Mugginess, Mungus, and Atwood's warmth

Oh, me nerves, as my fellow Newfoundlanders would say. We are into day I-don’t-know-what of high humidity, mega-fog, abrupt tropical showers, and other irritations. One friend is beginning to think he should wear a disguise when he goes outside, because every time he shows his face, it rains. My darling husband feels it’s all HIS fault it is so excessively wet, because whenever he plans to start mowing the lawn, putting a line of clothes out to dry, or even thinks about having a nap, the heavens open. It’s ridiculous. There’s mould on the horse’s bridle. The concrete floors in the barn are weeping moisture. Annuals are rotting off in containers; containers that we mixed with a little bit of moisture retaining product so as not to have to water so often. As if…No one can sleep.

Everyone is as touchy as a bear with a sore paw, including the cats…here’s Tigger and Mungus saying “this here window ain’t big enough for both of us…” Tigger, the senior cat, may not have double paws like Mungus does, but he’s the fastest paw in the house, and Mungus finally decided that maybe it would be a good plan to back down.



Mungus is a smart cat in all kinds of ways. Because he’s the apple of my darling husband’s eyes, he’s not allowed outside without adult supervision, which in his case means going on a leash, which he learned to do in about five minutes. He likes to be wherever we are, and he whines gently if he’s left alone outdoors, staked out on the lawn like a horse. He enjoys helping me in the garden, mostly by rolling around in the grass and purring a lot, which works fine for me, and with those polydactyl paddypaws he can really dig well, too. Indoors, he generally likes to burrow under the bedcovers and then start his LOUD, diesel engine purr…but he’s too hot to do that in these dogdays of June—why are they dog days, not cat days?—so he’s mostly laying in other windows (those not chosen by Tigger as his favourite window of the moment) and waiting, like the rest of us, for better weather.

The garden is wildly out of control, with weeds exploding into growth every time we have another rainshower. But the perennials are also growing exuberantly, although several of the peonies have blackened buds from all the wet weather and the fog. The perennial Oriental poppies have been doing beautifully when NOT becoming bedraggled tissue paper in the rain, and there are nice bursts of colour from the spiderworts, irises, soapwort and wood anemone. Most exquisite colour in the garden right now? The exultant true blue of the blue corydalis in the front bed by the door. And as a bonus, it’s fragrant too. I am going to plant one of the Sundown Echinaceas near it, I think. That blue and the orange-melon of the echinacea, coupled with both their sweet fragrances, will be divine.

I had a really, really exciting experience yesterday—I had the great good honour of interviewing Margaret Atwood, she of Alias Grace, The Handmaid’s Tale, Moving Targets, and Oryx and Crake fame—among many others. I stayed up wayyyyyyy too late the night before, preparing my questions for Ms. Atwood, worrying about what she would be like to interview. Would she answer my questions? Would she clam up? Would she be irritable, bored, distant? Would she cut me to shreds.

She was an interviewing dream. It’s funny, she is this tremendous literary giant who you expect to be somehow larger than life, but in person she’s small, delicate of structure but wirey too, and with a firm handshake, a genuinely warm personality and a wonderful smile. We had 50 minutes scheduled, but we went to over an hour—I kept worrying but she seemed totally unconcerned. Maybe she enjoyed herself too. We had some commonalities—her parents are both Nova Scotians, one from the south shore and one from the Valley; she’s a gardener of great enthusiasm who told me about her challenges, and we chuckled over how plants sometimes just plain die. We share similar concerns over global warming, the Harperites dissing the Kyoto protocol, the absolute disdain of Harper for ‘alarmists.’ She put it so well; (I’m going to paraphrase here, as I haven’t yet transcribed the whole interview). “an alarmist is sounding an alarm—which is something that is warning of danger.Why is Harper dismissing people who are warning of danger to our world?” She thinks Al Gore is a marvelous person, and she met him at Hay-on-Wye during the festival there, where she said that after his talk on climate change, if he’d called people up to the front to be saved, in the manner of evangelical preachers reaching out to the sinner, everyone would have gone forward—to take up the cause of doing something about global warming.

Maybe all this muggy, wet, almost-tropical weather is an alarm that we should take seriously.

Still in High Flight

June 11, 2005. It’s been a year, already, since my father slipped the surly bonds of earth for the last time, not to take off in a Boeing 737 jet, but to leave all the trials of this world behind. We still miss him, as we always will. Whether or not it was Alzheimers or some other nightmarish dementia that took our vital, funny, talented father, husband, brother, friend and erased his personality, his memory, and much of his self, the end result was the same. And we who were left behind to mourn, to love, to remember and to celebrate Ivan I. DeLong were forever changed—yet forever keep him in our hearts.

In other postings I’ve written about memory gardening and how it can help in some small way to heal a wounded soul. In some ways, my whole garden is a memory garden; the big butterfly planting for Marilyn is taking good shape, despite the monsoons, while specific plants are designated for specific people and others throughout the garden.

Earlier in the week I saw a clinical herbal therapist, who is helping me deal with some ailments without always having to resort to painkillers and other conventional medications. She asked me if I meditated, and I said, no, because my brain won’t let me—it’s always flitting from one thought to another, like those oh-so-active hummingbirds in our garden.

Then the other day, while I was weeding some of the beds, trying to get ahead of the couchgrass that could be mowed and baled into hay, I realized that yes, O do somrt of meditate at times. Weeding, or even planting, is so relaxing to me that passages of time flee without me having actually ‘thought’ about a single thing; I’m just one with the dirt and the plants, scrabbling along doing what needs doing, and not thinking about deadlines or new stories or housework or worries or happy things…just being. That’s my meditating time, apparently.

And it’s not always so. Sometimes, I’m planning a story just because something is going on in the garden that really interests me and makes me think others will be interested. Sometimes I’m thinking about the people, human and feline, who are remembered in our garden by specific plantings. A lot of time, my thoughts turn to Dad.

I am closest to my father when in the garden; I see the carefully potted mint, and I chuckle to myself, thinking of the mint plantation that developed in Dad’s garden after I errantly planted ‘just a few sprigs’ one spring day back in 1979. Oooops. He would feel definitely superior when comparing his tomato growing abilities to mine—he grew tomatoes that were the talk of the town, while I am hardpressed to get even transplants into the ground at the right time. This year, with the ongoing and seemingly neverending monsoons, I expect tomato soup…from the plants. A story for another day.

Today was far too wet to do any actual work in the garden, but I did walk around it this evening with a couple of visitors, showing them interesting plants and casually ignoring the weeds in some spots. Everything is profoundly, amazingly lush, but some things are being beaten down by the rains and winds we’ve had lately. I was really annoyed to find two broken shoots on my dearly beloved’s red buckeye; but it’s a young tree, only three years old, and it will recover.

Earlier today, however, I sat in my office watching the garden from the window, watching the hummingbirds and thinking about Dad. Yesterday I took Mum plant shopping in Truro, a sort of retail therapy for both of us, and I brought her hostas from gardeners who have plants for sale in nearby Port Williams. We talked some about Dad, and we both wondered how we would get through this day. We did, of course.

The year has done one good thing for me; it has pushed the images of my father, dying in that hospital bed for thirteen days, away from the forefront of memory. Stronger now than those images, stronger than even the one of my mother, asleep leaning over the side of his bed with her head on his chest, her hands holding his—that one will haunt me forever—are the good images. Dad in his garden, pretending to do damage to his scarecrow with a maul being swung at a strategic spot on the scarecrow’s anatomy. Dad and his dogs. Dad and his tomatoes. Making faces at us whenever one of us pointed a camera at him. Dad in his captain’s uniform, walking around his 737 before leaving on a flight, checking it outside and in. Dad holding his only grandchild as a small baby, or holding Mum’s hand when they went for a walk. These come to the forefront, along with his gleeful, naughty-little-boy laugh when he played a trick on one of us.

I do not profess to know where people go when they die. My father’s heaven, if there is such a place, will consist of a place where he can garden, fish, walk with good dogs, be with his parents and other family and friends who have already gone…but mostly, a place where he can fly jets forever on laughter silvered wings. We still love and miss you, Dad, but hey, go into High Flight for us.

The Year of the Hummingbird

It’s June! And I forget what year it is in the Chinese calendar, but at our house it’s the year of the hummingbird. We’ve never had so many; and they’re voracious, dining on both the feeders and the flowers for nectar sources. And they’re saucy to each other, zipping back and forth, swearing at each other “back off! Get your own feeder!” and zooming all around. They even hover a few inches from me when I’m working in the garden, especially if the feeders are getting low or I’m wearing something bright. They don’t regard me as any threat…and they’re mightily amusing to the cats, who line up in the windows to watch bird television….
Mangotango Babycat and Toby Soprano squish into one window to observe the festivities...

In another life, I’ll be able to just sit happily reading blogs of friends, longtime and new. I’ve mentioned Ami McKay’s blog a number of times, and thanks to so many of you who have helped to keep Ami’s book on the bestseller lists for many weeks! I heard from a friend that the book has been nearly impossible to actually pick up in Toronto; it keeps selling out and having to be ordered in again by bookstores. Go, Ami, you’re a star in all our books. (and a dear friend besides being a stellar writer.)

Then Mary Ann Archibald emailed me about her weblog, and wondered could she link to mine. The answer of course was sure—gardeners gotta stick together, always.

And last night, a welcome note came from a longtime acquaintance, newly met in Ottawa during the PWAC national conference; Charmian, fellow writer and gardener and ranter. She’s located in Guelph, and her blog is a hoot; at once funny and tender, as the most recent posting about her uncle Lindsay demonstrates.

Charmian gave me grief, in a good hearted fellow gardener’s way, for my ability to grow blue poppies—not just to get them to survive, but also to flower. I’ve been trying to locate a local to her source of these little finicky darlings, but so far no success. So for now, I’ll just link to her weblog, which for those of us who enjoy food is a delightful thing, and also tease her by saying, guess whose blue poppy is putting up flower stalks?

Yup. It’s going to flower shortly. The first stalk shot up out of that plant like there was no tomorrow—it wasn’t there, and then it was. Tonight it was showing colour in the bud; this is nearly three weeks earlier than last year. Mind you, this particular plant is in the sun where the others are in more shade…

Had a little plant-buying frenzy yesterday at Springvale Nurseries production site, when I was there for meetings. Somehow, a Katsura tree, a dawn redwood, a Middendorf weigela, a golden plumose false cypress, and a serviceberry climbed onto the back of my truck…and of course my dear longsuffering spouse wondered where all these new trees and shrubs are going to go…but already he’s decided that they’ll do just fine. He’s a quick study, my sweetie, and also a great builder of birdhouses and windowboxes and trellises too.

From the fog zone

Why do you suppose that every time I plan a day of working in the yard, the fog rolls in thicker than oatmeal porridge?

Obviously, the weather is related to my horse, the same intelligent equine who can read my mind, and who rolls in the mud immediately after I have a thought about riding him.

Well, while I wait patiently for the fog to lift, I’ll catch up on my blog postings and tell you about yesterday’s road trip. And I’ll resist the urge to look out the window and watch the gardens grow.

Talk about growing…I’d estimate that the garden here is about three weeks ahead of where it was last year this time. One of the nice things about using a digital camera is that each photo is datestamped, at least as long as I leave it unmodified in iPhoto, and so it’s easy to figure out when I took that shot of the front garden or the closeup of the red trillium or the latest picture of helpercats in the beds. And we won’t even discuss the quality of the weeds—sometimes referred to as ‘native plants’ just to confuse other gardeners who think maybe I PLANNED all that couchgrass. Actually, aside from the big bed in the back, where 73 thousand teasel seedlings are waking up and stretching their little leaves sunward, the beds aren’t in THAT bad a shape. Mostly, I’m a bit piqued that I didn’t get everything divided that I wanted to share with others, and now we have gargantuan clumps of centaurea, and cranesbills, and daylilies, and other things. All in good time, however.

So, what does a gardener who is way behind in her weeding, pruning, dividing and planting do? Go out and buy more plants, of course!

Well, I needed a road trip away…so I jumped in the car on Friday and headed to the south shore, drove down to the furthest point I wanted to visit, and worked my way back from there. I only made it to four places all day, but they were all well worth the visit, of course. And I was really happy to hear from the staff at each place that they’ve been having a really good spring so far. Let’s hope that trend continues.

First stop was to see my friend Alice at Ouestville Perennials in West Pubnico. Alice is one of those independent nursery operators who not only grows and sells marvelous plants, she plants them all around her property in display beds. Her rock garden alone is worth the trip, and it’s inspiring me greatly…for about three years from now, when I get the bed built that I want! She also has turned her front lawn into a wonderful shade bed, featuring shrubs, hostas, and other beauties, with lovely pathways (including a thyme walkway, sigh…..) and she has several theme gardens including a formally designed rose bed that I hope to see in full summer.

I’m besotted with echinaceas, especially the new colours that have been developed by crossing E. purpurea with E. paradoxa, resulting in shades of yellow, orange, melon, gold…and adding fragrance to the mix.
Alice is carrying most of these new coneflowers, so of course they beseeched me to take them home and plant them…Off I went with Sunrise, Sunset, and Sundown, plus the shining coneflower Rudbeckia Herbstonne. They’ll look great with the Orange Meadowbright echinacea I got last year…

Next stop along my travels was Spencer’s garden centre in Shelburne. (1-877-870-3055) I’ve been going to Spencer’s since back in the days when we were building Lowell’s last lobster boat in Lower East Pubnico, and I always look forward to my trips to Spencer’s. Jim Spencer and his staff know their stuff and they also love plants; they have a lovely rockery out front which changes with the seasons, using some nice foundation shrubs and then complimenting with unique perennials, flowering bulbs, ground covers;
Spencer’s carries a really nice selection of perennials, though because it’s in the Banana belt I generally check to make sure something is hardy to my area. A really splendid red ornamental rhubarb caught my eye, as did an epimedium I’d never seen before, with orange flowers rather than red or yellow. A couple of small heucheras also wanted to come with me, and since I prefer to buy my perennials small and let them establish in our beds, I agreed that they could come along; Mocha Mint and Crème Brule are waiting to be planted after the fog lifts.

I often say that independent garden centres and nurseries are all in this together, and they need to work together to survive the attack of the bigbox bullies. Well, a lot of them do just that (and probably far more than I know about.) I asked at Spencer’s where the heck Lavender Hill was, because I didn’t want to miss it, and hadn’t been able to get information to post here earlier in the spring. The staff were happy to explain just how to find it—it’s not hard once you pay attention to turnoffs on the highway, of course—and off I went to see Madeline. (Exit 24 off the 103, Lake John Road; phone 902.875.4600. ) She and her husband Allison do a terrific job with annuals, shrubs, some perennials, including many that Madeline seeds herself. I resisted the urge to buy the Black Lace Elder, but what a gorgeous thing it was. Interestingly, Lavender Hill had this shrub last year…while Canadian Gardening magazine said it wasn’t yet available in Canada. Just goes to show that magazine needs to remember there is more to gardening in this country than the central provinces…

What really got to me at Lavender Hill, however, was a purple foliaged clematis, Clematis recta ‘Purpurea’. I didn’t even ask how much it was, I just WANTED it. It gets the small, starry white flowers later in the summer, and they’re supposed to be fragrant; while I know the purple foliage will fade somewhat to green as the season progresses, I love interesting clematis and this one is a beauty! Also had to have the Raspberry Wine monarda for Marilyn’s butterfly garden, and a white flowered thunbergia for my annual containers, and…well, you know how it goes!

The last stop for the day was a place I’ve heard about for ages but never gotten to visit; the Village Nursery in Pleasantville, outside of Bridgewater. Well. It’s one of those destination type places, a tiny bit out of the way to find the first time but then you’ve got it. I could have spent much more time, (and many more dollars) there, especially in the so-called Dazee Dome, where the owners keep all their annuals. Talk about a burst of colour!
And I was especially pleased to see that they sell 4-packs of young perennials, and a good selection of them; some of those I brought home will flower this year, others won’t til next year, but that’s fine; there’s always enough going on in my garden to let young plants take their time establishing. There’s some really smart marketing going on at Village too; along with a print catalogue, which they’re cutting back on in size and turning more to email because of print/mailing costs, they have coupons giving customers a discount on a return trip; guaranteed to mean you’ll be back!

I’m really pleased to see how many nurseries are developing really good websites, and newsletters too. One of my favourites is Springvale Nurseries, which has three retail outlets around the province, in Hammonds Plains, Bible Hill, and Berwick (next door to Wheaton’s Store, truly a destination). Along with their website, they have launched their new newsletter; you can find out more about that and sign up for it at their website also. I’ll be doing talks at the Springvale outlets over the summer, so stay tuned for details there!

Wow...the fog is lifting...time to go get dirt under my fingernails!

Home is the gardener, home from the Hill…

You know the old saying about how visitors or fresh fish are only good for three days? Well, I sort of feel that way about traveling. By the end of day 3, I’m ready to come home, because at heart, I AM a homebody. The sweetest feelings in the world are #1 Seeing my longsuffering spouse’s smiling face as he waits for me at the airport. #2. Seeing Scotts Bay and the pasture and roof of our home appear in view as we come over the hill about a mile up the road from home. #3 The welcoming purrs and snuggles of the furball brigade—even Nibs, the three legged wondercat who normally scolds me for a day after I come home, allowed me to pick him up and listen to his purr. And of course #4, walking around the yard seeing what has grown while I was away.

Ottawa was marvelous, it truly was; we members of the Professional Writers Association of Canada were treated like royalty at the Delta Ottawa
where we stayed as well as at the venues where we had functions; the National Press Club, the War Museum, and on assorted tours.

Visiting the gardens at Rideau Hall with Ottawa’s chief Landscape Architect, and with Lucie Caron of the National Capital Commission, as well as seeing the tulip displays along the Rideau Canal, was one of the highlights of my trip. The Byward market, with its vast selection of plant vendors and fruit and veggie stands, as well as great crafters, made me very glad I couldn’t take plants home in my suitcase.


Hearing Ken Alexander, publisher of The Walrus Magazine speak at our gala banquet on Saturday night at the War Museum was another complete delight. And of course we all hope that he, Heritage and Culture Minister Bev Oda, and other MPs and guests at that dinner enjoyed our a capella version of Barrett’s Privateers, sung by a gang of us especially for their listening pleasure!

So I left with many fond memories of Ottawa and of our PWAC conference, and came home to fling myself into work. But one of the first things we did was last evening, when we headed down into the woodlands behind our property to go counting red trillium.

Yes, counting red trillium. If you’ve never seen a red trillium (Trillium erectum) in bloom….you’ve missed a rare and lovely treasure.

Counting trillium isn’t like doing a census. (whoops, must get that finished, too)…it’s just a spring ritual that hubby and I conduct because it makes us ecstatically happy. Wandering through the woods, seeking out the plants in their favourite spots, and capturing them on film—well, digitally on film—is one of the highlights of May. Last year, we missed doing this because the spring was cold and late, and I spent two weeks right after our annual conference dealing with the death of my father, so this year we were determined to get out as soon as possible.

In half an hour, covering maybe an acre of woodland, we counted 165 trilliums in bloom. That doesn’t include the younger plants that aren’t flowering this year, of which there are also plenty.



Trilliums can’t take full sun, so those that were growing in the area that is now clearcut are gone. However, we have two dozen plants at home, about half of which are in flower, with younger stems coming up regularly, the result of rescuing half a dozen plants from the clearcut a few years ago. While these plants are a survival story and make my heart glad, it’s the wild ones that really excite both of us.

And therein lies a secret to true love. My big fisherman, my piece of North Mountain granite, my solid and strong but gentle husband, not only loves cats and me…(not necessarily in that order)…he is so excited every spring to greet the flowering of the red trillium, and to count the number of blooms we can find. And if a man can be joyful over the blooming of a wildflower…well, it’s small wonder that I found my soul mate in him, when we first met, and still feel that way years later.

Now, it’s time to deal with the profusion of growth in our gardens, so there may not be any postings for a bit…I’ll be in the garden if you’re looking for me!

From Ottawa, Live and in Colour

Remember how I said I wouldn’t be talking about politics in my blog entries? Well, this is a bit of an exception, although it mentions cats and plants too. So just be warned.

After many mutterings and complainings to my darling long-suffering spouse about having to go to Ottawa for five days in mid May….I’m actually quite enjoying myself.

One of my hats, other than my fabulous Lee Valley hat (and now my dear sister has one too!) is to sit on the board of directors of the Professional Writers Association of Canada.

Our National conference and AGM is going on, and since this year is our 30th anniversary, we decided to go to where the lawmakers of our country hang out—in Ottawa. Some of us have been to the Hill today to lobby members and make them aware of our concerns regarding copyright, low rates for writers, rights-gobbling contracts by the press equivalent of the bigbox bullies, and other issues.

I went out gollywalking instead. Wandered down Sparks Street to the pedestrian mall, went in and out of shops, visited the War memorial and paid my respects to the Unknown Soldier at the monument. Walked around all the tulips, deep wine in colour, solemn and yet hopeful, around that monument, and said a prayer for our soldiers in Afghanistan and elsewhere.

Some pocket impressions of Ottawa:
1. Wayyyyyy too many people smoke, and they all come outside to do it, standing outside office towers and shops and restaurants puffing their cancer sticks. I often wonder if people who smoke know either how dumb they look or how bad they smell. Apparently not, or they don’t care. But that’s their choice, not mine. I choose to avoid them whenever possible.

2. the traffic lights in this city are designed to intimidate pedestrians, especially the WALK/DON’T WALK signals. I defy anyone to get across ANY street in downtown Ottawa within the few seconds allotted to the blue WALK signal.

3. Everyone in Ottawa jaywalks or walks against the signals. See number 2 for explanation of same. I even watched people walk out across roads right in front of police officers.

4. There’s a lot of brick in the downtown area; not just on edifices, (also lots of stone) but on homes too. Lowell would roll his eyes and shake his head, but some of the homes I saw were really lovely, some old, some more modern.

5. There are lots of green spaces in this city. Besides the waves of tulips in beds and planters, there are parks, plantings, gardens, wild spaces…tomorrow I’ll get to see more of those but it’s nice to look out my window at the Delta Ottawa and see the river, lots of trees (in full leaf, of course) beds of flowers (yup, mostly tulips) and profusions of lilacs, dizzyingly fragrant and perfect.

6. You can always tell Maritimers. I entered the elevator this morning and there was a pleasant man who commented on the weather. I asked if this was a normal spring, and he didn’t know…as he was from PEI. Of course—no central Canadian would talk to a stranger in an elevator!

7. Food here is good and reasonably priced, especially in the ethnic restaurants. So far I’ve had Lebanese, Thai and East Indian food, including some dishes I can’t pronounce but found just dandy. People are polite and service prompt and pleasant. The water is drinkable, much better than in some places (including New Minas!)

8. I want a hot tub. The hot tub here at the Delta is a dandy one.

I went to the Hill, but not to see politicians, though I have the greatest regard for my MP, Liberal Scott Brison, who is also running for the leadership of that party. Go, Scott, Go! He probably won’t win, because the centre of Canada couldn’t cope with a Maritime leader of the Liberal Party (and ultimately Prime Minister) but he’ll make a good run for it.

No, I went to the Hill to see the Cat Man of Parliament Hill

His name is Rene Chartrand, and he’s 85 years old. He’s been looking after the stray cats that hang out on the Hill since 1987, when he took over for another catlover who had been doing the labour of love for more than a decade previously. Rene built a set of ‘cat condominiums’ for the cats, who are all neutered, needled and mostly named, although there are a number who apparently come and go as they please. When I was there, the cats were all catnapping or off doing Parliamentary feline business somewhere else, but Rene was there, eating his lunch and then clearing up branches of shrubs that were broken off. The cat condos are behind the wrought iron fence that edges the Hill, and people can’t go in and visit, which is just as well for the cats…but I was talking briefly to Rene and to one large, elegant orange tom, who was very tired, yawned and stretched and went back to sleep, weary from his labours….

Now, here’s something that is very interesting to me. While I was out walking, I walked INTO a huge protest march, of Right to Lifers, or anti-abortionists, whatever you want to call them. It was somewhat surreal at first, because I met them as I walked up the Sparks Street promenade, and though there were hundreds, probably thousands walking, they weren’t chanting or singing, just quietly walking. And it WAS quiet, as if the downtown core was holding its breath. They were heading for the Hill, of course. I cut across them and went around, up the Hill to take photos and observe. Standing in the shadow of the Peace tower, watching these people and halflistening to them, observing a handful of RCMP and Ottawa police officers observing in a laidback way, I was struck by the contrast between this gathering and the concrete pylons near the American Embassy I had seen earlier.



I also was struck by the floods of people all around the Hill, and the seeming lack of a security presense; a far cry from how it would be in other countries. I might not agree with the protesters who were on the Hill today, but I’d argue til the end of time for their right to protest. And it fascinated me that, despite my irritation with the Harperites, how fiercely proud I was to stand in our nation’s capitol, outside the buildings of our government, and watch all the goings on, Cat Man, Catholics, lilacs and all.



One sour note did pop into my head. While I was at the cat condos, a group from the anti abortion crusade came along, including one wearing the Roman collar. They stopped and read the sign about caring for the cats, about making donations, and the priest snorted. “what a waste of money,” he said as they moved away.

Oh really? Maybe he should have sung the hymn about all creatures great and small, or read the New Testement. The part about “whatsoever you do to the least of these my brethren, you do also onto me.” That God they worship made cats too, after all. If he/she/it does exist.

No wonder I’m an agnostic.

In the spring the gardener's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of....

...New Plants, of course! What were you thinking?

Yet another reason to support our locally owned and operated nurseries…without them, how would we gardening addicts get our fixes of unique, unusual, and rare plants? Can you see WallyWorld or Crappy Tire carrying Trillium luteum or Meconopsis grandis or Lysimachia ‘Beaujolais’? Or really special heaths and heathers? Or grasses that are so unusual it’s hard to even find out about them through Google? I didn’t think so.

Yes, I’ve been making the rounds, in between preparing to go to Ottawa for the 30th anniversary Professional Writers Association of Canada conference and AGM. Normally, five days away with a collection of my fellow colleagues is something I look forward to, and when we set the date for the conference two weeks earlier than usual this year, I thought to myself, “great, there won’t be anything much going on in the gardens, I’ll go to Ottawa and have fun and then come back to a fairly sedate set of weeds.”

Well, who’da thunk that this would be the year that spring actually came when it was supposed to?

I don’t remember when we last had a May as lovely as this one is being. Granted, the month is still only a few days old, but the weather has been mostly very wonderful…and the gardens have responded by leaping ahead at an amazing, even an alarming rate. I did manage to get a pile of things divided to donate to a plant sale for the United church in Canning, but there are still several beds that I’ve not even touched yet, either to weed or to divide and move things…and there are new plants lined up by the front garden fence, just waiting to be planted.

While I’ve yet to make my way to the south shore to visit Captain Steele and Alice and Ivan and all the splendid nurseries along that balmy route, I did make it as far as Upper Clements on Saturday, to see Jill’s new retail area at Bunchberry Nurseries. She and her staff have done a marvelous job of turning their former main work area into a retail shop, with all sorts of shrubs, heaths and heathers, alpines, and even some local artwork and crafts that are garden themed. While they haven't moved all their plants up to the outside sale area, there's plenty there to choose from...



The display gardens are enough to inspire ANYONE to try their hand at conifers and ericaceous plants, with the subtle rainbow of foliage colours that don’t even require flowers to make a perfect planting.

Naturally, a few plants insisted that they needed to come home with me, including some small heathers; Con Brio, Boskoop and Cuprea, all of which tend to be russet to red coloured in the fall and winter. The other real delight was getting my hands on Lonicera ‘Mandarin’, a climbing honeysuckle developed by Dr. Wilf Nichols when he was at the University of British Columbia. Dr. Nichols is now at MUN Botanical Gardens in St. John’s Nfld, and I don’t know how many other plants he commercially developed, but ‘Mandarin’ is a beauty. It was flowering at Bunchberry last summer when I was there, and I was instantly besotted with it, and with ‘Graham Thomas’, a yellow honeysuckle with awesome fragrance, that was blooming beside it. Graham came home with me that day, and I’ve thought about Mandarin since then. Now it is here in our yard.


At Rob Baldwin’s a few days ago, I picked up a blue lacecap hydrangea (I think it was Blue Billows, but it and its tag are outside) to coldtest up here on our wild mountain. The ‘Endless Summer’ mophead hydrangea I got last year is awake and doing mighty fine already, so I’m thinking the lacecap can likely go in the same protected bed. Rob carries a wonderful variety of trees and shrubs, including many natives, and so three young Canada holly (Ilex verticillata) and one black chokeberry (Aronia melanocarpa) climbed onto the truck, together with a cutleaf elder (Sambucus) and a red flowering quince. Of course my darling longsuffering spouse just wonders where I’m going to put these things.

Today I had to go to Berwick on errands and stopped in at The Briar Patch Farm and Nursery. This is a great nursery too; always lots of interesting perennials, healthy shrubs, including a big selection of hardy roses, and great annuals. It was here I first found Anagallis ‘Skylover’ being grown, and they also always have heliotrope. Today there were just a couple of perennials that needed me; the red-flowered gooseneck loosestrife ‘Beaujolais’, and two trilliums; T. luteum, the yellow flowered species, and T. grandiflora, the big white one. I bought these mostly for my darling husband, who loves trillium, and was just going to tuck them into the shade bed and see if he noticed, but the yellow one is going to open shortly so I figured it was best to let him know. I tucked it in near a couple of bloodroot that are already flowering, and not far from the big clump of red trillium.

While planting I peeked around a bit, and could see the Mayapples were sprouting, as well as the oakleafed fern and a young hellebore; the hepatica is in full bloom as is Redstart Pulmonaria and several other varieties. Hepatica, or 'that liver plant' as my longsuffering spouse calls it, is a pretty thing, and usually the first perennial to bloom, but this year it's about fourth in the lineup. Here it is, being dainty and lovely in the shade garden



I’m not sure where the Jack in the pulpit is, but I bought that from Jane at Woodlands and Meadows last summer, I think, so if I need to get another one she’s the person to see. But it’s still early yet for many things, of course.

Good thing I can't bring plants home in my suitcase from Ottawa. But I'll take photos whenever possible.

Home for a rest...and to garden

For those of you who didn’t get a chance to attend the second annual Saltscapes East Coast Expo….well, you really missed out on a great event. Last year was great, but this year was outstanding, with terrific booths of vendors, demonstrators, tourism activities, crafts and artisans, amazing food…now, to be honest I was so busy as part of the show team, that I didn’t truly get to visit all the booths and meet all the exhibitors, but that’s okay, there’s always next year. I had a great time giving my talks even though my voice was still not completely healed, and I learned some wonderful new ideas from other gardeners too. Of course, there were times I needed to be in three places at once, a trick I haven't yet mastered, and I didn't get to meet all the people who wanted to talk with me, either. So although we’re just recuperating now, I’m already looking forward to next year.

The show planners put all the garden-related exhibitors fairly close together, near the Yamaha Do-It-Yourself stage where presentations were happening. Along with four of my favourite places to leave grocery money—whoops, that was supposed to read disposable income—Baldwin Nurseries, Blomidon Nurseries, Bunchberry Nurseries and Springvale Nurseries, Lee Valley was there with a great selection of their gardening items, Cora Mae Morse was there with her ‘Flora by Cora’ outdoor furniture and accessories, the Langilles were there with their Yardbirds, and I was delighted to see Eric and Dianne Schurman made it over from PEI with their Malpeque Fine iron. I first met the Schurmans last summer at their shop, and went down to their house to see Dianne’s gardens, which are delightful and won a rural beautification award several years ago. Eric does beautiful ironwork, both for inside the home and for the garden, with my favourites being his folk art pieces. Last summer, a dandy metal spider came home with me; at the show, one of their new pieces, a folk art cat I’ve nicknamed “Spike”, had to come and live with me, as did a terrific trellis. I would have bought more but I was in theory working the show to earn money, not to totally boost the region’s economy. Here’s Spike hanging out with the hellebores til I decide where everything is going to go.



I DO so love good garden art in my garden. I tend towards a mixture of whimsy and beauty, fun and functionality in our beds. We have a blue gazing ball that is actually placed in such a way as to be useful as it was designed; so that workers in the garden could see other people approaching, particularly handy if you were staff goofing off or saw someone approaching you didn’t want to talk to. Here we don’t worry about such things but merely let the bright blue catch sunlight and reflect the colours of the plants around the ball. We have some wonderful stained glass and cement pieces done by a local garden artist, including a large welcome stone, a birdbath, and a memorial stone for my late beloved cat Nermal, whose ashes are in the garden under some rosebushes. We have handmade wind chimes, an assortment of trellises and arbours, and one of the most recent items is a fabulous birdhouse on a post from Nacho Average Crafts. I don’t have it mounted yet but did take it to the Saltscapes Expo to display at the window box competition, and gave away all the cards that I had from the artisans who made it.

Because it had been raining recently and was too wet for my darling other half to work in the woods, he was lurking around home when I needed to work. So I asked him to make me some birdhouses, mostly for decorative purposes, but they may serve as nesting boxes too. Who knows? I had been smitten with a copper roofed birdhouse donated to the competition as a prize, so I got some copper and some weathered lumber and turned my sweetie loose to be creative. He did just fine, although now I suppose the county will be along wanting to charge more property taxes because of new edifices on our homestead…



Now is the time of year that my darling and I most enjoy. Weather permitting, we usually take a walk around the garden twice a day, to see what’s coming up, what’s in bloom, how many weeds are sticking up through the ground, where I can add more plants…this is most definitely an early spring, however. I’m estimating we’re about three weeks ahead of where we’ve been other years in terms of perennial growth and shrub leafing. This weekend while I was away, things really took off everywhere in the Valley. Forsythias are looking like explosions of yellow fireworks, there are daffodils and some early tulips, scilla and squill, adding bursts of colour all around, shrubs and trees are leafing out like crazy…it’s a very happy-making time of year. Normally, the first perennial to flower in our garden is the liverwort, Hepatica nobilis, but it’s just opening now: we’ve had lungwort or Bethlehem sage, Pulmonaria of various species, in flower for two weeks in some spots.

And oh goodie! There are two strong looking clumps of blue poppies up and putting on growth, and the other two are slowly emerging as well. Depending on how many crowns are on those clumps, I hope to let them flower again this year, and maybe there will be seedlings since there are no ducks—other than the wild ones in the pond, who won’t be parading through the garden beds any time soon.

The most happy-making sight in the gardens, other than the Meconopsis? The clump of red trillium that we rescued from a clear-cut a few years back has REALLY taken hold. Where there were only three stems for a few years, this year there are eighteen. Granted, not all of them will be flowering this year, but since we get jubilant every time we see a red trillium, whether in the garden or in the wild, we’re really happy to see they’ve settled in so well. Another new clump transplanted last year has started popping up, and there are two other clumps in shadier spots that we expect to see shortly as well.

I spent a good bit of time this weekend encouraging people to support their local garden centres, including the four that were at the Expo from the Valley. Of these four, only one currently has its website up and going, but all three of the others are working on theirs and expect to have them up soon. I’m especially excited that Bunchberry Nurseries is opening to the public this season, every Friday, Saturday and Sunday from 9-5. Bunchberry has been growing amazing plants for wholesale purposes for over ten years, and now is entering the retail world too. Jill and her team are kicking off their foray into the retail market this weekend, May 5th, 6th and 7th at the nursery in Upper Clements (2779 Hwy 1, not far from Upper Clements Park). If you’re in the area, drop in and visit; they’ll have opening specials, rare plants, door prizes and of course their display gardens, featuring conifers, ericaceous plants, grasses, alpines and more, are an inspiration to any gardener. It’s because of Jill and Bunchberry Nurseries that I have ventured into grasses and into trying out heaths and heathers in my garden. I plan to visit on Saturday, weather permitting, and who knows how many plants will fling themselves into my car for the trip back home?

And then there were peepers...

I feel genuinely sorry for those who live in a place where they can’t hear peepers at night—whether because they live in a highrise in a downtown metropolis, or merely in an area where these little darlings don’t sing their alluring nightsongs. Because once you’ve heard the call of the spring peepers, you know that spring IS here, and that all is right with the world. More or less.

What’s a spring peeper? Pseudacris crucifer, a tiny frog with a delightful voice…I think of them as vocal fireflies, peep peep peeping their bellike voices as soon as spring weather warms up a bit. They’re nocturnal, usually less than an inch to an inch and a half in length, and they have these delightful pads on their toes that look like suction cups, and are actually used to grip and hold onto plants as they are climbing. Peepers range in colour from grey through beige to brown, but they can be easily recognized by a marking shaped like an X on their backs.

Last night was the first night we’ve heard the peepers call; the green frogs have been singing their hearts out for over a week now, but earlier this evening, I went out to take down a windchime that was trying to blow away in the current Bay breeze. And despite the gale—of warm air, to be sure—I caught that distinctive sound out by the pond. Just a few tonight. Tonight, there are many, many more, and the songs will go on until late June or early July, when all the mating is finished (because it’s the males who are sending out this siren song, not the females!). This is the most perfect sound of spring that we know of.

Another sign that spring has arrived in Scotts Bay is the arrival of ‘da fog’. We get fog occasionally during the winter but spring heralds the start of the foggy season in earnest. I happen to like fog, most of the time; it keeps our gardens and grass green when people only a mile or two above the fogline are having to water; it swathes us in cool, soothing moisture when the Valley floor shimmers with heat. It’a actually amusing to watch people drive over from the Valley, in their tee shirts and halter tops and convertible tops down, drive into the fog about at our property line, and suddenly decide they’d better put on more clothes or put the top up. It can be ten degrees cooler here, and while there are times when the fog is irritating, for the most part I wouldn’t trade it for the sweltering heat of the Valley, thank you very much.

The gardens are starting to leap forward in earnest, as there have been several rainshowers as well as unseasonably warm weather the past few days. If I were feeling better, I’d be outside dividing perennials now, potting them up to share with friends or donate to plant sales locally, but alas, the flu I eluded all winter caught up with me and knocked me flatter than a snow-covered juniper, so all I can do for a few days is look outside and watch things grow. And this really IS a time to watch things grow; even from the office window I can see the perennials pushing up out of the ground, the fuzz of shoots starting on some of the earlier shrubs; there are a few tiny flowers of forsythia on the big shrub on the south side of the house, and there’s a rose in the greenhouse that has sprouted up with new shoots. I’m hoping it’s one of the old fashioned yellow roses I rescued from an old farmhouse in Canning, either Harison’s Yellow or Persian Yellow. (There’s certainly something to be said for labeling plants when I collect them…that’s going to happen this year, thanks to the great copper plant tags I got from Lee Valley!)

We have crocus, iris reticulata, puschkinia, scilla, glory-of-the-snow, snowdrops and snowflakes (Leucojum) in bloom in various patches, while the first few daffodils on the hillside coming up the mountain to the Lookoff have also begun to bloom. I’m still a little bit leery of this weather; after all, three Easters ago we had a vicious cold snap that killed off a lot of things, with temperatures in the minus double digits with chillfactor…but that would be highly erratic given the winter and spring we’ve had so far.

Despite being seriously under the weather, I sneaked out this afternoon for about half an hour, with my dearly beloved making me wrap up like it was 40 below, and we walked around and looked at the gardens, then sat on the little deck way out back and listened to the symphony. The green frogs were playing their banjos and a few early starting peepers were tuning up, plus we had a lovely counterpointing melody from assorted songbirds; robins, redwinged blackbirds, chickadees, juncos, goldfinches, and one mournful sounding dove, wondering “who who who who” ate all the birdseed? Two of the cats were chasing flies in the pasture, then parading over to us to collapse in exhaustion and recount their hunting battles to us. And we sat and marveled yet again at this place of ours, and were grateful to be stewards of the land around us.

Supporting Our Local Nurseries, Continued!

As promised, contact information for some great locally owned and operated nurseries: Not exhaustive by a long shot, but a start! Thanks to those helpful gardeners who have provided me with some of these sites, because I’ve not visited them all—yet.

HRM and South Shore of Nova Scotia (Area code for NS 902)

Lakeland Plant World Dartmouth, 435.5429
Seabright Greenhouses, Seabright 483-7076
Bayport Plant Farm, Bayport, Lunenburg County 766.4319
Pine View Farm, Bridgewater, 543.4228
Village Nursery, Pleasantville, Lunenburg County: 543.5649
Wiles Lake Farm Market543-6082
Cosby’s Garden Centre, Liverpool: 354.2133
Spencer’s Garden Centre, Shelburne: 875.3055
Ouestville Perennials, West Pubnico 762.3198

Western Nova Scotia
Baldwin’s Nursery, Upper Falmouth 798.9468
Canning Daylily Gardens, Canning: 582.7966
Glad Gardens, Waterville 538.8688
The Briar Patch Farm and Nursery, Berwick 538.9164
Maple Hill Farm and Nursery, Aylesford 538.8658
Den Haan’s, Middleton: 825.4722
Bunchberry Nurseries, Upper Clements 532.7777

Northern and Eastern NS

Hillendale Perennials, Truro 897.6791
Woodlands and Meadows Perennial Nursery and Gardens Truro895.8727
West River Greenhouses, West River Pictou County: 925.2088
Gray’s Greenhouses, West River, Antigonish County 863.8111.
Pleasant Valley Nursery, Antigonish 863.1072
Duyker’s Greenhouses, Afton 232-3092


New Brunswick (AREA Code is 506)

Cornhill Nursery
Kingsbrae Garden Plant Centre, Kingsbrae Garden, St. Andrews: 1.866.566.8687
Mayfield Greenhouses, St. Stephen 466-5926
Canada Green, St George 755-2929
The Potting Shed, Quispamsis: 849.6206
H.Erb’s Herbs: Cambridge Narrows, NB phone 488.3344

A Little Night Music

When writing, I don’t like to be disturbed. This is a common trait of many writers, especially those of us without doors on our offices. Well, the truth of the matter is I have half a door; one of those louvered closet doors. Why only half? Well, there used to be two—my office has a wide doorway and needs two closet doors to make the room private. One day some years ago, the writer of this house had a writerly snit at her long suffering spouse and slammed the doors shut…which promptly fell off their tracks, hit the banister with a tremendous crash, scaring all the cats and breaking the top of one door. The long suffering spouse burst into laughter, but also took the doors away…which was fine for a while. But this writer needs privacy and can’t stand to be disturbed when working, so new doors are going to happen soon.

So today was one of those days when distractions got to me, as I mulled over a story that is due shortly. I wanted to be outside grubbing in the gardens this afternoon, but having overdone it a bit on Saturday, I’m still very sore…and after the big rain yesterday, it’s too wet to play out there. But my dearly beloved has also been home today and has been a bit…distracting, asking me questions, talking to me, hollering up from downstairs…and I have been getting a bit irritable.

A little while ago, he called to me to come into HIS office (where he mostly plays computer games and surfs the web.) I was a bit peeved, as the story was almost finished and I was editing, and my feeble train of thought was derailed yet again. Muttering to myself, I stomped along the hallway to his office.

And saw his grin. And the wide-open window. And was glad he had disturbed me.

The glunkers are glunking.

We have a wild pond, full of cattails and edged by alders and reeds and assorted other wild plants, populated by various insects and reptiles and ampibians and other creatures. Redwinged blackbirds perch on the cattails and sing their alluring songs. Swallows dive for insects and water. Ducks come to feed and nest. Dragonflies and damselflies do elaborate ballets among the plants. And then there are the frogs.

And we have lots of frogs, mostly the common green frogs, as well as spring peepers, a few big bullfrogs too. Because we don’t believe in poisoning our gardens or the wild parts of our property with poisons, be they chemical fertilizers or pesticides, this is a haven for assorted types of wildlife, especially frogs. The first to start their chorus are the green frogs, who we call the glunkers. They sound like they’re plucking banjo strings, or chuckling underwater…and tonight, they have started chuckling and glunking and gurgling their hallelujah chorus of spring for the first time. According to my journal, they’re about two weeks earlier than they’ve been the past few years, but we’ve had no snow or ice in the pond for several weeks.

The spring peepers can’t be far behind.

I hope I never get too old, too tired or too busy to rejoice in the sound of the frogs. Perfect night music.

Let the plant-shopping begin!

Ah spring….March is going out, not like a lamb, but like a dustball of soft, silky, fluffy cat hair…just like the dust rhinos of cathair roaming at large in our house, as 9 ¾ cats all shed simultaneously. I vacuum, then check the vacuum cleaner bag to make sure that no one got inadvertently sucked up…and five minutes later, Mungus and Spunky or Toby Soprano and Mango Tango or Simon Q and Everyone Else get into a rumble or decide to play Critterball…and we have more new dust rhinos rumbling through.

Continuing on the theme of last time, I’m still sore, and have added a wide assortment of digs, scratches, cuts and other abrasions to the aches. Yup, the pruning of the rose jungle is well underway, coupled with the removal of last year’s spent teasels. Most roses bite, we all know, and rugosas are particularly toothy…but teasels are snarky too. Despite that, and their tendency to selfseed profusely, I love them….but live in fear that they’ll crossbreed with the goutweed in the front bed and we’ll have Teenage Mutant Ninja Triffids or something equally horrific.

Driving through New Mindless the other day, I was annoyed, but not surprised, to see the asphalt ‘garden centres’ erupting at the Big Box Bullies in that commercial wasteland. So I’m voting with my planting dollars, and don't buy plants from them regardless of what kind of spin they put on their advertisements. And I simply don’t acknowledge the bully from the US that is trampling small communities with its huge blue-signed stores…

Price isn’t everything when it comes to buying plants, or anything else. I am prepared and willing to pay more for product from locally owned and operated nurseries and garden centres where the staff actually KNOW about and love plants. Granted, the plants need to be of very good quality, and nursery operators know that and are doing their best to meet the needs of gardeners, both in having the best stock possible and in bringing in new and exciting plants that we plant people crave. Many of them are developing terrific new websites where we can browse online before we sally forth in search of Berberis thunbergii ‘Nana Aurea’ or Anagallis ‘Wildcat Blue’ or Echinacea ‘Orange Meadowbrite’…They also carry planting, pruning and gardening supplies, garden furniture, home accessories with garden themes, have seasonal shops focusing on accents for spring, summer, fall, Christmas, etc…everything we need to celebrate our home in the garden and our garden in the home.

Some of my favourite places to leave the grocery money (whoops, I mean my disposable income) don’t yet have websites, but what I’ll do is post a list of them and their phone numbers here very shortly. In addition, people have been writing to me at my Saltscapes email address, which is jodi at saltscapes.com of course, to let me know their favourites, as I can’t get everywhere or know everything. So watch for a listing of centres from around the region soon.

In the meantime, Blomidon Nurseries has launched their new web presence, and it’s looking mighty fine to me. They don’t have their 2006 plant list up yet,but I’m assured it’s on the way. Likewise, Brunswick Nurseries has a dandy new website that makes me want to jump in the car and go to Quispamsis right away…featuring the ever-delightful and very knowledgeable “Dr.” Duncan Kelbaugh, whose columns and television presence delight New Brunswick gardeners on a regular basis. And of course while I’m in New Brunswick, I’ll make my annual pilgramage to see Bob Osbourne at Cornhill Nursery, although he now has secure online ordering which means I can get my plant fix from here…though that’s not nearly as much fun, is it?


Our friends at the Hammonds Plains, Truro and Berwick garden centres operated by Springvale Nurseries will soon be open for the season and will also be launching their new website in just a couple of weeks, together with a bright and informative email newsletter, so stay tuned for more about that.

I’m looking forward to a roadtrip down the beautiful south shore of the province very soon, so I can visit my friend Alice at Ouestville Perennials as well as my fellow Aggie and friend Susan Gray at Briarwood Treasures Of course I’ll also be stopping at a host of other plant places, including Bayport Plant Farm, Cosby’s Garden Centre in Liverpool, Spencer’s in Shelburne, and hopefully a unique place called Lavender Hill, between Shelburne and Barrington I think but I can’t find a phone number for it—just know it’s off the 103. Hopefully someone can get me their contact info. And these are just a few of the places I haunt…I’ll also be leaving grocery money (whoops, don’t tell my long suffering spouse that he’ll be eating hamburger for a month!) at Lakeland Plant World just outside of Dartmouth, Hillendale Perennials in Truro, Woodlands and Meadows Perennial Nursery in Truro, West River Greenhouses in Pictou County…well, anyway, you get the picture.

And I’m really delighted to tell you all that the cream that I use year-round for all sorts of purposes, Naturally Nancy’s Protective Cream now has a sparkling new website. I wish I had shares in this family-owned business, because I LOVE Nancy’s cream…I use it on my hands, feet, elbows, face, on cuts, burns, scratches, on my spouse’s hands which are always getting cracked from working in the woods, on my riding boots and horse’s bridle…its gentle formula of beeswax and a few other natural ingredients makes it safe and most of all, highly effectice on dry skin and a variety of ailments.

I leave you all with a very good giggle…it’s official. I’m now a Mad Gardener, which comes as no surprise to anyone who knows me. Point your web browser to David Hobson’s delightful Garden Humour site, where you can join the rest of us who bolding grow where no one has groan before. Take his simple test to find out whether you too qualify as a Mad Gardener, and receive a lovely, personalized and free certificate to print out, hang on your wall and prove to your long suffering spouse what was already suspected.



If you need me for anything…I’m in the garden, pruning, weeding, or just wandering around with that beatific smile on my face. Spring may only be here for a few days, but we’ll take it!

In the words of Leonard Cohen

"I ache in the places where I used to play…."

Oooouuucchhh! All the muscles in my body have decided to be mad at me, especially those in my legs, shoulders, back and arms. My fingernails are all broken off. There are splinters and scratches and digs in my hands, and there’s a distinctive stain that looks like dirt in all the creases and callouses. And what’s this??? Blisters? BLISTERS?

Yes, all these things are here. Also a bit of windburn on my face, and a distinctive sense of being overwhelmingly tired. It’s so nice to feel these things again!

NICE?

Yup, nice. It’s gardening season again, and I just overdid it for the first time this year. Was working away on a presentation and the sun was beckoning me away from my office just to go out and walk around the yard for a little bit. Then that walking turned into pulling out a few weeds—some couchgrass, a few dandelions, a bit of chickweed. Oh, maybe I should cut down those dead stalks of Echinacea, centaurea, euphorbia…well, better get the rake out and clean up the mess I’m making. Can’t find my gardening gloves anywhere…must be the glove gremlins swiped them out of the greenhouse, so I’ll just grub along without them. Didn’t put any Naturally Nancy’s Protective Cream on before I went out on this unplanned gardencleaning session, so my hands aren’t only scuffed and scratched, they’re a bit dry feeling…but they’ll be fine later.

Every spring, that first session of working in the garden leaves me with that same achy-sore, but blissfully tired sensation. I’m sure many others are experiencing the same sort of thing after their first spring cleanup session too, as they massage achy muscles and use gardening scrub to clean the grit out of their skin and apply moisturizer to rejuvenate. Andwhile we all realize there will be a smelt snow and a robin snow and the poor man’s fertilizer snow and blistering cold winds and rain and sleet and more wind, we HAVE successfully broken the back of winter.

Wandering around the garden is like visiting a collection of much loved friends that we’ve not seen for ages. Here is a collection of foxgloves, mostly pink, but some pure white with only a few tiny speckles. Over here are the tiny sprouts of Fireglow Euphorbia, sort of resembling orange asparagus. All the bugleweeds are starting to shake off their pyjamas and get dressed in their spring and summer finery, shades of blue and rose and gold and burgundy. And here, pushing up through those bugleweeds are the little white darlings that caused me to dance around the yard so gleefully the other day, two dozen or so tiny snowdrops, bowing their gleaming heads under the sun’s warming rays.

This is a funny time of year, this late March, officially spring but not really. We grab days like this when the weather is warm and inviting, and we scramble around doing as much as we possibly can today, because tomorrow it could be snowing and cold and windy or grey and cold and windy…windy and cold of course being the operative words. But today it’s a day of carpe diem in the garden, so I’m carpe dieming full speed.

No ducks here, we're gardeners!

This is one of those tales of woe that deserves to be shared.

One of my very favourite plants is the blue poppy, Meconopsis. It’s not the easiest plant to grow, as many of you can attest. Hands up, those who have tried and failed with the gloriously gorgeous, shimmeringly beautiful, almost too-blue-to-be-true Meconopsis?

Be honest now.

I have my hand up too.

Yes, I’ve had them grow and flower. There’s one from our garden on the cover of my book. I have one on my business card, lovingly drawn by my uncle, a talented and generous commercial artist. This was chosen intentionally, because the blue poppy IS beautiful and exciting to have in our garden—and sometimes cantankerous too, and enough to humble almost any gardener. But it can be grown, and grown well, in Atlantic Canada.

Just don’t have ducks.

I bought a package of seeds the second year we were here, determined to grow a Meconopsis for our garden. I had dreams of a whole patch of them, lovingly tended by me and my herd of helper-cats, dazzling passersby with their true blue colour so different from any other flower in the garden.

Three seeds germinated. And I coddled two seedlings along to a transplantable size that spring, although I was worried about their small size. Then one inexplicably threw a tantrum and died. There was I with one teeny tiny seedling. But it grew on, and I cosseted it in between a hundred chores and projects and other adventures.

Then one day, we were on a road trip on the south shore and went past a place that registered in my brain about five seconds after we drove by. “STOP!” I told my long suffering spouse. “Back this truck up, please!” Being the best spouse in the world, longsuffering or otherwise, he did just that.

We pulled into Bayport Plant Farm. For those of you who have never been there, GO! Bayport is awesome—the truly wonderful plant farm operated by Captain Dick Steele and his daughter Diana Steele, two of the absolute finest plant people in this country and probably the world. I was googling and ooohing and ahhhhhhing over some plants on benches that were for sale, and long suffering spouse had wandered off a ways. He came bouncing back to me, and said excitedly, “You’ve gotta come with me RIGHT NOW!”

I figured there must be a boat back there in the trees, because boats is what LSS loves the most next to me and the cats. But no….it was blue poppies. Lots of them. Many of them in flower. All nicely potted up and for sale.

We bought two, and a variety of other things. I was in heaven. We’d have blue poppies this very year, while my seedling grew on. Maybe we’d have (gasp!) seedlings from our plants? And what do you know, the climate in our windy foggy cool garden must be quite Himalayan-like, because the plants did very well.

Dear friends and gentle gardeners, we DID indeed have blue poppies, three or four flowers on each plant.



And then we had seedlings. A fuzz of little grey green, hairy seedlings, just like the three I had had from a whole package of seeds. I had also planted the one surviving seedling near the mature plants, hoping to inspire it to great deeds.

Then there were the ducks.

The year before, we had gotten three ducks, two hens and a drake, from a farmer. My dearly beloved LOVED ducks, and thought it would be fun to have some for the pond. We had a variety of challenges getting the ducks to produce ducklings initially, then Sweetie hatched out ten ducklings. They were so cute and busy and charming…

Until they grew suddenly into fullsized, somewhat voracious ducks that were given to going walkabout. One day, I chased the entire herd back up the road, as they were stampeding down the middle of the highway.

One day in late fall, they escaped from their lodging by the pond. When we found them, they were in the shade garden. The shade garden where the Meconopsis were. The shade garden that they had trampled, dug, eaten, shat in, trampled some more in their search for grubs or greens or something. Yup. Flattened those poppies flatter than a roadkilled snake.

The ducks left that day. No, we didn’t eat them. We simply loaded them into a poultry carrier and took them down the road to a fellow who had two large ponds and wanted ducks. We now admire wild ducks in our pond, and they’re fine and welcome. But no more ducks.

Happy ending, however. I got a few more young poppies a couple of years ago, and nurtured them carefully. This past June, when a plant with several crowns put up not one, but two stems of flowerbuds, we left it grow. And one week after my father died, the first flowers opened.

On Father’s Day.

What do you like in your windowboxes?

Actually, I have a confession. Currently I’m without windowboxes. I have plenty of wonderful containers for outside, and some of them could be windowboxes if they were mounted on the house, but I need to cajole my dearly beloved, long-suffering spouse into building us three new ones that are all the same, and then put them up after we do some painting on the house this spring.

I love container plantings of all kinds, but the more interesting, unusual and colourful the plants, the better I like them. Ever hear of Anagallis?

It’s an annual, sometimes called Blue Pimpernel, with truly dazzling, cobalt blue flowers that close up on cloudy days or when it’s going to rain (hence another common name, Poor Man’s Weather Glass). Now there’s an equally dazzling anagallis called Wildcat Orange, and it’s awesome paired up with the blue and with something hotly magenta, and some vibrant lime-green foliage.

Are some of you shuddering? That’s okay. We all have different colour tastes, and I love to play with colour in containers, because if something doesn’t work—there’s always next year. Or I’ll just add a couple of different plants with more muted colours to tone down the mix if it doesn’t work like I anticipated it would after it’s planted. For containers, hanging baskets, windowboxes, I do like vibrant, especially in spring when we’re all hungry for something bright and cheery.

Like Sarah Raven, I like the bold and brilliant garden colours, jewel colours rather than pastels. This year, I hope to include those two anagallis, some brilliant green Bells of Ireland, and probably a hot coloured verbena in at least one planting. Hey, has anyone checked the colours on prom dresses lately?
They’re just as vibrant, with neon oranges and pinks together, or turqoise and lime green…but I think I’ll keep my colour playfulness in the garden. Thankfully I’m not likely to wear a prom dress any time in this current reincarnation.

But speaking of windowboxes, for those who belong to garden clubs in the Maritimes, there’s something fun going to happen at this year’s Saltscapes Expo. Here’s what I wrote in an email and newsletter that’s going out to clubs in our region:


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"Spring is still a ways off, but those of us planning for the Saltscapes East Coast Expo know that it's coming soon. For those of you who don't know about this, Saltscapes magazine hosts an annual exhibition "Saltscapes Live" , a three day extravaganza of fun, food, activities, shopping, demonstrations and more which will be held at April 28, 29, and 30 at Exhibition Park in Halifax.

"This year, we're excited to announce that we've got a new event tailored just for gardeners. As one of my many hats, (and because I'm Saltscapes' Gardening Editor), I'm delighted to be coordinating the First Annual Saltscapes Expo Windowbox competition, which will run throughout the show at Exhibition Park.

"This competition is open to garden clubs throughout Atlantic Canada. The rules are quite simple: dress up a windowbox in any kind of live plants, bring it to the show by 7 pm on Thursday, April 27. The entry fee of 15.00 per club (one entry per club, please) will be donated to Communities in Bloom. In return for a club's entry, the club will received an autographed copy of The Atlantic Gardener's Greenbook (written by yours truly) for their club library or to use as a door prize at future meetings.

"The entries will be judged by a panel of 3 judges, who will award 1st, 2nd, 3rd and honourable mention awards. There will also be a People's Choice award, voted on by visitors to the show and awarded with other prizes on Sunday afternoon, April 30th. Prizes will include a slate plaque donated by Scotia Slate, and a prize package of items which can be used by the club in any way they wish--whether as raffle items, or door prizes, or whatever! We've already got donations rolling in, and are really excited at the support we're receiving.

"Now we're hoping for an equally excited response from the gardeners of Atlantic Canada. Please consider entering the competition: you may use any sort of windowbox you want, up to 4 feet in length (bearing in mind it has to be transported and can't be too heavy) plus any sort of plants you desire--annuals, perennials, heaths and heathers, native plants, orchids, cacti, other succulents, spring bulbs--the only limit is your imagination, and you're all gardeners so I KNOW you have imagination!! We feel this will bring more attention (and more members) to the garden clubs of Atlantic Canada, which will be a great benefit to all who share our passion for planting. "


*******

I hope this will be well received by our clubs! The judges have already been asked and have agreed (I’m not one of them, since I’m coordinating the competition) and some prizes have already been donated by various businesses. We expect to see some neat entries to this competition—late April is a bit early for getting bedding plants, but we’ve stipulated that anything goes for plant material, whether house plants, native plants, cacti, orchids…I hope plenty of clubs take up the friendly challenge.

In Memory Yet Green

Sometimes, being connected to the wired world is not the best thing. I was sitting in a board meeting in downtown Toronto on Saturday morning when my laptop burped to signal an email’s arrival. I looked down, saw the name of my son’s father, (my former husband but always friend) and the subject Requiem. And I knew what the message would say: that his beloved mother had lost her battle with cancer. Or maybe won it, as she is now at peace and pain free.

Tears flowed, to the astonishment of my colleagues. I dashed out to call my former husband, and try to find some words that would be of comfort and support. The memorial service is set for this coming weekend, in a beautiful community on Nova Scotia’s French shore, overlooking the sea. As Pete was there for me and my family when my father died last June, so will I be there for him and his family, including our son. To celebrate the life of a woman who genuinely was just about as close to an angel on earth as I’ve ever met.

On the flight back from Toronto, I mulled over Marilyn’s life and what I could possibly do that would pay honour and love to her memory, and bring some little comfort to those she loved. And then as I sat looking at a gardening catalogue, one with a butterfly on a flower, I knew what to do.

Our gardens here are flung like a child’s blocks around our property, a profusion of colour in various beds and borders. After the death of my much loved cat Nermal 6 years ago, I planted a rose bush in his memory, and buried his ashes underneath it. Then Timothy Findley, the author on whom I wrote my master’s thesis, died. Other cats, other people, friends of friends or family members, each received a plant, generally a hardy rosebush, placed carefully in the garden to honour their memory. For Timothy Findley, the hardy rosebush Franklin; then for his partner, who is very much alive, but who would want to be beside Tiff, Roserie de la Haie. For Tommy tiger the crabby Tabby, my husband’s beloved, obstreperous bobtail, the gloriously fragrant Snow Pavement. For a fellow writer’s cherished cousin Jeanette, the rose Agnes. And on and on. Portulaca for my aunt Joyce, Johhny-jump ups and lupins for my grandmother Chisholm.

And everywhere, everywhere, forget-me-nots for my father, lost in the fogs of Alzheimers.

For Marilyn, a butterfly garden, a dedicated bed with plants relating to and attractive to butterflies, because she so loved these ethereal, glorious “flying flowers.” I’ll get some young milkweed from a roadside spot I know, because it’s the favourite food of Monarch butterflies. And there will be at least one butterfly bush, probably several; the delightful yellow one I got last year at Ouestville Perennials, plus a deep purple variety, and perhaps a softer, pink type. I’ll move a chunk of rosy butterfly weed from the big border out back to this new planting, and add some Russian sage, some echinaceas, some of the deep scarlet bergamot bee balm that looks like roosters in the back garden.



A few fragrant annuals, tall nicotiana, purple heliotrope, phlox and stocks and maybe some wallflowers. Grape Hyacinths for next spring, miniature thalia daffodils too, and perhaps a magnolia, depending on where I site the garden—probably out back, looking down at the Bay. Definitely a fragrant, wonderful rose—one of the heritage varieties, after I see what Old Heirloom Roses has available this spring.

And because they’re everywhere, for everyone who has gone before us—more forget-me-nots.



It won’t bring this remarkable, kind woman back, this floral tribute and memory planting. But perhaps it will bring some joy to her family, and further peace into their hearts. In memory yet green…

A little winter potpourri

A few random thoughts, swirled around by the nor’easter screeching in off the Bay.
Spent Friday night in the company of a diverse and talented group of people; members of the Canadian Nursery Landscape Association from across Canada, gathered together in Halifax for their national awards gala. There were both nursery operators and professional landscapers, sponsors and lifetime achievement award recipients, all of whom are dedicated to making the world we live in a lovelier place.

I’m the first to say I don’t know a whole lot about landscaping as such—I distinguish it from gardening intentionally, although one is part of the other. I tend to think of landscaping as designed and installed by professionals, or at least people with way more talent in design than I have. I’m a gardener—I understand plants, and usually know where they ought to go in my own yard for the best effect. But like this blog entry, our gardens are a hodgepodge, gradually developing some design and form, but not formal like many properties are. A landscape professional could come here, talk to us, look around our land and existing structures and beds, and design an entire yardscape that could include paths, walls, pergolas, water features, and so on—and then, if I had the money, they could create my dream yard for me. I don’t, however, so whatever happens in this yard will be done by my long suffering spouse and me as we can afford it. That doesn’t mean I can’t talk to and learn from landscape professionals around the region, however.

One thing I do know—there’s a significant difference between those professionals, who are trained and certified and understand all aspects of creating a beautiful living space in a yard from soil and slope and drainage and plant needs and positioning…and those happyjack types with a battered half ton truck, a ride on lawnmower and a rake and shovel. Those aren’t landscapers—they’re jobsters who can mow a lawn, throw some seed or fertilizer around, stick a few tired annuals in the ground, and charge someone an arm and a leg for their ‘landscaping skills.’ They cast a bad light on the true professionals, who are passionate about their trade and skilled and will stand behind their work. I’ve committed myself to learning and writing more about professional landscapers, who are also willing to share their knowledge with people like me and with property owners who just want to do a few little projects themselves. It will be interesting learning about something new!

Only a couple of more days now until a very exciting event takes place in Wolfville. No, not Valentine’s Day—that most guilt-laden of Hallmark Holidays—but the launch of Ami McKay’s brilliant new novel, The Birth House. Published by Knopf Canada, and the only title in this tenth year of Knopf’s New Face of Fiction program, The Birth House follows young Dora Rare of Scot’s Bay as she learns the ways of caring for women from the community midwife, Marie Babineau, during the years around the First World War. When Dora takes up the post of midwife following Miss B.’s death, she finds herself in conflict with a know-it-all young doctor who feels his scientific medical procedures are better for women than a natural birth. I’m not going to go any further in describing this novel right now—my review of it is in today’s Halifax Herald, available online for a week—other than to say that in Dora Rare, we have a powerfully drawn female character as memorable as Morag Gunn of The Diviners, (Lawrence) Offred of The Handmaid’s Tale, (Atwood) Mrs. Noyes of Not Wanted on the Voyage, (Findley) or Deanna Wolfe of Prodigal Summer (Kingsolver).



Ami is a wonderful storyteller, and I hope this is the first of many such works we see from this talented young writer. Yes, she’s a friend too, but it is a rule of mine that I do not review books or products that I am not pleased with. And I’m mighty pleased with the book, and proud of Ami.

Right now I’m working on a few gardening articles to get done ahead of time, as all too often, deadlines collide and arrive all at the same time. One of the stories is about keeping a garden journal, and I’m very grateful to gardeners around the province who have shared their tales of garden journaling with me. I’ve got a beautiful new 10 year journal from Lee Valley here, a marvelous thing, although I wish it had pockets or sleeves, like a scrapbook or photo album, so that I could do like one gardener does, and tuck the tags of plants into the book for a permanent record of what I’ve planted (and where!). Getting the journal isn’t the hard thing—remembering to keep it up is. I’ve parked mine right beside my computers so I can write in it daily, or mostly daily.

Gave a talk the other night to the Ladies Auxiliary of the Pereaux Baptist Church, on the gentle art of forcing twigs of shrubs and trees into bloom at this time of year. Now I have the house full of twigs of bittersweet, forsythia, red osier dogwood, spirea…in a couple of weeks there should be some signs of flowers and leaves emerging, to help chase away the gloom of winter. I love watching coaxed twigs (that sounds so much more peaceful than ‘forced’) erupting into bloom like living fireworks. It’s so easy to do, too, providing you follow a few simple rules. Those will have to wait til next time, however.

If I had a million dollars...I'd have WAY more plants!

In a perfect world, (meaning one with more money and time) I’d do some serious renovating to our house. We’d have a solarium or a conservatory, or a something with lots of glass and room for even more plants than we have now, where I could go when I'm feeling garden deprived in the height of winter's bleakness. I’d also have one office, or an office in one room, not spread out through three rooms and a hallway. My other have would have a heated workshop in the barn where he could create more marvelous garden furniture, birdhouses, and the like. We’d have a hottub outside where we could rest our aching muscles and contemplate the stars or the fog or the snow. And we’d have the gardens looking the way I’d like to see them.

Of all those things, the garden getting where I’d like to see it is the most likely to happen anytime soon. After all, I’m a writer, a freelance one at that, in Atlantic Canada…not a bank manager, a lawyer, a politician, or a highly paid civil servant. But that’s okay, because I’m also independent, and if I want to take three hours off to work in the garden in the middle of the day, and then work at night…it’s just fine.

And with a garden, you can pick up a few plants here, a few plants there…build a pathway this year, a wall the next, a garden room the next. You can’t put a few panes of glass into a solarium room one year, a few more the next. So I’ll work on the garden. Which is what we’ve been doing, of course, since we bought this place.

Right now, like many of us, I’m dreaming my way through magazines and catalogues and websites, looking at plants both new and old that I simply can’t live without. Today’s column in the Halifax Herald includes ten plant genera that I really like and feel are underused; but I have a wishlist of plants that I plan to get this year.

Last year, I bought an Orange Meadowbrite echinacea from a local nursery. It was expensive, and it wasn’t in good shape, but I’ve coveted that plant since first reading about it several years ago, and I had to have it. I hope it pulls through this winter, but if it doesn’t, the nursery has a year-long guarantee on its plants. I’ve returned at most half a dozen plants over the past half dozen years. So there will be no problem if it did succumb to whatever. There are more new echinaceas on the market now, too, in shades of orange, yellow, deep carmine, and even green—or rather, greenish. Probably I’ll add one or two of those, if I can find them locally.

Here are some other plants I intend to have more of:

Heaths and heathers. Blame it on Bunchberry Nurseries; at their open house several years ago, I became utterly besotted with heaths and heathers—not so much for the bloom, which is great, but for the foliage colours. The display gardens around Bunchberry, in Upper Clements near Annapolis Royal, are phenomenal; Jamie Ellison and Jill Covill have collected and propagated some unique and choice specimens over the years, not only of members of the Ericaceaous family of plants, but also of sempervivums and other alpine plants, evergreens both broadleaf and needled, grasses…problem is, I want one of everything and two of some! I’m starting out small, testing the drainage and protection from wind they might need—my friends Ami and Ian McKay have some delectable heathers in their back garden, growing to nice size now, here in our community so hopefully the half dozen I have planted out back will also thrive and grow.

Grasses. Yes, I’ve seen the light where grasses are concerned. And I’m sure, with the mild fall we had, many of you have also gotten the grass bug. Where we had next to no snow or frost leading up to Christmas, plantings of perennial grasses have stayed tall and gorgeous this year. Some of them have also been planted now for three or four or more years and are really getting some size to them too. Last year we put in probably a dozen different grasses, (I’m including sedges in the catchall term grass), including a gorgeous Bromus Skinner’s Gold purchased from Hillendale Perennials near Truro, and both a bronze and leatherleaf sedge from Springvale Nurseries, and several Miscanthus varieties from Blomidon Nurseries. I can’t wait to see how they do this year.

Trees. My friend Paul Grimm of Springvale Nurseries says, “The best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago; the next best time is right now.” Well, I’ll wait for spring, but on my wish list are the Dawn Redwood, Metasequoia glyptostrobioides, which Captain Dick Steele first told me about 4 years back. Also needing to come and live with us are a Japanese Katsura, a Devil’s Walking Stick, (Aralia elata) a couple of lindens and several amelanchiers (shadbush or chuckley pears). This doesn’t include the shrubs that I’m planning to add…I promise a blog entry on shrubs soon.

Foliage Perennials: What I’ll probably avoid are hostas and heucheras, at least til the ones we have now get well established and I see whether I like them where they are. Last year we added about a dozen hostas from various nurseries and fellow gardening enthusiasts, and three heucheras—Obsidian, Lime Rickey, and Marmalade, for a nice colour range. I really like perennials with interesting coloured foliage, including those that flower, but I don’t care if they flower or not if I like the foliage. Last year at the Royal Botanical Gardens in Hamilton, I saw this marvelous Stachys, a softly variegated green and gold variety. I resisted the urge to snip a piece…and it was hard…but now I’ve found someone who both knows what it is and has a couple of plants. So hopefully I’ll get my hands on Stachys byzantina ‘Primrose Heron’ come spring.

Flowering perennials. Oh, where to start? More euphorbias; more verbascums; more campanulas; (different ones, not more of what we already have!) More Oriental poppies; and at least three plants that I’ve never grown before. I’ll let you know what those will be when I figure out for myself.

Bulbs: More lilies, especially fragrant ones, definitely! I need to divide those we have now, which are mostly Asiastics, lovely but scent free. Non-hardy bulbs and tubers I don’t tend to grow a lot of, because of course you’re supposed to lift and store them. Well, I’m away so much in the fall…but Carol Cowan of the Netherland Bulb Information Centre told me over lunch to stop feeling guilty. “You plant annuals and let them die back at summer’s end,” she pointed out. “do the same with your tender bulbs if you want.” Good point, Carol. Maybe this year I’ll do just that.