Oh look! More snow! Quel surprise!

Well, as anyone who's read Crafty Gardener or GardenJoy4's posts in the last day or so knows, some parts of Canada have been having a spot of weather. The spot arrived here in Nova Scotia yesterday afternoon with a bang and a flourish, and began dumping on us with great zeal and enthusiasm.


Oh really, you say. You Canadians and your weather-whining. How bad can it be?
Hmmm....let's open the door and find out! Oh, look. There's about a foot of snow up against the door. Where's the shovel? Oh, right, I'm not supposed to shove. Okay, we'll just look out.


Hmmmm...I'd say it's drifted about three feet high here, in places. Now, we don't use this door too much in winter, as the other front door is just off to the left (our house is L-shaped). Let's go look and see how much is out back. Surely it won't be as bad.


Hmmm. Maybe it is worse! Look at that nice cresting, curling wave on top of the snowdrift near the big birdfeeder! LSS will have to plow out to there so he can fill the feeders, but the snowbirds and other brave souls are finding lots to eat at the feeders and on the ground anyway, as he tossed a scoop out to hold them for now.


As others have observed, there's a reason why we don't cut down all our perennials before winter--not only do they give some winter interest, they also help to mark where the garden is, and how deep the snow is too, in case some errant soul gets lost in the back yard. All in all, we've got between 8-10 inches (20-25 cm) down so far, and while there was a bit of a lull when I took these, it's snowing again...and blowing, too!


It's enough to make a person (feline or human) hug the stove, cling to nice sheepskin slippers...


...or catch up on your sleeping...


But here's a reminder that spring will come again; the beautiful daylily 'Roses in Snow'! It will show more white along its edges as it matures (last year was its first year flowering for me) but with that name, I had to have it. And had to have a bit of colour in this post, too. We'll return to exploring Colour in the Garden soon...

Chartreuse 2...the new neutral?

Given your comments in the previous post about chartreuse foliage, this IS a great colour for plants (even though some of us don't like to think we're following any sort of fashion--we'll just say we like the plants for their own sakes and a pox on the fashionistas, okay?)
We have quite a few annuals and perennials that sport either chartreuse flowers or foliage; I decided to toss in a couple of floral offerings just because they play the same terrific role as their foliage counterparts.
Kicking off the parade of flamboyant foliage is Coreopsis 'Cherry Lemonade'. I really, REALLY hope this plant comes back this summer--it did spectacularly well all year, flowering well into autumn, and I did cover it in boughs as the weather grew cold...its flowers are the perfect foil for that gold-green foliage.

Since Tradescantia 'Sweet Kate' was doing very well in the front garden, I bought another couple of plants to establish in the big back border, where a number of other tradescantias already are well established. Here it's setting off the alarm bells of Salvia 'Purple Volcano' while I think hosta 'Inniswood' is the hosta nearby.


One of my favourite annuals last year, both for durability and colour was bacopa 'Copia Golden Leaves'. I've extolled the virtue of this plant before, I know, but it's just such a great performer, and those lavender flowers against the chartreuse and green leaves just works so well. The nursery where I got it is growing it again, I found out last week. Goody, because I neglected to bring it inside before the first ice storm....


I have written before about my love for euphorbias. This is E. 'Fens Ruby', and a definite favourite, both for the red colouring in the foliage and of course for that fresh chartreuse flourish of bracts and flowers. This one even threw a few flowers in autumn, but the main event was in midspring.


Another chartreuse flowered plant I can't be without is Lady's mantle, (Alchemilla mollis). I love this plant--it's so well behaved, with fantastic fanshaped leaves that look bejeweled after a rain or dew (or fog); and that froth of tiny flowers lasts and lasts. It's a great border plant, and lights up the foggy yard really well.


Here's ladys mantle again, doing its job of lightening up a bed of Cancun Asiatic lilies, Goldflame honeysuckle, deep blue delphinium, and a host of other perennials.


One of my favourite foliage plants is the annual sweet potato vine. It does very well in containers around our place, and this delightful cultivar is 'Margarita'.


Wow! You may have read before about my love for annual ice plants; here they are nestled up against 'Aztec Gold' veronica in the front bed. I use bright colours like this to really chase away the grey days when Fundy fog rolls in and stays...and stays...and stays...


Nursery operator Rob Baldwin of Baldwin's Nurseries near Windsor (website under construction) is one of my favourite plantsmen, and a friend to boot. I can't go visit without leaving part of my bank account with him, but it's no wonder--his plants are field grown at his nursery, for the most part, and he has a terrific selection of native plants. This Japanese forest grass (Hakonechloa macra 'All Gold' isn't native, of course, but it's an amazing grass for the front of a border; it cascades in waves, and that colour is hard to beat.


Yeah, so hosta 'Golden Tiara' is common as dirt. I don't care--it's one of some five dozen hostas, some unnamed--errrr, make that unidentified--around our garden, and I love it. Obviously, or I would compost it. Here it's nestled up against Salvia argentea, silver sage, a biennial with huge and elegant furry silver leaves, and one of the creeping veronicas.


This part of the front garden contains a fair few chartreuse foliaged plants, including Bromus 'Skinners Gold', the veronica mentioned above, 'Brigadoon' hypericum, and a mystery shrub (which I finally dug up and moved this fall, still unidentified. Anyone know what it is?).


Another of my nursery operating friends (who had better be getting her website up and going soon!) specializes in native plants, grasses, conifers...and heaths and heathers, like this incredible gold Erica. But don't ask me which one it is--I thought I had it out back, but of course everything is buried, and I'm finding that with so many plants, some of the names simply go into hiding in my head. Never mind that. As the late, still lamented Steve Irwin would have said, "Isn't it a beauty?"

There are a host more chartreuse-foliaged plants around our yard, but I don't have photos of all of them--and I think you get the point, those who might not yet have gone for gold...give it a try this spring! I'll certainly be adding more, though probably not the gold smoke bush--I've seen it, but it's a bit iffy for the mountain--but I'll be looking for chartreuse foliaged columbines, centaurea, campanula...and anything else that catches my eye!

Yes, that's right. My name is jodi, and I'm a plant addict.

There are worse habits.

Chasing away the cold; awards, and technical advice

Wow, two awards in one week! I'm touched (and not just in the head or by frost) by such enthusiasm from other fine bloggers. The best part of this, as I told Nancy of Soliloquy, who presented me with this award, (created and started by Mind Sieve) is getting to pick other recipients.

Now, before I announce who I'm awarding this to, I have a technical question. Since I blogovated Bloomingwriter, I can't get images up on my side columns, unless they've been converted to HTML code and aren't too big. You may notice a bit of overflower on the "I am a sunflower" panel on the right side. I don't speak HTML, but I wonder if there's an easy bit of code I can add to a URL for a graphic like this E for Excellent, or for the Share-the-Love award, that will make it workable in my sidebars like the Austin Spring Fling, Blotanical, and other images that ARE working in the side. How bout it, those of you with more smarts than me....what do I do? IS it possible?

Now, the best part of getting an award....sharing the love around! For a whole lotta reasons, (mostly great writing and photography and intelligent thoughts) I'm awarding to several that are relatively new to me, (thanks to discovering them to , where as Stuart sassily remarked I DO spend a lot of time), as well as to several I've been reading for months.

Kipili, in Australia: I'm learning about plants that wouldn't grow here, but such fun! David was also the first to put up his Garden Bloggers Geography Project post.

Pollinators-Welcome, Chicago: Because of Gloria I first began learning about the wonders of Chicago, and I am with her on having concerns for pollinators of all sorts.

Shirls Gardenwatch, Scotland: Another blogger with a concern for living creatures in and outside her garden plot.

Frances of Faire Garden: Frances writes that she jumped into blogging with both feet just a short time ago, and she's become a must-read on a most-daily basis.

Debi at The Giraffe Head Tree: Debi's photography is especially fine, but she also writes with compassion and flare about many topics, not 'only' gardening!

Cindy at Rosehaven Cottage: Finally I get to give an award to Cindy, who has given me two. Across the continent, she's become a great friend, a kindred spirit who loves cats, chocolate and gardening--among other things!

Carol at May Dreams Garden: One of the very first gardening blogs I started reading, and still one of my favourites. Carol has warmth, wit, and intelligence, and days when I don't get to her blog, I feel like I've missed my vitamins.

The only 'rule' about this award is to share it with a few others--I look forward to finding MORE new blogs as a result of your choices, and congratulations to each of you for being bloggers of excellence!

Colour in the Garden: Acid Green, Chartreuse or Gold?

The gang over at Gardening Gone Wild know how to help us get through the long winter months. Even though some garden bloggers are exulting in blooms from hellebores to crocus to lots and lots and LOTS of snowdrops, (and those in the southern Hemisphere are just nicely into summer), it's a bit of a drudge as we slog and trudge and grumble through the endless days of FARCH. So we're having a colour party to help us cope.


Because this particular season is the one of the least light, I thought it would be fun to use the brightest colour first. Some other bloggers have also written glowingly about chartreuse in the past few days. Mr. McGregor's Daughter got me especially excited with her stirring ode to this curious colour, which I saw referred to as the new neutral in one of BHG's magazines. On first glance, chartreuse doesn't LOOK neutral, does it? It screams "look at me, I'm HERE!" But it goes really, really well with just about any other colour, helping some to pop, calming others down a bit, and just plain causing jubilation with other plantings.


I've seen chartreuse referred to as 'acid green' by some trendy writers, and I guess that's as good a description as "mountain dew green" or 'antifreeze yellow'. Technically, chartreuse is between green and yellow, though I've also seen some refer to it in foliage as gold. Well, I'm not going to split hairs on that, as you'll see in a bit. Let's just say that I like this colour a lot, and go from there with a look at some shrubs and trees that make me happy.

So far in this post we have a gold-foliaged elder (long since missing its name, as it's been planted for five or six years now), doing a nice echo with lady's mantle, cushion spurge (Euphorbia polychroma) and an unnamed euonymus that I like even without its name. The second photo shows my much-loved Berberis 'Nana Aurea', and in the photo above, another gold barberry and gold threadleafed chamaecyparis. That last photo was taken at the Rock Garden at the Nova Scotia Agricultural College, one of my alma maters, and if you ever get a chance to visit the garden...go! I like the colour echo of the fern right by the chamaecyparis, but I don't know the fern species, unfortunately. I'm sure someone else will.


This photo is from a fantastic garden down in West Pubnico on the south shore of the province. Some of the best gardeners I've ever met are down there, including my dear friend Alice d'Entremont of Ouestville Perennials, but this isn't her garden. I love how the basket-of-gold alyssum, the shrub (which I believe is also an elder) and the hostas play off each other with their brilliant chartreuse colour.


One of my favourite shrubs, which I've written adoringly of before, is Thuja 'Rheingold'. I love the rainbow qualities of this plant, as its foliage segues from chartreuse to soft green to gold to orangy-yellow to bronze as the season progresses. It's in a small garden with a few other compact shrubs, including 'Heatherbun' chamaecyparis, a gold-foliaged juniper (perhaps pfitzer aurea), a blue juniper, and a raft of heaths and heathers.


Not the best photo of Juniperus 'Lime Glow', but this remarkable juniper also sports bronze-red tips on its foliage in winter (at least, I think it's sporting it under the snow it's sporting).


For an absolute outburst of chartreuse, some of the spireas are topnotch, including 'Lemon Princess.' I don't care if most of my spireas flower (except 'Crispa', which is just such a great one); I grow spireas for their foliage colours, either in spring, summer or fall, and the flowers are just a nice bonus.


On my 'gotta have' list is this incredible golden locust, Robinia frisea...there are specimens of this around the area, including here on the mountain, and I'm ready to try it in our garden this year.


'Chardonay Pearls' deutzia is well-named, and a perfect candidate for my wine and chocolate garden...I'll be talking about that more later in the week, around V-day!


Nan of GardeningGoneWild mentioned that she's not crazy about dwarf evergreens, something to do with a summer's job potting the little suckers way back when. I can't resist them, am adding more all the time, although I've yet to take the plunge and get this golden dwarf hinoki chamaecyparis from a grower friend of mine. I've been testing out other chamaecyparis to see how they do here in the wind, and they've just taken it and kept on growing, so I think it's time...


Here's a plant that isn't so much chartreuse as gold, but I include it here because I can. It's 'Sunshine Gold' caryopteris, first planted last summer; if it settles in as beautifully as did a couple others in the garden, it should do very well for us. Someone commented to me last summer that they understood why we have so much gold, white and chartreuse foliage in the garden--we can find it in the fog! True enough...come back next time and see my non-woody offerings.

Where in the Gardening World are YOU?

Sometimes, a little distraction is good.

As I watch the latest snow fall down outside my window, I’m supposed to be finishing up a couple of projects. But sometimes a turn of phrase just won’t come out the way we want it to, and a little diversion is needed.

We all converse with bloggers in different parts of the world from us. Naturally, we’re all in different time zones. Some are as close as one hour’s difference (Ontario, Rhode Island, Maine, etc are an hour behind me on Atlantic Standard Time) while others, like Stuart in Australia, are 13 hours ahead—well into tomorrow. Before I went looking up maps, I found a handy chart of times across the world, and that gave me some idea of what time some of you not in North America are on. Then I had to decide what part of what continent people were in. (I’m using Stuart for an example here because he’s about the further away of my bloggin’ buds.) I knew he was in Western Australia, but not exactly where Busselton was.

So naturally, I took the time to look it up. (I did say I needed a break, didn’t I?) Busselton is about 220 km from Perth, the capital of Western Australia, and home to what is said to be the longest wooden structure in the southern hemisphere, the Busselton Jetty, nearly two kilometers in length stretching out into the ocean. Just looking at it made me dizzy!

Now, this got me thinking. It’s been a long time since I took geography, but it’s a fascinating subject—especially when looked at through a gardener’s eyes. Look at Yolanda Elizabet, in Dinteloord, in the province of Noord Brabant, the Netherlands. Who knew (besides Europeans who are better travelled than us new worlders) that the Netherlands had provinces? I know a bit about Kate's neck of the woods because I've been to the Prairies (though not to Saskatchewan) but can YOU uickly locate her province on a map of Canada? And how many who don't live in the United States knew that Rhode Island, where Blithewold and Layanee are ISN'T an island? You see what I mean?

So I’m throwing a challenge out to all other garden bloggers to embark on something I’m calling Garden Bloggers Geography Project. All you have to do is write a post (or two or three, if you want—remember, my theory is rules are made to be broken). Tell your readers a bit about your hometown, your state, province…something that really tells us where you are in the world. What’s really special about your community? Pretend you’re trying to entice visitors to the region, and remember—what might be obvious to you isn’t necessarily obvious to even the blogger in the community next door. Use maps, photos, whatever you want, so long as it’s not too hard for people to load. (Not everyone is on highspeed, and videos can be frustrating for those on dialup.)

When you get your post done, come and leave a comment here in this post. You can also link back, or use the bizarre little graphic I’ve made up above (just don’t laugh at it); whatever you want to do to spread the word and join in the fun. We’ll give this project a deadline—the 29th of February, to acknowledge that this IS a leap year.

Now, in school, we got grades, or gold stars or detentions, if we didn’t do our homework. No detentions here, of course, but here’s a bit of an enticement. I’ll visit all the postings over the next couple of weeks, and select the one I like the best. And the prize, though it might not be screamingly relevant for some of you, will be a copy of my book, The Atlantic Gardener’s Greenbook. Now, if you’ve already got one, that doesn’t disqualify you—you can give it as a gift to someone else. Or sell it on EBay, or whatever you wish. I’ll contact the winning blogger, announce that person here, and mail the book off to wherever that day. How’s that sound for an enticement?

Ready? Let the projects begin!

Sharing the Love

Did any of you know I am a ray of sunshine? I didn't (and my longsuffering spouse sure doesn't think so, some mornings before coffee!) Well, the always-sunny Cindy at Rosehaven Cottage thinks so, and she awarded me the Spread the Love Award. She also awarded the even more sunny and well deserving Kylee of Our Little Acre and Yolanda and the whole Bliss Team with this cheery February award.

What a perfect way to chase away the grey days of what I refer to as Farch--that interminable period that starts on February Oneth and ends on March Thirty-Oneth. We're into about day four or five or maybe seventeen of grey, dreary, blah, sunless, cloudy, precipitation of various sorts days...and I'm out of good chocolate! May have to resort to eating chocolate chips when I feel down.

Here's the info on the award:

The Spread the Love Award originated from Mica at Garb-oodles Soup with Mica's purpose being, "I have met so many lovely and very talented ladies here in Blogdom, what more can I do or say to express my humbled heart to each, than to give all my Dearest Readers and Friends a special award filled with Love. So, Spread The Love dear ones, Spread The Love to those you love. Accept my award in which I have specially designed and share it with others. Enjoy the day."

I'm with Mica on this; i've met so many talented and wonderful people (guys too, though they're in a shorter supply in the garden blogger's world, it seems), and some of you have become friends across the miles, including Cindy, Kylee, and Yolanda! So how on earth can I award this (because you have to pass it on!) to only a couple of people?

Well, it's my blog and I'll make up my own rule. I'm going to award it to five bloggers, some of whom I'm just getting to know across the bloggin' miles. They aren't all gardening blogs, either, because I checked back and that's fine. You know me and rules...if I can bend them just a bit, or push them just a bit, it's a great thing.

So; my picks are:

Victoria Cummings at Teachings of the Horse, for her wisdom about horses and the adept way she learns from them;
The entire team at GardeningGoneWild, because they are encouraging us all to become better gardeners, and they take the time to reply to comments, unlike some 'professional' garden writers.
Stuart at Gardening Tips n Ideas, for all his work both with his blog and with Blotanical, where some of us are having just too much fun;
Diane at Alberta Postcards, because her photographs make my heart sing (and she's a great writer too)
and Robin's Nesting Place, because A. I love her blog and her concern for other creatures and B. I had her URL messed up on my sidebar for several weeks!

And two special recipients (because I can) my blogging buddies and fellow Blotanical addicts, Carolyn of Sweet Home & Garden Chicago and Kate of Kate Smudges ; we have this hilarious three-way-gallop going on for top post-picker at Blotanical...none of us sleeps much, obviously.

As far as I know, there's no code for this award; just copy the image above and put it on your blog especially in a post where you share the love forward (if you wish).

And for the other hundred and leventy-three blogs I read--you all deserve it too, so give yourselves a hug from me; you all make me a better gardener, better writer and photographer (because I am inspired by you) and make my life a little richer, in the things that money CAN'T buy. So there.

Wildflowers in Winter, Week 4

Here we go with Week 4 of Wildflowers in Winter; wildflowers in the home. What a good idea this was for Elizabeth Joy to give us something else interesting to do to while away the dreary weeks of winter. Because we ARE into the dreary part now, at least in Nova Scotia, with irregular weather patterns making for a lot of ice, grey days sapping all the energy out of us. BUT, the days are getting longer, and we've lots of indoor or virtual gardening to do, so we'll get through!


This week's theme posed a bit of a challenge for me, because I realized that a lot of our dishes, etc either are cat-related, or have other plants besides wildflowers on them. But like a good writer, I decided to interpret dishes a bit more loosely, and so we'll start off with this porcelain candleholder of a rose. After all, we have wild roses, including semi-double and double blossomed ones, so this could be a wild rose. Or a water lily. And the candle is lavender scented, naturally.


Here's a bit of a stretch; this cutting board, though, is so beautiful it needed to be included. Unlike two others I have, it never, ever has been used; I bought it just because its colours and plants gave me such joy.


Likewise with this memopad, festooned as it is with violets. It sits on my office desk and I use it some (though the pen that came with it doesn't work well) and gives me great delight, because violets (and violet lookalikes) make me instantly happy.


I have quite a bit of pottery around the house, including these items. The vase with the Ladyslipper on it was made in Prince Edward Island, where the provincial flower is the ladyslipper. The kitchen tool jar and the spoon rest were made by a potter in Canning, who also makes compost pots in the same pattern, and I have decided to treat myself to one as a 'get me through winter' present. (It holds a 2 litre icecream container, which comes easily out, so I don't have to lug the pottery out to the Envirocycle every time I need to empty the kitchen trimmings.)


Lupines grow wild throughout much of Atlantic Canada, and they are just so amazing in their myriad colour patterns. When they bloom the roadsides are awash in colours just like on this soapdish.


See what I mean about cups with cats on them? This one has geraniums on it, true, but I thought I'd sneak it in without anyone making too much fuss. I'm sure geraniums (Pelargoniums, not cranesbills) are wild somewhere!


And here we are again with a bit of a loose interpretation. The pottery teapot is one I picked up at a flea market type place in Cape Breton, years ago, and it's just the best for tea. The teacup has watering cans, not-wild flowers, and butterflies on it, so I figure that the butterflies make it work for this week's post just fine. Because butterflies need wildflowers, and I have lots of both around our yard.

Whew. All this work has made me thirsty...time for tea. Jasmine scented green tea, so that means more wildflowers from somewhere else, doesn't it?

Tomato Lust is Beginning....

One of the curious things that always happens every winter is that I develop an overwhelming urge for tomatoes. Mmmmmm, tomatoes. You know what I mean, don’t you?


Sun ripened, flavourful, juicy, tomatoes, not the hard, plastic-like nuggets that we’re seeing in stores at this time of year. Maybe they’ve been genetically engineered to store for approximately twenty seven years, and are mostly uniform in shape and size, perfect for slicing on top of that hideous fast-food hamburger. They’re just awful.

Even the ones that are greenhouse grown or supposedly ‘vine ripened’ don’t taste like much of anything. In desperation, I will resort to eating them, at least on broiled sandwiches or pizza or chopped up in salsa or salad, rather than be totally tomato-less for the months until we get real field tomatoes again. I wait for those first truly vine-ripened tomatoes with as much anticipation as we do the first strawberries, the first new potatoes, the first sweet corn. But especially the tomatoes.

Now, here’s a confession for all of you who struggle with purple thumbs, and which may cause vast amusement to the tomato pros among you. I don’t grow tomatoes well. This would have scandalized my dear, departed Dad, had he known. My father was the champion of tomato growers in his community, supplying neighbours, fellow pilots, and other friends with a horde of ripe, huge, delicious tomatoes; beefsteaks, cherry type, regular slicing types, he grew them all. We all used to refer to them as triffids because my father’s tomato plants were so huge and robust, tied up in his tiny greenhouse beside the garage, laden down with fruit of all sizes, pushing the tops of their leafy heads against the top of the greenhouse. Happily, they never pulled up stakes (or roots) and started walking. Nor did they eat people, at least none that we were aware of.

My problem with growing tomatoes is the climate here in my community. It’s regularly at least 10 degrees (Fahrenheit) cooler up here than in the Valley; people come up here in the summer to get away from the Valley heat. But then they get here and find out that we’re wrapped in fog. Lots of it. Really thick, cool, moisture-giving fog, great for the perennial beds and lawns, but not so good for heat- and sunlight-loving tomatoes.

I do try. I have grown great seedlings, and other years bought transplants of heritage tomatoes from local nurseries that have carried a few speciality types. But it’s usually late September before I get any to ripen—even growing them in our little greenhouse, where they do get more heat, when the sun is out, but when we go for days on end in the fog, not much happens. Last year I did fairly well, although I was a bit worried when this was my tomato crop in mid-August (when many of you had been eating ripe tomatoes for weeks!)

Happily, we actually had a real bounty of tomatoes, I think because I covered the greenhouse floor with landscape cloth before planting the transplants. They got a little more heat, a little more regular moisture, fewer weeds and no dirt on them, and they did ripen earlier than in other years--and keep going until well into October.

It's frustrating work though, but I keep at it, and anyone who loves tomatoes right off the vine eaten like a fresh peach, knows why. There really is nothing like home grown tomatoes, (except the other thing money can’t buy, which according to John Denver was true love). And here’s your botanical bit of trivia, though any tomatophile already knows this. The tomato has had a number of other names in its storied career, and indeed the botanical name, Lycopersicon, means ‘Wolf Peach’--although now they’re Solanum lycopersicum; yet another point for the taxonomists to crow over!

What I like to grow is heritage tomatoes, not only because they come in a rainbow of colours and shapes and sizes, but in a world of flavours, too. ‘Caspian Pink’ is a sweet, and decidedly pink, tomato, delicious in sandwiches or salads; ‘Black Krim’ has this unique, smokey flavour that is hard to describe to anyone who hasn’t tasted it. I usually have a yellow or red Brandywine, a couple of newer cultivars like ‘Lemon Boy’ or ‘Sungold’ both of which are different and tasty. And of course I have my staples, ‘Sweet Million’ cherry type, and ‘Scotia’, which tolerates the cool weather without a fuss.

In past years I’ve bought seed and started them, but I only need one plant of each of a half dozen or so different varieties. What, then to do? There was a nursery that carried a lot of the heritage tomatoes I love, and that I could buy one plant from, but it sadly closed after the 2006 growing season. Another nursery carried a few special varieties last year, but I don’t know if they’ll be open this year either. One of my newsletter readers is experiencing the same problem, so I may resort to starting a bunch of seedlings again, in which case, anyone want a few Black Krims? Or Green Zebra? Or Yellow Brandywine? Pity we can’t mail transplants electronically, isn’t it?

And this just in…I may have found a source for some heritage varieties from a grower who is encouraged to try. Stay tuned…I’ll get my Black Krims yet!

The Plant Rescuer and the African violets

Really, I know better. I have to avoid certain places because I'm such a softy. But I was feeling strong, overly confident. After all, I'd gone into our vet's office to buy worm pills for the cat-children, and I'd decided to tempt fate by walking into our no-kill cat shelter. The gods of cat-adoption were smiling on me, because I walked around, talked to the seven or eight cats awaiting adoption--down in numbers, which is great, as plenty have been adopted out!--and never felt the urge to take any of them home. So I was feeling confident, mightily so, and thought nothing would happen, when I went to the department store to pick up some items we needed, if I went down to the department where the houseplants suffer.


Wrong-o, girlfriend. At first, all was well. I was unmoved by the gay abandon of the potted bulbs in full flower. Narcissis beckoned me with their starry yellow flowers. Hyacinths cast their perfume at me, and tulips flashed their skirts like flamenco dancers caught in a kaleidoscope. But I was brave and strong. And then it happened.

"Help. Me. Hellllppppp meeeeeeeee. "

Who said that? I peered around the corner of the aisle, and then I saw them. African violets. Dozens of them. Jammed together like sausages on a shelf, in gaudily coloured plastic wrappers. Uh oh. I could feel the temptation closing in on me.

Here’s a bit of a botany lesson for those who care about such things. African violets are not true violets, but are gesneriads, members of the family Gesneriaceae, along with other popular exotic plants such as the gloxinia and the Cape Primrose or streptocarpus. The botanical name of the most common species of African violets, Saintpaulia ionantha, comes from the German explorer who discovered the plant in southeastern Africa in the 19th century, a Baron Walter von Saint-Paul, and from the fact that the flowers resemble those of violets. While some enthusiasts refer to these plants as saintpaulias, most simply call them violets. I do, so I won't scold anyone else who does.

Although I do fine growing them, I haven't had any African violets for several years, and for a crazy reason. Although I love them, they are truly cat-hair magnets, and they just don't look right when they're covered in feline fur. But others have been writing about them, and photographing them, and blogging about them, lately, and I've felt the old temptation rising in me. But I was feeling strong, after my session at the shelter, and figured I could resist. So I'd just go down and see how bad they looked, and they'd be too far gone, and even I wouldn't bother trying to rescue them. Right?


No, not exactly. They actually couldn't have been in the store for more than a few days, because while a few blooms were dwindling, others were still to come on, and I could see new stems of flowerbuds rising up from most crowns.

While I'm not a collector, I have friends who grow many African violets, and they always say that the most important factor in growing violets well is to have the right soil. Violets like a soil that is light and well-drained, and most violet enthusiasts make their own potting medium of a mixture of Pro-mix, peat, vermiculite and perlite, which they sterilize before using.

Violets thrive in bright but indirect light—any bright window except a southern exposure is usually fine. Interestingly, although they need plenty of light (at least 12-14 hours), they also need a minimum of 8 hours of darkness in each 24-hour period in order for them to bloom. Many enthusiasts grow them under artificial lights with timers to control the light period. You don’t have to buy the expensive full spectrum lights; ordinary cool white fluorescent tubes work just fine. These plants are happiest at around 70 degrees Fahrenheit, although they will grow in rooms as cool as 60 degrees or as warm as 80 degrees. They also like a little humidity, which you can provide either by running a humidifier in your growing room, or by setting your pots on saucers filled with wet pebbles. Just make sure the pot bottom is clear of the water so as not to give your violets wet feet. I know there are arguments about whether to water from the saucer or from the top of the pot, and some who swear by each method. I just treat African violets the same way I do cyclamen; I water them from the bottom, and don't let them dry out or get sodden, and they usually do just fine. Sometimes a plant dies. That happens.

I was thinking about these things as I surveyed the dozens of plants, all regarding me in mute supplication. Well...I COULD keep one or two in my office, which is quite cool when I'm not in there, and with the door shut the cat-children can't get at the plants, so there shouldn't be any issue with cat hair. And while these plants could still find homes with other customers, another week or so of being mistreated would tell a different tale, I knew. So what could I do? I did what had to be done, of course.


I only brought home four!

Garden Bloggers Muse Day Meets Wildflowers in Winter

Our blogging friend Carolyn of Sweet Home & Garden Chicago started Garden Blogger's Muse Day a while back, and it's been goin' great guns ever since. The idea is to post some garden-related poetry or prose (our own or something written by someone else we really like) on the first day of the month.

February is no excuse to be muse-less, either. Carolyn is basking in the radiant warmth of Florida, clearing up her winter woes, but she's posted her whimsies for the month right here; leave a comment to let her know when your post is up.

Because I've got so much going on right now, I'm sort of being a bit of a rascal, and combining my muse post with the Wildflowers in Winter Week 3 Post, which is on literary wildflowers, or on a book about wildflowers that we particularly like. Being as how I'm a bit of a bibliophile, with a lot of books about plants and gardening, I thought I'd share a bit of a cross-Canada look at books about wildflowers, plus one more. The book at the top of the post is from 1976, and is by Dietmar Aichele with illustrations by Marianne Golte-Bechtle and published by Cathay Books. It's one of the very first books about wild plants I got; actually, my father bought it for me and gave it to me while I was at Agricultural College studying botany (among other things), and to this day it's one of my favourites. It's a wildflower key, but different from other identification books, simple to use; I've chased down identifications for others using this book's key, even when I haven't been real familiar with the plant itself.


Traveling with Wildflowers from Newfoundland to Alaska is by Phyllis Joy Hammond and was published in 1998 by Newfoundland's own Breakwater Books. What a thrill it was to lug it with me last summer when we plant-hunters went to Newfoundland and the southern Labrador coast, and to actually see some of the places Phyllis wrote about, and the plants she painted in her delicious watercolours. This isn't a book of botany, but rather of travel and observation, and a lovely one to boot.


Of course I have books about the Flora of the Atlantic provinces, each with their dicotomous key of characteristics and plant names. But this tiny gem is one I picked up, like others, at a local used-book store, and it's another book of drawings/paintings, by Katherine Mackenzie and published in 1973 by Tundra books of Montreal. The paintings are very detailed and yet incredibly delicate, perhaps shrunken down to fit the book's tiny size (4 x 6 inches). The author includes interesting snippets of information about each plant, as in this entry about strawberry goosefoot, Chenopodium capitatum "In France, the berry is used to colour wine that has turned out to be too pale.'. Who knew?


From Western Producer Prairie Books (a probably long-defunct local publisher, I'm sure) came this delightful book, published in 1977. I've been to Edmonton and Winnipeg only in the Prairie provinces--and to a wildlife santuary outside Winnipeg called Oak Hammock Marsh--and while I did get to look at some wild flora, I didn't find this book until a few years ago in that same used book store here in NS. (One wonders how it ended up there.) I was fascinated by the huge span of plants included in this book; from alpine types that I recognize from Nova Scotia and Newfoundland to cacti that would never grow here except in a container indoors.


And now we've reached the West Coast, not to be confused with the Best Coast. In 1990, I went out to Chilliwack for a week or so, to visit my then-husband who was doing officer training in the Armed Forces. He had to work during the days, so I scooted all around the lower mainland, and even went to Vancouver Island, and got to explore woods and streams as well as museums and malls. This small book, published by Hancock House in 1986, was quite useful as I clambered up trails near Cultus Lake and Harrison Hot Springs, seeing lovely wild orchids but also familiar plants from both garden (such as western Bleeding-heart) and house (Piggy-back plant).

Some of the plants in each book are familiar to us as garden plants; some are purely to be enjoyed for their own selves in the wild. Looking through the books, I am taken away many miles. A painting of bog rosemary, and I'm standing on the wind-scoured Tablelands in Gros Morne National Park; one of mayflowers, and I smell their sweetness in the Port l'Hebert Pocket Wilderness near Liverpool, here in NS; Yellow violets remind me of the woodlands of the Ottawa Valley near the Quebec border, while I remember seeing much water smartweed in wet areas near farms outside of Winnipeg. And in each case, to derive from Wordsworth's delight at his wild daffodils, "and then, my heart with pleasure fills..." and dances with each wildflower's grace.