May Madness

DEBORAH CROMBIE: In my part of the world, there is a perfect month, and that is May. When the green gunk of pecan pollen has washed away, the hummingbirds are back, the mosquitoes are only just beginning to bite, and the temperatures have not begun (knock wood) to climb in the 90s, I am giddy with delight. Spring fever, you might call it, but I'm more likely to attribute that description to the above-mentioned pecan pollen.

The first flush of roses is finished, as are all the spring bulbs except for a few lingering irises, but the perennials are coming into their heyday and I have been on way too many wild shopping expeditions to the local nurseries. If I were challenged to count the number of pots we have, the answer would be mumble-mumble--too many, and I have a compulsion (my husband will tell you) to fill them. Here's just the deck table. The new geranium on the right is--so my gardener friend tells me--a variety called Martha Washington. It is adorable! I should have taken a closer photo!

Here are a few on the patio, with a new-this-spring Purple Princess bougainvillea, an annual plumbago, and our True Passion tree rose which we planted a couple of years ago but it never fails to astound.

The roses in the background are Peach Drift, and behind them, a red David Austin called Fisherman's Friend, and a yellow David Austin climber called Bathsheba.

And if you are wondering about the gaping hole in our fence... We'd had a stained glass window there for years, but the window's frame was deteriorating badly, and as the fence needs replacing, too, it was time for a change. Rick took the frame apart, repaired it and painted it, then reassembled it.

 so that we could hang it here--

And I can admire it when I sit out on the deck with my morning tea. And my lunch. And my evening glass of wine...

(Another less fun project on the spring agenda is to powerwash the house and our very badly in need of it deck!)

The tomatoes and herbs are all in, too, although my garden helpers threw away the labels for the half-dozen heirloom tomatoes, so I guess we'll see what we get.

The grill is uncovered, the hammock is up, and I can, on the most perfect days, pull my little rolling table outside so that I can write on the deck.

One more photo: I snapped this the other night--our Peggy Martin roses on the pergola, with the new lights on the deck. So charming!

May is fleetingly lovely, June might still be pleasant, by July we'll be hunkering inside to escape the heat, so I am determined to make the most of these glorious days while they last.

What does the merry month of May have in store for you, dear Reds and readers?

Excavating My Garden History

DEBORAH CROMBIE: It is crazy gardening time of year in north Texas! Not to make you folks in cooler climes feel bad--spring will assuredly come for you on its own sweet schedule. Ours is actually arriving a bit late. We are usually setting out tender plants the last couple of weeks in March, but we've had a cool spell so I have delayed a bit (as in too lazy to cover things when it drops into the forties...)

But this weekend it's time to make lists, stock up on potting soil, and hit the garden center. All our roses are bursting into bloom as well, and it was as I was trying to find all the tags for my David Austin roses that I embarked on this little garden history journey. 

For years, I've stuffed the tags from the plants I buy (or at least the more interesting ones) into this ribbon-tie journal--

but I have to admit I hadn't actually looked very carefully at the book or its contents in ages. When I opened the book and sorted through it, I did find most of my David Austin tags (not all pictured!)

And so much more. I hadn't realized how long I'd had this book, but look at the opening page.

1997!!!! We moved into this house and its huge, hideous, neglected surrounding lot in August of 1995. It was a daunting prospect, I can tell you, but I was determined to landscape, and to do it with as many native, environmentally friendly plants as possible. By winter of '97 (according to the book!) we'd found a native-friendly landscaper and started a plan.

I found this very carefully labeled drawing I'd made of the front beds.

I've no idea what happened to the original landscaper's plan, but it's fascinating now to look back and see what's changed and what's survived in more than twenty-five years. 

Here's a peek at the second from right front bed on the plan, taken last June.

I think only yucca, yarrow, and skull cap have survived from the original plants in that bed, although we have Turk's Cap, echinacea, native asters, rudbeckia, pavonia, and flame acanthas galore in other beds.

And although I talk a pretty good "real gardener" game, I've realized that the truth is that I am actually a very haphazard one. "Oh, something died? Let's stick something else in and see what happens!"

But every year is a challenge and an adventure, the birds and insects love it, and we hope we encourage our neighbors to plant more interesting and climate friendly stuff.

How about it, readers? Any organized gardeners among you? (I know there are a few of you!) Or do you "garden creatively," like me?

Making the Most of Your Summer Stay-cation

DEBORAH CROMBIE: I have to admit to feeling little pangs of envy over other people's summer vacation plans. Everyone seems to be lounging by the pool, or going to the beach. Even camping sounds pretty idyllic to this non-camper, after a year and a half of being stuck at home. But as I am chained to my desk for the rest of the summer--which is flying by--I thought I'd see what I could do to make the most of my stay-cation.

Except for one horrible week in June, the weather hasn't been too bad (at least for north Texas) with temps in the low to mid-nineties rather than high nineties or over a hundred.

My dog knows how to enjoy summer!

 

Well, I'm not rolling in the grass, but she sets a good example, and I could do better. 

My patio is an oasis in the mornings. But I was hardly sticking my nose outside except to water, so I resolved to put up my patio umbrella every morning and just sit for a bit, pretending I'm at an exotic resort.

 

The breeze blows, the fountain burbles, and I even have my own spa! It's amazing what a little cool water can do.

 

I put on my garden hat.

 

I've stocked up on Gatorade. (Which only tastes good when you are really, really hot, but when you are really, really hot, it is THE thing.)

 

I'm smelling the roses. (That's my newest, David Austin's Boscobel. And it does actually smell divine.)

 

I'm reminding myself to enjoy the summer display in the rest of the garden. I do too much work in the spring to just ignore it at the height of its glory.

 

I won't say it's the same as a week in Cancun, but hanging out Chez Debs is not all that bad. Now if an ice cream truck would just come by with a Dreamsicle, it would be perfection...

REDS and readers, how do you do make the most of summer at home?

Deliriously Rose

DEBORAH CROMBIE:  Spring makes me giddy, and nothing about it makes me giddier than roses, and especially the English ones. 

                                   (Munstead Wood with Graham Thomas, Lady of Shallot in the back.)

I've been trying to trace the history of this love affair. It didn't start in childhood, that's for sure. I don't remember us having any roses when I was growing up. My dad planted bedding plants and flower pots, and my mom didn't garden at all. There was a glorious Lady Banks on the fence of the garage apartment where I lived in college--maybe that was the first. Then fast forward through houses and years to this house, twenty-six years ago, and the first few mail-order roses. Only two survive, a mystery pink hybrid tea, and this Simplicity from Jackson and Perkins.

Many more followed. Some thrived, some didn't, but I was hooked. Then a few years ago we lost most of them to the rose rosette virus.

Anyone with any sense would have folded at that point and replanted with something entirely different, but I'd discovered the English rose breeder David Austin's roses, and I couldn't resist them.

                                                  (Gertrude Jekyll, Lady of Shallot.)

Graham Thomas was the very first, still with me. (It's the yellow one.)

Just the names of the Austin roses read like poetry:

I have Lady of Shallot. Munstead Wood. Princess Alexandra of Kent. Abraham Darby.

Gertrude Jekyll--named after the Arts and Crafts garden designer, thorny as all-get out with a divine scent.

Benjamin Britten, after the composer, a massive climber in an almost neon coral red.

St. Swithun's, named after a Saxon bishop, another climber. It's a pale, pale creamy pink, and smells like licorice. I love this one so much I gave it to Melody's parents in  A BITTER FEAST. This bloom I put in the little vase on my piano last week--doesn't it look like a painting?

The Fisherman's Friend, a deep crimson, with a glorious old rose scent. This one was my splurge last spring, my pandemic rose.

 

But there are always more, if I can just find a place to put them!

This year I went bonkers and ordered three: Crown Princess Margareta, a gold climber; Heathcliff, a deep red (how could I resist that name?); and Boscobel, a smaller coral pink, named after Boscobel House where Charles II hid during the English Civil War.

I suppose there are worse passions... But it is a very visceral thing--it's like feasting on color, shape, scent, and language. They are calling to me...The Lark Ascending, Charles Darwin, Desdemona, The Poet's Wife...

REDS and readers, is there anything in your garden--or your balcony, or even a pot or a bouquet, that makes you swoon?