I’m a volunteer with the Toronto Bruce Trail Club’s Conservation Committee, and I’ve been busy all summer growing native plants for a habitat restoration project. Meanwhile Nature is showing me up with some volunteering of her own. I was pretty thrilled to see Cardinal Flowers (Lobelia cardinalis) growing along the grass edge of the stream at the back of the property; they are spectacular and one of my favourite wildflowers.
That mystery plant I wrote about in June did turn out to be an orchid – a Helleborine. Apparently it’s non-native and can even be invasive. Just imagine… habitat overrun with orchids. I should probably be disturbed by that idea.
Cardinal Flower (Lobelia cardinalis)
Boneset (Eupatorium perfoliatum)
Blue Vervain (Verbena hastata)
Spotted Joe Pye Weed (Eutrochium maculatum) & cattails
I just received a newsletter from BumbleBeeWatch.org, and it has some of the most interesting information on Bumblebees that I’ve read in a while. Since I don’t see a blog on their website, I thought I’d share a bit of it here.
Most bumble bee colonies are well advanced and have a complete worker caste, so they have switched to producing the colony’s reproductive members. Because creating queens takes more resources from the colony than producing workers or males, the colony can only accomplish this once it has a worker caste large enough to provision the nest appropriately. Since the number of new queens (and not the total number of bees in a nest) is the measure of reproductive success, this is a critical time of year for all bumble bees. Ensuring they have enough food to eat between now and the end of the season will determine the strength of next year’s population.
So one of the best ways to help bumblebees (which are declining at a truly alarming rate – never mind honeybees!) is to have lots of pollinator flowers in the garden that bloom into the fall.
I’m not affiliated with the organization, just a big fan. If you love bumblebees, You should sign up!
Several years ago, while living and working in Munich, I discovered that such a thing as a “Garden Museum” existed in the City of London. Naturally, I took the first opportunity to visit during a business trip to that great city.
The Garden Museum is housed in the ancient church of St. Mary-at-Lambeth in a historically tawdry area of east London called Lambeth/Southwark. Back in the 16th century this area was fertile ground for wealthy manors, gardens, and great plantsmen but by the mid-18th century it was a lawless borough known more for bear-baiting, prostitution, alehouses and bowling alleys than for horticulture and wealthy retreats.
The Church of St. Mary-at-Lambeth was bombed in WWII and a dilapidated tear-down by the mid-1970’s. A determined group of influential horticulturalists intervened and turned it into the world’s first museum dedicated to gardening.
Back in the 17th century this had been the parish church of famous historical plant hunters, the Tradescants, and they are buried in the churchyard. The Tradescants were plantsmen and explorers who introduced to cultivation many of the plants we now grow in our gardens; they also created the world’s first purpose-built museum. The churchyard also contains the graves of Captain Bligh of The Bounty, Anne Boleyn’s mother, and other characters famous but less noteworthy… to a gardener.
So what does this have to do with me and synchronicity?
The “small thing” is a clay tile, a souvenir I purchased at the museum. The first thing I did four years ago when I started the garden was to hang this tile up at the entrance to a makeshift pergola. The quote, “Change this garden then for paradise“, appealed to me. Those words are inscribed on John Tradescant’s gravestone.
Fast-forward a couple of years, when my elderly Dad anointed me keeper of his genealogical research. To make a long story shorter, I discovered that my 2nd great-grand parents were married at St. Mary-at-Lambeth in 1853. I uncovered skeletons and a tragic, sordid story that I’m sure no one has known about for over 100 years. It reminded me that I’m alive today because some very hardy ancestors were survivors.
But seriously – what an odd coincidence. And in just over a month I really am going to change this garden for the paradise that is my new home.
I like daylilies. I especially like the daylilies I got from Jocelain and Alain at Artemesia Daylilies in Kimberley, Ontario. If you’re on your way through the Beaver Valley on Grey Road 13, make sure you stop and check them out. They have the most interesting selection I’ve ever seen!
Dang if I can remember the names of them all though – all except the one Jocelyn named “Pollinatrix” in my honour. Well, almost my honour… he spelled it differently. But I swear I’m the inspiration!!! I had them all labelled but the writing has worn off the metal markers.
I know some people who turn their noses up at daylilies. They don’t “do” anything! By that, they mean, daylilies don’t provide nectar for insects, aren’t a good host plant for caterpillars, aren’t native… Ok ok, but they do something for me. They brighten my garden and make me smile. And this one makes me close my eyes and go “mmmmmmm”. It smells gorgeous.
The garden is pretty much at its best right now, putting on a spectacular show as if to say goodbye. It’ll be mid-September before I officially move into a new life and a new garden, but I decided I wanted to share it now while it looks so nice. So I held an open garden today, and many of my very favourite people from Glen Williams came. It was a perfect day.
Five summers ago my garden consisted of a couple of small unkempt beds containing mainly ditch lilies, trash, and noxious weeds. Most of what you see began as endless stretches of mown grass and dandelions with a few disconnected trees and shrubs plunked in random places around the lawn.
I started creating this garden during the heatwave of July 2011, precisely the day after my mother died in my arms in a lonely hospital room in the middle of the night. Her death was dutifully recorded in obituaries as peaceful. It was not. I can’t describe the depth of my relief when her face and her emaciated body relaxed, finally free of pain.
This was not the first brutally painful blow during a relatively short period of time, nor the last. A cliche it may be, but since I started the garden I have watered bare dirt with tears and a landscape of beauty has emerged. Not just outside my door, but also inside my life. I consider myself blessed.
I’m moving on soon, into the next and best phase of my life. I’ll take the gifts these years have brought me and leave what I no longer need behind.
And that’s where the metaphor ends. Gardens may be ephemeral, but I am not.
“Life isn’t about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain.“