piedmontgardener

I'm a gardener who also writes. Writing about gardening combines the best of both activities.

Homepage: https://piedmontgardener.wordpress.com

Summer Solstice Anticipation*

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One of the great imponderables of gardening life: Why does it take so long for the first tomato of the season to ripen? And then when it does, why does it take forever for the rest of the tomatoes to transform from hard green to juicy red?

Amidst the heavy harvest of Fortex pole beans, one Sweet Treats cherry tomato was ready yesterday. It was consumed with great ceremony at last night’s dinner — one half going to Wonder Spouse, the other to me. It was so good!

Yesterday's harvest.

Yesterday’s harvest.

But now the waiting begins in earnest. So many green tomatoes, so few signs of color change — except for yesterday’s delicious outlier. Somehow the memory of its perfect tomato flavor must satisfy us for — who knows how long?

All the tomato plants are still very actively growing. I tie new growth to the trellises daily. The undersides of my thumbnails are stained dark green from using my nails to snip off unwanted suckers as I tie my enthusiastic charges. When I wash up, the soap suds turn yellow-green from the tomato pigments that coat my hands as I groom the plants.

I’ve been doing this — growing tomatoes — for over four decades now. The routine is the same every summer. About fifteen or so summers ago, I wrote a poem about growing tomatoes. I hope you’ll indulge me as I share it with you here.

Embracing Tomatoes

There they go again.
This year I swore I’d keep them under control —
every sucker pruned,
every new shoot tied to a support.

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Just yesterday,
I thought I had them tamed.
Obediently, they clasped their cages —
yellow flowers nodding
from the weight of visiting bees.

Today, the riot is well underway.
An antigravity avalanche of green
shoots skyward, sideways, all ways —
like a group of guilty children scattering
in all directions at the approach of an adult.
I can almost hear them giggling.

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So here I am once again —
embracing tomatoes.
This is not a task for timid souls.
You must wade right into the plants,
disregarding spiders and sticky aphids.
You must show no fear as you use a firm hand
to tie them to their supports.

Emerging from the struggle,
sweaty and coated in green tomato tang,
I bow to my partners.

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Soon they will offer me heavy red globes
to transform into refreshing summer salads,
and fragrant rich sauces to freeze for winter feasts,
certain to fuel warm dreams
of summer sambas with tomatoes.

Coming soon, we hope!

Coming soon, we hope!

Happy Summer, everyone. May the fruits of your labors bring you as much delight as mine bring to me.

* I hope you enjoyed this repeat of a post from 2013.

 

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Early June in the Garden

 

Scarlet bee balm (Monarda didyma) always looks like it’s wearing a party hat when in bloom.

I always carry my camera with me when I step outside this time of year, even if I’m just walking the 100 yards to the mailbox. If I don’t bring it, some butterfly, bee, bunny, or bird does something photo-worthy that I don’t catch if I’m unprepared. These shots are what I caught today.

I spent the morning working in the vegetable garden. I needed to work longer, but the sun is ferocious, the humidity unforgiving. Yesterday, I finally harvested our first squash and first two eggplants. We ate them last night and I can report that they were delicious. Today, I picked another eggplant, decided to give a couple of squash one more day to fill out, exhorted the tomato plants bent low with the weight of green orbs to hurry up and ripen, and rejoiced in sighting the first bean flowers on all three varieties I’m growing. A little photographic documentation follows. To enlarge a photo and see its caption more easily, click on it.

To get to the vegetable garden, I travel through the front yard and pollinator gardens. Here’s a sample of what I saw today.

In the center of my front yard, the Chinese Pearl-bloom tree commands full attention as it nears peak bloom.

Chinese Pearl-bloom tree (Poliothyrsis sinensis)

We especially enjoy this time of year because of the near-daily emergence of tiny new amphibians from the front water feature. A few days ago in the early morning after a night-time shower, Wonder Spouse and I counted 25 hiding on various plants growing nearby. I suspect that most are Cope’s Gray Treefrogs, but I’ve heard other amphibians singing lustily beside the pond at night too, especially Narrow-mouthed Toads. When they are this tiny, though, I have no idea how to tell them apart.

Every day brings new discoveries, fresh food, and hard work. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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Gardeners are Time Travelers

Gardeners are time travelers. Our ties to good earth, green plants, and all the creatures that rely on them anchor our bodies while simultaneously transporting our minds through a river of time that flows both ways, forward and back. When we plant a seed or a young tree, we see in our minds what that plant will become. When we see a mature oak, its full green branches laden with acorns, our minds travel back to the time when the acorn that became the mighty oak was planted. As I plant and tend a garden, I slip into the timestream, seeing clearly the ripe tomatoes I will pick in a few weeks, ivory flowers that will perfume the air when a Bigleaf Magnolia attains blooming size, and the berry-eating birds that will flock to the holly and viburnum fruits produced by the shrubs I settle into the ground today.

Experienced gardeners and other adept readers of the land, such as ecologists, slip easily into the Green World timestream as we go about our lives. Visions of past and future landscapes unfold with our footsteps; trees and rocks whisper their stories to us.

The old tree lives at the far end of the pond near the loblolly pines.

Such was the case when I first encountered a gnarled tree with heart-shaped leaves standing stoically beside the pond of the Piedmont Patch demonstration site on the grounds of a small church in Chapel Hill, NC. The vicar of that church was eager to show me the tree because she was deeply attached to it, even though she didn’t know its identity. Her parishioners had wanted to cut it down, but she resisted the suggestion. To her, I think, it represents resiliency; despite its apparent suffering, as evidenced by gnarled branches sporting spindly green shoots and obvious dead branches, the tree had not died. The vicar showed it to me that day hoping that I would be able to give her beloved tree a name.

Heart-shaped leaves narrowed down identity options considerably, which helped. It wasn’t a redbud; leaves and branches were all wrong for those species. It wasn’t – thank heavens – an invasive non-native Princess Tree (Paulownia tomentosa).

By that time, the vicar had told me the story of the land her church occupied. It was a piece of an old farm; they use the old farmer’s home as their parish house. The small pond was part of the farm too, stocked with fish and regularly visited by local fishermen for generations. The church is committed to maintaining the pond for those fisherfolk, even supplying poles for those who care to stop by and try their luck.

As I listened to her describe the history of the pond, the puzzle resolved. I knew instantly that the gnarled old tree was a Southern Catalpa (Catalpa bignonioides). Technically native to slightly more southern states, these trees have naturalized in North Carolina, likely in part because humans have been planting them beside fishing holes for generations as bait trees.

Southern Catalpa is the host food plant for the caterpillar of a sphinx moth (Ceratomia catalpae) that is commonly called a catalpa worm. The outer skins of these caterpillars are tough enough to anchor a fish hook, and their insides emit a scent – even under water – that is catnip to catfish and other fish likely to inhabit farm ponds. Practical fisherfolk of earlier generations soon learned to plant Southern Catalpas beside their favorite fishing spots, so that bait would be handy when they got a hankering to toss out a line.

When I had my aha moment of identification, my mind carried me back to earlier times – probably at least 50 years in this case – when a time-traveling fisherman planted this Southern Catalpa because he could see that it would grow large beside the pond, be visited by moths that would lay eggs that would hatch into fat catalpa worms, providing irresistible bait for fish caught to feed hungry families.

One of the donated Southern Catalpas growing well in late May of this year.

I pointed out the tree to a fellow plantsman, who was intrigued by its story. He remembered it when he was acquiring plants at a local nursery and noticed in a corner two very pot-bound saplings of Southern Catalpa that the owners were planning to discard. He asked if he could have them, they happily said yes, and he brought them to me to plant beside the pond that has become the home of the Piedmont Patch demonstration site. Wonder Spouse helped me plant them last year, not far from the gnarled original. They are growing well, and the vicar was pleased that if her old gnarled friend succumbed to time’s travails, its tale would be carried forward by the two new trees.

Fast-forward to late May of this year, when I was visiting the site to slip in some beautiful donated plants from another nursery, lovingly dug up and delivered to me by a wonderful plantswoman who works there. I had finished my work and was taking a few photos of what was blooming on this patch of piedmont that is transforming rapidly, thanks to the addition of over 1000 native plants added this year by volunteers who support this vision of creating a sanctuary of native plants to feed and shelter local wildlife being displaced by the rapid urbanization of the region.

Piedmont Patch hive with young Southern Catalpa directly behind it and the older tree in the distance further back.

I walked down to admire the young Southern Catalpas, which now stand near a honeybee hive added this past spring – a fortuitous location, given that flowers of these trees – when they are old enough to start blooming — are beneficial to these pollinators. That’s when I noticed that the elder Southern Catalpa had more fresh leaves growing on it than I had seen since I met it two years ago.

When I approached it for a closer look, I realized it was covered in gorgeous flowers! They reminded me a bit of orchids, hanging in pendulous clusters. My mouth gaped long enough that I was lucky one of the nearby honeybees didn’t fly right in.

Southern Catalpa flower cluster

Of course, I took photos – lots of photos. When I told the vicar, she was astonished. “That tree has never bloomed!” she exclaimed. “How is this possible?”

A carpenter bee robbing nectar from the base of a Southern Catalpa flower

I can only speculate, of course, but I do have a couple of theories. My first is that perhaps the tree felt valued again when we planted two more of its kind nearby. That is an entirely subjective explanation I realize, but if you want to put a scientific veneer on it, I could offer that perhaps increasing the plant diversity of the site as a result of the Piedmont Patch project somehow enlivened the plants already growing there.

Its wings aglow, a carpenter bee drills through the base of a bloom to harvest its nectar.

My second theory has no scientific basis, but as a time-traveling gardener, I have to wonder if perhaps this tree slipped into the Green World timestream back to a time when it was more vigorous. Maybe the work of Piedmont Patch volunteers on the site carried it back to more vibrant times, causing it to burst forth in an enthusiastic flower display more typical of past decades.

The pond just before volunteers arrived on Planting Day, April 14, 2018. Note the cleared area at the end of the pond to be planted and the beehive. The nearby Southern Catalpas had not yet leafed out.

Transformation is definitely the motif of the Piedmont Patch demonstration site. Already, every day brings new wildflower blooms, new birds, and a continuous stream of volunteers bearing plants and offering labor to further the creation of this native haven. Already, it is a place of peace, beauty, and above all, hope.

Late May, 2018 shows the establishing native grasses planted a month earlier, and the common milkweeds (Asclepias syriaca) just added by a volunteer who donated them.

As I travel forward in my mind to envision this site a few years from now, I see volunteers – the Piedmont Patch Stewardship Team – tending the site. As they pull out unwanted plants and add more native species, work to eradicate nearby stands of invasive non-native species, and document the site’s continuing transformation, I see this site serving as inspiration for new piedmont patches springing up in the region. Every patch will be different – as unique as the group creating it and the site upon which it is established. But all will be growing green havens of native beauty that shelter and feed wildlife, from pollinators to birds to lizards, frogs, and cottontail rabbits.

Annual Black-eyed Susans blooming yesterday on the Piedmont Patch site.

All will be symbols of hope, refuges also for souls of weary humans who too often lose touch with their connection to the Green World. Perhaps these havens will help more of those disconnected souls regain a knack for time travel, to see what a healthy future for the region – and the planet – looks like. As a time-traveling gardener, I hold on to that hope for transformation. How can I not, when I see a seemingly dying tree burst into spring bloom, and a pond-side full of random weeds become a vibrant assembly of native grasses and wildflowers?

Annual native Gaillardia pulchella blooming on the Piedmont Patch site.

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For Earth Day: Nature is a system; embrace all of its parts

Evidence of beaver activity

On this blog on past Earth Days, I have mounted what I call my green pulpit to preach about the struggling biosphere on our beleaguered planet. Frankly, I am so discouraged by what humanity is allowing to happen these days that I almost didn’t bother to write anything today. But a recent local event motivated this post.

Beaver lodge.

Wonder Spouse and I have lived on the same wonderful five acres for 29 years. Because we live beside a perennial creek with an adjacent wetland, beavers have moved into our immediate area several times. Photos throughout this post are of the current beaver pond adjacent to our property. The transformations they manifest on the local environment are immediate and mostly wonderful.  From a human perspective, though, because they cut down and eat trees and raise water levels to flood multiple acres, they are often considered a nuisance.

About ten years ago, the last healthy 1000-acre stand of forest near our house was erased and replaced with a truly enormous subdivision full of houses packed so closely together that I am sure neighbors can hear each other with the windows tightly shut. Yards are tiny and all look alike, adhering, no doubt, to strict HOA rules. Frankly, the place gives me the heebie-jeebies.

Canada geese noisily enjoy the beaver pond.

But the California company that erected this monstrosity over fierce objections from the local community was clever. They market this massive people prison as “nature-friendly,” because they left alone small patches of forest around creeks and wetlands (where they couldn’t build houses easily anyway). They built trails through it, and I gather it is used heavily by residents. In fact, many of the residents claim they chose to live there because they are “nature lovers.”

One border of this suburban nightmare is less than a mile from my house, so it is no surprise that the creeks that run through it host a healthy beaver population. Recently, beaver activity there covered one of the expensive pedestrian bridges in their trail system, and the HOA voted to have the beavers exterminated, which created such an uproar from some of the residents that their protests gained local news coverage, and the HOA has temporarily halted their extermination plans pending further review of possible solutions to “the beaver problem.”

The beaver dam; this is the deepest area, where the Canada geese prefer to frolic.

On this Earth Day, I describe this to you because I am flummoxed by the ability of the residents of this massive subdivision to see trees but no forest. In other words, they pick and choose what bits of the natural world they like and which parts they dislike, oblivious to the reality that nature is a system of complexly interlocking parts that evolved over spans of time beyond their easy comprehension.

These residents have decided they like beavers. But these same residents team up in blocks to get a group rate on poison applications in their yards to kill ticks and mosquitoes. The poison doesn’t outright kill honeybees, but it is concentrated in their honey. More important, the poison, which is sprayed 30 feet high into the trees, also kills aquatic animals like fish and frogs (big mosquito eaters). Imagine what it likely does to nesting birds!

So on the one hand, these beaver-lovers are fighting to save the wetlands created by these industrious rodents, while simultaneously poisoning that environment, all because they want to be able to sit on their patios without being bothered by the insects that are a key food for that aquatic environment.

Caterpillars of the Viceroy butterfly eating a wetland willow tree.

These same residents trap squirrels visiting their bird feeders and release them elsewhere. This is illegal, by the way, but also demonstrates ignorance of ecology. If you remove squirrels, more squirrels will move into the vacated spaces. I guarantee it.

Another resident of this suburban monstrosity told me of the big argument she had with a pesticide company over not spraying poisons in her house. She told me that it is apparently a selling point of this subdivision that all the homes are constructed with pipes running through the walls. Once a month a pesticide company hooks up its tank of poison to the outlet to these pipes and fumigates inside the walls to kill any insect foolish enough to consider moving in.

As for ticks — which I readily admit are significant disease vectors — balanced ecosystems are less likely to be overwhelmed by them. White-tailed deer and white-footed mice are two key transporters of ticks. Both species are very happy dining on over-fertilized lawns and shrubbery and beneath messy bird feeders. Adding clusters of native shrubs that feed and shelter birds and reducing lawns in favor of, say, small pollinator gardens of flowers would help dwindling insect and bird populations and reduce the need for supplemental bird feeding except during winter months when food is scarce. Small brush piles provide habitat for birds and opossums — known by ecologists as “tick vacuums,” because when they are present, the ticks they pick up are eliminated by their meticulous grooming habits.

Frozen beaver pond.

To all these residents who moved here from elsewhere, I ask you to embrace the fact that you now live in the southeastern United States. Our mild climate means insects thrive year-round. We who grew up here know this and long ago adapted to that reality. When you attempt to kill or remove every animal that you don’t like, your choices impact more than just those target species. You hurt the environment you profess to love. You hurt the home of those furry rodents you have anthropomorphized into your friends. This is not an either-or situation. Nature is a system, an orchestra composed of myriad instruments, a chorus of many voices. The richness of the song is diminished every time you exterminate a voice. The viability of the entire system becomes more fragile every time you impose your will onto the environment that supports all of us.

On this Earth Day, I implore my neighbors to embrace all of Nature’s parts, whether or not they inconvenience you. If you can find a way to co-habit with beavers, that’s great. But if at the same time you do not protect the health of the wetlands they create by ceasing to poison and over-fertilize your yards, by replacing biologically sterile lawns with native flowers, shrubs, and trees that support wildlife, by learning the names of all the native plants, animals, birds, and insects in your environment and teaching those names to your children, then you are merely killing your beloved beavers by slower methods than those planned by your HOA.

Sunrise over beaver pond.

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Please Volunteer for April 14 Piedmont Patch Planting Day!

Planting Site (Click on it to enlarge it.)

Plans are well underway for the big Piedmont Patch Planting Day on Saturday, April 14 (rain date April 21) from 9:00 a.m. to noon. We will be planting native grasses and wildflowers on the 300-foot-long earthen dam beside the pond at the Episcopal Church of the Advocate in Chapel Hill. We’ll also be adding some plants around the shallow edges of the pond, and a few water-tolerant shrubs to offer more cover and food options for native waterfowl.

By the end of the growing season this year, the area around the pond should be teeming with blooms, butterflies, bees, birds, and other native wildlife. As the plantings mature over the next few years, they should provide permanent habitat – food and shelter – for a diverse array of native animals, stabilize the integrity of the earthen dam, and provide a place of beautiful contemplation and study that will be open to the public year-round as a demonstration of how adding a Piedmont Patch on a public or private landscape can transform the property into a haven for displaced native wildlife, and a place of beauty for human admirers.

To manifest this dream, we need as many enthusiastic volunteers as possible to help us plant around 1000 grasses, wildflowers, and shrubs of varying sizes on Piedmont Patch Planting Day. We invite volunteers new to gardening and veteran gardeners to join us on the big day. We hope to use the veterans as group leaders, who will each supervise a small group of less-experienced volunteers. Each group will be assigned a set of plants and an area to plant. We are hoping our group leaders will be able to talk about the native plants they recognize as they work with their group, so that everyone will leave with more knowledge than they arrived with. The group planting water-tolerant plants should wear water-proof shoes and be willing to get a bit muddy during the planting process. Everyone else should wear sturdy gardening clothes, closed-toe shoes with tread (we’ll be planting on the slope of the dam), and gardening gloves. Please also bring your favorite planting tools – trowels, spades, garden knives, etc.

The planting site is not ideal for younger children, but families with children old enough to safely traverse the slope and handle planting tools are invited to join us. We also welcome any Girl Scout/Boy Scout and other youth groups interested in helping to plant this site.

If you would like to volunteer for the Piedmont Patch Planting Day, please send us an email at piedmontpatch@gmail.com. Let us know if you are a veteran gardener or a newbie and how many folks you’ll be bringing. You’ll find directions to our planting site on our Web page. Please join us in creating our first Piedmont Patch!

 

 

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A Hero’s Tale: Tufted Titmouse vs. Window

Mr. Titmouse glaring at his enemy

We all know what an extraordinary February it’s been. The April-like temperatures have caused countless trees, shrubs, and perennials to begin blooming at least a month ahead of their normal schedules. The weather has also affected the birds, including this feisty Tufted Titmouse, who has been battling his reflection in our garage window for a week now. He was at it still this morning before the rain began.

We’ve had this problem before, but not with this species. The last time was 2011, when an Eastern Bluebird spent several weeks battling his image in this very same window. This window is quite high up; there is no easy way to cover it to reduce its reflectivity. The birds don’t seem to injure themselves, but I worry at the enormous waste of energy they expend doing battle with themselves to win the admiration of the attentive females that sit in the flowering apricot and watch the show. For hours. And days. And weeks.

I can hear Mr. Titmouse uttering his challenges as soon as I step out my door. It’s a very melodic whistling — not the least bit ferocious to my ear. I wonder if at that point he is calling to his prospective mate — a “Check me out, baby” come-on to draw her closer for the show.

I was unable to manage a photo of Mrs. Titmouse; she is quite shy, and as soon as her hero flies away from the window, so does she. So if I wanted a shot of him, I missed her. But trust me, she is always nearby taking in the machismo displays of the Toughest Titmouse in Town.

The battle is always the same. First, Mr. Titmouse sounds the challenge to his magnificent reflection as he sits on a branch. When he is sure his prospective mate is watching, he takes to the air and throws himself against the window, wings beating in a blurred frenzy.

After each round, he rests briefly on the window sill and assesses the interest of his lady love.

He tilts his head and sings to his lady.

Then it’s time for a brief rest between rounds, so he flies back to the nearby branch to collect himself before his next heroic display.

A motion-blurred flight back to recuperate for the next battle. And yes, the white blotch in the corner is exactly what you think it is.

In 2011, Mr. Bluebird did this for over a month. I think Mr. Titmouse will likely continue his battles until the angle of the light changes about the time of the vernal equinox. Every time I walk behind the garage — which is often — I implore Mr. Titmouse to behave more sensibly. He flies away briefly, but as soon as I’ve moved a few steps away, he returns to the battle. Whether it’s birds or humans, I’m afraid it is true that hormones and sense do not mix. The battle rages on…

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An excellent day for learning about pollinators

A full parking lot on a gray day.

Truthfully, the weather was absolutely dismal today in central North Carolina. The chilly drizzle probably felt worse than it was because yesterday it was 80 degrees here. But this morning inside the cozy Episcopal Church of the Advocate, the gathered crowd was warmly attentive as the kick-off speaker for the lecture series sponsored by the Piedmont Patch Collaborative — the deeply knowledgable Debbie Roos — shared innumerable stories and facts about the wonders that abound in pollinator gardens.

Debbie’s opening slide.

We saw beauty in the plants that varied in color, form, and texture, and in the astonishing diversity of insects and other creatures drawn to the flowers for food. We learned how critical caterpillars are to native birds that rely exclusively on them to feed their young. We asked many questions, and Debbie answered all of them.

Many questions were asked and answered.

I want to once again thank Debbie Roos for coming out on this gray, ugly day while still recovering from a nasty cold. Her enthusiasm and her spectacular photos brought sunshine to all of us despite the gloom outside.

I also want to thank Barbara Driscoll, who represented the New Hope Audubon Society, the Piedmont Patch Collaborative’s newest partner organization. The literature she brought was snapped up enthusiastically, and she even sold several of the bird boxes she brought.

Our sign-in table was busy before Debbie’s talk began.

Finally, thanks to all the folks who came out this morning to hear Debbie’s presentation. I hope you were inspired to start your own pollinator garden on your property. Every new Piedmont patch of native — or mostly native — plants is a lifeline for native pollinators and other wildlife being devastated by the rapid urbanization of our region.

Please keep checking the Web site of the Piedmont Patch Collaborative. We’ll be adding resources to help you with your own Piedmont patch projects, and we’ll be offering additional lectures and other educational opportunities at least every quarter.

We’re dreaming big and acting locally. Please join us!

 

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