A SEATTLE SPRING AND THE DISCRETE CHARM OF SUBTLE PLANTS

Like no other season, spring is an immutable reminder of the onward tread of time, of balance, and of renewal.  Spring’s promise is like a tune or phrase from a song lodged in your mind* – it is always there. The newness but also the predictability of spring is unparalleled.  Leaves will never be greener; they are sometimes even chartreuse. The first blush on the huckleberries, heucheras, hebes, pieris, heathers, and barberries will never be more delicately pink or peach.  The Japanese maples, ferns and hostas spring back to life with renewed vigor as their crinkled leaves stretch and unfold as their color changes.  The inconspicuous flowers and berries, the subtle gradations of color, and multiple leaf varieties are forever fascinating. As the first daffodils and then tulips emerge, my relief that winter is finally over is palpable.

Green Lake near my house is always a harbinger of all that is to come as the mallard ducks, coots, and Canadian geese pair off and reproduce. Their adorable offspring teeter back and forth in the grass, and learn to swim, closely monitored by their mothers. (Although geese form lifelong partnerships, most ducks are “seasonal” mates.)  The fishermen and women start to line  the banks, the charming free poetry writer, Melanie, sets up her stand, the lone heron poses in solitary splendor, the bird watchers stand in clusters to watch for red-winged blackbirds and eagles, and the turtles come out whenever it is sunny to bask on a log near the shore.

I walk around the lake almost every day, and find new things to see every time – the wounded goose gamely making his way along with his flock, the eagle in the top of a tree, the homeless fellow who feeds the ducks, the different folks who also walk regularly.  After a while you nod, wave or smile at them as they become a familiar part of your walk. Most beautiful, I think, are the blooming trees, particularly the 60 white cherry trees which line both sides on a short portion along the path, the English daisies multiplying in the vast swathes of grass, and the American white elm, giant sequoias, bald cypress, and coast redwood — some of the 150 different kinds of trees at Green Lake.

The usual events of spring and summer are finally back.  The University District Street Fair has come and gone, as well as Memorial Day weekend’s Folklife.  Father’s Day weekend is the Fremont Solstice Parade and Fair, followed by any number of other fairs and festivals, culminating with Bumbershoot on Labor Day weekend.  Once the 4th of July is over, summer really begins in Seattle and most of the hard work is done.  All you have to do is water your garden while trying not to contemplate the atrociously high water bills you will be paying all summer long.

Statistically, this April was the “third coldest April on record and also the 10th wettest” in Seattle. The first 2 weeks of May were the “4th wettest first two weeks of May in 78 years.” The last 2 weeks weren’t any better. Now, it is official:  it was the wettest May since 1948. June has set records as well. Snowpack watchers are ecstatic, but gardeners and outdoorsy types are not as enthralled.  Admittedly, shrubs, trees, and perennial  plants are flourishing because of the rain, although anyone who couldn’t resist putting out tomato plants in April is in for a problematic tomato season. Time to think about green tomato chutneys.  We have, thankfully, had some unexpected, intermittent sunny and warm breaks.  Those of us who must garden rushed out during weather breaks to do all of the usual spring tidying up — cutting back ferns and hardy fuchsia, moving plants around to fill in bare spots, and replacing shrubs which didn’t make it through the winter.  I must admit that I go out at least once each day to survey the garden and make sure no damage from slugs, animals, or construction workers has been done, a garden death march of sorts. This year, the construction workers who park along my west parking strip have been the most destructive, stomping over plants and watering apparatus, leaving garbage and, most delightfully, their full pee bottles.

The yearly resurgence of hidden away or fraying plants is always mysterious and beautiful to watch unfold. The broken promises of decimated plants caused by an unseasonable and harsh cold patch this winter resulted in the abrupt death of 3 of my hebes, a large flax, and my ‘Badja Peak’ Mint Bush (Prostanthera Cuneata).  A large sage and a potted daphne ‘Perfume Princess’ barely made it. My usually reliable fellow who comes once a year at the end of February to prune did so while I was on the East Coast.  For some reason, in the interest of revealing the trunks, he practically decimated my 3 very large, magnificent rosemary bushes in the front parking strip. After I came back and saw the destruction in addition to other significant pruning curiosities, I expressed a certain amount of dismay. He assured me they “were like weeds and would grow back.”  If they do grow back in my lifetime, I’ll be happy but I have my doubts.  Note to self:  Never be away at the end of February.

I am enamored of all kinds of interesting foliage. Years ago, I went through a variegated leaf phase which rendered parts of the garden a speckled, busy mess.  Thankfully, some of those shrubs and trees have reverted back to green which has helped to calm the landscape.  Restraint with unusual foliage needs to be judiciously thought out, something I don’t always do.  In fact, it always helps to draw out a plan, a design, to help you imagine the form, color, and effect. Resisting the temptations of our various garden nurseries is not easy, and contributes to unplanned additions to the garden. The question of where to put another wonderful plant you couldn’t resist is difficult but not insurmountable. After moving a few plants around, you can usually make room for another.

In the spring, I’m in a constant state of planting, moving pots around, and bringing out the garden paraphernalia – the eleven wind chimes, the chair cushions and umbrellas, the blown glass globes, the water fountain pot. Every year I vow to buy only perennials and no annuals and every year I succumb to something different in the way of annuals, both shade and sun loving, to bring some instant color into dark corners or just because something about them appealed to me. I dig up the most unattractive weeds and leave those I have decided to find appealing (there is no way, apparently, to get rid of alstroemeria or violets) since I’m not in the mood to further ruin my back by obsessive weeding. I wait impatiently for the tulips to die back and wither up so I can get rid of the brown stalks and leaves.

This is the time of year when the dreaded, immovable violets are most attractive, but a new invasive bulb seems to have moved in as well – Ornithogalum umbellatum (Star of Bethlehem).  These white starry bulbs are quite pretty but seem to be spreading throughout the garden.  Just a few years ago, I noticed one clump but now there are quite a few.  I’ve gotten to the point where I have come to accept the many garden imperfections that used to bother me tremendously.  Whether out of laziness or wisdom born from experience, I now find these imperfections acceptable and even attractive. Books are written on how age makes you increasingly more accepting of many things you had previously deemed unacceptable — from behavior to weeds. Life is too short to worry about occurrences which you can’t really do anything about.

Self-seeding perennials like verbena bonariensis, mullein, foxglove, love-in-a-mist, lady’s mantle, and linaria are my favorites for surprise plants since they pop up here and there without explanation and help to fill in the blank spots caused by extreme cold weather. My ornamental oregano, (origanum rotundifolium ‘Kent Beauty’), was severely cold damaged but seems to be making a comeback.  On the other hand, the many different kinds of heuchera are all thriving and are actually more colorful and bursting with energy than usual.

My common lilac, Syringa vulgaris, didn’t have many blooms this year.  It continues to fight its way through the bamboo hedge and is now up to the second floor of the house.  Perhaps its struggle for light has depleted its blooming capabilities.  The Korean dwarf lilac, on the other hand, has profuse blooms, and its scent can be smelled from the back door.

Although you can admire gardens that have had a lot of money poured into them, I prefer gardens that are the result of the gardener’s own labor, love and creativity. Some years ago, a friend and I went to New York for a very fancy garden tour of public gardens like the High Line, the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, and Pepsico, and private gardens of hedge fund types in New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut. The private gardens were spectacular with great swathes of swaying grasses, intricately planted borders, water features, and $2,000 Italian clay pots. One of the gardens, we were told, had a million dollar a year gardening budget. Elaborate hardscape, monumental rocks, intricate fencing, expensive paths and arbors, not to mention small lakes and large ponds, are beyond the reach of most of us. In any case, if you live in the city you will usually have much smaller lots to work with which require, I think, more ingenuity.

Great estates dominate the landscape due to their sheer size, but it is frequently their less conspicuous elements that intrigue and captivate. I was recently on Bainbridge Island, and went to the Bloedel Reserve for the first time – it reminded me very much of our own Arboretum – but I was most impressed with the formidable display of black mondo grass, a nice example of the effectiveness of mass plantings.

Repetition in gardening is effective and pleasing to the eye when there is a moving swath of grasses or daylilies, for example, rather than just a static row, hence the use of such plants mixed in with more symmetrical forms. Most Seattle city gardens are too small to pull off this dramatic effect on a large scale, but any small garden can assemble 3 to 5 grasses, judiciously displayed in front of a lime green spirea and a red-leafed barberry and notch up the rhythm and grace of a garden. If you have acreage, you can extend your vision and dedicate more space to visual drama.

Drama in small gardens can be captured if you are so inclined.  I tend to like some exotic and unusual plants and have had success blending them into the existing landscape. For example, my twenty or so feet of golden bamboo forms an interesting and unusual fence on one side of the house.  The drawback is that it has escaped the barrier, and I now have to deal with digging it up or poisoning the roots with Round Up. One of my favorite non-political rants is to never ever plant bamboo in the ground with only a 2 foot barrier or you are forever doomed. Even clumping bamboo eventually escapes, so keep bamboo in a pot at all costs. Large hostas can add significant impact, as do Japanese maples, smaller pines, smaller varieties of bamboo in pots, grasses, unusual ferns, heavenly bamboo, ninebark, ceonothus, and so on. More exotic plants would include gunnera, the Chinese windmill palm, schefflera, and hardy banana. Small water features with moving water — in ponds or pots — significantly enhance a garden and create a peaceful and enjoyable visual and aural treat.

Gardens are a game of trial and error, and you may not be successful on your first try when envisaging a certain shrub or tree in a particular spot.  I moved a lovely variegated leaf Japanese maple from pot to too sunny spot back to pot and finally to its final resting place in the shade, and it is now thriving. As you grow more experienced, you will have better luck with placement, but you can still make expensive and aesthetic mistakes.  Fortunately, most plants can be moved successfully – something I constantly do with smaller shrubs and perennials.  In fact, the narrower east side of my house is a repository for plants that can be easily moved – grasses, ferns, persicaria virginiana (‘Painter’s Palette’), and anything else I don’t know what to do with — and my potting table, wheelbarrow, bags of compost and potting soil.

I still have much to learn, chief among them the Latin names of plants.  I count it a rare memory coup when I can remember the Latin name, rather than just remembering the common name for a plant.  I do have a stash of every plant tag I have ever bought (with a few exceptions) divided into envelopes for different parts of the garden – north and west parking strips, front of garden, west side of garden, back garden, and pots.  I may not remember the name but once I go through my tags I can remember immediately which plant I’m trying to name.  It’s not the best system but it works fairly well unless I’ve forgotten, for example, to move a tag from the “west side of house” envelope to the “back garden” envelope.

I have an eighteen foot long row of ‘Hidcote’ lavender at the foot of the slight embankment in the front of the house. It replaced an eighteen foot long row of bearded irises when I got very tired of their minimally rewarding contribution. Bearded irises are lovely for about 5 minutes and then they start to droop and wither, and the scent is overpowering and not altogether pleasant. Every stage of lavender is a delight, however, when it is first in bud, and then when it blooms. Even without blooms, its graceful branches are attractive, and, if you deadhead after bloom, it will rebloom and give you another blast of color and scent.

Every year, I dig up and pot a number of hybrid seedlings which are the offspring of my eleven Japanese maples around the garden, and try to give them to friends who have usually already received 2, 3, or more. My friends now wearily fend off offers for more seedlings. As a result, I end up putting them on the curb where less jaded Japanese maple recipients eagerly scoop them up. I have 4 fairly large maples in pots which I hope to keep healthy and growing for at least a few more years, and they are a nice feature in the garden, helping to separate parts of the back garden and providing some shade. I never tire of looking at their intricate leaves as they grow and change color. (If anyone reading this post would like any seedlings, please let me know.)

Three favorite, but non-discrete, spring blooming plants I love are shown below — peonies, Siberian irises, and poppies.

Now that it is summer, we have finally had some hot, sunny days. At Green Lake, the exhibitionists are out in force. A couple of days ago, I spotted a middle-aged, tanned, very slender man wearing a miniscule Speedo with a wool cap on his head strolling down the path towards me. There was the goth woman striding around the lake in 87 degree heat in a heavy wool floor length black cape held fast by red frog buttons, black boots, and a black fedora. There are countless stages of undress in both men and women, the rollerbladers dart dangerously in and out of clumps of people, and the ducklings and goslings are almost as large as their parents, albeit fluffier.

A few days ago I had to cut back several shrubs which have enjoyed a major growth spurt during our last rainy weeks. I also had to finally tackle what is possibly my least enjoyable household task — re-programming and re-attaching the 7 timers which operate the garden watering system, and fixing any broken hoses and clogged sprinklers. It took over 4 exasperating days, but is now done with, to my great relief. The watering of my 60 pots of shrubs, trees, and perennials is another matter — that I have to do by hand every day or other day depending on the temperatures.

On the last day of spring this year, I was in the back garden and was struck by a lovely scent. At first I thought it was the rose, but then realized it was the daphne. Seemingly overnight, it had bloomed in force, although it blooms sporadically throughout the year. That sweet scent will soon be followed by the jasmine and then the lilies. The end result of all this gardening work is a great deal of pleasure and contentment. Subtlety in the garden, as in most human endeavor, is rewarding.

And so it goes.

(Disclaimer: I am not a photographer, but hope you find these iPhone photos illustrative of individual plants’ delicate qualities. They were all taken this spring, our rainiest in a very long time, in my garden, with the exception of Green Lake and the Bloedel Reserve.)

Cover photo: ‘Sally Holmes’ climbing rose.

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*The song currently stuck  in my head is Gregory’s Porter’s jazzy Hey Laura. May it stick in yours too.