grasses, a bridge and a whirlpool tub...

Ah, this is just deliciously relaxing. King sized bed (meaning I can sleep sideways, hog all the pillows, and no one will complain. A view fit for a queen, of a garden, a beach, and a shore, with the music of the water on the rocks to lull me to sleep. And oh yes, a whirlpool to tend to the aches and pains of a gardener's decrepit body. Can it get much better?

My day started off with a drive to Greenwood, home of 14 Wing, an air force base where my father flew out of when he was in the Royal Canadian Air Force, before I was born. I wasn't visiting the Wing today, though; my first stop was at Tony Chaulk's garden. Tony has an ideal nature-lover's garden, inviting for birds and bees and butterflies of all sorts. He's especially fond of perennial grasses, and has something like forty different species and cultivars, including many I've never tried to grow--yet. He's inspiring me to, though.

Tony likes to push the zones, planting things that are marginally hardy for his part of Nova Scotia. He's doing very well at it, though; among his accomplishments are hardy fuschias, a palm, and a mimosa. He also has had Cape Fuschia overwinter, which tempts me to try to overwinter mine outdoors this year--planted out, though, not in a pot.

Tony has lots of shrubs, trees and perennials that butterflies and birds like; joe pye weed, phloxes and monardas, honeysuckles, and the very attractive ironweed. This is a wildlife gardener's dream, and he does it all in the confines of a n average suburban yard. I was delighted, and will be back again.

From Greenwood I headed on to Digby, and the Princess of Acadia, Bay Ferries vessel for the Digby Saint John trip. I was wandering around on one of the outer decks when I heard my name called, asking me to the purser's office. He told me the captain wondered if I would like to come to the bridge for a visit? Who, me, the freelance sailor? Lead the way, sir!

On the bridge I waited quietly as Captain Kenneth Smith was just taking the ship away from the wharf, calling headings to the quartermaster steering the great vessel. The bridge is, of course the nerve centre of any ship, and while this one doesn't have huge numbers on duty at any time, it was fun to watch them bring the ship out of the somewhat secluded bay that is Digby's harbour, and out into the rollicking heart of the Bay of Fundy. Captain Smith graciously toured me around to show me the upgrades that Bay Ferries had made to the Princess of Acadia while she was in drydock for three weeks, and she looks like a brand new ship, with many amenities from large screen televisions, internet service, and even a supervised play area for small children, as well as a cafeteria and cafe. Lots of seating room in several lounges, plus outside on the decks, and after I left the captain I sat reading in the large lounge on the main deck, with my iPod plugged in so as not to listen to other people's conversations. The ship is very comfortable, (but we know I have a soft spot for sailing on ships anyway!) and the three hours of the trip passed quickly.

I don't know why anyone would drive all the way around when there's this marvelous ferry; it cuts a lot of driving time for many travellers, depending on where you're going in NS or NB (it would have taken me 5+ hours to drive to Saint John, where this took me about 90 minutes to the ferry!) We have to impress upon that band of jokers in Ottawa and Halifax that call themselves our leaders that this ferry is an essential service, and they have to help keep her in service. *yes, that was a mini rant, if anyone was wondering.

After getting off the ship at Saint John, I wasn't long heading to the Inn at the Cove where I was booked in. Originally I had been going to join the Inn's owners, Ross and Willa Mavis, at their country home where they were hosting a potluck party for other PWAC members, but I decided that my room just looked too tempting. A quick supper and a drive to look at the Irving Nature park, and here I am, back for the night. Now with my 'report' made to all of you, I'm about to do some reading and then see about sleeping sideways in that bed! And I can hear the waves tumbling stones on the beach now. Night.....zzzzzzzzzzzz

More rain and setting sail

This was one of those perfect examples of why we humans should put not our faith in weather forecasters. 'Scattered showers'? How about drenching drownpours all day long? At first they came in heavy showers, so we left Jenny and Leggo out in the pasture--til I heard a rumble of thunder. Out I slogged, getting good and soaked as the rain decided to reach its peak of drenchingness at just that point; and Leggo, bless his whimsical Morgan self, stood with his stern to the wind and rain, head down, and refusing to come to the gate, so I had to go get him. We all were good and soggy by the time we maid it to the barn, but fresh hay and treats promptly improved the equine moods, and I was simply glad of the rain. After it settled down a bit into more of a steady rain rather than downpours, I could almost hear the happy earth soaking it up.

Not that we've been dry here on the mountain; not compared to some of my fellow bloggers and gardeners elsewhere. But this is just freshening things up, prompting another burst of growth and flowering out of some plants. I started doing some cleanup yesterday, deadheading and cutting things back, until I met this little ornament--in another bed far from the milkweed.
Now, by far I don't mean miles, but the caterpillar must have crawled at least 50 feet from one bed, across the lawn, and into this bed to select this daylily leaf to be his changing room. When I saw him, I promptly swore off all further garden housecleaning for another week or so, until the butterflies start hatching out. I don't want to disturb any of them, and who knows just how far they will travel to find a place to pupate? Maybe this one is a loner, because there are at least 8 chrysalids in that varigated weigela over near the Asclepias! It's been intriguing to see where they are parking themselves; on hosta and daylily leaves, on true lilies, on the bottom of the toppled over arbour, in the weigela, in the highbush cranberry (Viburnum trilobum)...yet I haven't seen any on any of the echinacea. But they love coneflowers once they have their butterflying suits on!

I sort of expect the first hatchings to begin about next Thursday. This is ideal for me because I'm heading off in the morning for a few day press-trip courtesy of the great people at Tourism New Brunswick (the province adjoining Nova Scotia.) I'm not driving around this time; I'm taking the ferry from Digby to Saint John, (a delightful way to travel!) and visiting several other communities in the province, and yes, I'm visiting gardens too! My plan is to post nightly, time and energy permitting, but if I don't, the only reason why is I'm busy having fun exploring my neighbouring province. So drop in and see what I'm up to tomorrow evening, when I'll be at Inn on the Cove for the night.

After the storm

While our Nova Scotian weather can be somewhat robust in nature, with cold winds, fogs and other challenges, we don't normally get too many thunderstorms in the run of a summer. We might average between six and twelve throughout the spring and summer months, although I've seen thunderstorms here in March and in November. Normally they're wonderful to watch, attractive weather tantrums that just cause us to pause and watch mother nature at her elemental best.

Not last night. Or more specifically, yesterday morning. I was reading an Ian Rankin book about 0130 (the pain in my legs often keeps me awake so I sleep til they give in) when I thought I heard thunder. I trotted downstairs and looked out the patio windows--and watched as the sky lit up time and again in a matter of thirty seconds.

Uh oh. Gonna be a bad one. I pulled the plugs on electronics, pulled on my crocks and a sweater, and ran to the barn. No rain was coming, but there was a lot of lightning, and I needed to bring in Leggo and Jenny. Well. I hadn't stopped to seek out the flashlight, and the horse was not coming...and there I stood at the gate, hollering my head off and hoping that the lightning would pause out over the Bay for a little while longer. Jenny sauntered up while Leggo was doing powerturns around her, whinnying and prancing and just being a nervous hairball, but I finally cajoled him into coming to me and got them into the barn.

And all hell broke loose.
I haven't figured out yet how to take photos of lightning storms. But I wouldn't have tried last night anyway. For the first time in three or four years, we were nervous during a thunderstorm. In fact, I have never been as nervous as I was last night about a storm--nor have I ever in my life seen such a storm. It was like a strobe light was flashing constantly--lightning so brilliant you could see the colours of the garden when the sky was lit up. At one point, the kitties and I all contemplated heading for the basement, but we decided to keep my longsuffering spouse company in the kitchen. Actually, Tigger slept through the entire performance, even when strikes very close by rattled the house with jet-engine roars of thunder.

Today everything was washed clean, and although the rain came down too hard and washed out some gravel roads and roadsides, things look fresh around the yard. There was one sad note, as my neighbour's old pony was found tonight dead in the pasture. Whether she had a heart attack or was struck by lightning or something else, we don't know--his donkey is fine--but this is why I bring our animals in when cumulonimbus clouds move up the Bay or the cats are too weird. Tonight it was humid and I brought the critters in early--which should guarantee a quiet night--and as I watched the sky and the placid waters of the upper Bay, I was reminded that we humans are pretty puny. No matter if we build mcmansions and drive gas-guzzling SUVs and otherwise try to make ourselves look important. We can't control the weather--other than to make it worse with global warming, that is.

Okay, that's enough pensiveness/ranting out of me. I promised more blooms (and other things) so let's get to the good stuff!

The heathers are just starting to bloom in my conifer-ericaceous bed; if you can't tell heaths from heathers, use this as a mnemonic. Heaths rhyme with Easter and bloom in the spring: Heathers wait for summer weather to do their bloomin' thing.


I am simply silly about the vibrant neon colours of annual ice plants(Mesembryanthemum). I plant them out in containers so they won't get overly soggy if we have a wet summer, and they reward with dozens of brilliant blooms.


I caught this caterpillar in the act of going into his pupate form; it was really fun to watch the chrysalis thrashing as the caterpillar made his transformation. I've found more chrysalids in different parts of the garden, which leads me to declare a moratorium on all deadheading, weeding, etc until the nursery has done its hatching.


I'm slow to get into alliums, other than having had 'Hair' and Nectaroscordum for some years. This is A. flavum, I think; the pot was full of tiny bulbs and shoots, and the yield was a cluster of yellow fireworks and one purple-pink one.


Perhaps the oddest coneflower in the garden is Rudbeckia 'Black Beauty'; not really black but definitely a striking beauty in its own way.


The elegant design of the blue scabiosa flower makes me intensely happy. The white one is lovely, but this one is even better.


Ditto the blue woodruff as opposed to the white. They are actually two different species; white sweet woodruff is Gallium odoratum, while the blue is Asperula orientalis. I love them both, but I hope the blue will selfseed this year.


Cherokee Sunset is a double rudbeckia, and as you can see it has striking autumn colours to its blooms. I THINK I grew this from seed last year, but I was still surprised to see it when it began flowering.


False Mallow, Prairie Mallow...sidalcea has been a tough performer for years, selfseeding a tiny bit but not excessively, and making the bees very, very happy.


I bought this two days ago at Blomidon Nurseries; it's the Mexican hat Ratibida 'Red Midget'. I've added it to the coneflower collection out front.


To my mind, bloom day includes terrific foliage; hence this porcelain vine, which has the same delicious colours to its foliage as does Nishiki willow. I hope it will flower and fruit this year, but maybe not til next.


Here is probably the strangest plant in my collection. It's buttonbush or silversand, Calocephalus, a plant from Tasmania. Dana at Glad Gardens grew some from seed last year, and I have this one; it's truly silver looking and prehistoric in appearance (although I think it's a member of Compositae). I have it planted with bronze hair sedge, Carex comans, in a terra cotta planter, and I"ll overwinter it in the house.


Finally, a teaser; this is Lavatera 'Silver Cup', and while I can grow this and Malva Zebrina and Hisbiscus trionum 'Flower of an Hour' for fun....there is a Mallow relative that stumps me regularly. You'll hear about that soon!

Garden Bloggers Bloom Day--August

It's that time again already! It's Garden Bloggers Bloom Day, as started by the clever and delightful Carol of May Dreams Garden.


It's Half Past August, a Quarter to Fall--and here's what's going on at our place!


This and the first image is a perennial potentilla, Arc en Ciel--I also have one called Fireball but the flowers are much smaller. These come in shades of red-orange with yellow in the mix too, and they catch a lot of attention even though they're in among the coneflower herd.


I'm just catching on to alliums, although I've been growing a couple of them faithfully for several years now. The bizarre "Hair" is a favourite because of its odd spiky tendrils, but I like the small yellow fireworks of this one too.



I don't know if the monarchs just haven't found the yellow asclepias yet, or if it's not really to their liking, but so far it's remained unscatched. I can't find the orange one, but it's possible I weeded it out, thinking it was something naughty!


Although the light wasn't quite right and I should have used my tripod--I couldn't resist including this photo of a hummingbird facing off with a wasp! It's very bizarre to see the wasp turn and face the hummers, and then CHASE them--but they all share eventually.


You didn't think I'd get through a post of flowers without at least one coneflower, did you? Of course not. Here's Sundown, also known as Evan Saul--I can finally tell them apart because SunSET has a unique lavender cast to its older flowers in cool climates, according to Tony Avent of Plant Delights Nursery.


And of course this is my favourite plant this year, the well-named Green Envy--which elicits just that response in most who see it.


Oh, this is a blissful plant! It's an orienpet lily, a cross between oriental and a trumpet, but I can't remember what it's name is. It's fragrant, it's elegant, it might be Caravan (I'll see if I can find my notes from last year).



I figure that Bloom Day ought to include some of the creatures that our garden relies on for pollination--and which they rely on for food. Here's one of our happy, fat, bumblebees. Okay, yes, I'm anthropomorphizing. It's my blog and if I want to assign moods to bees, I will. Nanner nanner nanner blttttt!


We have a lot of bee balm, mostly in strong colours like red (Jacob Cline) raspberry (Raspberry Wine) and this (Bluestocking). I didn't realize that's what this was until the Bluestocking I bought this year flowered--and looked exactly like this large clump of Monarda. So now there will be two clumps.


As part of my wine-and-chocolate garden, here is Days of Wine; our daylilies are still going strong here on the mountain, and the everbloomers will keep going until frost.


This afternoon I took a walk around the back field looking at wildflowers and other things that interest me, and paused by the pond to watch dragonflies. I didn't feel I had time to sit and wait for a dragonfly to land near me...then when I went back up to the house, here he is, hanging on the autumn clematis!

I have deadlines on the go here, so I will stop for now; but I'm going to do a part 2 to my Garden Blogger's Bloom Day post--and that will be some of the native/naturalized plants that grow around our place. Happy Bloom Day, all!

Ch ch ch ch changes....

This morning my longsuffering spouse announced that I should go down to the Bay and check out the hay in a field where his nephew was working. Blaine wanted to make sure the quality was good enough for horses, and it certainly was. Now, for those of you who are accustomed to haying in June or July, relax. Down in the Valley the horse hay has been done for weeks, and in fact second cuts are well underway for both hay and silage. But here on the mountain, where things are cooler and more moist, we always get our hay in August. It’s excellent quality and the happy horse and hapless donkey always enjoy it.

While I was waiting for Blaine to bring the first load up, I walked around the garden to see what was new and exciting. Another blast of wind last night had knocked over a wooden obelisk in the back garden, and I was going to pick it up, when I spotted something wonderful. A monarch caterpillar, hanging in the ‘J’ position. I got very excited , even though I realized that now the arbour is going to have to stay resting as it is for the next couple of weeks.

Monarchs (and other caterpillars) attach themselves to a twig, leaf or other object with a pad made of silk and then hang down, head first (like someone doing yoga.) Then they go into their fifth and final moult, which is the amazing one. As one website describes, when the caterpillar sheds its skin this time, it looks like a giant green water droplet, the chrysalis. It’s now beginning its pupation, the stage where it turns from a ponderously slow eating machine to a graceful, flying butterfly.


When I went out at suppertime to get ready to bring in the rest of the hay, our J-shaped caterpillar had done its magic, and was a glistening, glorious green sac. I sat on the ground transfixed by this, the first actual monarch chrysalis I’ve ever seen (except in photos and books and websites.) After the hay, I ran for my camera, and now that I knew what size to look for, I went looking carefully (from outside the border) around other plants for similar shapes.


And there were all kinds of them. Caterpillars hanging in the J-position, and a number of chrysalises (whatever the plural is) festooning a weigela shrub, daylily leaves, hosta leaves…sunlight gleaming through the translucent sacs—I could even see stripes inside a couple of them.


Now, I realize that monarch caterpillars pupate by the millions every year…but I’m no less awed by a marvelous feat of biological engineering.


And when I went back to check the big milkweed plant, I found a few eggs on the underside of some of the upper leaves...and the cycle continues.

Storms, computers, and other dramas

When I called my longsuffering spouse from Halifax yesterday, I told him I was having a Monday. “This is Thursday”, he pointed out.

Nope. It’s been Monday all week.

My MacBook Pro laptop has been having issues, and we thought it was fixed Wednesday…only to have me go flying back into Halifax again yesterday. I left the dear thing at the shop overnight, hoping that it would manifest its odd behaviours for the technician. But it’s been acting like the frog in the Bugs Bunny cartoon, the frog that sings and dances in front of one person—and when presented to an audience sits there and goes ‘Ribbit.’ That’s my laptop—misbehaving for me, and acting angelic for the technician. So I’m running three days behind in work, but figure it’ll get caught up over the next couple of days.

To add to the fun, we’ve been having a spot of weather. First, we had a joyously profound drownpour of rain on Wednesday evening, followed by wind all day yesterday. Quite a bit of wind. Not the wicked Suête wind of Cheticamp, which can hit nearly 100 miles an hour on a regular basis, but an impressive bit of wind in its own right. It did some pruning in the garden, and not necessarily the sort of pruning that is appreciated—knocking down some of the sunflower ‘trees’ (freerange selfseeded sunflowers that grow up tall and thick-stemmed and multi-flowered), throwing an obelisk bearing a blue-flowered Clematis integrifolia ‘Caerulea’ over onto some iris and darmera, rumpling all sorts of parts of the garden and just generally being a pain. Because I was preoccupied with computer dramas, I didn’t really view the yard until later today.

Between the computer headaches and the weather and some bad news about aging relatives, I suddenly was caught up in a case of the pre-autumn blues. The garden that looked so fresh and lush just a few days ago seemed ‘bewiltered’ and the coolness of the air following the storm has that inimitable whisper of autumn in it. Even though I know we have weeks to go before the equinox, the lessening of the light and the changing of shadows and sun patterns in the yard further casts me into the doldrums. And ironically, the no-see-ums are still vicious, way worse than mosquitos or blackflies ever thought of being up here, and when I went outside to take some photos I was actually driven back indoors by the tiny and voracious insects.

However…despite a need to deadhead, trim, tidy and weed, the garden also cast a balm of comfort over my soul. In part it came from rejoicing in the tiny details of the plants and their neighbours in our yard. Doing this requires me to really slow down and look—and see—not just glance, but really SEE the marvels of the garden.

Marvels like the fabulous patterns and colours in a Masterwort (Astrantia) flower…


Or the wealth of colours in a Venidium blossom’s centre…


The blind hunger of a monarch caterpillar chewing down a milkweed…


And the rainbow of light on a spiderweb.


Though some flowers are winding down their life and turning to pop art seedhead sculptures,


Other plants are embracing the summer by sending up bright new growth, like this Nishiki willow twig.


While the rich gold of pollen (here in a daylily’s heart) promises food for birds and insects, and indirectly (through honey production) for us humans.


Hope is rekindled in a garden, watching the endless cycle of birth, death and rebirth. To heck with the deadlines, and all the things that haven’t gotten done the past few days. Tomorrow, weather permitting, I’m spending the day in the garden regrounding myself and restoring some sense of inner equilibrium. Whacking weeds or rejoicing in caterpillars will do that to a person.

If regrounding ourselves isn't a good reason to garden...I don't know what would be.