Fall is dragging its feet getting into winter and although some people and plants I know are ready for it to be cold, it couldn’t be a sweeter treat for us gardeners. We’ve been braced for bitter winds and flurries ever since the first frost (which came with bitter winds and flurries) but have been able to leave our coats on hooks and mittens in pockets for weeks now. These last few days especially have been weirdly warm but so perfect for taking in the last of the fall color seemingly stuck in a holding pattern, and catching up on outside work. Gail and I spent most of today picking more veg for the food pantry (lettuce, carrots, spinach, kale and more!) and spent yesterday in the Display Garden tidying up fallen seed heads. We still can’t quite do the final cutback: some of the plants, like nicotiana and a few salvias, haven’t quit blooming yet; others like yarrow and calendula have started up all over again.

The bees are still out foraging and there are great clots of milkweed bugs on the crispy milkweed seedpods (can they still eat the dead tissue or are they just … busy?) and they’re even on nicotiana leaves. Every year we have to look these guys up to see if they’re good, bad or indifferent. They do eat milkweed pods – and maybe nicotiana leaves? – and because of that they themselves are as safe as Monarchs from predation. (Any bird silly enough to eat one will get the throw-ups.) But we only remember spotting them at the end of the season and they don’t seem to do a lot of damage. So we left them and their plants be. The bugs pictured are adults; as instars they are smaller, shiny bright orange-red and wingless. (As always, click the pic to enlarge.)

Despite the bonus of unfrozen days, some creatures don’t seem to be finding what they need to survive winter (if it ever gets here.) Have you noticed an absence of acorns this year? We know that oaks put out extra acorns now and again as a way of insuring that some of them survive to become trees, and Gail and I remember last year as a big acorn year. This year the trees rested apparently and the squirrels are frantic. Good thing we planted tulips… If anyone has a good squirrel pilfer prevention technique to share, please do!

Are you enjoying a few extra days of mild weather too – or do you just think it’s too weird and time for a change?

To me it still feels too early to talk about the holidays – I avert my eyes from any commercial Christmas display at least until the day after Thanksgiving – but Blithewold’s decorators have been thinking about Christmas since … well, February anyway. And they’ve been elfishly at work decorating the mansion since the middle of October. Last week the garden volunteers came in to do the big tree (designed by Joanne Murrman) and so I think it must be time to say the halls of Blithewold are well and truly decked – just in time for opening the day after Thanksgiving. I refuse to call that day “Black Friday” because Thanksgiving is a such a sweet holiday and for me the day after is for relaxing into the spirit of the season. In fact, it’s a perfect day to take a walk around Blithewold and receive the Gifts of Nature – if I may say so myself!

I love this year’s theme. It lends itself so well to our annual celebration of Nature’s abundance (although she was a little stingy with acorns and cones this year), natural talents, and home-made joy. All over the house there is evidence of imaginations run wild, and sublime repurposing of some of nature’s prettiest bits and bobs. Outside, Gail outdid herself on the front door wreath. Once again, Fred and Dan have created a stunning display of bamboo ingenuity; and I hope it’s obvious that I had a ball putting together the container arrangements.

It amazes me how Christmas at Blithewold has become a special part of so many traditions – from the volunteer decorators who insist on returning with new ideas year after year; to whole families who attend our wreath making workshops (Saturday’s is sold out) and to everyone who makes an annual winter pilgrimage all decked out in holiday finery for tea or a musical performance. But it makes perfect sense – it’s a gracious and relaxing place, sparking and festive, and well away from any hullaballoo of holiday mayhem.

Do you have a place you go every year to get into the holiday spirit? Do you borrow any of nature’s gifts for your holiday decorations? (Need any new ideas?)

After Tropical Storm Irene stripped the color from so many trees around here back in August I was pretty pessimistically convinced that fall color would be lousy this year. And maybe that’s why it has seemed especially spectacular. There’s less of it to be sure, and it was more sudden and fast passing than usual (maybe because there’s less of it) but the reds seem deeper and the yellows and oranges more intensely glow-y.

New England fall is a gift. The leaves from our deciduous forests and gardens, colorful or not, are a huge bonus. I still can’t believe anyone would bag them up as garbage. I love the look of freshly fallen leaves carpeting the ground, and the renewable resource dust-to-dust cycle of nature really appeals to my inner lazy gardener. But of course there’s nothing lazy about leaving the leaves. Almost all of us who keep them from the landfill, at least pick them up and put them back down someplace else. It’s how we participate in the cycle.

At home I rake what few leaves fall in my yard straight into my garden beds. This gives critters like spiders, bumblebees and butterflies a place to overwinter. The plants don’t mind and aren’t smothered. (No oaks leaves fall in my yard – they have more of a tendency than any other to form an impenetrable mat.) Come spring, all I need to do is make sure the crowns of plants peek out. Other gardeners also rake extra leaves into piles. Gail says that by spring her pile of whole leaves is as soft and half decomposed as if it had been shredded – perfect for mulching her beds with. Still others mow the leaves. Leaves left in a thin enough layer that the grass still shows will provide nutrients for a healthier lawn. If the clippings are bagged, they may be used as nitrogen-rich mulch in the garden.

Here we do a bit of all three. Fred and Dan make a first pass over the property with mowers and graciously dump the clippings in the vegetable bed. They also blow the leaves off of the lawns and vacuum them up truckload by truckload. This year we realized that the vacuum did a good enough job of shredding the leaves that we saved several days and gallons of gas not passing them through the leaf shredder. The pile has already settled quite a bit and Gail and I have mulched all of the Display Garden beds to save weeding them later.

I know I ask this every year, but please refresh my memory – what do you do with your leaves?

(click on pictures for larger view)

She makes garden design look so easy. Last Thursday for the second time in exactly a decade Julie Moir Messervy enraptured the Garden Design Luncheon crowd with her graciousness, easy-going wit, energy, style, and utterly pragmatic approach to design. For busy homeowners she promotes outdoor living spaces capable of enticing anyone away from their computer screens (and has somewhat ironically created an app for that.) For gardeners who might be paralyzed by the endless possibilities she shows us how to tune in to our deepest desires to create a garden as comfortable and welcoming as our kitchen.

According to Julie, we already know how to design the garden of our dreams. We formed a connection to the outdoors as children. – Where did we go for daydreaming, reverie and reflection? Those places are part of our inner garden. We are full of great ideas that we have been collecting from all of the places we’ve ever visited and loved. We know what we like and what we don’t.

We can take an inventory of those ideas and predilections and translate them into what Julie calls the “big moves”, which are not unlike what we do inside when we set the table or rearrange the objet d’art on the mantel until we get it exactly right. Granted, the “big moves” outside often involve a little more heavy lifting, sometimes a lot more money, and even occasionally someone with an engineering degree and that is why some of us (my hand is raised) become too scared-rabbit to commit.

But Julie’s gorgeous slides were enough to catapult anybody out of inertia (if you could have heard the gasps!) To begin, we might identify our garden’s comfort zones; think about the frontyard as if it’s the back; create paths that choreograph pauses; audit the visual energy; place the pieces, and set about “crafting the details of nature.”

Julie also urged us all to follow Doug Tallamy’s advice about planting natives for the bugs and the birds. Whatever kind of garden you design, be sure to plant a few natives at least along the periphery. When our neighbors follow our example, swath-by-swath we may begin to restore the ecosystem we’ve all but destroyed.

It’s as clear as a sunny fall day that what Julie wants more than anything is for everyone to get outside and to have a garden to feel completely at home in. To that end she offers all the assistance she possibly can – from a range of design services for every budget, to an iphone/pod/pad app that’s way more fun than a piece of blank grid paper. (Believe me, I bought it and can’t stop moving patios and paths around my yard.) And her book, Home Outside: Creating the Landscape You Love is the confidence-inspiring blueprint that takes us through the creative process step by step.

Have you been able to channel your inner Julie* to create the garden of your dreams?

(*credit for “channeling your inner Julie” goes to Julie Murphy Christina)

It’s almost 70 degrees outside, the air is feather-soft, the sky is blue-blue and the sun has that golden, get-under-your-eyelids slant. It’s the kind of day that absolutely insists that we get outside. We should be looking for fall color and reindeer moss, or sitting back against a warm wall with our eyes closed, or propping up fallen seedheads…

I had to look up Indian summer to see if this would officially qualify and it must. The definitions say that it’s that spell of warm weather after frost and right before the ground freezes solid and snow covers everything. It’s also the thaw that comes later in the winter – January or February – that feels so much like spring. Perfect time for an Indian raid evidently, which explains the name. According to Wikipedia, other countries call it things like “Old Ladies’ Summer”, “Little summer of the quince”, “Golden October”; and “a tiger in autumn”. (I have to say, I like those names better.)

We’ve had frost – we even had a dusting of snow – but it hasn’t been cold enough to do absolutely everything in (maybe because of this Old Ladies’ summer we’re having.) It’s been interesting to note the survivors particularly among the annuals. The lettuce in the raised bed is perky as ever; borage is fine and so is most of the nicotiana, agastache, and the salvias. What Dahlias were left in the ground went not in the snow surprisingly, but over a cold night a couple of days after that. Unfortunately we had to take most of the other annuals out – particularly in the cutting garden and North Garden – and I would have liked to see which were the ones made of tougher stuff. Some of my neighbors still have zinnias blooming… What annuals survive the first frosts in your garden?

I hope you’re outside right now (if you’re having this perfectly lovely Indian summer too) taking the opportunity to futz in the garden, lie back in the chaise, or collect bouquets of leaves. Come to think of it, what the heck am I doing still sitting in front of this comput—