The dance of plants

Some tutu-like blooms to brighten this sunny but grey-brown subzero day in Toronto.

Stumbling across the word choreograph in the textbook for the planting design course I'm taking, I had a little A-ha! moment. Choreography and the garden: of course!

I've been in the habit of thinking of the selection and placement of plants in painterly terms – or of creating floral arrangements at static moments in time. But while the painterly principles of composition are essential – balance, proportion, scale, emphasis, et al – it's the notion of time that I'd paid insufficient attention to; its simultaneous continuity and movement. A-ha! I said. And a-ha, again!

Our text is Professional Planting Design by landscape architect and horticulturist Scott C. Scarfone. He makes a strong case for remembering that a garden is dynamic and ever-changing:

"Planting design is different from other design professions in that we are designing using living entities that respond to their environment and that change over time. ... Plant designers must be able to fully understand and take advantage of the changing nature of their medium, and that requires a carefully trained eye capable of noticing the myriad factors that influence a landscape or garden and the plants that fill it."

Naturally, I know that plants, particularly perennials, have blooming periods. However, the notion that I could map these facts-beyond-my-control into somewhat controllable patterns hadn't previously lodged in my brain with such a loud click.

Now, as I carefully train my eye as instructed, I'll be thinking of choreography: of the movement of individual performers; solos, pas de deux and choruses; of filling the stage in three dimensions.

And while my mind is embracing music, I also like the idea of orchestration, which moves notes and instruments through time in a similar way. I'll be thinking of individual plants as melodies weaving through the life of a garden, with harmonies or even pleasing dissonances or recurrent themes.

Get out your sheet music, gardeners. It's time to go for baroque (sorry!), to really think about time as we plan our own Four Seasons.

How I Banish Winter Blahs

Everyone in the north gets pretty bedraggled by the end of January. We've already coped with 2 months of winter proper, and only have February and March to look forward to, months often filled with snow storms, slush and bitter cold.

Even though this January in Toronto was ridiculously warm, with rain some days, and no snowfall to speak of, the cityscape at the moment is dreariness personified. Everything is brown, brown, brown. Or grey, grey, grey. It's enough to get you down, down, down.

All we want to do is garden! I hear my friends cry out, often. Seed catalogues can help us get through this bleak time, but something actually growing can really lift the spirits.

I went out in search of hyacinths, a surefire mood booster and harbinger of spring. The ones I found were a bit past it, and I found a chirpy looking miniature rose which I took home instead.

Yes, miniature roses aren't going to last in my sunny windowsill. I know they can develop spider mite very easily, and yes, mini roses have none of that lovely rose smell. And they aren't really indoor plants at all. But this particular one looked like a tiny version of some antique roses I've been drooling over for years. It charmed me into taking it home.


Even if I get two weeks of enjoyment out of this one, it's worth it to have on my windowsill for now. And you never know, maybe it will live till spring, and I can plant it in my allotment garden. I hear mini roses are very hardy. At any rate, this little cutie is cheering me up on this bleak January day.

Plants versus Plans: Which side are you on?

Hello. My name is Helen, and I am a plantoholic. Most recreational gardeners are. Even the best of us, those who never set foot in a nursery without a shopping list, often start with a wish list. Of plants.

We're easily revved into a frenzy of plant lust by magazine, blog and catalog descriptions of new varieties, new colours, new flower forms. We can't resist a few (or few dozen) impulse buys. Then, we return to the garden with our booty and ask the eternal question: Where the heck do I put this?

What would happen if people in other fields (if you will) had "our little problem?" If an architect fell in love with a bunch of bricks. (Oooh, cool. I'm sure I could fit in a few!). Or an engineer bought girders on impulse (Oh, look, new colours!), or a plumber came home with unusual taps (I couldn't help it; I've never seen that form before!). Wouldn't happen. She wouldn't work backwards from assorted materials, without knowing whether they were right for her project. Neither should we.

After only two sessions, the Ryerson Art and Management of Planting Design course I'm taking is leading me to a different path. I'm trying to un-install the T in my favourite word, and move from plants to PLANS.

Imagine how mushy the texture would be without that one blue hosta, H. 'Tokudama'. We want more effects like that.

The plans will focus on a front garden that after many years of evolution has become scruffy. There are too many plants of the same texture and foliage colour, haphazard blooming times, underperforming specimens and a tiny patch of grass that always looks unkempt. Not to mention, the branches of a dead burning bush that I've kept, thinking I would paint... but never have. As my "face to the world," it's all a bit of an embarrassment.

My first step will be to make a list – and you can guess that I don't mean a plant list. This is a list of criteria for my garden or problems to be solved, in no particular order... yet (we're brainstorming here):

- an easy-to-maintain front garden with greater impact
- a way to disguise the air-conditioning unit
- less (or no) grass to mow
- solution for the too-steep slope and too-narrow driveway
- more variety in foliage texture
- more multi-season interest, especially winter
- entrance too congested; how to fix?
- succession plan for aging street trees
- counteract "flyer guy disease" – plants being trampled by the guys who hand out flyers

The list will be longer, and I'll be looking for patterns. Some things, like my too-narrow driveway, might require more than my current budget allows, but for now let's keep it on the list.

My burning bush in happier times. No, we have absolutely no snow now in Toronto. This was December 2008.

To borrow a creative concept from my working life, innovative solutions often come if you define a problem by asking a question, such as How do I reduce congestion at the entrance? rather than stating some kind of solution, such as Widen front pathway. Turning these points into questions will allow me to open my mind to possible alternatives... and you never know what might work better.

I'll be treating myself like a client as I go through this planning process. More reports as I go.

Tricks for Small Gardens

Urban gardens are usually small gardens. This little album of tricks contains ideas that help urban gardeners overcome some of our spatial limitations. The picture above has three to begin with:

• Use the upward dimension. Be sure your small garden makes use of the infinite vertical plane with elements like arbours, trellises and wall plantings. 

• Don't fear division. Go ahead and divide your tiny space into smaller parcels. Creating hidden corners and winding pathways even in a small garden adds surprise.

• Think big. Don't limit yourself to miniature plants, which can reinforce the overall bittiness. Add that giant hosta or plant in large drifts for drama and punctuation.

• Reflect. Reflective surfaces give the impression of a window into another world. Mirrors are one way to achieve this. But how about a saucer-sized reflecting pool, tucked beneath a plant (refreshing the water often to combat mosquito invasion). Even a glass-topped table can give you a pool of reflected sky.

• Get off the straight and narrow. Lengthen the lines in your pathways and garden beds by using curves or diagonals – an easy trick that instantly makes a small space seem larger.

• Punch holes in it. Putting up a fence or a gate? Give it a window. Even a tiny peek through to the other side, such as with this open trellis, visually extends the view from your small garden while providing a sense of privacy. Of course, good fences require good neighbours. But if you have some, why not share some air.

• Create a focal point... or borrow one. This arbour frames the fountain in a neighbour's garden, but perhaps there's something public you want to highlight or screen. Even if in reality it takes you only to a parking pad, a fabulous door like one this suggests unseen treasures. Or add a great piece of sculpture, leading the eyes to a far corner of small but often busy spaces, and giving them a cool place to rest.

Just a few ideas from my archives. Anything to add?

GGW Picture This: Melt your cold, cold heart

The days are lengthening. Round about this time, our dad would say, "Now we've broken winter's back." Experience tells me it hasn't happened quite yet, despite this January thaw, but we are headed in that direction.

In fact, winter hasn't yet made a creditable appearance, up here in Toronto. So to find some of Winter's Beauty, this month's theme in Gardening Gone Wild's Picture This photo contest, I had to search my archives.

To me, this little fragment of melting ice looked like a heart on a fragile stem, almost flowerlike. A few minutes more in the sun, and it would cease to be. That evanescence seems to be at the very heart of winter's beauty. It's a reminder to open our eyes, minds and hearts to those fleeting moments of joy or beauty at all times of year.

Melt your cold, cold heart is what I call it – which will have me humming Hank Williams for the rest of the day. Although there's nothing botanical about the picture, it was taken in my garden. Might that count as a water feature?

(Unaccustomed as I am to sizing photographs, I'm hoping the image meets the technical requirements. Let's just say, it was 480x640 when it left my laptop. Fingers crossed!)

Lack-of-Blooms Day: January 2010 in Toronto

My rosemary is leggy. And this is the reason why. Something furry has usurped my only rosemary spot, a small south-facing window in the cool front hall. That magic combo of light and coolth is what rosemary needs to get through a Canadian winter.

Poor Rosemary and her pal Sage are reaching out desperately for sunlight in the weak north light of a warm living room. They are not happy.

On the other hand, our friend Finley, who joined us last April through Toronto Cat Rescue, happily soaks up the sun. He does not make flowers or fruit. He cannot be used to perfume sweet potato fries. He does, however, produce a prodigious amount of fur. And besides his fur and the sunshine, he has our love to keep him warm.

Happy people. Happy cat. Not so happy herbs. We can fix that by eating the herbs to make the people happier. Happy folks pat cats. More happiness. It's a love-in! That's not too shabby for a Lack-of-Blooms Day in mid-January.

Many bloggers in the world actually have flowers to show off this Garden Bloggers Bloom Day. Why not leave here in a huff and check out the whole bouquet at May Dreams Gardens, when on the 15th of every month Carol invites all garden bloggers to strut their flowery (and sometimes furry) stuff.

Lesson 1: Choose the right course

This photo of my sad front garden (let's simply call it the before picture) illustrates why I'm sooooo happy to be taking this Art and Management of Landscape Design course [ed. actually, I have the name wrong. It's the Art and Management of Planting Design – even better!] at Ryerson University.

Instructor Michelle Reid outlined it in her course overview tonight: no matter how beautiful the garden design, it will fail over time unless you consider early in the game how the garden will be managed once installed.

In addition to sound design principles, Reid stresses the need to really understand the site conditions and the cultural requirements of the plants you select to go into the landscape – as well as how the garden will be maintained for the long term. This music to my ears told me that hers is just the course I've been looking for. It will help me take a giant step forward: to not only create a better garden, but create one that is sustainable.

More news as it comes in. Course number two at the Toronto Botanical Garden on Tuesday.

Review: My Bogs Boots are Friggin' Fantastic!

I've always hated winter. Why? Because I hate, hate, hate being cold. I was the kid with the 17 comforters on my bed: I relished the weighty coziness of it.

Living in Canada, I'm way out of my comfort zone: born in England, I came (was dragged) here as a fairly wee tot, and never quite adjusted to the crazy cold. Yes, I've lived through (barely endured, whined about) many, many, many Canadian winters. As the first leaf turns red in the fall I'm already girding my loins for what the Canadian climate dishes up next. Couldn't even enjoy fall because I was actively dreading what comes next.

Hearty outdoorsy Canadians are known to say things like: "It's not the bad weather it's the bad clothes".  Hm, don't think I have that saying right [Ed. from hearty outdoor sister: There is no bad weather, only bad clothing.], but the idea is that any temperature is bearable as long as you have the right type of clothing covering the right areas--the outerwear version of the 17 comforters.

Review by Izi the Dog: Whoa! Bogs!

This fall I got a tip from a guy at the dog park, when I spied his intriguingly practical-looking rubber boots. He said, "They're Bogs. They're warm, they're super comfortable and they're waterproof. Get them at Lee Valley Tools." I made a mental note and this Christmas put Bogs boots on my list.

Izi says: Pretty cool, boss!

Hurray! What did I find under the tree this year? Not only a pair of Bogs boots but a sleeker, taller, lady-style pair of Bogs boots, thanks to the sleuth-like shopping of my sister, I mean Santa. [Ed. from Santa: Lee Valley was sold out at the time.]

I took them out for a test drive on New Year's Eve day. It was raining in Toronto, I had to take the puppy out for a run. The beach is where I head with the dog on a rainy day, wet sand being easier to cope with than the Woodstock reminiscent mud-bath of my usual dog park.

As it happened, it was just above freezing, and not only was the rain spitting down, but the waves of Lake Ontario were crashing in. I happen to love when we get waves at beach, so walked along the surf, yes, right in the surf along the water's edge for about an hour. And I can report that although my pant legs were completely soaked, my feet were warm and dry.

Izi says: They look good at the dog park, too. We're chillin'. (But our feet aren't.)

Warm feet in the winter, whether walking through snow or slush. This is something to celebrate.

My appraisal of Bogs is this: they are a combination of a wet suit, comfortable slippers and a down sleeping bag. For your feet. Whether you're walking your dog, or digging the garden in the spring and fall they are a must!

No, I have no relationship to Bogs, the company, except love!

Plucky pioneers

I have birds on the brain. That can happen when you read a lot of garden blogs. Inevitably, the topic of backyard chickens crops (corny anatomy pun: sorry!) up.

Originally, I was going to use this photo in a post about our dad, bless his cool buckled shoes. (This week would have been his 83th birthday.) Like many of today's urban chicken farmers, our mum and dad were artsy city kids who got back to the land... in their case, not in the city but in an old Cotswolds farmhouse in the U.K.

Chickens ran almost wild there. Our parents used to collect eggs from among the nettles along the drive. When they decided to coop our own, I remember being allowed to name "mine" (let's say I called my chick Fluffy), then getting an early life lesson when grown-up Fluffy coincidentally disappeared the same day we had a tasty chicken stew.

I love this portrait of our folks, and am sometimes tempted to submit it to the great website My Parents Were Awesome. Like today's chicken-keeping city slickers, they were pioneers of a sort. Think about that when looking at the earnest faces of settlers in archival photos. Those guys were the reckless and the rugged, willing to break from the mold of their father's fathers.

In Toronto, you have to be an outlaw to raise chickens in your back yard*. It's against city bylaws. However, one brave (reckless and rugged) soul is trying to change that. Skip over to the blog Backyard Chickens in Toronto to get all kinds of how-tos of the urban chicken variety. Sign the petition while you're there. Looking at the media links on the site, it seems the chicken tide may be turning in the city. So you might find yourself growing your own organic eggs, if you've a mind to.

*A little digression: It bugs me that "back" and "yard" seem to have fused permanently as a noun in modern English. I gladly accept "backyard" as an unhyphenated adjective. But "backyard" as a noun seems as wrong to me as "everyday" does in the usage: seeing these words stuck together seems wrong everyday. Fume. "Backyard" may have become everyday usage, but it makes me wince every day it appears, especially when I'm in my back yard. There. Rant over.

Weeding the bookshelf

Never mind square-foot gardening. I need help with square-foot gardening books. In this age of online info, I try to be restrained about buying only what I'll refer to again and again. But my bulging blookshelf shows I'm not restrained enough. There might be people with more; my guess is they have more space.

Trouble is, I love books. Love the physical nature of them. Nothing online combines the wow-factor of a full-bleed image with info that reloads as fast as the flying, flicking finger.

Swapping around my book collections over the holidays has forced me to take stock. My shelves overfloweth. Surely I can divest. But how?

Certainly not if it involves rock-solid reference books like my well-thumbed copy of Michael Dirr's essential Manual of Woody Landscape Plants, or the massively handy, but massive A-Z Encyclopedia of Garden Plants (mine published by Reader's Digest).

The first book I pulled for consideration was my 1971 edition of the Chatelaine Gardening Book, the book our mother used. But there it was on the end papers: the colour map of Canada, with our wonderfully wacky zones. It's a Canadian classic! How could I think of divorce? Back on the shelf it went.

Way back in 1985, my husband and three-month-old son (he had good taste) gave me my first major gardening book, the Reader's Digest Illustrated Guide to Gardening in Canada (the link takes you to a review of the new edition). It remains an excellent all-round reference (especially when augmented by my highlights and marginal notations). It stays.

Then there's the Handbook of Edible Weeds, a book I bought on sale in a French bookstore in Québec thinking the price tag said $22 (but was $72). My innumeracy in spoken French being what it is, I didn't realize my mistake until after I'd signed the credit card chit. That one has a story. It can't possibly go. Plus, looking at the Amazon link I just posted, it now seems that $72 was a good buy.

All my garden porn books by names like Hobhouse or Verey. Or one-of-a-kind reference tools like Stearn's Dictionary of Plant Names for Gardeners or single species reference books on grasses, clematis or geraniums. Gotta have 'em.

What about Trees of Ontario by Linda Kershaw. Hmmm. I don't remember having this. Out it comes. I crack the spine for the first time and I see why I bought this handy pictorial field guide with its useful photos and well-designed identification key. This one doesn't go back onto the shelf. It goes with me into the living room with a cup of tea for a nice read.

[pause. you can see my problem.]

So You Think You Can Garden?

An insight can sneak in quietly. Such happened to me during a lull in this off-kilter holiday. With Daughter #1 visiting from university. Shopping. Cooking. Wrapping. Eating. Entertaining; being entertained. Eating more. Learning Twitter. Dealing with ("stepping around") the attendant mess.

My insight arrived during a marathon viewing of So You Think You Can Dance? auditions. Watching these talented young dancers compete for a chance to compete, it struck me how much a dancer must give to be the best of the best. Time. Energy. Heart. Soul. We all know of overnight successes; I don't know many in the field of dance.

If any artist gave their craft equivalent devotion, how far they'd go!

Most gardeners have lives outside our gardens. And, as I said, these inspiring dancers are young. Like Olympic athletes, they've sacrificed much over a short time to reach a goal. I doubt they have kids or mortgages to draw away their time and energy. Many have patrons (AKA parents) as facilitators.

Still, I found my gee-you-get-out-what-you-put-in insight to be strangely liberating. Talent may be elusive. But hard work and persistence are available to all of us. Even more liberating: we gardeners don't reach our peak in our twenties; we have a lifetime.

So do I think I can garden? Well, yes I think I can – if I'm willing to give it the right amount of time, energy and, dare I say, heart and soul needed to be the gardener I want to be. On the flip side, do I think I can make the garden I want right for the gardener I am? And for the garden I have?

Since declaring my Grand Simplification in October (here and here), I've percolated much on this. Anticipating a (shhhhhh!) resolution for 2010, I'm enrolled in Ryerson's Landscape Design certificate program to help set me on fresh garden paths. Classes start a week from Monday. I hope I pass the audition.

Orange you gonna say Happy New Year?!

Here's a cute idea to toast with your wassail cup. These orange slice curtains were tucked into a little corner of one of the Allan Gardens Conservatory greenhouses, and might be easy to miss flanking a doorway on the north side of one of the tropical houses.

The late sun doesn't show these off to best advantage, but what a way to add a little golden sunshine to a wintery window!

Even better, as I wondered via Google how you'd dry the oranges for this project, I discovered this little how-to on the blog F.I.M.B.Y. (Fun In My Back Yard), a good read full of inspiration. A fresh find is a great way to begin a new year and a new decade.

Wishing you all health, happiness and great gardening in the year ahead.