The Smell of Happiness

Another entry I forgot to post. Oops.

The Arbor Day Foundation sent me some free forsythia with my order of dwarf cherries. So despite having a broken leg, I dared to disobey doctor's orders and take up a shovel. In the middle of planting, I noticed a tree that I couldn't name.

Recently, identifying neighborhood flora has become something of an obsession with me. I'm trying to figure out what kind of forage is available for the bees month-by-month. So naturally, I clipped a twig and went to The Arbor Day's online field guide.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find it in the guide. Maybe it was because the leaves were still too small, but I had trouble answering the guide questions.¹ I was about to give up when I happened to peel the bark and a whiff of root beer and menthol surprised my nose. It wasn't sassafras, because I'd know those mitten-like/dinosaur-print shaped leaves anywhere.

Sassafras illustration from Wikipedia
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sassafras

No, it was sweet birch, and its fragrance hinted at some sunny activity in the fringes of my memory. I don't know what it is -- maybe a  picnic, a walk in the woods, I don't know. I can't remember exactly what happened, but I know this secret scent of a nearly forgotten delight. It's there "filling me up with rainbows" to borrow an expression from my son. It reminds me of the description of Wendy's mother from Peter Pan.

“She was a lovely lady, with a romantic mind and such a sweet mocking mouth. Her romantic mind was like the tiny boxes, one within the other, that come from the puzzling East, however many you discover there is always one more; and her sweet mocking mouth had one kiss on it that Wendy could never get, though there it was, perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner.”

For a few weeks, the memory (or lack of it) nagged and nagged at me. I couldn't place it. Couldn't file it away neatly where it should go. It was just there, just out of reach -- fresh and green, wayward and flighty. But now I've come to prefer it that way.

At the risk of sounding like sour grapes, maybe the memory isn't so great after all, or it might be more indelibly printed into my brain. However, whatever it is, I've begun to think that recall might come too close to possession or cataloguing. Trying to hold on to it or bring it up at beck and call might make the magic fly away like Peter Pan. As it is, I'm happy to let myself be beautifully, enchantedly happy that something this wonderful exists.
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¹ If you were wondering why the leaves were so small when we're already into summer, it's because I started this post back in May. Of course, the leaves are full-size now.

Getting the Nursery Ready

The daffodils have barely
come up, but here is some
sunshine for the winter weary!

The weather is warming up, and I actually found dandelions! in the yard last week! The sunny days make me feel like a pregnant woman in her last trimester. Every day until my bees arrive feels like it's both taking forever and whizzing by.

Like any expectant mother, I'm busy preparing the nursery. Specifically, I've started working on getting the garden ready for my 20,000 (give or take a thousand) babies.

I sense that the previous owners of our house weren't really plant people, and we have very little in the way of forage for our anticipated arrivals. Can bees fly and find nectar? Yes, they can, but I still want them to have some snacks close to home.

A few weeks ago, I had enormous plans to put in three new beds in the front yard and two new beds in the back. Since then, though, I've come to my senses and will instead focus on the existing garden beds and put in only one (maybe two) new gardens in the backyard.

Since time (and my back) are of the essence, I'm going to try something different this year in creating a raised bed. I saw a brilliant idea online that used straw bales in order to create a garden border. The interior of the garden border is then filled in (kind of like a lasagna garden) with the layers of:

1. Cardboard or newspaper to kill the grass
2. Organic matter (table scraps, lawn clippings, leaves, cut brush, paper, eggshells, etc.)
3. Compost
4. Soil
5. Mulch

As stuff decomposes, the garden will sink, but I'll just keep topping it up.

Additionally, I thought I'd use Joel Karsten's straw bale gardening approach to claim the space the bales are taking up as well. (You can hear Mr. Karsten explain straw bale gardening in the video below. His segment starts around 0:55.)

So the straw bales arrived at my house on Friday. They smelled so wonderful -- I became giddy and started laying them out immediately.

It was beautiful how quickly I could create a garden space. Waaaaaaay better than digging. (Digging is for chumps!) However, what Mr. Karsten failed to mention is that messing about with straw is itchy, scratchy work. Also, the straw wants to go everywhere. It was in my hair, my shirt, my pant legs, even in my undergarments. Also, I quickly discovered something new about me; in the last two years, I've developed a serious allergy to straw. I broke out in a fiery, stinging rash in every conceivable place. And I have 20 bales sitting right there in the backyard. Oh, the irony.

Still all things considered, if this works, I may consider ordering more bales this fall because it was fast and easy. I'll probably have to slather on the Benedryl like sunscreen. Or maybe I'll just take a bottle of it out there and pop a sports cap on it. Ah, diphenhydramine -- the new thirst-quencher!

The bales are soaking, and I'm still working on layer 2 -- filling up the bed with organic matter, but I figure I'll be done in a week or so, and then I can finish up and plant! Just in time for my new babies.

Layer #2 in progress

Signs, Signs, Everywhere There's Signs

Several years ago, on a sunny April day, I was digging in the flowerbeds, and I unearthed a number of dormant, burrowing-type bees. Honestly, they kind of freaked me out, so I just threw dirt back over them and went inside for a shower and lemonade.

My tree isn't blooming yet this year, 

but here is a photo of it from 

a couple
springs ago. Maybe this guy is

looking for honey?

A few weeks later, our cherry tree burst into flower, and (it seemed to me) the bees sprang out of their winter garden beds on the same day and started buzzing about the tree. I was amazed and impressed at how nature worked it out so that the events would coincide so beautifully. Every year since that, I've looked forward to watching the phenomenon occur on a regular cycle.

Last week, I was delighted to discover that there is actually a branch of science called phenology that looks for just these sorts of phenomena. It comes from the Greek root "phaino," meaning "to show" or "to appear." Literally, it is the study of things that appear, the study of signs. It's focused on recurring plant and animal life stages (like budding, leafing, flowering, fruiting, the emergence of insects, and migration) and the timing of these stages with relationship to weather and climate.

Applied practically, phenology can help you know when to start weeding, planting, pruning, fighting insects, look for migrating birds or fish. One terrific example of a phenological observation/tip comes from Felder Rushing, a former horticulturist from Jackson, Mississippi. He puts it this way: "When fishermen are sitting on the riverbank instead of sitting on their bait buckets, the soil is warm enough to plant."

The table below provides some more advice from the University of Wisconsin Extension:

Do this...	When...
Plant peas	Forsythia blooms
Plant potatoes	The first dandelion blooms
Plant beets, carrots, cole crops, lettuce and spinach	Lilac is in first leaf
Plant bean, cucumber, and squash seeds	Lilac is in full bloom
Plant tomatoes	Lily-of-the-valley plants are in full bloom
Transplant eggplant, melons, and peppers	Irises bloom

Additionally, indicator plants like saucer magnolia, lilac, chicory, and Canada thistle can tell gardeners when certain garden pests will be active. Gardeners who know how to read the signs can take steps to protect their plants and fruit.

There is even a national network comprised of various agencies, educational and scientific organizations, as well as backyard observers, dedicated to collecting phenological data.

In the past, I've always just looked at the color-coded charts on the back of seed packages to determine when something should be planted. However, spring seems to have arrived at a different time every year for at least the past 5 or 6 years. The thought of learning to read nature's signs is very appealing to me. I like the idea of becoming more in-tune with my environment; I like the idea of learning to not just look, but to see.

The Invisible Garden

"Is this our garden?"

My younger son waited sincerely for the answer to his question. I glanced behind me at the leaf and rock filled pit where our swimming pool used to be and then at the mountains of dirt on our driveway. In all honesty, the area wasn't much of anything at the moment. Leaves, rocks, half-broken concrete pylons. Only a fool would look at the spot and call it a garden.

But my heart told me something different.

My heart whispers dreams of aromatic herbs and flowers, of red-ripe tomatoes, of nibbling succulent fruit and vegetables straight from the earth. My heart sees canned salsas, jams, and pickles lining the pantry in lovingly packed jars. It's busy planning gifts that can be shared with friends and neighbors. It sees all the things that could be -- even if they aren't there now.

"Yes, dear," I answered. "This is our garden."

*****

And now here is my secret, a very simple secret;
it is only with the heart that one can see rightly,
what is essential is invisible to the eye.

Antoine de Saint-Exupery (from the Little Prince)