A tree half empty, or half full?

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

In a recent conversation with my dad, he said he was disappointment with the apple trees he planted several years ago. They haven't ever bloomed for him -- not in at least seven years -- and things aren't looking good for next spring either. I wondered how he could predict a blossom-less spring, and then my mom pointed out that the trees hadn't set buds this summer. Of course. Right. No buds now, no blooms next spring.

With that, I realized something I never noticed before. Trees set up their buds in the summer to prepare for the following spring. It makes complete sense. I just never paid attention to it. But now, as the autumn leaves peel away from the trees -- my trees, in my own yard -- I've been noticing buds. Everywhere.

I used to look at autumn differently: colors giving way to lifeless browns and grays. Now I see trees pulling back their colorful curtains to reveal a stage newly set for a lively spring scene. I saw it again yesterday, as the wind caught the leaves of the tree right outside my back window. Michael and I have enjoyed watching this tree make its gradual turn from green to yellow to red, and now brown. The tree may be slipping into its dull hibernation, and yet I see it plump with the promise of new life. New buds. Isn't it funny how our perspectives on something can change when we take the time to notice the little details?

Bulbs 50% off, just past the light-up reindeer

Sunday, November 25, 2007

So we were cruising the aisles of Home Depot today. Winter weatherizing and a few other home improvement items were on the brain. Christmas, meanwhile, was being pushed at us at every turn, whether we liked it or not. Could they crank up the carols any louder?

I found respite in the garden center, however, when I came across a bin marked with a hastily handwritten sign: Spring Bulbs 50% Off. How could I avoid the temptation of 50% off? And especially now that my resistance was down, having just passed a display of hideous light-up and inflatable lawn ornaments stacked high to the ceiling. I couldn't. I didn't.

I picked my way through the dregs at the bottom of the bin and came up with one bag of 'Remembrance' crocus bulbs and one bag of muscari (grape hyacinth). The tulips tempted me, but I knew they wouldn't stand a chance against the squirrels. (Notice I wrote squirrels, plural, since the little buggers come in multiples now.)

I don't know if these bulbs are squirrel-proof, but at half price, here's to trying. I planted most of them under one of the trees in our backyard, and I put a few next to the azaleas out front.

Sage Leaves - Now and Then

Friday, November 16, 2007

My most popular post this time of year, by far, is the one I wrote about the sage infused turkey brine we tested last year. Lots of folks are looking for ways to prepare their Thanksgiving turkey, no doubt. We certainly enjoyed the brined version, although it was a tad on the salty side. (The saltiness, though, can be tempered by gobs of sweet-tart cranberry sauce, in my opinion.)

The featured ingredient in last year's brine came from my own sage plant, which suffered a case of severe wilting during the summer. I cut away all the afflicted parts of the plant and left just one strong stem that still had healthy leaves. The plant kept going for me and now here it is after we moved it into our new garden bed. It's much smaller now compared to last spring, but if you look closely you can see the tiny new leaves forming on it. Their fragrance is divine. Just one whiff and I'm transported to the Thanksgiving table (without having to peel all the potatoes).

The red leaves in the top photo of this post don't have anything to do with the sage. I just picked them up while I was in the garden. I thought they were a pretty contrast -- in color and texture -- to the soft sage leaves.

I didn't have anything to post for Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day yesterday. With the exception of a pair of faded red roses, my garden is all finished blooming now. The leaves of the trees, though, are all ablaze at their peak of brilliance.

"Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower." - Albert Camus

~~~~~

Seasons turning in the garden box

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

New garlic rising

Sometimes loss is predictable, like the falling leaves that comfortably jostle our senses each autumn. Sometimes it catches us by surprise. I occasionally get a glimpse of something in my garden that reminds me loss and life go on.

Green Thumb Sunday: Water Seeker

Sunday, November 04, 2007

Cyperus involucratus

Nearly two years ago, my brother gave us a few clippings of his papyrus plant. He grows it in a pot that he places outside in his water lily pond during the summer. During the blustery Zone 6 winters, he brings it back inside.

Our papyrus -- or umbrella plant, as it's also called -- eked out its living in our dimly lit apartment for two years. Now it loves its newfound home in the bright sun of our backyard. This is how it looked in the early morning light after a recent night of heavy rain. Fresh. Alive. Much more content for a plant that originates from the wetlands.

The stems of this plant grow to about two or three feet tall and then bend over to find water in which to root. We have our potted papyrus inside now and are trying to get a few more young plants started from cuttings.

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