectors, telephones, going to see a play, conversing in a coffee shop; so many everyday things we take for granted can be challenges for the hearing impaired. It can be isolating, frustrating – and, for noise-induced hearing loss, can be largely preventable.

Please, check out the information at Dangerous Decibels or the Canadian Hearing Foundation. Wear ear protection when in noisy situations for long periods. Turn down the iPod and the TV. As our population ages, hearing loss will be one of the fastest-growing disabilities. Don't you be among them, if you can prevent it.

Leaves: A few that got away

Gingko biloba in its lovely clear yellow autumn foliage, crystalled with raindrops. The leaves of this tree have been found fossilized in stone. It was once thought to have been extinct. Yet, here it is in the front yard of a city street in Toronto. I wonder what colour the dinosaurs really were...

Leaf Eater Review: Pretty darned amazing

How quick come the reasons for approving what we like.
– Jane Austen

Today, I used my new purchase for the first time, and have to say the Flowtron Electric Leaf Eater pretty much (or pretty mulch) lived up to its billing: it shredded mountains of leaves, wet and dry, quickly and conveniently.

The worst thing about it was the noise, which is like an electric lawnmower or, shudder, a leaf blower – though a lot more efficient than the former at mulching leaves, and a more earth-friendly use of energy than the latter.

Now that I have this neat little gadget, though, I can assure our neighbours that it won't be running 2.5 hours at a time (albeit at intervals) again. Instead, I'll haul it out for brief sessions. It's lightweight enough to do that easily. When not in use, the hopper swings down between the legs of the stand.

Oh, but during that 2.5 hours, Sarah and I shredded a heck of a lot of leaves... from my yard, front and back, from Sarah's front yard, and from the front and back yard of our neighbour in between.

We produced 14 garbage cans full of coarsely chopped leaves, and added them to our garden beds, right over the undigested leaves already there.

I'm skeptical about Flowtron's claims of a 30-to-1 reduction. Perhaps if we'd compressed the chopped leaves, which we didn't, into trash bags. Still, that's a heck of a lot of mulch.

Ours are 99.9% Norway maple leaves, which we usually pile on the garden anyway. In spring, however, these full-sized leaves stratify into an ice-packed felt which can be smothering. Now, with the leaves finely chopped, water will be able to percolate through, and the worms will have bite-sized pieces to pull into the soil. We probably accelerated our composting cycle by a year or two.

The Leaf Eater offers a range of settings selected by a slider that controls the flow in the hopper, from pine needles (finest/slowest) to wet leaves, grass and thatch (coarsest/fastest). As we'd had rain a day or so ago, we principally used the wet leaves setting. We made frequent use of the on/off switch during shredding, too, turning off the motor whenever possible.

They recommend you use safety glasses, gloves and shoes. I'd also suggest wearing long pants and sleeves, even if using in summer, as small bits do occasionally fly out the vents and top. The Leaf Eater can be placed over a garbage can, as we did, and also has its own stand and an integrated bungee cord for attaching a garbage bag. When using a bag, the hopper can tilt on its stand for easier access.

We found that feeding continuous small batches worked best, to let gravity do its work. I imagined being a miser, and feeling those dollar bills run through my fingers. Mine, all mine!

Sometimes it helped to swirl the leaves at the widest part of the hopper top (like water going down a drain). We kept a yard bag nearby for twigs and branches. One review I read said that it didn't respond well to twigs, but we found that the occasional one did slip in without serious consequences.

Never reach your hands inside while the machine is running. An occasional shake helped loosen leaf jams. The wetter the leaves, the more they tended to clog.

 

Inside the hopper, you can see why it's important to keep your hands away. The cutting is done by rotating double weed-whipper cords. (The kit comes with three dozen replacements.) Before clearing any stubborn blockages, which we experienced only when the garbage bin was nearly full, we always turned the Leaf Eater OFF as well as unplugging it from the extension cord (we used a grounded cord rated for outdoor use.)

The holes above are shown at the largest setting, but it was surprising how finely the leaves were cut. To cut leaves more finely, which must be almost to a powder, they recommend you process them twice: once at coarse and once at a finer shred. I was quite satisfied with the coarse setting myself. In the image below, the larger leaves are mostly those left in the hopper at the end of the process. Deeper in the bin, the leaves are cut quite small.

 

Dustiness seems to be one criticism I've read about. In fact, some writers recommend the use of a dust mask. In our case, this is an instance where the rain probably worked in our favour, keeping dust to a minimum. In drier weather, a mask might be welcome.

One minor criticism is that the base of the stand did come apart as we moved the bin away on a few occasions. However, this might be simply due to improper assembly.

It was certainly work. I retired to the tub with a book after our 2.5 hour stint. However, Sarah and I were impressed with how much (or how mulch) we achieved.

In short, I'm pretty darned pleased. My sister and I spent a companionable afternoon in the garden, punctuated by cups of tea and conversation (when the Leaf Eater was napping). And we both have the satisfaction of having fed our gardens, and the worms who frequent them, with beaucoup, beaucoup delicious organic matter.

And that's what matters most to us.

Lucky me! I have a leaf shredder

Little did I think when I photographed this four-leafed clover six months ago that today I would be the proud owner of a leaf shredder. Lucky me!

After pining over more expensive models, I stumbled across the Flowtron Leaf-Eater online at HomeDepot.ca. It was $199, plus tax. Shipping cost would be the make-or-break item. It added just under $11. Lucky, lucky me!

There were 27 in stock at time of ordering. One of them was mine. Next morning, when I tried to send Deborah of Kilbourne Grove/Green Theatre a link, the product page had disappeared... and, unluckily, I assume the stock had disappeared along with it.

It arrived this morning. Lucky me that Mr. TG is so handy with a Philips screwdriver, and that I have plenty of leaves to transform into mulch. While, yesterday it rained on the leaves (unluckily), this weekend the rain (luckily) is predicted to hold off. The preliminary reviews for my new shredder say it's very effective (lucky for you know who) but noisy (not so lucky for the neighbours).

Full and impartial review to follow (lucky you)!

Anthropomorphic Trees

Tree creatures. Walking in a park by the lake a few weeks ago I snapped this picture of a tree base that I instantly labelled, "Tree Feet".

Helen's been writing a lot about trees lately and it has made me think about how I've felt about trees in my life. Trees were only one of the alphabetical list of "Things That Scared Me" as a kid. Especially really big trees. Shall I blame Walt Disney? Picture Snow White lost in the forest, the trees becoming human monsters, grasping out at her in the darkness. That scene imprinted itself on me, and I could never look at a tree without a teeny part of me thinking it might come to life and grab me with its...tree hands. Yikes. Naturally, as a child I didn't make the connection that the trees were only coming to life in her mind. I thought that in some forests, in some places, trees might Really Do That. They certainly continued to do that in my nightmares.

Walking in the dog park the other evening at twilight I stood under, then looked up at a particularly enormous tree and suddenly shivered. It brought back the days in grade 5 when my route to school contained a particularly huge half dead elm tree. A monster with branches that groaned. I was terrified of that tree. Especially when the wind was blowing. Or in winter when its black branches were silhouetted against the sky. I used to run past it pell mell every time, stopping only when I thought I was out of "arms reach".

When I first moved out to the countryside of eastern Ontario, I noticed how many elm trees were still growing, that there were many that hadn't succumbed to Dutch Elm Disease. One tree in particular, growing in the centre of a large crop field had survived to a massive size. It was particularly full and its elegance always struck me when I drove by. Huge, fountain-like, the way elms are. Not scary: Beautiful. Seen from the distance of the road, I always meant to stop my car and take a picture of it. I felt like it was my tree. I couldn't drive by without saying, "Hello tree". It made me happy. This year sadly, it finally succumbed to whatever pest is killing the elms. Gone forever; now bare branched, like the tree that scared me as a kid. Now when I see it, I'm just sad. I never stopped to take a picture, as I planned.

The sad truth is that the mature trees on my Toronto street are mostly "on their way out". The one outside my bedroom window is monster sized, and happily, it's one that still retains some youthful vigour. Most others though, have sections with bare branches and they lose a few large ones every year. They won't be with us much longer. They're not succumbing to disease, but just old age. Lucky them.

Trees, like people, don't live forever. They start from practically nothing, and grow into giants. But friendly ones. I know that now.

Recognize your neighbours: Basswood tree

The native North American basswood (Tilia americana) was one of the first trees I learned to recognize from afar, way back in the sixth grade.

See how the mature tree has a shape like the club in a suit of cards? The trunk flares out at the base, and the crown of leaves and branches has that clublike wide and somewhat trailing near the bottom, rounded at the top shape.

Basswoods can grow to be rather grand trees; up to 120 feet (40 metres). The leaves have a heart shape, like their cousins the little-leaf linden (Tilia cordata), though as you can imagine are much larger. They're also very toothy along the margins.

Also like the little leaf linden, basswoods have scented flowers that droop in a whitish cluster or cyme attached to a single elongated white bract. The small, nutlike fruit also suspends from this bract, which helps the fruit travel when it drops from the tree. I call it a wingnut, but have no idea if anyone else does.

When the leaves are off the trees, basswood and other tilias can be recognized by their large, rounded distinctly reddish buds. They remind me of tiny hearts (actual hearts, not the stylized ones).

As if you needed other reasons to know your neighbour, if you're ever lost in the bush, basswoods offer great fibre for making cord, as you can read in this excellent online resource Ontario Trees and Shrubs.

Quest for Quercus

My wish list contains an oak tree. Not a Northern red oak (Quercus rubra) like this majestic beauty in the park nearby,  but a scarlet oak (Quercus coccinea).

Scarlet oaks grow on dry, sandy uplands. That sounds just like my garden! And the colour the leaves produce in fall is said to be an even richer red than others in the red oak family.

You can recognize the red oaks by their  pointed rather than rounded leaf tips (the latter belong to the white oak family). The scarlet oak has among the finer, more deeply lobed leaves in the group.

I look forward to joining the folks who complain about their oak leaves not breaking down as quickly as leaves such as my (not so) beloved Norway maples. Just the excuse I need to invest in a leaf shredder to turn my leaves into lovely mulch. Perhaps I'll put that on my wish list, too.

House sparrows beware!

I'd never thought much about house sparrows, except to notice that they're among the most-frequent visitors to my bird feeder (whenever Sarah fills it for me).

Then, a few days ago, my neighbour M called me over to show me his homemade sparrow deterrent, based on the Magic Halo. He'd made the halo frame from a couple of coathangers and then hung four evenly spaced, narrow-gauge wires, each with a heavy nut or screw at the end for ballast. The original product uses a filament instead of wires, in which the birds can become entangled.

So far, he said, no sparrows. (M also avoids the cheap birdseed that contains the cracked corn that sparrows like.)

Though impressed with M's ingenuity, it made me wonder why such measures were necessary. So I got online.

This informative site about bluebirds Sialis.org, including a whole section on the Magic Halo, awakened me to the bully-boy that is the fluffy little house sparrow. I learned that this non-native bird attacks and kills cavity-dwelling native birds such as bluebirds and intimidates shy guys like chickadees. Who'da thunk it?

So, get ye hence, foul sparrow. Go pick on someone a whole lot bigger.

Alas, Blooms Day in Toronto, November 2009

Rosa 'New Dawn' puts on its party dress for perhaps the last time this season.

It's mostly foliage now for this November Blooms Day 2009. Clockwise, from large photo at left: the tendrils of Sarah's perennial sweet pea (Lathyrus latifolius), the sere leaves and drying flowers of 'Annabelle' hydrangea (Hydrangea arborescens 'Annabelle'); Daphne 'Carol Mackie' with Japanese painted fern (Athyrium nipponicum var. pictum), still looking summery, with the gold-tinted fall leaves of Hosta 'Halcyon' (which makes me think the blue-leafed hostas do have better fall colour). Fallen Norway maple leaves are blooming in the shorter trees and shrubs below like golden flowers. This is the red fall colour of 'Coppertina' ninebark (Physocarpus 'Coppertina'). And frosty blue lavendar in Sarah's garden, contrasting with the yellow maple leaves.

A (very) few blooms survive to be documented. Clockwise, from large images at left: I've been disappointed in my 'Proven Winners', or perhaps my expectations were too high. This is Hydrangea 'Limelight'; my guess is that I don't have enough "hyrda-" (Greek for water) for this particular hydrangea. The berries of my Pyracantha 'Mohave' are finally making a statement after many years of working up steam. From Sarah's garden and mine, individual blooms of green Nicotiana; the chrysanthemum we call 'Mrs. Begley'  after the woman who runs the informal nursery we got it from near Sarah's country place; a lone Viola, liking the cool weather; and a pair of snapdragons (Antirrhinum) trying to urn its keep.

 

Oops. The cat's got it! That might just be it from me outdoors in 2009. To see what's still blooming elsewhere in the world this November, visit May Dreams Gardens where on the 15th of each month Carol generously hosts show and tell for garden bloggers around the planet.

Toronto garden bloggers

Toronto Gardens isn't the only blog about gardening in Toronto. Or about Toronto gardens. Here are a few we follow – and we'd love to hear about others that are missing.

YouGrowGirl 
 We can't begin such a post without mentioning Gayla Trail, who has set and raised the bar in garden blogging since 2000. We love her blog name, also the eponymous title of her first book, and were thrilled to finally meet Gayla this year (Gayla at left with Sarah, above). Her blog includes an online community with an audience far beyond the GTA. Gayla takes a great photo, evident in her Daily Botanical feature. Her engaging and distinctive voice has also come to life in seasonal Globe & Mail columns this year. Long may she continue. [And an extra thankyou to Gayla for introducing us to Barry Parker, plantsman extraordinaire, who blogs here.]

Toronto Gardening All Year Round 
Along with writing about her gardening experiences, local blogger Rosemary has been creating a compendium of all plants native to the Toronto region. This growing alphabetical reference list can be seen here, by Latin name, or here, by common name. Rosemary's list includes the good guys along with the bad guys (such as ragweed), and she is working on building in more pictures and commentary. Check it out.

Native Plant Girl 
Another encyclopedic reference for the city and Southern Ontario, Native Plant Girl is outspoken and informed about native plants and their stewardship. Her site is worth a visit if for its link list alone. Yesterday, she posted on an event today at the Green Barn between 4-8 pm to honour and support Dagmar Baur, to whom gardeners in the city should be grateful. I encourage you to click the link for details.

Not Far From The Tree 
Perhaps you have a mulberry or crab-apple tree in your yard that litters the sidewalk and lawn each year? Or a black walnut that conks you on the head as you try to garden? Then you should know about this organization that helps harvest and share the produce from the city's residential trees, so not a kernel goes to waste. In 2009, NFFTT gathered over 8,000 pounds of fruits and nuts, nearly three times their 2008 harvest. The blog is a fun read. Today, for example, they explain the difference between apple juice and cider, along with instructions for making your own.

Garden Toronto
Mark Disero launched his Garden Toronto site this year, with the vision to create a go-to site for links to everything from open gardens to contractors in the GTA. You can also loop in to all things gardening in Canada through Mark's GardenWriters.ca and GardenRadio.ca sites.

These are but a few. Many of the organizations we link to in our right column also blog on issues and events of interest to Toronto gardeners. Have a look. And please chime in with others you think we should know about.

Cuttings without fear

Many plants are easily propagated by cuttings. And the process is far from complex. The most important step is, of course, to do it... and not be daunted by rules or regulations.

I own rooting hormone (#1 for softwood cuttings) which would have been an essential tool in the right way to take these geranium cuttings -- for Pelargonium 'Happy Thought'. It's good to have Happy Thoughts in the garden, and the more the merrier! The rest of the right way to take cuttings involves a sterile potting medium, moist but well-drained, with a dip of the cut stem into the powdered hormone. Ideally, the procedure should be done earlier in the season; August is good.

However. As I lacked sterile potting soil, and I didn't get around to taking any cuttings in August, what I did – in October – was follow Monty Python's Mr. Gumby method of taking cuttings: first you take the flowers, and arrange 'em in a vaaaaaase.

The slightly expanded version of that method might say: Cut fat, green stems (about 3-4" long) just below a leaf node. Remove any flower buds, and all but the top 2-3 leaves. Pop them in water in an opaque container. Put the container in bright, indirect light. Wait (topping up the water as needed). After a couple of weeks, you might have this...

Only one geranium cutting had rooted when these photos were taken last week, but now they almost all are. And, now, I have potting soil.


As you can see, the coleus (Solenostemon scutellarioides) cuttings were even more enthusiastic about rooting in water. I'll be potting these up soon... when I can rediscover the pots I'd put aside for them.

My point is this: there are definitely right ways (or better ways) to do things in the garden, but sometimes plain old, unscientific ways work just fine. Anything worth doing is worth doing badly. This method gave me 100% more cuttings that I'd had before.

The mystery of the unfallen leaves

All the trees on the street are usually bare before my next door Norway maple (Acer platanoides) drops its leaves. Look here; it's still green, in this picture taken yesterday. It doesn't matter if I rake. The day before the first big snow, this guy typically drops the whole shebang. Whomp! Then we're shovelling up leaves with the snow, all winter long.

The two fence trees behind the houses are following the same trend. So I wonder what (besides heredity) they have in common to makes them equally retentive?

Perhaps it's moisture. Moisture stress has a negative impact on leaf abscission – in other words, drought makes plants drop their leaves. Could it be that these three are tapping some hidden spring?

Toronto is riddled with lost rivers and underground streams; with a number in the Beach. South of our house, at the French school our kids attended, a zigzag of mature willow trees suggests to me that a river used to run through it.

The way that history has reshaped the city fascinates me. That's why I was a sucker for Derek Hayes' recent Historical Atlas of Toronto (and I should note that this little obsession was not a freebie). Hayes has collected about 300 maps, from the earliest scratched lines on birch bark through site plans for "new" subdivisions such as Rosedale or Lawrence Park. They're fun to pore over. One shows many streams flowing southward in our area.

So it's likely that our leaves are trying to tell us something. Like the leftover willows in the schoolyard, the city is full of clues. All we need to do is recognize that there's a mystery to be solved.

BigBox Botanical Garden Collage

For all you Mac users: behold my success at fooling iPhoto into creating a photo collage, something it doesn't profess to do. There are a number of third-party software choices available to let you do this... but I found a quick, easy and no-cost solution.

Just pour your photos into a page template for a new iPhoto book, then save the page as a PDF (using the Print command), and then open the PDF (with Preview) and save it as a JPEG. (Be sure to adjust the picture quality slider bar to Best.) It's less complicated than it sounds and, provided you know which photos you want to use, can be done in less than a minute. Give it a try!

This collage represents a fun thing to do on a rainy day in November: head to your local big-box store and pretend it's a botanical garden. With no one (except me and Mr. TG, elsewhere in the lumber section) venturing out due to the dull, wet weather, I was free to enjoy the colours and browse plant tags for names and care instructions. No obligation to buy (don't tell anyone I said so).

Shown here, anticlockwise from upper left: One of a table full of Phalaenopsis orchids; the flaming leaves of Croton; the pink bloom of bromeliad Aechmea fasciata; another bromeliad; pots of pheasant's breast aloe; a row of fiery chrysanthemums; and an assortment of bright cacti. 

The side trip works best when the plants are freshly arrived, of course. Big-box stores are everywhere, which is convenient for this little outing, but they aren't known as intensive care units, shall we say.

Inside out: Views of the garden

Aiming for a shot of the rose arbour for Garden Bloggers Bloom Day, way back the summer, I realized that one place to appreciate the (at that time) bower of bloom was from inside the house. This got me thinking: is garden design all about experiencing the garden from within it? When designing: is in in and out out and never the twain...

We've all seen what happens when people consider the house and its garden as two separate spaces: such as when a huge conifer is obscuring the view, smack dab in the middle of a picture window. Yet, in cold climates like ours, where indoors begins to feel mighty claustrophobic by February, it would be liberating to be able to extend the view.

Windows and doorways offer the ideal framing device. I'd begun to think on this when Sarah and I visited the country garden of Country Gardener, Yvonne Cunnington, a very talented designer who clearly understands the ins, outs and all their implications.

It isn't just the fabulous property (although who wouldn't fantasize about that?), it's the conscious placement of garden objects in the near, middle and far ground that keep the eye traveling through the picture -- the garden picture -- even when seen from indoors. We can keep this in mind, no matter what size garden we possess. 

Summer leftover: Asian-inspired garden

While doing the initial scoring for the East York Blooming Contest, I saw some high-scoring gardens that didn't make it into the final round, including this Asian-inspired front garden.

The tall tree is a standard form of weeping mulberry (Morus alba 'Pendula'). In horticulture, standard doesn't mean "run of the mill", but refers to the long-legged tree form. Often, standards are created by grafting a plant with a desired characteristic (such as a weeping habit) onto the trunk of a plant with a strong, single stem. On the other side is a compact weeping Japanese maple.

Surrounding the individual specimens, the gardener has used relatively inexpensive, vigorous AKA rampant growers such as mother of thyme (Thymus praecox), variegated ribbongrass (Phalaria arundinacea) and good-old, bad-old goutweed (Aegopodium podagraria). Even Japanese blood grass (Imperata cylindrica) is said to be a little too greedy for space in some mild climates.

Say what you will about aggressive plants, though, they have the virtue of covering a large area in a small amount of time (or thyme, as the case may be). When transforming a lawn into a garden, these might be reasonable choices, if you have more energy than bucks. The energy will be required in constant vigilance to keep them within their bounds. Some, such as goutweed, usually fall into the "Don't ever, ever (ever) plant this" category.

Nevertheless, the placement of the plant materials here makes a pleasing arrangement, and the accents of the stone lantern, river stones and low, bamboo fence are perfectly in keeping with the style of the garden.

Gardening Gone Wild: Picture This, Nov. 2009

This marks the last monthly Picture This photo contest at garden blog Gardening Gone Wild [at least, the last for 2009]. I've been admiring the work of the winners over the past months, but thought this time: you can't win if you don't enter. So, here's my entry.

This month's theme is "End of the Line," which can be interpreted literally with linear form and metaphorically with an image that symbolizes the end of the growing season.

This hosta was just catching the late afternoon light when I took this shot, making the sunlight seem to run down the drain of the petiole. Some hostas colour better in fall than others. These are the fairly substantial leaves of my blue-leafed Hosta tokudama which seem to have come through the slug-fest of Summer 2009 unscathed. Not all the leaves on the plant have this degree of colouration. It happened to be a case of the right leaf at the right time.

Scenic Sunday: Toronto Botanical Garden in November

Entrance to the Toronto Botanical Garden at twilight.

 

The Entry Garden Walk, showing its strong Piet Oudolf design influence – lots of native materials left to do their thing in all seasons. I love the repetition of reds in this fall garden.

 

The smaller Floral Hall Courtyard, looking through to the front entrance and the Westview Terrace.

 

 Great use of horsetails (Equistetum hyemale) all along the glass wall on three sides of the courtyard. When I saw this in spring, bulbs had been interplanted. I wonder how they stand up to the competition.

 

Beautiful Japanese maple (Acer japonicum) with a long hedge of Rosa 'The Bride' [silly me: I meant R. 'The Fairy'] In spring, these same beds were a blaze of red tulips.

 

From the Spiral Mound, you get a hilltop view of the themed gardens. It's surprising just how much colour remains in the gardens here, even at the beginning of November.

 

The Garden Hall Courtyard, with its curving "river". I think that might be Fothergilla in the foreground. When we saw this area in spring, we were blown away by the tulip display that picked up the strawlike colours in the overwintered grasses.

 

Back in the Entry Garden Walk, this time in the other direction. That blast of yellow is an Amsonia or bluestar; judging by the fall colour, it's possibly A. hubrectii.

 

The hot grass of the moment, Hakonechloa was a rippling brook of texture. The rich buttery fall hues, catching the raindrops in its dried seedheads, just added to the picture.

 

Another Amsonia, nicely twinned with a tuft of grass. Really, I should be taking notes. Most of the display gardens are conveniently labelled. Too happy with the shutter, girl!

 

Last, but certainly not least, this unlabelled crabapple stopped me in my tracks. It was completely laden with small, bright red fruits. Could this be Malus 'Sugar Tyme'? How about it, those in the know?