by Christie Purifoy | Mar 9, 2020
Our mild winter here at Maplehurst in Pennsylvania is giving way to an early spring. Which means–I already feel behind.
In my imagination other gardeners find nothing but peace and happiness in their gardens. I find those, too. At times. But I also find a great deal of worry, stress, and general rushing-around. That probably tells you more about me than my garden.
Today, one of the first days of the year when I was really back into my garden, I felt those old familiar feelings. There’s so much to do! I’ll never get to everything! Why is my garden so out of control?
It’s one thing to feel that way at the height of summer. It’s perhaps expected that we’ll feel that way once the weeds get well and truly going. But early March? When only the tips of a few tulips are poking out of the ground? Even I knew that my thought pattern was ridiculous. Keep going this way, I recognized, and I was in for months of stress rather than joy.
That’s when it hit me: if gardening was all about the outcome, then I would go on feeling frenzied and worried and rushed. Because the perfect garden of my dreams really is beyond my limited human capacity to create.
But does that mean there’s no point? That I should simply give up? Perhaps take up some less taxing hobby?
But no. I could never do that. I will go on gardening because deep down I know that it isn’t the final “product” that matters most. In fact, a garden is never final in any way because it changes with every passing moment. The light shifts. A breeze picks up. A petal drops.
Gardening is about the process. It’s about the journey. And truly, for me, it is all about the work. It’s the tending, the cultivating, the digging. It’s dirt under my nails, and aching muscles, and a chance to get out of my head and reconnect with the earth.
Gardens are wonderful. But gardening is a daily miracle.
What a gift.
by Christie Purifoy | Mar 6, 2020
It’s one of the questions I am asked most often: what can I do about deer (or rabbits, or groundhogs, or squirrels, or …)?
And I get it. Sometimes garden making can feel like fighting a losing battle. I rarely feel a sense of deep hatred, but I admit to feeling exactly that for the groundhogs who devastated my dahlias and the deer who feasted on my baby Franklinia tree.
It’s enough to make you cry.
Sometimes it’s a matter of finding the right solution: investing in a tall fence with wire mesh buried a foot beneath the soil, for instance. You might try weekly spraying with a homemade garlic solution or growing certain prized plants–like tulips–only in high-traffic areas near the house. But more than solutions, I’ve learned that what I need most in my garden is perspective. Instead of zooming in on the “problem,” I need to take a step back and look for the bigger picture.
I might lose my lilies to rabbits, but those baby rabbits are the cutest things in my yard. Japanese Beetles are an annual nightmare, and I will never forgive them for eating up my rosebuds, but there’s no getting rid of them completely. They are a fact of my gardening life. Instead, of wasting more energy on hatred, I adjust: planting more antique roses that bloom once in profusion before the beetles show up, and avoiding white roses, which they seem to particularly love.
Taking time to seek a more holistic perspective also helps me to be patient and observe the natural balancing tendencies of my garden, rather than swooping in to spray and control. I can’t have the beneficial bugs and birds in my garden if there are no pests for them to eat. I’m learning to look at some pests as a food source I actually do want in my garden.
Meanwhile, I am also planting more things in the garlic / onion / and chive families. It seems that very few animals want to have garlic breath.
by Christie Purifoy | Mar 5, 2020
A high-quality seed or plant catalog can be as helpful as a gardening textbook. The best catalogs aren’t simply trying to sell, they’re hoping to educate.
This is by no means an exhaustive list, but here are a few of my favorite mail-order sources. I’ve noted those that do an especially good job of educating their readers:
- Rare Find Nursery: This New Jersey nursery is an especially good source for a wide variety of azaleas and rhododendrons. Their growing tips are so clear and helpful, they might encourage some gardeners NOT to buy. It seems clear to me that Rare Find only wants to sell you a special plant if you have the right place for it and some knowledge of how to care for it. I discovered them when I was looking for a source for winterberry shrubs with more unusual gold and salmon-colored berries.
- B&D Lilies: Apparently, Tasha Tudor bought her lily bulbs here. Enough said.
- Seed Savers Exchange: I’ve mentioned this organization and their special catalog in many places over the years. Wonderful heirloom varieties, including their fascinating histories. I have enjoyed seeing more heirloom flowers in this catalog in recent years. Also a helpful resource for learning about seed saving: both why and how to do it.
- Brent and Becky’s Bulbs: They sell more than bulbs, but this family-owned business in Virginia is one of the best sources for quality daffodils, tulips, and other spring-flowering bulbs.
- Park Seed: I always seem to buy at least a few seed packets from this company every year. Simply put, they seem to carry the particular flower and vegetable varieties I want. When I can’t find exactly what I want anywhere else, I’m usually satisfied here.
- Bower&Branch: Gorgeous, inspiring website and catalogs. Innovative sales model. I scroll their tree listings just for fun. Each one tells the story of a tree and makes me long to find room for it around my home.
- Pinetree Garden Seeds: Great selection and amazing prices. Don’t miss this one if you are trying to grow more food or flowers for less.
by Christie Purifoy | Mar 4, 2020
What is a garden? It is our beginning, and it is our end. We were always meant to be gardeners, to be caretakers of green and fruitful places. That we originate in Eden is a truth written in the DNA of our bodies as much as it is written in our souls. We are dust and dirt. In death, we return to the ground. But what of our souls? The heaven we anticipate is a paradise, a sheltered garden. That is what the ancient stories say.
Beginnings and endings are so well defined. So crisp and sharp, you could prick your finger on them and not even mind. But we live our lives in the middle, and the middle is so often a muddle of soft gray. Not sharp enough to cut, but so easily drained of color and life, I am sometimes tempted to lie down like Briar Rose and sleep my life away.
These are the months when I feel that temptation most acutely. These soft and soggy days of late winter. Whatever snow remains is more mud than crystal. The air isn’t cold enough to invigorate, but it isn’t warm enough to cheer, either. Last summer’s garden feels as long-ago and far-away as Eden. Perhaps I only dreamed those flowers.
I need something to light a fire under the lukewarm water of these days and my familiar, late-winter despondency. I need to live a chapter rooted in my beginning that grows like a green vine toward heaven. I need to make a garden. More than that: I need a flower garden.
It won’t be Eden, and it won’t be paradise, but on certain days and at certain moments (early June, golden hour, late September at sunrise after a rain) I’ll be sure that the garden of our beginning and our end has somehow drawn near, and Eden itself will glimmer just at the edge of sight.
Will beauty save the world? I don’t know, but year after year it saves me. In late-winter, my dream of a garden is the one thing that pulls me to my feet. I shrug off despair with every tiny seed dropped in a tray of soil. I hope for heaven—I do—but that is such a far-off hope. In a garden, memories of Eden and dreams of heaven mingle, and I am finally able to say with conviction: right here, right now, here in this middle place, all is well.
And, finally: I am rooted. I am at peace. I hold joy in dirt-stained hands.
by Christie Purifoy | Mar 3, 2020
Why should you consider starting some of your garden plants from seed? Here are my top reasons for starting seeds:
- Save money: a seed packet might contain 50 zinnia seeds for the same price as one zinnia seedling from a nursery
- Variety: many unique or heirloom plant varieties can only be found as seeds
- Garden success: some plants must get an early start if they’re going to flower or fruit this season, and some seedlings are too small or fragile to thrive without a little time to grow in a protected place
Starting your own plants from seed doesn’t have to be complicated. Here are a few tips to keep in mind:
- Use what you have: recycle those plastic yogurt pots or clamshell produce containers. I use a kitchen knife to add drainage holes to the bottom of my container.
- You’ll need a tray to hold your pots. I love Perma-Nest trays (pictured above) because the heavy-duty plastic can be washed and re-used year after year.
- Your tray will need a cover: Seeds germinate best in humidity. Cover your tray with a ready-made plastic lid or dome, or use plastic wrap. Just don’t forget to remove the lid as soon as seeds germinate. Otherwise, rot and disease might set in.
- Seed starting compost: Seeds don’t need chemicals or fertilizers, but they do need a fine-textured, sterile mix, especially if the seeds are small.
- Heat: most seeds germinate best with a little bottom heat. A radiator top works, but it’s worth investing in a plug-in heating mat designed for seed starting.
- Light: a sunny, southern windowsill will do. I use inexpensive shop lights from the hardware store, strung up with chain in my basement. One cool and one warm fluorescent bulb in each light is best.
A few final tips:
- Read the seed packet carefully: some seeds need light to germinate (do not cover them with soil), some germinate quickly, and some need a good, long wait.
- Consider a soil blocker (pictured above): I love using a tool to make soil blocks. Once you’ve invested in the tool, there’s no need to buy pots, and soil blocks promote healthy seedlings through something called “air pruning.”
