Garden travel: Indianapolis Museum of Art

For our 600th post on Toronto Gardens, and the final one for NaBloPoMo 2011, I wanted – well, I wanted to do everything. National Blog Posting Month, for those wondering, is the challenge of writing a blog post a day, without fail, for the entire month of November. It's a sister-act or copycat younger cousin to National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). That my 30th post fell on the same day as our 600th post seemed too good an occasion to miss.

But, as usual, "everything" has its limits. So, instead of that, I'd just like to share a few images from one of the many, many gardens I was privileged to visit this year, this one on the grounds of the Indy Museum of Art in Indiana.

In fact, it was a lovely surprise, beautiful and varied. From formal gardens to carefully tended wilderness, the IMA offered more than we could see in one morning – even by getting there (before the sun did) at 6:15 am for a photo expedition. I hope you enjoy them. For those viewing on the iPad, you might have to visit Flickr to view.

Goodbye, November. I'll be happier than usual to see December 1st.

Everyday lessons from castle gardens

Lesson one: Always have a good place to sit and enjoy the garden.

When Sarah & I started our blog over five years ago (last month; we missed our blog's birthday!), we said we wanted to write about real gardens by real people. None of that garden porn stuff for us. Ha!

Well, we've learned. And one thing experience has made clear is that you can learn from any garden, even castle gardens, and put it into practice in your own, no matter how small yours is. Here are some of the things we gleaned from a garden we visited in 2008 – an Elizabethan manor with Victorian gardens on extensive grounds at St Fagans Castle in Wales. (The same site that inspired us with their DIY bee hotel.)

Lesson two: Lead the eye. Lesson three: Frame the view.

Lesson four: Be simple, be bold.

Lesson five: If you can't go out, go up.

Lesson six: Texture is as important as colour.

Lesson seven: Repetition doesn't have to be exact.

Lesson eight: Stop and smell the flowers. Rosa mundi will reward you.

Lesson nine: Don't mind the children. They'll get the garden bug. Eventually.

Getting around the utility shed problem

Most ordinary gardeners – those not lucky enough to have room in the garage, or a garage at all – have the same problem. Whether it's a tool shed or a pool shed, how do you disguise it, or integrate it with your garden. A beautifully designed shed can put a serious dent in your garden budget.

In this amphitheatre-like garden on the Beach Garden Tour 2011, the shed is inevitably a focal point, even with a lily pond and waterfall to distract you. I thought they came up with a cute solution.

[Ed: I should clarify that many Toronto homes include a vinyl garden shed very much like the one above. They're designed to last forever. And ever. So if you don't have the cash, it can be hard to rationalize replacing yours just because you want something prettier.]

Why not hide it in plain sight? A few pots of paint and a steady hand with a brush, and a ordinary prefab vinyl shed sports a trompe l'oeil façade. I'd say this is making a virtue of necessity.

An old family friend in the toolkit

Every garden toolkit needs one sharp knife, the ideal tool for tasks from cutting string to dividing plant roots.

Garden tools are very much a personal thing, like selecting a wallet. You need to find what works for you. I wouldn't be without my aged Felco #2 hand pruners, for example. And the same goes for trowels or spades or loppers.

My go-to cutting tool is one of our grandfather's bone-handled knives. It's marked Joseph Rodgers & Sons, Cutlers to Her Majesty and the VR on the markings tells me the Majesty in question was Queen Victoria.

The edge of the blade is well worn from many sharpenings, most recently by me. I recall our Grandpa picking out the bones from his breakfast kippers with a knife like this – likely this very one.

This grandfather wasn't a gardener, although his family roots were sunk deeply into the Shropshire soil.  But he was married to our Gran, who lived to garden, all her life. Both were just a generation or two removed from the farm. When I take out my knife to cut twine for the roses or do surgery on a hosta, I never fail to think of Effy and Jack. I like having that in my toolkit.

Hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia

Because it's Saturday night, and because I'm suffering from mild hippopotomontrosesquipedaliophobia (fear of long words), I thought I'd simply share one of the more unusual water features seen this year, from an Indianapolis garden.

Recycle an old hose into a bee hotel

A great idea for a DIY bee hotel, from St Fagans National History Museum in Wales

Remember that hose the car ran over – and sprang a leak? It could have new life as a home for solitary bees. Look at the example above from St Fagans, the National History Museum in South Wales.

St Fagans is an interesting visit: part Welsh pioneer village with heritage buildings and gardens; part teaching garden and nature conservatory; part Welsh "Casa Loma" (not that Wales needs fake castles), with beautiful traditional gardens. I'll post on those gardens separately, as an intro to a series I'm planning on Canada's own castles.

Back to the bees: this model couldn't be simpler. Cut the old hose in rough lengths and wedge them into an old biscuit box. If you wanted to be fancier, you could spray paint the tin first. Or use a smaller tin and lengths of bamboo. An easy project for you and the kids. And the bees.

A private garden in Wales

Imagine waking to this view

I've been inspired to take a backward look by Barry Parker's posts, sharing his trip to many wonderful Welsh gardens this past September. These include, by coincidence, the Cowbridge Physic Garden and the National Botanic Garden of Wales. Barry reminded me of our UK trip in 2008, including a visit to Bodnant Gardens (a few photos here; I'll try to add more). Then I remembered my cousin's garden.

She is definitely a real person, and hers is definitely a real garden – and an inspiring one, too. A few miles from Prestatyn in North Wales, it's gifted with a great setting. But the design is all her own.

View from the upper garden, down the steeply sloped property

From the roadway, coral roses spill through deep purple lavender

The gravel terrace includes strategically placed lavender seedlings. On the wall are 'Penny Lane' roses, her favourite.

As you drool over this bucolic view from the upper terrace, remember: sheep can be noisy.

My cousin's deft hand with colour is evident in this monochromatic planter

Climbers and spillers soften the stone steps

Feline helper Pepi oversees it all

It's set amongst the rolling hills of North Wales

Within minutes of the North Sea

Garden travel: Harold & Frances Holt Physic Garden

Harold & Frances Holt Physic Garden at UBC Botanical Garden

Of all the great gardens in Toronto, one thing that seems to be missing is a physic garden – a garden devoted to medicinal plants. These have been around since humans graduated from folk remedies to the science of medicine. Except that the infancy of that science was a little suspect.

Certain plants, it was believed, had been touched by God, leaving them with markings that were clues to their potential use (more on the Holt Physic Garden at the University of British Columbia below). That's why, even today, we have a plant called lungwort or Pulmonaria. Its spotted leaves looked like a diseased lung, and it was thought to be useful for ailments of the lung. Of course, it wasn't.

And it's why we have Echium vulgare or viper's bugloss, the blue flower in the image at the top. The markings on the stem and the shape of the spent flower had a snakey look about them – so of course they must be good for snakebite. But, of course, it isn't.

This European immigrant is pretty, though, with intense purpley blue flowers. Viper's bugloss has naturalized so freely in Ontario's dry meadows and roadsides, it's easy to forget how pretty it can be in a mass. This isn't the first time I've seen it planted in a botanical garden.

The story of the Holt physic garden, which is themed around Tudor/Elizabethan herbal medicine. I hope you can read it.

A "West Coast" Toronto garden

You might be forgiven for thinking this is a West Coast rainforest garden... but it's an urban garden in Toronto's east end

Toronto is a city of ravines and lost rivers; Glen Davis Crescent is home to both. Its lost river, Tomlin's Creek, still runs through a culvert underneath the road in the vee of Glen Davis Ravine.

Homes built beside ravines in Toronto typically look down into them. Not here. The north side, particularly, covered with geriatric forest – remnants of the original forest cover – soars above the houses. Two of the steeply sloped properties on this pretty, dead-end street opened their garden gates to visitors this June 2011 for the Beach Garden Tour. This lush garden is one of them.

Take a seat. You can feel the peace here among the ferns and mature oak trees, about 10 minutes' drive from downtown.

Your view from the bench. The paving is permeable, brick and pea gravel, edged in beach stone.

I usually try to avoid people in garden shots. Here, they help convey the scale and tree girth. Can you spot the bench?

Close to the house, an undulating border edged in stone is filled with perennials. As an aside, I once had chairs exactly like these (except they were orange!) and I can say they were ridiculously comfortable. Till the squirrels ate them.

A tapestry of colourful foliage. Beautiful, if a bit one-sy.

A classical vignette at the garden gate – mulched in oak leaves.

Close encounters of the hummingbird kind

A pre-dawn hummer goes for the nectar at the Indianapolis Museum of Art

Long, thoughtful posts, full of depth and perspective, aren't always possible at the best of times. They're even harder when you're trying to post every day for thirty days as a sort of shadow NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month – a poor cousin of NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month). Which, in case you hadn't noticed, I am attempting to do.

So, today, I'm simply going to share a few of this year's encounters with the elusive hummingbird.

Red Monarda exerts its siren call on this little hummer in Seattle, Washington.

Hummingbirds are not known to sit still for a photo op. Even when they hover, you focus and, zip!,  they're out of camera range. If you station yourself by some nectar-bearing flowers, especially in the colour red, they might zoom by. Stand very still and watch the show. In my own garden, I've even seen hummers sip from an Allium flower.

In the Landscape Ontario trial gardens, a hummingbird moth

[Update: I've added a few informative links. Here's a helpful one from Hummingbird.net with tips on attracting hummingbirds.]

Then we have a blurry shot of a clearwing hummingbird moth, which acts and looks like a hummer – and perhaps even zippier. These charming creatures are in the same family as the tomato hornworm caterpillar/sphinx moth, only the larvae for these little guys won't eat your tomatoes. They're hum-dingers!

[Update: Here's info from Iowa State University on hummingbird moths. And you'll enjoy this excellent article by Pat Sutton on Native Plants & Wildlife Gardens that tells you more about the moths, including how to attract them.]

Lust List: River Birch

A multi-stemmed river birch (Betula nigra)

You can't always get what you want. Although you can try sometimes (gardeners call this "zone denial").

But when what you want is a tree called "river birch," what you want (this tree with the amazing, exfoliating bark, especially as a youngster) might be ruled out by what this plant needs (rivery – or at least moist soil).

River birch (Betula nigra) is otherwise fairly adaptable. It grows over a wide range of climates, from USDA Zone 3 or 4 to 9. It tolerates heat, and will take sun or part shade. But it doesn't take kindly to drought, according to tree guru Michael Dirr.

River birch comes in a few compact varieties, making it a nice choice for city lots. This multi-stemmed specimen grows not far from me, and I've been watching its progress with horticultural longing curiosity. It has survived at least two winters.

This will likely remain an unrequited love affair, but I hope to admire from not-so-afar for years to come.

Golden fall foliage is a nice side benefit, along with the dark brown twigs and branches and exfoliating bark

A fantastic tree for winter interest. Love the colours and texture of this bark. Did I say love? Love!

Rocks to riches: Story of a garden

Talk about a rocky start! Dave and Heidi Rita (sorry, Rita!) Fleury got more than a "rock garden" when they purchased their Beach area home about four years ago – they got edge-to-edge beach stone, punctuated by some accent rocks and elderly evergreens.

The previous owners had taken the drastic measure of installing stone to keep dogs from peeing (et cetera) on their property. Well. I hope it worked for them. It probably saved on lawn care, but it's a heckuva lot of stone.

In his years as owner, Dave has been chipping away at it to reclaim more varied growing space, adding colour and texture to his garden. The soil has been fed, and the evergreens babied into better health.

I must say that the effect is greater than the sum of its parts. Its way, all that stone makes an unusual, even dramatic foil for the greenery. "Greenery" is a loose term here, as Dave successfully repeats red, yellow and blue foliage in his garden renovation. He makes pretty good use of contrasting leaf textures, too, although I'd suggest adding more coarse and large leaves as time goes on.

He says it's a work in progress. We say: keep up the good work.

Heidi Rita and David Fleury opened their garden to the Beach Garden Tour 2011

TTC Garden Tour, Part 2: Dupont Station

Designed by elusive artist James Sutherland, the TTC's Dupont Station murals were unveiled in 1978

I hadn't intended to continue our TTC Garden Tour so quickly. But there I was at Spadina Station with my camera. It was just a long tunnel trek and a one-stop hop over to Dupont. And no TTC Garden Tour would be complete without a visit to the city's most spectacular subway station.

The murals are composed of thousands of glass tiles. In fact, that's one of the few facts you'll find, over and over, when you try to Google the artist who won the commission for the work, James Sutherland. The details of his life and works must exist in some knowledge bank, but right now they're mostly outside the reach of the internet. How refreshing. And yet how frustrating.

The tiled murals on either side of the tracks as well as upstairs in the mezzanine are collectively titled A Spadina Summer Under All Seasons. Dupont is on the Spadina line, after all. If you disembark at Dupont and walk up the hill* to Casa Loma (Toronto's "castle"), you'll be right next door to Spadina House, with a wonderful early 20th-century period garden that you must visit one day.

While the Avenue and Road are Spa-deye-na, the house and gardens are Spa-dee-na. One of Toronto's charming quirks. (*The word "spadina" derives from an Ojibway word for a steep hill.)

The Spadina subway line opened in 1978. It's easy to be nostalgic, perhaps falsely so, about the optimism of those times. The CN Tower, Eaton Centre and Toronto Reference Library were only two years old then. In building the Spadina line, the TTC attempted to bring art underground to enhance the everyday lives of its users. A novel concept these days. Dupont Station is the most lasting, most dramatic exemplar of that time in transit – still beautiful, at least to my eyes, more than 30 years later.

Miscanthus moments

Just stop with me for a moment. The wind is blowing my neighbour's grasses. Miscanthus or maiden grass.

Sometimes we need to hurry to appointments. Sometimes, we need to stand and watch the wind toss the maidens' tresses.

I think Robert Frost wrote a poem like that. About birches, weighed down by ice:

So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.

Watch with me as the wind curls, this way and that, the cumulus of the grasses' seed heads.

Sometimes it's good to pay attention to a single thing, to get your fill of it.

There's plenty of time for rushing, later.