My late, great friend and dentist, Dr. Charley Beard, said to me some time ago that it seems every time we start to tell something we have experienced we preface it by “Years ago … ”
Now that we (I) have adjudged the year 2019 to have rated a crummy grade of D as a gardening year, we should, I guess, give a token of time and ink to what was good about it, if anything.
A wise philosopher once said “As you slide down the bannister of life”. . . .what? Well, he advised us to be sure the splinters are pointed in the right direction. Good advice, I would say.
“Horrors may,” was an old Williams expression that my Uncle Ernest used with considerable efficaciousness whenever some sudden event or awakening occurred. Here it is mid-November and, horrors may, tomorrow will be Christmas.
Many of the questions I get concern faltering plants, from those with meaningless spots on their leaves to others already in the grave, and yet others somewhere in between.
So you think you have weeds? Well, everybody does. It comes with the territory if you do any serious gardening. Everybody thinks their plantation is more weed prone than anybody else’s.
Succession planting is a subject that has been broached many times by many garden writers, including this one. Practiced well, any given piece of ground will yield more with succession planting than when given over to one crop per season, be it ornamentals or vegetables and, yes, even large …
A review copy of a new book with the simple title Moss, made interesting reading during recent hot days. The author refers a lot to mosses in foreign countries, including particularly the Baltic areas and Japan, where mosses have long been appreciated more than in the west.
“Attitude adjustment” is a relatively new phrase that has entered our vernacular English. It has to do mostly with adjusting one’s mien from disgust or disappointment of a day or days into a feeling more appealing.
The subject of mulch is obligatory, I guess, for any garden writer, and I have on a number of occasions fulfilled my obligation in that regard, so, here in the post-dog days it is time again to reconsider the subject.
Happy Independence Day. You remember, July 4 is the anniversary of when we sent the Brits home packing and set this nation up as a republic, just 243 years ago. Thursday will be a time for watermelon cuttings, picnics, fishing, swimming and other hot weather activities. Don’t forget the fire…
Here we are, just five days out of the summer solstice, and the days are already (minimally) getting shorter. Sure enough, summer is here at last, and the few people who thrive on horrible heat and stifling humidity are happy. Those who dote on cool breezes and crisp nights will just have to…
Yes, I know it is a bit after the fact, and yes, I know that the flowering of almost all azaleas has passed, but I can’t help but put in a word for a few kinds that flower at the end of spring, which doesn’t expire, astronomically, for two more days.
Even as daffodil season fades from memory, catalogs for fall bulb planting begin to arrive. There are a couple of reasons for that. The merchants want daffodils and other spring blooming bulbs to be fresh on your mind in hopes you will order soon and also because they would like to have orde…
You’ve heard before on this page about my considerable inefficiency at growing azaleas. We used to have an annual azalea pull every spring and roast weenies over the resulting funeral pyre of dead specimens.
It must have been some quarter of a century ago in April when I was driving down the hill on West Wood Street west of the court square. A patch of bright mauve (an oxymoron?) caught my eye in a front lawn. The grass was almost obliterated with little star-shaped flowers of pale blue or, more…
A few days ago, I was standing in our front garden, smugly gazing upon the flushing green leaves of one of my favorite shrubs, a ‘Rose Creek’ abelia. Why smugly? Well, it was set new last fall and was actually still alive, for one thing. And for another, I knew the little plant had a whole s…
April was termed “the cruelest month” by the esteemed poet T.S. Eliot. He had been born in St. Louis, Mo., but moved to England in his 20s. So he had sufficient exposure to April from both sides of the Atlantic to make such an observation in his poem, “The Waste Land,” back in the 19th century.
Back in the day, it was almost unheard of for gardeners, of both the edible and ornamental variety, to get their plants into the ground any other way than direct seeding. Exceptions were cole crops, such as cabbage, and others started with sets, i.e. onions.
Tree Toppers International has started their robo calling, trying to induce suckers into paying good money for their services. They’re most into it on weekday and Saturday afternoons when it is too cold and wet to be outside. One of their representatives is a guy on television with a silly g…
Catalog season is upon us. Even without the old Sears and Roebuck ones that thrilled us as kids, there are others (many others) that appeal to gardeners, even if for nothing more than comic relief.
Old Janus has reared his ugly head again. The Roman god Janus had two faces, one seeing forward and the other back, as is apropos for the first month of the year. We’ve already looked back (last week) and so let us help Janus by looking toward the future.
There’s no escaping it. Leaves must be dealt with some way or another this time of year. We’ve enjoyed them for eight months now, but after they are off the trees, it’s just another worry.
Our autumn colors are just going over. There’s scarcely reason to have any ornamental garden in October and November. Just drive through our countryside and view all the reds, yellows, bronzes, russets, and on ad infinitum.
You read here last week of the success of the Friends of the Library bulb sale fundraiser. Though not a municipal beautification project, per se, the effect is the same, in that a prettier town and county will be the result.
Our several mixed borders at Tennessee Dixter have been, and are, a little off this year from past performances. I have been somewhat disappointed in them and have been reluctant to have garden visitors.
An infallible adage in the gardening world is “If it ain’t one thing, it’s another.” If it isn’t some relatively recent bane like mulberry weed, it is some hitherto unknown disease or plague of some kind or another that strikes just as we think we are getting ahead of the game.
In the days of yore, so to speak, before I took up the garden column, I was outdoors editor, offering a weekly roundup of hunting and fishing activity in the upper Kentucky Lake region. Steve McCadams came along and far more than amply filled my shoes with the outdoors news about the time I …
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