The Olympics and garden design

This is my homework: historic Campbell House, an authentic Georgian piece of Old York (which was Toronto before Toronto) on a quarter-acre of land at Queen and University. And I, and my classmates, each get to redesign the garden. Well, design it in theory if not in actuality – although our designs will be juried by the Campbell House Museum curator.

Daunting? You betcha.

Handed part one of my design plan in this week, and I'm already picking it apart in my mind. I can see the mistakes I've made, all the times I rushed past the design rules in my excitement and did what I always do: make for the plants. I should know better.

Which, naturally, brings me to the Olympics. Over the past week, we've watched the performances of some of the world's most talented, highly trained, determined athletes in the prime of life. They've devoted years of hard work and sacrifice to get where they are.

Yet, occasionally, they experience some of the things we mortals do. They make mistakes. In the excitement of the moment, they lose track of their form. When these things occur, usually Olympians dust themselves off and smile bravely for the camera, like true sportsmen and sportswomen.

So, I'm dusting myself off. Next installment of the design is our preliminary plant list. I'm taking a step breath and reminding myself of the design process:

a) Think of the function the plants (or other design elements) have to perform
b) Think of the size and shape of elements in abstract terms (like kids' toy blocks: columns, cones, cubes, rectangles, &c.)
c) Which plants would you choose to fill those shapes? Think how massing can change the outline of individual plants. This plant list will likely be long.
d) Now, thinking aesthetically – in terms of design principles such as balance, texture, colour – which plants are the most pleasing or impactful? The plant list is getting shorter.
e) Finally, and most important, of the plants that work aesthetically, which are best suited to the site in terms of maintenance/culture and long-term tolerance? This is The List.

And I don't get to make for the plants till I've got all that worked out. Wish me luck.

Ice Formations: Winter Inflorescence

We take our garden "blooms" where we can in winter. No, I'm not talking flowers. Pollinators, please stay tucked in your nests, we're not ready for you yet.

I was captivated by these ice covered branches on a recent walk in Ashbridges Bay Park.



This is a different sort of blooming, the cold, hard, icy kind.



This one looked to me like a little spiky flower that had grown among the rocks. And, while they're not flowers, in some ways, these ice formations on trees, shrubs and rocks on the shore of Lake Ontario are just as spectacular, especially if you come upon them in the hour before the sun goes down.



These rocks covered in ice remind me of some kind of weird gel-covered dessert.

We still have a few more weeks before the snowdrops and crocuses appear, so seeing what nature dishes up all on her own is a short-lived winter joy.



Bare brown branches that I've passed by without noticing for months are rendered extraordinary and beautiful with a sheer coating of ice and frozen stalagtites. They don't last, but while they're there, what a treat.

Landscape man Matthew Wilson comes to town

A week ago, Sarah and Helen joined a packed crowd at the Toronto Botanical Garden to see English garden guru Matthew Wilson (aka the Heathcliff of the Hedgerows*).

His RHS book New Gardening: How to garden in a changing climate was on sale at the event. [Update: At first, I couldn't find it online in Canada -- then an alert reader advised that it was available at Chapters/Indigo. However, to find it there, I had to search using "Matthew Wilson." Searching for the book title came up a no-show. Go figure. Link updated.] Helen's autographed copy is a trove of inspiring photos and lots of chewy ideas.

Here's our take on the event:

Sarah: Refreshing that he talked up-front about the Elephant in the Room (climate change). Right now, there's a tension between the all-or-nothing approach of environmental "fundamentalists" (his word) – people who have made the lifestyle choice not to fly, not drive, only buy organic, only local, etc. – and the larger group of people who want to do the right thing but aren't willing or able to be completely hardline. Wonder if this divide is more stark in the UK?

He doesn't believe that we must all "wear sackcloth and ashes" (again, his words and not "air quotes") when it comes to the environment. On the other hand, we can make sure we do things that are benign, or good, for the planet -- and gardening unquestionably is a good thing. That way, he sidesteps the debate itself, and just gets on with the discussion about what we can do. Practical good sense.

Helen: Yes, that was smart. I think people find global environmental issues to be big and scary and out of their control. They wonder if personal efforts, such as recycling or gardening, are frivolous and inconsequential in the grand scheme. But he made a good case for doing what we can.

Sarah: Don't forget what he said about the difference between climate and weather. The fact that the UK and the US got so much snow this year has all the nay-sayers going, You see, there is no global warming. But, as he says, that's weather, not climate. Weather is what happens in half an hour. Climate happens over time, and there's no question that over the past century, climate has changed. 

Helen: We both like his idea that "a garden is not an island." It doesn’t matter how we try to separate it with fences, our garden is just a part of the landscape. We can each harm it, but if we do our bit right, we can all make a positive impact. Plus, as part of the landscape, we can't unilaterally decide not to have a certain thing in it.

Sarah: Uh huh. "We are not masters of the universe. No way, no how," is how he put it.

Helen: We have to accept, for example, that your bugs are my bugs... and that most bugs play a role. Even aphids.

As someone forewarned us, he did make us all stand up and shout, “I love... aphids!”

Sarah: Which was fun! We need to love aphids because they are food for things that do us good in the garden. So to have aphids is to have a buffet for the things we want to encourage. The circle of life and all that... Mr. Wilson certainly makes a compelling argument, not just to tolerate, but to LOVE! Kind of cool perspective.

His humour obviously is a great way to get his message across. All his witty phrases, like, "That's the only picture you'll see of my garden, by the way. I’m the plumber with the dripping taps."

Helen: Me, too. Or, on soil: “This is the stuff from which all life springs. And they call it dirt!?" The audience laughed in all the right places.

Sarah: One of his first slides was of his grandfather's carpentry tools. I love old tools. Matthew now has them, and they still do the job. He compares that to the disposable everything we have now.

Helen: Old tools still work in the garden, too. A spade, a hoe. Good ones last forever, if we take care of them (which I should be better about doing).

Sarah: Then there was: "reuse, recycle, reinvent." His patio, for instance, which was nasty-looking concrete slab. Most people would have said: ugly, get rid of it. But he cut the concrete into large pavers and reused them with old bricks as a mosaic. Brilliant.

Or the old garden shed made of "unknown in any natural form" orange wood which he re-clad in logs for the RHS garden, and the log bench with its earth roof.

Helen: You get pictures and instructions for the bench in his book. (See photo.)

He also talked about microveg gardening – which is harvesting veggies when they’re tiny and the flavour is most intense. Or potting up your grocery store garlic to keep it succulent. These are ideas that anyone can do, even in the smallest garden, patio or balcony.

But many of the things he talked about were things that gardeners know already. Good garden practise: Feed the soil, not the plant. Compost, compost, compost.

Sarah: Yes. "Compost heaps usually are hidden at the end of the garden like a mad cousin." It occurs to me that that analogy fits with his gothic nickname. Instead, he says the compost should be in with the rest of the family and looked after.

He's a big fan of wormeries. In the Q&A period, this is where TBG's Paul Zammit said that he keeps his worms on his desk. I wanted to sneak back there right away and have a look at that!

Helen: And, of course, select the right plants for the garden, “rather than trying to bend the garden to our will.” That's my goal for 2010.

I'm so glad we got there in time to snag a front-row seat and connect with other Toronto gardening online peeps, including Barry Parker, Mark Disero and Lorraine Flanigan.

*For another perspective on the Heathcliff of the Hedgerows, visit Kilbourne Grove. Too bad we missed each other at the event, Deborah!

The best laid (garden) schemes...

...of mice and mums are certainly ganging agley this month. Remind me, if I try this again, not to take two university courses and attempt to work full-time – at the same time – again. In the pie of my life, blogging is getting a very narrow slice... more like crumbs.

I have assignments every week in the garden drafting course, and a very challenging ongoing garden design project in the planting design course. Part 1 was submitted last night, so I have about 30 seconds breathing space to write this. With luck and good planning, I'll be able to report on some of the things I've learned so far. Sarah and I also owe you a post on the entertaining and informative Matthew Wilson.

In the meantime, please enjoy this little close-up of a rare Toronto 2010 snowfall on an arrangement at the Toronto Botanical Garden. Snow made a reappearance in the city last night, but its stay will be all too brief.

Snottygobbles, or the case for gardeners' Latin

You might need BBC blood in your veins to remember the childen's show Bill and Ben the Flowerpot Men (and I don't mean the more slick, recent reprise). Bill and Ben were identical flowerpot people, not too unlike the fellow in our picture today, and every episode would end with the question: Was it Bill or was it Ben?

Plant nomenclature can be like that. When it comes to common names for plants, it can be easy to confuse Bill with Ben.

Take the star of today's post: Snottygobbles. I, um, skidded across this name while wearing my freelance hat. The subject was an object fashioned from kou wood, and I needed to know more to write about it. In such cases, Google is my friend, and lead me to the kou tree (Cordia subcordata) on Wikipedia. One of its alternative common names was listed there as snottygobbles.

Snottygobbles?

Apparently, this all-too-descriptive epithet (related to the mushy fruit) is also applied to the parasitic twiner Cassytha filiforma and to the shrub Persoonia saccata. Leave it to Australians, they of fair dinkums and billabongs (billandbenabongs?), to come up with such a corker. So I ask you: is snottygobbles Bill or is it Ben?

What does this have to do with Toronto gardens? If you want to be certain you're getting the real thing for your garden, Latin is a must. Need to see a more mundane example? Gillyflower: a lovely, romantic name. But for which flower? Encyclopedia Britannica Online has this to say about that:

[it's] any of several scented flowering plants, especially the carnation, or clove pink (Dianthus caryophyllus), stock (Matthiola incana), and wallflower (Cheiranthus cheiri). However, the gillyflower of Chaucer, Spenser, and Shakespeare was the carnation. Other plants that are types of gillyflower are dame’s gillyflower, also known as dame’s violet (Hesperis matronalis); mock gillyflower, also known as soapwort or bouncing bet (Saponaria officinalis); feathered gillyflower, also known as the grass or garden pink (Dianthus plumarius); and sea gillyflower, also known as the thrift or sea pink (Armeria maritima).

One name. Six (or seven, depending how you add them up) possible secret identities. Is it Bill or is it Ben? So, gardeners, when you need to be really, really sure what you're getting, speak Latin. And, even more important: when weeding, semper ubi sub ubi*!

(*Translation: Always. Where. Under. Where.)

The cold, dry winter of our discontent

This time last year, it was raining. There was snow on the ground... you remember what snow is, don't you? Not just that baby powdering we got yesterday that almost melted by today.

In December 2009 and January 2010, Toronto had roughly one-quarter of our usual snowfall. It looks like February is following the same trend. Anyone digging out in the U.S. or even the UK might be able to say where it went instead.

Now that's all very well in one way. Our snow tires, for instance, are still stacked by the shed waiting for their trip to the garage.

But remember, snow is precipitation, or lack thereof.

If you're a tree or shrub in Toronto, especially an evergreen, you're probably developing a wicked thirst... and if not now, should things continue in the same dry vein, then certainly come spring thaw. The more tender perennials who need that fleecy white overcoat of snow for winter protection will be suffering, too. And cold, dry winds are more likely to freeze-dry the leaves of broad-leaf evergreens or juicy new growth on your rose bushes, resulting in greater winter kill.

So if you're writing in your 10-year garden diary, note Toronto's unusually dry Winter of 2009/10. We'll see what that means when the world warms up. And I mean warm in a good way.

Earth and Water: Ashbridges Bay Park

I'm lucky to live so close to Ashbridges Bay Park on Lake Ontario. I can get there in a matter of minutes, and sister Helen and I have spent hours walking here, peering at trees & shrubs, trying to identify what's growing, and gathering round rocks from the beach.



The park has a mix of cultivated and wild areas, with plantings of native trees and grass, but also weeds, shrubs and wildflowers left to do their own thing. Along with formal walks, there are also small earth-trodden paths wending their way alongside the lake. The shoreline is partly edged with man-hauled massive boulders, but also small beachy coves, which are covered with lake-tossed rocks, rounded bricks and building materials, worn into eroded clusters. A treasure trove for rock gatherers, like us --these often find their way into our gardens.



The point that juts into the water, where I take my walks, is entirely man made, using fill, and provides a peaceful sandy cove on the south side, and a rocky shoreline along most of the north, plus a stellar view of Toronto's harbour and skyline.



Since getting my puppy, I've had even more reason to spend time there--often in the waning hour before sunset--particularly magical as the cityscape lights turn on and reflect on the harbour, now covered in ice.

Lake Ontario is really the showcase here, and I fall in love with it more and more: how it reflects the sky and cityscape, makes a home for countless water birds: ducks, swans and others I can't identify.



Lake Ontario occasionally thinks it's a sea or an ocean. I never get tired of the soundtrack of the massive waves crashing on the beach on those days. I've read the Great Lakes described as freshwater, inland seas; and I'm very grateful to live only five minutes away from this one.



All pictures were taken over the course of about an hour as the sun dipped, sky darkened, and city lights turned on.