One of the issues that has come up in our Master Plan process is the need to identify and preserve Blithewold’s “character defining” views — because it would be a rare garden or piece of property that did not borrow at least some of its beauty from outside of itself. And the views within the property or into it from outside are every bit as important and in some cases – probably for most of us with small urban gardens, even more worth preserving.

The vistas with the most obvious significance to Blithewold visitors have to include the views from within the property (both broad and keyhole) of Narragansett Bay. The property’s placement at the edge of Rhode Island’s shoreline is part of what makes us so special. There’s a view of water at the very end of Love Lane that we glimpse driving in the main entrance; the sweeping view across the Great Lawn from the terrace and North Garden all the way to Poppasquash and beyond; and the view of Bristol harbor from the Rock Garden that’s as precious as the inside of a Fabergé egg.

There are also important views of the buildings, like the view of the porte-cochère from the top of the driveway, the mansion’s front door from Ferry Rd., and across the Enclosed Garden to the summerhouse. Add the glimpses we get of important landscape elements as we walk through the property and there are a dozen views altogether that can be called “character defining”. (Of course, if it were up to me I’d add a few more – like any view of or into the Rose Garden and Moongate in June, and through the bamboo to the Display Garden and greenhouse…) The scope of the Master Plan reaches into the next 10-15 years but I imagine that we and those who follow us in this work will endeavor to never plant or build anything that will block the view.

In my own Master Plan process at home (don’t we all need a Master Plan?) I have identified a few views worth preserving – the most important being the view of my back border from the window over the kitchen sink. But I have even more views that need screening, like the ugly view of the compost pile from where I sit at my desk. Have you identified views worth preserving – or blocking – in your own garden?

Do you have favorite views into or of Blithewold?

When you travel for work or with family, do you try to squeeze garden pilgrimages into your itinerary? This past weekend I had the pleasure of attending my cousin’s wedding in California and although the events surrounding The Event and the happy time spent with far-flung family took up most of the hours of the weekend, I still managed to get in two Blithewold inspired visits. (Many thanks to my easy-going travel companions who graciously handed me the car keys and said, “Let’s go!”)

The last time I visited Muir Woods I was a car-sick and surly teenager stuck on someone else’s tour. This time I went with an eagerness of being reacquainted with the family of a favorite friend: Coast Redwoods (Sequoia sempervirens), which occupy a narrow corridor of temperate and foggy Pacific coast, and may live for thousands of years, are cousin to our Giant sequoia (Sequoiadendron giganteum) – a youngster by comparison. This time I was properly awestruck and as reverent as a pilgrim (even though I didn’t have to walk there on my knees) in the presence of Nature at its most venerable. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Van Wickle/McKee’s visited these trees too… If you go, go early to find a parking spot and a little silence before the polyglot crowds arrive.

My travel companions were also kind enough – and interested enough – to allow me to drive them deep into the Richmond outskirts to wander Annie’s Annuals. I just noticed this quote on their homepage – ha!

I’m not sure Annie’s would have been on my must-see list if it weren’t for Blithewold but I have been eager to visit ever since I first perused their catalog and found plants we couldn’t garden without. The nursery is huge – must be acres, and as funky as the catalog; every plant is labeled*, grouped by like-types, tantalizingly described and very reasonably priced. If I lived nearby, I’d need a car with a lot more cargo space.

*I didn’t look hard enough for a label on the plant in the bottom right photo – anyone know its name?

While I was away, the gardens here grew! even more beautiful. I’ve talked to visitors in the last couple of days who added a trip to Blithewold to their travel agenda – and their companions seemed as pleased as mine for the detour.

Where would you go – or where have you gone lately – on pilgrimage? (This very minute Gail is visiting gardens near Philadelphia!)

With so much coming into bloom now I might be crazy to try to identify June’s quintessential color. (I might be crazy full stop.) There are some great colors to choose from: take anything in the Rose Garden for instance. ( – I had to include another gratuitous Rose Garden shot because it’s so thrilling. And I think you can just about smell it from the picture if you concentrate.)

I also think that while blue is one of the colors that defines late spring/May, the dusky blues of June – like the Berggarten sage (Salvia officinalis ‘Berggarten’) in the herb garden – are completely different and entirely June-ish, evocative of June’s extra-long twilight. Of course my favorite sweet pea ‘Nimbus’ takes dusk to a-whole-nother level of stormy, also perfectly appropriate given the wild and wooly weather lately. But then that brings me around to the wooly ivories of things like Filipendula, Clematis recta, giant fleece flower (Persicaria polymorpha) and the Clary sage (Salvia sclarea) that has been catching everyone’s eyes this week. You just don’t see that color in July, not even in the clouds. Or else I don’t notice it the way I do in June.

And there’s a certain hot pink that seems to belong only to June although I’d have to say it’s a great color for introducing us to the notion of July. It’s about to burst on every Spirea japonica in that shocking combination of pink and yell-green (I had meant to type “yellow-green” but yell-green’s more like it) and it’s already capping the catchfly (Silene armeria).

When it comes right down to it I can’t decide – and don’t they all look like June in Terry’s arrangement? So in honor of Garden Bloggers Bloom Day, I’d rather put it to you for a vote anyway.

What color do you think defines June?

On the one hand, I can hardly help but want to group plants together and if there’s a pot big enough for everyone, I’m all for it. And there are places in our gardens that truly demand a mixed container, such as the entrance gate, wedding tent, and porte-cochère. I spent the last two weeks debating buying what seemed to be a behemoth new container (made of very light-weight and hopefully winter-durable resin) for our entrance. I knew the one we were using was way too small but it took Gail’s reassurance and actually seeing the new pot situated to realize that there’s almost no such thing as “too big” for a solitary container placed outside.

I’ve been pretty lucky with these mixed containers in the last few years (last year in particular) but I attribute their success (and by success I mean that they don’t need to be watered more than twice a week) to one very important factor: They’re in partial shade – receiving only morning sun. Glazed or plastic pots obviously hold the moisture longer and I think relying heavily on perennials (or tender perennials) with interesting foliage rather than flowers has helped too. Most of my favorite container plants – such as hakonechloa, farfugium, hypericum, Geranium ‘Rozanne’, and hydrangea will also grow slowly enough in confinement to not overtake their neighbors.

But for the container beds by the greenhouse I would much rather group singletons in pots than plant up a bunch of mixed combinations – for a couple of reasons: One of the beds is in full sun, and in my experience, mixed pots in full sun are a constant struggle. There’s more competition for soil moisture and inevitably something dies and leaves a gaping hole or one thing overtakes and might as well have been planted by itself. (Obviously I haven’t hit the exactly right full-sun combo yet.) With singletons on the other hand, wimps can be babied and tucked behind athletes at least until they’re tough enough to compete. The whole bed can be rearranged on a whim, and as a nester and obsessive futzer, I’m all for that. The only difficulty is pairing pot to plant. But even that is a challenge I look forward to every year. And I have to admit that I never really mind if something like fleabane (Erigeron karvinskianus) or violets seed themselves in, and so most of our singletons are actually couples.

Do you prefer mixed containers or singletons – or do you have places for both too?

Sometimes I still feel like a backseat whiner. I should know better than to complain out loud because as a kid, whenever I asked, “are we there yet?”, my Mom would only reply cryptically, “10 and a little!” But I’m impatient to be done with the planting (10 and a little!); moved out of the greenhouse (10 and a little! – but at least I got the shading on today); and I’m already exhausted and my back aches. (Do you want some cheese with your whine?) But it’s June and even if we haven’t planted everything yet (this week!) and gotten all of the leaf mulch or buckwheat hulls on the beds and gardens before the heat hits (tomorrow), the gardens at least have arrived at their next destination. Just as the rhodies began to fade, the peonies popped. The delphinium are skyscrapers and the roses are so close to a peaking burst of bloom that I’ve been visiting that garden just to ask, “Aren’t we there yet?”

I know I have made the claim in recent years that the roses have never looked better. You already know that over the last several years we have replaced a few weaklings, inter-planted the Rose Garden with perennials, shrubs and annuals, finally put all of the roses on a fertilizing schedule (April, June – last week, in fact – and August), raked up spotty leaves twice weekly and and spent untold hours watering them by hand. This year we’ve been able to give the roses even more of what they’ve been desperately crying out for. Now I really mean it (- funny thing is, I meant it before too) but the roses have really, truly never – ever looked better. Their foliage is untouched, deeply green, leathery and glossy, and there are bazillions of buds.

Last fall we amended the soil with compost, which has almost instantly (if winter counts as an instant) improved our compaction problem. But even better, an irrigation system, generously and anonymously donated, and installed this spring has finally slaked their thirst. – They need at least an inch of “rain” a week for optimum health. We will continue to refuse to use chemistry to combat any pests or disease but honestly, I don’t think we’d even need to. Enriched soil with good drainage and regular watering to push the soil’s nutrients to the roots will keep the roses stress-free and lovely and as close to perfection as we think any gardener or garden visitor could possibly want. (And thank goodness, we won’t ever have to whine about spending hours watering the Rose Garden again!)

Are your roses in peak bloom yet? (Are you able to refrain from whining?)