The all-American front yard

Should look like this as far as I’m concerned.


Or this. Or any other configuration that ‘s interesting and abundant rather than pinched and pedicured. That’s what I’m celebrating on this glorious 4th of July weekend.

I am thankful that I did not inherit a front lawn from the former owners of our property. Or a back lawn. Or, indeed, a pitiful little strip of side lawn. What I got wasn’t perfect, but at least it demonstrated that there are other ways to dress a house than with a patch of turf and some foundation shrubs.

As I walk around our neighborhood (where these images were taken), I see more and more people gardening in their front yards rather than merely maintaining them. This way of thinking differently about the front yard—as a vegetable garden, a rock garden, a place for interesting ground covers, grasses, and/or native plants—has spread throughout Buffalo and its suburbs, as well as throughout America.

If your idea of the perfect front yard includes turf, I think that’s cool too. What bothers me is the idea of people choosing it because it is the conservative or acceptable choice—or, horrors, because it’s all they’re allowed to do.

As we celebrate our freedom, I think we should find more ways to express that freedom in our gardening.

The slippery slope

Now is the time when the early summer garden starts to harden into the midsummer garden. Fewer if any new plants are emerging and the fresh lush look of the garden begins to dissipate just a bit. Sure, there is plenty to look forward to in the way of flowers, but for the most part all the plants are out. I no longer have to worry about squashing a baby coreopsis or vebena bonariensis as I thread my way though the sunny bed.

But this is not a time to relax vigilance. The garden looks good—well, as good as it can without a total redesign—so I tend to neglect certain tasks that are very important. Sure, I pull weeds, but many of the small ones are hidden behind other foliage. They all have to go. I also need to do the second fertilization of the roses and deadhead ALL the seedheads, not just “enough.”

The pansy containers in the front still look OK, but now they must be replaced. And the wisteria has to be cut back hard. And maybe the viburnum should be pruned. Maybe. The most distasteful task of all—cutting back my neighbor’s voracious silver lace vine, which has jumped the fence and climbed up out utility pole—is another must.


I don’t really feel like doing any of these things. I’d rather enjoy my martagon lilium (top) and another fine color clash (above): yellow heliopsis and magenta clematis.

Help us pick the date

Jim/Art of Gardening and I have been discussing the timing of our garden bloggers’ get-together in Buffalo in 2010. Should it be during the actual weekend of Garden Walk Buffalo, or not? On the one hand, it would be glorious for all you bloggers to see Garden Walk in action—and you would have access to all the 300plus gardens. It is a very exciting weekend in Buffalo. We would likely include all of Friday in the event, so we'd have a non-Walk day; during Sat-Sun, you'd tour the Walk by day and we'd gather in the evenings.

On the other hand, we’d have more time together as a group if we did the Buffalo event sometime before Garden Walk, where some of the Walk gardens would be available and we could do other excursions, as well, in a less hectic atmosphere (Garden Walk gets thousands of visitors).

Jim has put together a very simple poll for this. If you think you might come to the Buffalo event next year, please take the poll. It will be very helpful!!

And email us with your thoughts too, if you’d like: BuffaloFling(at)yahoo.com. Or comment here. Jim and I will look at everything and make a decision very soon.

Two firsts

One is a first I have every year, but with a twist. The other is a first I have never had since I started gardening.


Every June, I hail the first of the martagon lilium. There is a nice clump still in bud in the usual side bed, but last fall I also planted some Mrs. Blackhouse (lured by end-of-season sales at Old House Gardens!) in the front hosta beds. Sure enough, here is one coming up right through a hosta (top). I love the color. They still have that … unusual martagon fragrance. I have some more but I can see they won’t put up a flower stalk this year. Martagons don’t sometimes; they like to wait.


While volunteering at Urban Roots—helping customers with plant citing and behavior advice—I got bored during the slow times and picked out 3 little heirloom tomato plants. I allowed these to languish in their root-bound state (they were leftover to begin with) and finally planted them in my rose/lily/perennial bed, pretty much at random. But here is the first little tomato. Will it thrive or perish? Stay tuned.

GWI stylin’ the roses

Hey, thanks Gardening Gone Wild, for giving me something to post about. There is a great early summer garden in progress here, but with no big developments over the past week or so. I thought I’d said pretty much all I had to say about roses this year, but along comes GGW with a rose photo contest. Of course I have no expectation of winning, but I do have ideas about photographing roses and I love photographing them. Who doesn’t?

Roses are both easy and difficult to photograph. From any distance the bush form is not that interesting and the flowers tend to look like colored blobs. They’re not like the field of poppies or the swaths of salvia we photographed in Chicago. Close-ups, on the other hand, tend to be quite beautiful; one catches the whorled intricacies of the petals, and sometimes, you can almost smell the strong, clear fragrance.

But I don’t always like taking close-ups of flowers. I like to photograph my garden as a garden, and show the flowers in context of the garden structures and other plants that surround them. One has to take close-ups to show flower details, but I try to always show context as well, if I can.

For these rose photographs, first I took the unknown red climber that was in place when we purchased the house. It could be either Don Juan (1958) or Dublin Bay (1976); it blooms in trusses and the double blooms take a classic hybrid tea shape, maturing from medium to deep scarlet, with some blackening. They last quite long, sometimes even drying right on the canes. There is sporadic rebloom, right into November.


First (at top) you see the rose in its bed, silhouetted against the house—its best angle. Then (above), you see a small cluster I brought into the kitchen, against some curtains that look well with orange or red flowers.

My third image is of the Blush Noisette (Rosier de Phillippe Noisette, 1817). This delightful light pink double is said by all sources to be the first noisette. For me it is a tall shrub—almost a climber form—that needs support and protection against the winter months. It blooms profusely throughout the season, ending in late October. I like to overwinter it in the root cellar, as I don’t want to take any chances of killing it—it’s zone 6-9.


A small rose, Blush Noisette demands the close-up, but I have tried to show some deeper pink buds and the way it matures into lighter shades. It’s the first rose I bought and my favorite.

Demolition by neglect doesn’t always work

There are quite a number of plants I’ve let die on purpose, but neglecting plants doesn’t quite have the same effect as neglecting buildings. Those you can count on to fall to bits if you don’t maintain them. Plants will thrive in spite of you.

I’ve lamented and dissected my love/hate affair with roses over and over here—but it is June, it is rose season, and after I’m done you won’t be hearing it for eleven months. It’s just that I am never sure what they’re going to do from year to year. Will they die back too far over the winter? Will they get mildew or blackspot? Will they be attacked by the dreaded midge or maybe Jap beetles?

Now here are two roses that I’ve rung the death knell over several times. The red climber at top died back to the ground a few years back. I never thought I’d see it again and didn’t much care. Here’s my chance to reinvent this bed—without roses—I thought. I ignored it, assuming it could be pulled out once it was completely dead. But now look at it.


And then there’s this yellow David Austin (Charlotte). It was so weak and spindly for years that I’ve nearly torn it out several times. After four years it sent out one bloom. Now it seems to have decided to thrive, but I’d still like to move it, as it blocks some plants behind it. But I’m afraid to.

I feed these roses once a year, and that’s it. But there they are. Who knows what next year will bring.

Opening acts

Though my garden is primed to peak in mid–late July, just in time for Garden Walk, I do have a few noteworthy happenings before then. Not that many, because aside from spring bulbs, ephemerals, and early-blooming perennials, gardens are just getting going in June when you live around here.


I think the viburnum blooms are the first sign that things are really beginning to happen. Then the hardy geraniums and dicentra. And then the climbing hydrangea blooms. This plant has really performed splendidly here; in nearly-full shade it now almost covers 3 trellis panels and is covered in blooms. There may be a cultivar that blooms longer—I think Christopher Lloyd mentions it, but I hadn’t heard of it when I bought this one. Sorry the image is a bit blurry.


And the roses. These are definitely the days of prosecco, Veuve Cliquot, and roses around here. The falsely named totally bogus Gloire de Dijons, the real, completely awesome Abraham Darbys, the wonderful old Louise Odiers, the unknown red climber, the yellow Charlotte I have almost pulled out twice—they are delighting all comers now.


Soon, the yellow and purple perennials I’ve tried to introduce and make dominant will bloom forth, as well as all the lilies, but I’m enjoying these bursts of color in what is still largely a green garden. This is by way of being a Bloom Day post, a tradition started by Carol/May Dreams Gardens.