Now that it’s officially autumn, illuminated by an exquisitely timed harvest moon, blanketed in morning fog and wrapped in the katsura’s scent of burnt sugar, I am going to have to finally let go of late summer and start calling fall by name. I’ve been sort of  stubborn about acknowledging calendar shifts (all except winter into spring – I always jump the gun on that one) but I like to think it’s just my peculiar and contrary way of making sure I remember to appreciate the current moment, no matter what its name is.

In any case, it doesn’t behoove a gardener to be too resistant to change. Nature is ephemeral and capricious after all, and we’d lose interest if it wasn’t. Our gardens teach us to pay close attention and take nothing for granted.

Just like gardening, flower arranging is an excellent exercise in letting go. Yesterday, Blakely Szosz, one of our diva volunteer flower arrangers demonstrated the tips, tricks and a few of the rules (once you know the rules, you can break them) that go into making artful arrangements. Part of the beauty of an arrangement – and part of what is so fascinating and heart breaking (just like gardening) – is that it is a living sculpture that is going to fade, wither and die. You’ve simply got to enjoy it while it lasts. And then make another. I have to admit that I don’t have a natural inclination to bring flowers in the house or make arrangements. I’d generally prefer to leave everything be (and to the bees) in the garden. But as the days get shorter, I can begin to see the appeal of bringing parts of the garden inside for an extended period of appreciation. And now my frustrated inner artist is inspired too… There’s one more flower arranging demonstration in the Autumn Splendor series next Wednesday at 11AM on the mansion’s north porch.

Do you cut flowers to bring in the house? Any particular time of year more than another? Do you create a work of art?

Even though it’s deliciously chilly, and even though the light has slanted dramatically southward, I’m still unwilling to call it fall. We’ve got another whole week before the autumnal equinox and the official start of autumn, so I insist on calling it (late) summer at least until then. The gardens will back me up I think. They are still in full swing and every day continues to be Bloom Day here. For Garden Bloggers Bloom Day (hosted by Carol at May Dreams Gardens) it might almost be easier to list what’s not in bloom – but of course I’m not about to do that. Much better to show you some of my current favorites and a few of the reasons why Blithewold is hosting Autumn Splendor, which runs from now through October 3rd and celebrates the floriferous pre-frost exuberance of the gardens. Click here for information about afternoon teas, lectures, exhibits and demonstrations – such as flower arranging on the north porch the next two Wednesdays at 11AM. If you’ve only been to Blithewold for Daffodil Days, it’s high time to come back.

Is your garden still in full swing? What’s blooming?

By now you probably know that Hurricane Earl gave us a miss. The wolf at the door turned out to be a tiny puppy who made a scritching sound just like crickets in the middle of the night. When we came in the next day to check for “damage” and to un-batten the hatches, we found the gardens looking refreshed and perfectly lovely. We certainly needed the rain (Earl dropped an inch and a little) and were desperate for a temperature change. I think all of the gardeners on the eastern seaboard could be thanked for fending off a potentially terrible storm because we so diligently prepared for it. Turns out that bringing potted plants inside, staking the tall plants and cutting back the brittle ones is just like lugging rain gear on a hiking trip: insurance that it won’t have been necessary. (We’re accepting thank you cards and gifts.)

Now that the weather has broken, I’m noticing all sorts of new (and old) blooms in the gardens and visitors are too. The most asked about plant in the Display Garden this week has been the bush clover, Lespedeza thunbergii ‘Edo Shibori’.  I’ve been surprised by the questions because my eye tends to pass right over this plant. This cultivar has tiny white blooms with a pink stripe that, to me, register as beige from a distance. I actually don’t think it’s very handsome at all. But it hums! Any plant that has its own soundtrack is certainly remarkable and worth another look – or listen. Bumblebees (more than any other kind of bee) can’t seem to get enough of the tiny pea blossoms.  The more I think I don’t like the plant, the more I find I do. (Is that a gardener thing or just me?)

Bush clovers bloom in late summer to fall – most are a pretty pinkish-purplish – on new wood. What that means for the gardener is that even if it doesn’t completely die back in the winter (which lespedeza tend to do in this neck of the woods), they can be cut back hard (within inches of the ground like a buddleia) to maintain a graceful hoop-skirt shape. Like any belle of the ball, they don’t want to be crushed into the backseat and don’t look as graceful crowded. Best to give it room to flounce and show off. They like well-drained soil (who doesn’t) and don’t bat an eye at drought. They don’t even need – or want to be fed. – Plants in the legume family are generally able to fend for themselves. Sweet peas excepted, of course.

Do you have a lespedeza? Do the bees love it? Do you? (And do you whack it back or let it go?)