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Gardeners and their Gardens

The transition between summer and fall is, for me, a bittersweet time of year. The summer flowers are fading, leaving only seed heads and dried stalks. The tomatoes and cucumbers are struggling, but, on the bright side, my hummingbird feeders are busier than ever, as my tiny visitors prepare to begin their 500 plus mile journey to Central America, where they will spend the winter months.

The next two months are the prime time for those of us here in the Midwest to plant spring blooming bulbs. The scorching heat is beginning to diminish, leaving the soil warm but workable. Light bursts of rainfall are predicted, giving enough moisture to prompt root growth. And, if you’ve visited any of the big box stores lately, you’ll see that their shelves are beginning to be filled with box after box of spring flowering bulbs ready to be planted  –  everything from tiny snowdrops to huge alliums. Most of all though, dozens of varieties of daffodils and gorgeous tulips are available.

With the wretchedly hot weather cooling down just a bit, I’ve finally been able to enjoy being outdoors again. In fact, my back deck has become the go-to place for an iced cold glass of lemonade, a pre-dinner snack and a good book. While it’s always been a relaxing space, this year it has become even more inviting because of the sound of gently flowing water and the soft, sweet fragrance of the moonflowers that have climbed to the top of the deck.

I’m embarrassed to admit this, but the first year we planted our patch of prairie in the front yard I secretly hated it. It just looked messy to me, especially with so many clumps of unruly grasses sticking up everywhere. The few scraggly flowers certainly didn’t help. Every time I looked at it, I regretted that we had put this eyesore in our front yard for everyone to see. Six years later, my regret is that our prairie is so small; I wish it covered the entire yard. Over the years, the community of plants has matured and so have I. I came to understand the functions of ornamental grasses in the landscape and to appreciate their unique beauties.

A friend and I were commiserating about our gardens over coffee the other day. I admitted that mine was quickly heading towards the late season blues and she confessed, with a tinge of embarrassment,  that she just gives up on gardening every year around this time. 

The Staff at Embassy Landscape Group

wish you a 

Happy and Safe

4th of July

The cicada Armageddon has ended here. The endless droning has subsided.  I can now walk across my yard without being attacked by miniature flying torpedoes or crunching a plethora of brown carcasses with each step.

I have definitely been enjoying the quiet and have been looking forward to a time of peace in the garden.  And then my son-in-law, the arborist, stopped by and announced, “The Japanese beetles are here, and it looks like a bad year.”  I really wanted him to be wrong, but, as usual, it appears that he was right.  They are here  –  and they are hungry.

My youngest granddaughter is an absolute ball of fire. She has boundless energy, endless curiosity and the attention span of a gnat. She seems to be everywhere at once, talking a blue streak, except when we are in the garden and the butterflies flutter in. Then she is mesmerized, standing quiet and still as a statue hoping a butterfly will land on her like it did at the butterfly house ages ago. Watching the expression on her face as she patiently stands, wishing for one to find her, makes me determined to create a butterfly paradise so, just maybe, she might get that wish.