State of the Garden on the Summer Solstice

I decided to document where the garden is a couple of days ago. It's a longish video (11 minutes or so. Funny that that seems long now. . .), so don't feel obligated to watch. It was fun to make. Oh. And be sure to turn on the sound. . .it makes a lot more sense with it.

The State of Highland House Garden 

 

What Folly.

Here's the thing. I should know by now that what I imagine is never what I make. You'd think I'd know that by now, and be able to head off disappointment before it, once again, catches me by surprise.

In the case of Folly, a lot Did go right. I was able to make the pieces fit nicely. The form came together mostly as envisioned, and the embellishments proved joyful work. The various sides are continued like a 4-sided canvas. It's true that the embellishments are more cliche. . .perhaps formulaic. . .than I would prefer, but all in all, I can overlook that. AND! I dried her slowly slowly, and through the drying, and both firings, there were no rebellious cracks.

The most terrible disappointment was the glaze. While it looks like it's only a flat white, I actually had lightly "kissed" the white with a dark green glaze. The green continued around the piece in a spiral. What green? For some reason it didn't show up at all in the finished piece. It's as though the Klaus Hard White swallowed the Coyote Matt Green. A disturbing thought. I had to cover over some dark green underglaze I had used on the hidden parts of the assembled piece because they showed up as horizontal lines dividing the vertical form. I did not like that one bit. Then, as I was doing that bit of magic, I dropped the lid and broke it. It was not a terrible break. . .I was able to glue it together admirably well. But I know it happened.

One of the things I loved about the concept of the piece is that it fits together as separate, discreet sections that can be used as a place for secret treasures, or as 3 separate vases.

It works just fine. However. I had imaged more graceful forms for the individual pieces. And now I'm left to wonder if I shouldn't have made the whole mess round instead of square. For the individual vessels, that would work better, I think, though I like the square format for Folly as her whole self.

For the sake of being complete, I'll include images of the other three sides.They're not bad. I may make a series. I love the idea of making them in porcelain, round, with No Glaze. Take that, Glaze. 

There is some precedent for the idea of doing more Follies. Folly Camelot, Folly Royale. . .name your Folly. I made a large enameled torque back when I was enameling that was called 'Primal'. I loved making it, and it was actually sold before I displayed it, so it was satisfying on several levels. The last in the dozen or so I made was 'Primal domestica'. I traded that piece for an original painting by Jerry Lisk of Boise fame. 

And isn't our current world so full of very upsetting Follies, that maybe some more whimsical Follies is just what we need. I'll have to think on it. Right now I'm exhausted with her.

 

 

A brief Folly. . . bisque!

 

Folly came through the bisque firing just fine. To see all of her sides, check out 

Folly: Halfway There

From the strange brain of. . .

Things have been crazy busy on all fronts. . .trails, garden, office, friends, and the studio. I had the idea for this piece (about 24" tall, which is large for me) several weeks ago when I decided that I needed a tall slender piece for a specific place in our bedroom. It was influenced by a very cool set of tins that I had gotten from The Bees Knees in Boston, which were stacking tins.

 So. This is called Folly. See it on all sides in This Video. It is three separate vessels that stack together. This is, of course, the raw clay form. I am very unsure as to whether it will survive drying and two firings (the last being a glaze firing), so I thought I'd show it to you now. It may not live long, but it deserves a little airtime. 

The British wealthy used to build Folly's on their extensive property holdings. They were buildings, often large and ornate, that sort of looked useful, but actually weren't. There were eccentric indulgences. This piece isn't exactly that, since it will be somewhat useful, but it feels like it has some of that spirit. It is, rather, functional and decorative. Those are kisses of death in academic art circles, but I'm ok with that. It was a challenge to make, and it may even make it. If it does, Folly will make another appearance.

A walk on the railtrail

Jasper and I went to the Peter Garrett Trail today. It runs along an old rail bed. . .a disturbed area that is once again being overtaken by Maine flora and fauna. Old-growth forests are a whole 'nother thing, of course, but seeing spring happen in any of our forests is a treat. The Honeysuckle is in bloom right now, with it's sweet musky scent. It sort of steals the show along the sides of the trail. But the wild viburnums are also in flower (also scented, though less aggressively) and the morning weather is perfect. Cool enough to keep the biting insects at bay, but warm enough for a dress, cardigan and dog-walking shoes. Jasper, of course, has a nice fur coat which will become a liability as summer warms.

There is a pink variant of honeysuckle as well. These may all be invasive species. . .I'm not sure. It's a funny thing about all of these invasives. So many have simply become part of the forest ecology. They often out-compete native species, running them out of town, but things like Rosa multiflora are here to stay. There is simply no way to rout all of them out. 

 The forest floor was covered in some areas with buttercups, and there are other areas that are swathed in Jewel Weed. Some folks don't like that one, but they aren't very competitive in the garden, and I love that they bloom late in summer, when color is harder to come by. Their orange-spotted yellow leguminous flowers also develop those very fun seedpods that explode when you touch them. Evolution has so many interesting twists and turns.

Buttercups

 

Jewel Weed leaves

Viburnum

The viburnums range from some that look like their cultivated cousins, to these wilder looking species. I saw one today that was tree-like. . .probably 20 feet tall.

More viburnum

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of course, there is some truly bad news. While I'm somewhat circumspect regarding some invasive species, the Japanese Knotweed is just killing us. Killing all around it. It has taken over areas in the forest, and closes in on trails. In another two weeks the trails below won't be passable. Our area there is small enough that we can come in a whack it back with a bush hog, but it will be a constant job. And I know that in the end, the plant will beat us. It's like kudzu in the south. There is simply no defeating it. 

Japanese Knotweed

The trails group is working in small areas to hold back the onslaught of Asian Bittersweet, which climbs and kills large trees, but again. In the end, it just has the advantage over us. Sad that we have been so foolish with many of these exotic species, but it also might be inevitable in this time of international travel. And fewer and fewer people who understand how natural systems work. 

Blackberries getting ready to sing

So. How about I end on a positive note?  This last image is of blackberry buds. They are getting ready to burst into bloom, and offer up their wild progeny. Blackberries are such vigorous plants that many an agronomist sees them as a weed, rather than a crop. It makes me wonder how they'll hold up against the Knotweed.

Phew

The potatoes emerge

This is obviously not my most dramatic image. But it is my potatoes, finally emerging after more than two weeks post planting. I can't tell you what a relief this is. I had two rows of prime garden real estate tied up with them, and knowing that they didn't rot. . .of for some more nefarious reason show themselves. . .is pretty dramatic for me.

Oak seedlings 

Perhaps a little more dramatic is this very dense bunch of oak seedlings.

We had an enormous number of acorns last year. Walking across the lawn felt like you were walking on large ball bearings. They were actually dangerous. So now, the oak seedlings are everywhere, often in bunches. I'll be pulling these and the Ash tree seedlings out of all of my beds for the foreseeable future.

Double-File Viburnum flowers

Speaking of drama, the Double-File Viburnums are putting on their annual show now. I, once again, am so grateful to the folks who planted them. Every year I have pause to wonder why I never saw them growing up. And every year I'm so glad that they're here in this place that is called ours.

In hindsight, it seems odd that someone like me, who has 3 degrees in Horticulture, was unfamiliar with this plant. I'll need to find out how recently they were released. With all of the plant I.D. classes I had, you'd think. . . after all, that was where I first developed my love of Metasequoia glyptostroboides. And yes, spellcheck, that is the proper spelling.

Double-File Viburnums

I have, as promised in a previous post, been checking on our Jack-in-the-Pulpit. It is a surprisingly long lived flower, as these forest species go. Someone has eaten one of the leaves, which are poisonous to humans, but the flower survives, with that central anther becoming increasingly prominent.

The leaves are the trifoliate ones in the image. You can see that one has had a bite taken out of it. 

Jack-in-the-Pulpit, day 5

Jack-in-the-Pulpit leaves

 

Beauty and the Beast. . .

I'll start with the beauty, since the beast is such a Fresh Hell. Hats off to Dorothy Parker for immortalizing that phrase. It has never, in my life, been more spot on.  

John took the picture of these Jack-in-the-pulpits. Pretty amazing, isn't it? They are really tough to spot on the forest floor. They are also, according to the internet, extremely poisonous. Sort of a variation of "pretty with teeth". I'm going to wander down to this spot everyday to see how they progress. I may even remember to bring my phone, so stay tuned.

The Fresh Hell Beast is this disease that is showing up all over our region. It's called Beech Leaf Disease, and as far as we can see, it's infecting almost all of our Beech trees. This is devastating, under any circumstance, more so given how much of our forest is beech. The Maine Forestry Service says it is "associated" with a non-native nematode. (see Beech Leaf Disease)

The disease first showed up in Ohio in 2012, but by 2020 has reached all the way up Maine, and across to Michigan. The spread seems to be much more eastward than westward.

Small trees on our property are already dead from it, and we can see it in the over story, though not the highest over story. I have a dread that I can hardly write that it will infect our beautiful Copper Beech, which, as I said in an earlier post, had an unusual leafing out pattern this year. We don't see the distorted leaves yet.

John once commented that it must have been a horrific sight when all of the American Chestnut forests died. Miles and miles of dead mature forest. My chest gets tight, my eyes tear.

What webs we weave. 

Before I forget. . .

Lady Slipper

 Jasper and I had an unexpectedly amazing walk yesterday. I dared to go to the Sanders Hill trail, which can be overrun with black flies and mosquitos this time of year. We have literally been run off this trail by clouds of mosquitos in the past. I risked it because. . . did I already say this?. . .it was unseasonably cool. Sometimes the black flies and mosquitos stay home in cooler weather.

It was nothing but good news. The black flies and mosquitos did not make an appearance, and the Lady Slippers and Trillium are REALLY showing off right now. Their bloom is not long lived, so it's a real treat when one gets to experience it. I Was glad that I had a coat on. It was initially chilly, but we warmed as we hiked. It's not an easy hike.

I couldn't have been more thankful for the reminder that even in cool springs, central Maine is worth the trouble. I didn't see another soul on this hike. The trails is rooty and rocky, but then, that's the forest in Maine. Lots of rocks. A ton of trees.

The forget-me-nots were also putting on a show,

Seeing the Trillium and the Lady Slippers remind me a lot of hunting for morels. You don't see them until you see the first one. And then, you can see them everywhere.

This is a favorite fall and winter hike, but I'm really glad Jasper and I made the trip. So much hidden treasure.

 

I have an idea. . .

Bleeding hearts

So. After the whining comes the realization that a lot is going right in the garden and nature right now. So my job is to document that too. It shouldn't be so easy to focus on the Bad Stuff. And while working in the garden is harder for me now than it was when I was in my prime, it's A Lot easier than it was last year, pre-surgery. Yay. For the resilience of the natural world, Western medicine, and a doc who was willing to invest his talent in me. Very. Yay.

For some reason the volume of the bleeding hears surprise me every year. They are in deep shade in the summer, but this time of year, before the Copper Beech above them leafs out, they are a marvel. Generous and beautiful. The daffodils and tulips are done, by the way, as are the Scylla and the snow drops.

Blueberry blossoms

One of my blueberry cultivars is in full bloom. Note the lack of bees, though. This cool cloudy weather is wonderful to work in, but not-so-great for pollination. The blueberries will do ok without it, but I'm afraid the apples (in a later image) will fail to set fruit.

A budding columbine

The Columbine is just starting a run at blooming. This one is in the middle of a ton of Lily-of-the-Valley, which is blooming!

Weeping Crabapple

The weeping crab apple is just spectacular this year. She suckers like a thing possessed, but I knocked the usurpers back this morning.

Geraniums

Siberian Bugloss

The geraniums (also called Cranesbill) are just tuning up. They are also threatening a spectacular bloom this year.

 

Siberian Bugloss, or Brunera, is in full throat right now. It's a delicate voice, but utterly beguiling. And long after the flowers fade, the leaves enchant.

Peach blossoms past petal fall

The peach blossoms are on to the next stage now. Only a few petals are still hanging on, and she is start to contemplate the gestation of many offspring. Oh dear. I hope she was pollinated adequately. We did have some warmer weather when her blossom were at full tilt.

Apple blossom

The above is a crabapple. She also had incredibly abundant blossoms this year. To the right is a later blooming apple tree. I'm not holding out a lot of hope for a crop, but it could happen. These plants have, after all, evolved to produce seeds, and the fruit is bound up in that. We'll see.

Lilac flowers

And then there are the lilacs. I cut some large very old branches out of this one during winter pruning. I'm hoping that plant physiology will work, and that the pruning will inspire the plant to throw up new young shoots.

Candles on a dwarf blue spruce

 Other things are happening too. The evergreens are all showing off their candles (the hemlocks are particularly charming), the asparagus are starting to fill in after we have cut them for (perhaps) too long, and the rhubarb.

Asparagus

 

Rhubarb!

Good grief. The rhubarb. She's like exotic animal trying to free herself from the confines of a domestic garden. Large lush leaves showing off and looking for escape at the same time.

Phlox

The phlox is just starting to bloom, amid the seedlings of ash and oak. The oak mast was overwhelming last year, and we'll be weeding oak seedlings out of the garden beds for years to come.

Double file viburnum

The Double-file Viburnum are just tuning up, promising their annual show in the near future.

Beleaguered Rhododendrons

Finally, a word about the rhododendrons. They were so hurt by. . the winter? The two very wet cool seasons? Being ignored? We don't have many flower buds this year, which is unusual. But while I wasn't a lover of this plant for a long time, I've come to appreciate her glossy green leaves that stay with us throughout the seasons. I love the way they combat the cold by rolling up like so many pencils, and then coming back flat when temperatures warm.

A late cool spring. . .

Weeping Crap Apple and Copper Beech

It's been a strange spring. I hustled to get my vegetable transplants in because the weather was warming (and no temps below 40F in sight), but everything has stopped for the last week or so. There have also been some post-winter trauma in our rhododendrons, and my lovely huge lupine is just barely coming back. Likewise, one of my apple trees. . .my best producer (Macoun, I think) is leafing out erratically, and hardly had any flowers on it.

The latter issue isn't completely unexpected, since she had a good sized crop last year, and some cultivars do have alternate year bearing habits. But it's more than that. . .the leaves are sparse and some are quite small.

On the good news front, the weeping crab apple is at her most glorious this year. But notice the Copper Beech behind her. It's leafing out late, which is usual, but is also displaying an unusual pattern of leafing out, with the top way ahead of the lower branches. Oh the worry of a plants-person.

Tree Fall. How depressing

My garden journal tells me that we are about a week behind last year, in terms of leafing out and blooming. Olivia, my Cornus kousa, is also late. I'm thinking that we may have had more cold injury than usual this year. We had an extended period of single digits when there wasn't much snow on the ground. That may be the issue. And after two wet seasons, everyone had wet feet for most of the summer.

Jasper. Not depressing at all

I've also had cause to wonder what a healthy Maine forest looks like. We've had so much tree fall in our woods. Some of that is normal, I'm sure, but I can't help but wonder if we're seeing some climate change effects on these woods. We had to clear a lot of fallen trees off one of our trails. It was after a big storm, and where the trees that had grown up on the perimeter of the forest had been removed. So it may have just been human caused carelessness. It is hard to know what is caused by changing climate, and what falls within the realm of normal weather fluctuations.

It's hard not to feel a little blue, waiting for Spring to come. I planted a couple of Ranunculus corms and a Giant Brunnera root today. And an image of Jasper never fails to bring a smile.