Newsdump ~ The Lazy Gardener

What nature creates has eternity in it.
I. B. Singer

Garden in My Heart* Delores Sandberg
I've a special sort of garden In a spot down in my heart; Many things I've planted there And many more to start.	I can't show you this garden, You can't wander through the rows; You can't gaze upon the flowers That are tonic to my woes.
Every day I make it larger; Adding row by row; And like every other garden, There are weeds that I must hoe.	I hope you have a garden Like the one that I hold dear; It can make the day seem brighter And quiet many a fear.
Sometimes to see its beauty Is a job that's downright hard But I'm not about to trade it For the real one in my yard.	It can help you be friendlier Make you want to do your part, Just to have a special garden In a spot down in your heart.

The Lazy Gardener...

      How did the Lazy Gardener happen?
      This is fun for me, to share with our readers my lazy gardening attitude.
      It occurred to me over the years that many of our yards were all consuming in the name of the manicured look. From all that fuss and time, my gardening has evolved to whatever is there when I arrive at a new place to whatever the wind and the birds bring to my garden. Occasionally, some bulbs and evergreens are added. And we regularly mow the lawn.
      One of our homes was fairly new. Yet the first owners had really landscaped it well. We added evergreens that have flourished and made this yard one of the nicest on that street. In fact, one spot "cried" evergreens. It was where the gas meter showed its ugly gray metal in the front corner of our yard. We planted Blue Spruce colored evergreens that had medium height potential around it. Recently, when I drove by that house and yard the evergreen bushes really have hidden that meter.

Horticulture or What?...

      My mother and grandmother were the true horticulturists and landscape artists in my family. Me, I won't plant or keep anything in my yard that takes more than the original planting, some basic watering and modest weeding.
      Our grandmother was widowed in her late thirties. She made a modest income raising baby lima beans that she sold to the Statler Hotel in Buffalo, New York, for their posh dinning room. Shortly after my parents married they settled in the country next door to where my mother grew up. They grew produce on their back four acres, just as my grandmother had, led by my mother because my father was a city slicker. For many years they enjoyed their cultivated produce gardens behind our house. It was their thing to do together.
      Eventually, they stopped because my mother went back to full time nursing and because they had to haul water to the fields when it had not rained enough. When they stopped their produce gardening, the acreage went to wild strawberries and wild phlox. The strawberries were thick. One could hardly step in those fields during strawberry season without smushing the strawberries.
      Annually for many strawberry seasons our one cousin brought her daughters (our second cousins) from the city to our country fields for a long day of picking these small wild strawberries. It was their mother and daughter project to make wild strawberry jelly. We country kids scoffed at these strawberries because we lived near the truck farms and could go pick or just buy the large, luscious tame strawberries grown there. We would go out to the fields and visit with them and keep them company while we ate the wild strawberries as they picked them. But that was about it.
      After leaving home, my yards have been a mixed bag. We have had manicured yards and I fussed much like my mother and grandmother for THE certain landscaped yard and garden look.
      For a brief time, I lived near my childhood home that was being sold. It was then that I took snips of this and that and transplanted them to the yard we had at the time a few miles away. And many of those transplants I took first to Pennsylvania and then Kansas as we moved.
      One time I dug up so many Yucca plants from a friend's field, only to go home exhausted and throw them in my daughter's wadding pool to keep them alive until I had the strength to plant them. And plant them I did.
      But my eyes were bigger than my need. Eventually I gave the excess to gardening friends who were pleased to add them to their yards, too. To this day, when we drive through our old neighborhood, we see the Yucca thriving in that yard and other yards close by. As well as many other ground covers we planted in that yard those few seasons we were there.
      There were years I obsessed with my gardening. I would be out at dusk on my hands and knees checking the growth my new Dahlias. The first time I did this, my husband came out of the house and asked me if I was praying over my plants. We laughed. This particular yard was so park like that we held a picnic for a non-profit group on our acreage and a family reunion, too.
      Now days we are much more relaxed about our yard. Our present neighborhood has a few manicured yards, but for the most part this cul-de-sac has what we refer to as tamed rustic. We have chosen this over our last manicured landscaped yard that required a yard service to maintain it to a standard the neighborhood required.
      Serious landscaping and gardening are a true joy to many, as it was to us for many years. But we are no longer in this group. We tend to like things that can maintain themselves. Oh, some things require water when it is a relatively dry season. The Lazy Gardener's choices are below. These recommendations are for any yard that is in a growing region that can maintain them with little or no human help. But first we are going to share nature's stories with you.

Pink Tulips from the Buffalo, NY, Botanical Gardens

Poppies, Poppies Poppies...

      Poppies are a delight to the public and many gardeners. Their delicate petals remind me of crate paper. Most widely known and planted are the orangish red poppy. It has four black marks on the inside of the bloom. Occasionally, there is a white poppy version of this standard bloom with the same black markings.
      Over the years some poppies have cross pollinated and the pink poppy has evolved. It is one of my favorite flowers. And the pink poppy is one of my most beautiful floral photos.
      Years ago, our neighbors in Buffalo had gorgeous orangish red poppies and let me take pictures of them for several seasons. On what would be the last season to snap

these beauties, they said to go ahead because they would not be there long. True, they do have a short season to bloom. To my surprise they tore the poppy plants out of their garden for a major landscaping project. No thought of incorporating these delicate flowers in their new gardens.
Friends of ours in Eden, New York, have the standard orangish red poppies growing along the length of one of their outbuildings. It was another place I would go to enjoy these delicate blooms and take pictures. We both grew up on the same country road in Derby, New York, where their family had the orangish red poppies lining a corner of their property at the road's edge for all to enjoy.
It has been a lifetime appreciation of the traditional and non-traditional poppies in upstate New York, Wichita, Kansas and Tulsa, Oklahoma, that have caught my eye. Here are some for you to enjoy.

The Hawthorne Tree...

Springtime reminds me of our upstate New York home where flowers bloomed from early spring through summer to late fall. Our yard was a delight from the garden along one side of our driveway to the rock garden on the side of the hill as we walked to the front door, to the edges of our lawn up against and into the wooded areas of our country property.
This garden along side our driveway was mostly a spring and summer garden. Low

growing flowering bushes were the buffer between the flowers and ground covers and the mature lilac bushes were backed by Locust and Maple trees. It was so beautiful that it was the photo spot for every family celebration for many years, even though those were the days of black and white film.
      In the late 50s and early 60s, as we drove though the countryside my mother would point out various blooming trees and bushes but the dogwood in bloom always took her breath away. From time to time she would pull to the side of the road, snip a dogwood branch and take it home to enjoy. At that time it was illegal to cut or disturb dogwood trees in their native state. She would shush us when we mentioned this.
      Many of our horticultural delights were given to us from other gardeners or came on the wind. But Mom would put in some bulbs; plant a lilac or rhododendron bush, a clematis and wisteria vine, or a hawthorn tree.
      Ah, yes, a hawthorn tree. Mom had two. One was on the top of our hill and she could see its medium fuchsia blossoms from our living room picture window. The smaller pale pinkish one was planted off to the side of our driveway on a flat area my parents had filled in over the years. It was used for an overflow parking area and at the edge it sharply angled down to a small brook.
      Out of the way she thought. And for many years it was babied, watered and left undisturbed. It was an unusual pale pinkish color for that variety of tree and that part of the country. Several friends and neighbors would comment on how pretty the blooms were. Later I learned Mom had planted it so that she could see it from the kitchen window as she cooked or washed dishes.
      The year I learned to drive was not a good year for that tree. We had two cars. One was a fairly lightweight 1956 Chevy station wagon and easy to stop. The other was a big heavy 1953 Packard sedan that nearly took both feet on the brake, no matter what your age and driving experience.
      One evening as my Dad and I returned from an errand in the Packard, I turned into the driveway a bit too fast. To my surprise we had company and their car was in my anticipated parking spot. Not wanting to hit their car and crash both cars into the garage, my youthful split second thinking saw the open lawn with the hawthorn tree. Yes, I stopped before going over the edge of the knoll, but not in time to save the tree.
      Mom shed tears over that tree, like losing a friend. I shrugged it off, glad that I had saved the day. But when I was older, and had my own gardens with special plants and shrubs I finally could feel my mother's sadness at loosing her special hawthorn tree.
      The wonders and beauty of nature feed the soul. My family appreciated those everyday treasures so many take for granted. Nature gives so freely and my mother always knew this and cherished nature for her gifts, especially the gifts of any garden.

A View From The Woods...

The woods call our name. We grew up next to the most beautiful woods. It was and still is mostly soft Maple trees. Its floor was and still is covered with a carpet of myrtle. Every spring and well into any given upstate New York summer, the myrtle's violet flowers are there for all to see. Their lush bluish green leaves last through to the frost and some seasons until the first snow.
Since I have left my hometown area, all though I visit often, there has never been a woods quite like this one. Some of its uniqueness is its floor is covered with a carpet of myrtle. It was a deliberate but lazy gardener approach to get this myrtle into these

woods. Over the years many had commented at how that myrtle took over the area and had grown down the slight descending hillside of this wood's topography.
      As the story goes, my Aunt Grace began the myrtle by bringing snips of it from an estate where she had worked as a teenager. Over the years, our extended family gave her the credit for this floral display. Years later I commented on this phenomena to my mother.
      She smiled her "cat that swallowed the canary" smile and laughed. I asked, "What?"
      It was then that she told me that she had taken snips of the myrtle from the original grouping of myrtle and planted them through out the woods. And, unbeknownst to my aunts and grandmother, my mother had also planted snips that she had found in other gardens over the years all through the woods.
      As my mother told me, while laughing in amusement, most of her sisters were not really seasoned gardeners. Or, they would have known that a few clumps of myrtle could not have initially covered the floor of these woods in the years it took to cover it. The mystery of how such a lush concentration of the myrtle was solved. And nature's living artistry from my mother's hands was revealed to me.

More Woods and Much More Myrtle...

Years later, after we had grown up and written about our woods, a dear friend and mentor, Marj, shared her myrtle in the woods story with me. Being from North Carolina, she had her moments adjusting to the northern climate.
The first year she was in her new home, on the road that ran into ours, she went for a visit to her North Carolina hometown. North Carolina's winter is never cold enough to stop the year round growth of many plants that die in northern winters

only to grow again in the spring, especially myrtle. To her, this was a plant of her birthplace. She wanted to take it north in the hopes it would transplant and be a bit of her southern home at her northern home.
      Her family dug up a sprig of it for her, and lovingly wrapped it in a container with water for transport. She diligently guarded it as she bussed north.
      Successfully transport it she did. Through the winter she babied it and kept it alive until she could plant it outside in the spring. When it was warm enough to plant, she looked for the right place on the edge of the woods nearest to her house.
      To her surprise, on the hillside acreage there was a carpet of myrtle growing down to the creek below. For years she would laugh as she told this detailed story how she had been protective then meticulous with this one small plant. She had thought it was her one chance to start a small bed of her beloved myrtle. Only to discover the floor of her woods, and ours, was covered with myrtle.
      How did this happen. How did her woods get covered with myrtle, too?
      Her new home had been owned by close family friend of ours who spent their summers at their cottage, now her year-round home. And, in those summers they kept adding to the myrtle the wind and birds had brought to their hillside, with snips of our myrtle for their woods. Mystery solved.

And, And, And...

Our woods has become my parents' final resting place. This evolved when my mother passed. We had family cremation plots. Still we were hesitant. Our parents were traditional in some ways but unconventional in others.
A graveyard just did not seem to be for them. The deciding factor occurred when we went to pick up Mom's things at the nursing home. A week before her passing, she had drawn a picture of the woods where she had played as a child and lived next door to as an adult. She had seventy years of walking through those woods. Her rough hand-drawn picture seemed to lead us.

      We placed Mom's ashes in the woods, in an unmarked spot. When my father passed a year later, almost to the day, we put his ashes next to hers. They had been separated for years due to his Alzheimer's and various illnesses, but they were soul mates and their love remained in tact. When her passing was imminent we had asked her where we should have Dad rest. She said next to her.
      They both rest there with the sunshine on their special place year round, a blanket of snow in the winter and myrtle spring, summer and fall. The Maple trees in full leaf have birds singing in their branches, and the gentle winds rustle the leaves in a soothing whisper. And both rabbits and squirrels scamper with no restraint.
      They chose it in their lifetime of unspoken love for this woods.

Is There A Woods Calling Your Name?...

      "Each of us has a holy place."
      According to a minister friend, my hometown woods are mine. All though, many who know me well might argue that any beach any where is holy to me. But the woods is soul food, too!
      What is your holy place? Is there a woods, a garden, or quiet place that feeds your soul?

The Lazy Gardener's Picks...

      As well you know, anything that is easy to grow and can take on a life of its own is this lazy gardener's pick. Lets name some...azaleas, ajuga, crocus, chrysanthemums, dogwood, daffodils, hyacinths, iris, magnolia trees, moss roses, myrtle, narcissus, pansies, petunias, pachysandra, rhododendron, and tulips.

Azaleas, Azaleas, Azaleas**...

      Every spring, wherever azaleas grow they are luscious.
      My first real encounter with endless miles of azaleas was going in and out of Austin, Texas, on their interstates. Previous to this, the city had a beautification project that included the planting of these gorgeous deep fuchsia/purplish azaleas.
      White azaleas remind me of a wedding dress and are almost translucent in the Little Rock metro area. And the colors are splendid everywhere this spring bush blooms. They are easy to plant, hardy, and maintain and grow in full and partial sunshine. The fact that many can and do grow as high as the first story of a house attest to this.

The Mystifying Dogwood Blossom**...

Dogwood trees are in this group of lazy picks, since they, too, continue to bloom every year with little or no work once they have taken hold. As with the azaleas, they can thrive in both full and partial sunlight. Like the Magnolia tree (see below), it can get higher than many homes, and like the azalea, it can cross pollinate and give its new growth seedlings different colors if planted next to dogwood of different colors.

      Also, most whites are usually about the same shade of white although there are some who grow next to pink dogwood that eventually take on a faint pink shading. Some white dogwood have had even stronger cross pollination than those with the slight change in shading. When this happens, the new dogwood blossoms have taken on pronounced pink strips.
      Additionally, the dogwood is known for its interesting legend. It is said that the wood from dogwood tree was used for the cross when Christ was crucified. As the legend goes, from that time on the rugged wood of this tree became very thin. And the flowers have the reddish tinges at the edge of all four petals to represent the blood of Christ.

The Magnificent Magnolia Trees**...

      Another joy to a gardener's heart is the Magnolia tree. Mostly found in the south, they are like azaleas and dogwood in their durability. The leaves of this tree show they are from the Rhododendron family. Their soft and intricate white blossoms remind many of a spring wedding dress. And, when in full bloom they have a gentle lemon fragrance.
      Again, easy to maintain, some grow as high as the second and third stories of many buildings. As with the azalea, they have their leaves well into fall for a backdrop for shorter blooming plants. In some climates their dark green leaves remain year round.
      All azalea bushes, and dogwood and magnolia trees will grow with nothing but nature's sunshine with decent soil and plentiful rainfall and some additional water the first few years. Unless it is an unusually dry season or a drier climate, then you will need to water through the spring and summer to keep them from dying off. And, some would say you should give them plant food made for them. This may be necessary if you do not have rich soil. It is an option if you want larger blooms and if you want these bushes and trees to grow faster than nature will grow them.
      Happy gardening!

*Garden In My Heart appeared in Birds & Blooms, Feb./March 2002
**Azalea bushes and Magnolia trees can benefit from plant food that will feed both of them, like the Miracle Grow brand especially formulaed for them.