Wordless Wednesday: Irony

If you've consulted Baldrick's Dictionary, you know the definition of Irony. It's like goldy or bronzy, only it's made out of iron. I pass these neat examples of irony on my way to my Ryerson class every week. The wonderful coraline railing is on Granby Street, and the archway is between Carleton and Granby.

Here are some more ironic images.

Pick a peck of purple pea pods

Who in this metricized, largely urban world even knows what a peck is anymore? In grade six, when our family was living in a rural community, our class had to memorize all the Imperial agricultural measurements:

2 pints in a quart
4 quarts in a gallon
2 gallons in a peck
4 pecks in a bushel

So when Peter Piper picked a peck... that's a peckuva lot of pickled peppers. Or of purple podded peas.

Above is the lovely flower that called me to investigate at a neighbouring plot in the community garden. The washed out, noonday colour in the photo doesn't do it justice. This flower is as pretty as a sweet pea, though without the fragrance.

Looking closer revealed the beautiful, glossy purple pods, immature at the time, like purple snow peas.

They've since fattened up into plump purple vegetarian sausages.

Meanwhile, I've also had time to search them out. It's likely that they're Capucijner peas (Pisum sativum 'Blue Pod Capucijner'), a heritage vegetable developed in Holland by Capucin monks in the 1500s. It doesn't get much more heritagey than that.

The young pods can be eaten like snow peas, later as snap peas, and then the dried peas make great pease porridge or soup.

You might be able to get a late crop in after midsummer, if you'd like to try these beauties. I note that our friend Karyn Wright and her organic and heirloom seed company Terra Edibles does sell the Capucijners.

Q&A: Are your 'Annabelle' hydrangeas a flop?

Q: I am hoping you can help me with my Annabelle Hydrangeas. Last year I planted 15 small plants. This year they look as though they are receiving IV steroids every day.  They are 5 feet tall and have enormous flowers that are absolutely beautiful.  The problem is that we have had so much rain and when it rains they fall over from their weight and size.  What can I use to support them and what is the best way to prune them so they do not grow this large next year?  Last fall I cut them back so that there was about 1 foot of the plant showing.  I live in Chicago and they are covered by snow all winter. 

Thanks for your help.

Leslie

A: Hi, Leslie,

If you've been having the same rainy weather we've had in Toronto (the rainiest June on record; and it ain't ovah yet), that's the reason the Annabelles have done so "well" -- in quotation marks because the rain makes the plants taller and the flowers bigger, but then they are even more heavy headed when filled with rain. The "hydra" in hydrangea relates to their love of water.

Sounds like you did all the right things. One thing I do to give them a bit more support (though mine are flopping now, too) is to leave last year's stems a little longer. In other words, prune them back to 18-24" rather than 12", giving them a woodier base. Cut them back in spring (not fall) to just above a set of fat buds. Cut out any weak-looking stems to the ground. Our post about pruning Annabelle hydrangeas is one of our most popular hits.

You could also try staking them next year. Inset thin bamboo stakes (mimicking the framework of the shrub) which you connect through the body of the shrub with a network of twine. Do it at about the time the shrub begins to set flower buds, when it will be close to mature height for the season, but before the flowers become too heavy. Cut off the tops of any stakes that protrude above for a more natural look. With 15 plants, staking would become a big job for you, though, and you probably chose Annabelle for its easy care. I don't stake mine (as you can see by my Annabelle Goes To Oz pictures).

There is an improved version of Annabelle out now from Proven Winners. It's called Invincibelle Incrediball (and a similar pink version called Invincibelle Spirit), and I believe the main improvement is that it is less likely to flop. I don't know how well those claims would stand up, literally or figuratively, in this year of the big rains, though.

2010 has been an unusual summer. The Annabelles aren't always this big, and they aren't always flattened, so frequently, by so much rain. You could give them another try without intervention next year and see what happens. Some things are beyond our control, and simply require a Zen attitude.

Hope that helps. Let me know what you decide to do.

Helen at Toronto Gardens

P.S. Anyone else out there have good solutions? Please comment.

Through the Garden Gate: Day Two

More garden inspiration from Through the Garden Gate 2010 in "my" neighbourhood, the Beach.

Some of the tiniest gardens were the most intriguing due to the added challenge of space – or lack thereof. The Asian-inspired garden above is one of five or six on this year's tour designed by local landscape designer Kim Price. Love that reflective table, too.

For more garden touring, visit Day One and the Press Preview.

Through the Garden Gate: Day One

Today was the first day of the Through the Garden Gate 2010 garden tour in the Beach.

Despite having walked 21K in the heat this morning, I couldn't not try to catch some of the gardens with my darling sister Sarah – although, afterwards I did feel as if all the bones had been removed from my body.

Here are some photo highlights. One more day of the event tomorrow, and tickets are, I believe, still available. Even the saintly Mr. TG has agreed to spend part of Father's Day touring gardens with me. Perhaps I'll see you there?

Above, see what miracles can be worked by dedicated gardeners in just two years – starting with an amazing ravine property but basically a blank slate. They did all the work themselves.

Blooms Day, June 2010 in Toronto

Welcome to the Microgarden this Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day. Hope you like my new cushions... and enjoy the jasmine fragrance of the Hall's honeysuckle (Lonicera japonica 'Halliana') by the front porch.

I wrote recently about the nice perfume of the black locust tree. Well, Hall's honeysuckle is yet another of those highly invasive plants with a lovely fragrance. Coincidence? It's showing its invasive tendencies in my garden by climbing up and through anything and everything. Like up the Pyracantha growing behind the bench... and now behind the honeysuckle.

(What you don't see in this picture: my air conditioning unit and the empty pots below the bench, all carefully cropped out.)

Also in bloom, or getting there, is Hydrangea 'Annabelle', one of four varieties of hydrangea in my garden (the others are H. 'Limelight', 'Pinky Winky' and 'Quickfire'). Four! I don't know how this happened. Let's just say, I must be a sucker for a good plant pitch. So far, 'Annabelle' has proven herself to be the winner (despite the brand name on the other guys, who have yet to be proven).

(What you don't see in this picture: the huge, growing hole in my box (Buxus) sphere. Imagine the scene in the sci-fi movie, where the planet is zapped, shimmers for an instant, then begins to disintegrate. That's what winter-kill is doing on the sunny side of the box. Poor thing, it is not much longer for this garden.)

Next in my Blooms Day lineup is a new arrival, Rosa 'Floral Fairy Tale' – kindly supplied by Palantine Roses as part of the generous swag at the Garden Writers Association District VII meeting this month. Do I have room for another rose? Ask the hydrangeas.

This is one lovely rose, growing 2-3' tall, with an apricot bud that opens to pinky-apricot with a yellow centre. It's lightly scented; very lightly. If it had more fragrance, it might be too close to perfection.

(What you don't see in this picture: The places where maurauding raccoons sat on my Allium christophii, now wearing crutches – the alliums, not the raccoons – and not only squashed my 'Helen Elizabeth' poppy flat, they chewed and spat out the buds of its first-ever blooms.)

There's usually a story behind every pretty picture. For more stories, and more pretty pictures, visit May Dreams Gardens, where every 15th of the month Carol graciously invites bloggers from around the world to show their stuff. Or not.

Dog-strangling vine now in flower

If you haven't nipped it in the bud yet, at least get this menace before it sets seeds.

The brownish flowers of dog-strangling vine aka swallowwort (Vincetoxicum rossicum, syn. Cynanchum spp., from the Greek meaning "to choke a dog") usually look fairly insignificant, though they seem fairly showy in this picture. I guess this particular plant was ready for its closeup.

This alien visitor is taking over vast expanses of Toronto soil, and it has its eyes on your garden or your neighbour's garden. In fact, it could already be there. I just cut off two upstarts in the garden next door. 
Dog-strangling vine should be strenuously fought. For the past few years, I've waged a campaign to educate gardeners about this green plague. 

Why fight it? First, it's aggressively invasive, with extensive root systems, multiplying shoots and thousands and thousands of downy, airborne seeds. As this link shows, whole fields in the Don Valley now support nothing but dog-strangling vine. 

As a cousin of milkweed, it also confuses Monarch butterflies, who can lay their eggs on the leaves where the hatchling caterpillars aren't able to survive. Monarchs have had a tough time of it this year, their numbers significantly reduced by a series of unfortunate events in their over-wintering grounds. While it's hard to do much about the disaster by the Don, let's help them all we can in our own gardens.

Here's what the shoots look like. Here's what you do about them:

• Don't yank up the vines. They have extensive, woody root systems. Pulling can cause the roots to break underground, and each half will send up new shoots.

• Cut the vines off at or below soil level, and keep cutting off any regrowth. Eventually, you'll starve the root.

• You can dispose of non-flowering stems (but not roots) in the compost pile. Put flowers or juvenile seed pods in the green bin or garbage.

• Don't let it go to seed. Seed production starts soon, beginning around the end of June. The seeds will look like narrow, milkweed-like pods (both are in the dogbane family)

Here's the long view of the flowers. See how they start twining together at the tops. Shudder.

Landscaping: Making the grade

Never thought of garden design as a numbers game. But the Ryerson landscape design course I'm taking this summer is all about the math: Landscape Construction, Materials and Methods. For the past five weeks, my head has been swimming with formulae and calculations. Yi, yiyi, yi, yiyi, yi!

The fascinating learning for me is about grading. Used to think that changes in grade in the landscape mostly dealt with aesthetics. More fool, me! Repeat after me: It's the drainage, stupid. The last thing you want to do when you regrade is send water into your basement. Or, even worse, into the basement of your (formerly) good neighbour.

I'm immersed right now in estimating – or, in landscape terms, interpolating – changes in elevation in a hypothetical garden. Part of our challenge is to recommend how to add typical garden elements such as a patio, garden beds, a garage and driveway... all with grading as a key consideration.

We have to interpolate existing conditions from a few given elevations, and recommend new ones so that a contractor could carry out the plan. The choices in one area have impact on another. And don't forget to allow for the underpinnings when you lay that patio. And don't bury the roots of that tree, you'll kill it.

It's a game of garden domino effect.

Hey, I'm a plantsperson. Being a novice at this (and five weeks does not a landscape architect make) can feel like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle by inserting all the puzzle pieces simultaneously. There's a lot, a lot, of back and forth. However, I'm learning. I also have new respect for people who mentally shift soil for a living.

And for computer-aided design. I'm sure the pros aren't stewing over every calculation with their pencil, Touch calculator, mini-PostIt notes and accumulating pile of eraser dust. Automation must make this quicker.

At least, that's one woman's interpolation.

Poem: Black locust (Robinia pseudoacacia)

It's that time again, when walking through certain Toronto neighbourhoods fills your nose with the scent of the black locust tree. These trees are all around the city, originally planted because their hard wood was useful for farm implements. They have a bad-mannered habit of spreading themselves around. You can see them, for example, sprouting between the subway tracks at Rosedale Station. But their drooping clusters of white flowers can smell sooo wonderful.

A few years ago, a poem of mine about the black locust (in fact, about the tree in the picture above) was published in Descant Magazine. Here it is:

black locust
(Robinia pseudoacacia)

You should have been a man’s axe handle;
or a thousand stout spade stocks, stained

by sweat and dirt and blistered skin;
muscled levers of the soil, muscled

as your bark, gnarling at winter traffic
from this loveless strip of land, between

these pilons and those gas pumps. Here,
by seed and root, you have escaped

to rattle your tarnished jewellery;
hobbled, burnt black by winter rain.

Yet, come June, you will emerge
once more; perfumed as a courtesan,

beaded as a bride. You’ll weep,
you’ll overflow, you’ll let down your milk.

Through the Garden Gate: The Beach

Through the Garden Gate is the major garden tour that's an annual fundraiser for the Toronto Botanical Garden. Today, I attended a press preview. It was hot, it was bright (the worst kind of day for taking garden pictures), but it was oh, so worth it.

I'm not saying this because it's on my home turf*. This year, the tour shows 26 gardens in The Beach – the first time ever that this area has been showcased. (*In real estate terms, there's The Beach, The Upper Beach and, where I live, The Upper Upper Upper Upper Beach.) I'm saying it because the five we saw today were real surprises, truly hidden gardens. Lakefront views; ravine hideaways; from the very very large, to the very very small.

Here's a slideshow of my over-exposed, overly contrasty photos for a taste (including a shot from my Tweet-up with garden writer Cristina da Silva).



Always-effervescent TBG horticulture director Paul Zammit recommends you get the two-day pass. I concur. It took us all morning to see five gardens, and we were being shepherded from place to place. You won't want to miss any.

Afterwards, The Toronto Star's Sonia Day wanted to see more examples of real gardens for real people – which is usually our tune. Read the paper to see what she found. However, I don't mind a little garden pornography from time to time. This is often what garden tours are all about. You can usually find ideas to steal, even if you don't have a lakefront property.

There will be shuttle busses on the weekend of the event, which always coincides with Father's Day. Get your tickets early. They do sell out. Follow the link at the start of this post.

I'm hoping to get special dispensation from Mr. TG – after his breakfast in bed. Do you think he might want to see a few gardens?