Hurricane (Superstorm, Frankenstorm) Sandy hit others much worse than it hit us. We were very lucky. It wasn’t even as bad as Irene last year when we lost something like 19 trees. Only one came down with this storm that I saw along with a lot of leaves and twigs. But even that was no worse than the average fall bluster and blow. We even still have power. (Oops. Should have knocked wood. As soon as I wrote that the power went out and I’m forced to finish the post by phone.)

One of the most hyped and scary predictions was for an epic tide and storm surge. We did get that, but again, not nearly as disastrously as some. The water had receded by the time I checked the Rock Garden this morning but it was clear that it had been inundated. Everyone talks about how Hurricane Bob (1991) covered the Rock Garden in seaweed and salt marsh hay. There was none of that this time. The garden was covered instead in the top layer of leaf litter from under the junipers. It was inches thick in some places, and higher up on the “little Mt. Hope” slope than I’ve ever seen water rise. I also don’t ever remember seeing so many drowned worms before, which either means my memory is faulty or the garden was under water for longer than ever (in my time) before, which is quite possible since I heard that low tide was as high as a high tide. As far as the health of the plants is concerned, time will tell. But coming this late in the season, when they are regrouping anyway for a winter’s rest, I imagine most will be right as rain come spring.

How did you and your garden come through the storm? (Safe and sound, I hope.)

That’s my answer for anyone who might wonder why I haven’t posted in a few days. 4000 bulbs, give or take. Planted. Mostly. Still planting… Over the last couple of weeks, Gail and Tricia and I have tried hard to get all 3686 bulbs that we ordered along with the few hundred tulips we saved from last spring placed and in the ground before we let the volunteers take a much deserved winter break. We’re also trying to stay a step ahead of the weather – something wicked this way comes next week, according to forecasters… One of the hardest parts of rushing to get the bulbs in is having to make way for them by taking out plants that are still blooming. (We plant tulips in the same slots as our annuals.) In a perfect scenario, frost would have done the dirty work for us. But this year there are still bees and butterflies working the African blue basil, dahlias and zinnias. Every plant that came out broke our hearts a tiny bit so we left as much as we could, especially in the Rose Garden.

The physical act of planting is also not easy (except wherever the ground was loosened by taking annuals out). The volunteers did the lion’s share, down on all fours in the bulb hunchback – my least favorite yoga pose. And we have all cheered ourselves up as we stretched and arched our backs back into proper alignment that the promise of a spectacular spring is worth a  few hours of discomfort. I watched everyone get the same glazed look on their face as they cast ahead to the days when tulips like Blue Spectacle, Golden Artist, and Akebono bloom in concert. When unearthly earthy Fritillaria persica dangle deep purple-black bells on 2′ stems in the Rose Garden, and Allium Pinball Wizard lights up the North Garden. We planted more varieties of muscari and scilla, endless crocus, and are trying brodiaea, pushkinia, and a tiny oxalis that hasn’t been gone in yet because we can’t make up our minds where we’d love to see it more – the Rock Garden or the Rose?

Bulb planting takes a kind of blind faith and strong constitution that I believe must be unique to gardeners as a species. Bulbs are the ultimate in delayed gratification, dormant proof of gardeners’ collective optimism because they give absolutely no hint of what’s to come. We can only hope as they go in that they’ll spring out again in some more fabulous form. And our fingers have to stay crossed that this year that the squirrels and deer find plenty of other things to eat…

Have you started planting bulbs in your garden yet? Are you pinning your hopes for spring on anything new?

I have been focusing so intently on the gardens lately (I’ll post about why next week) that I think I might have been in danger of forgetting to get excited about fall color. But over the last few days the sun’s spotlight illuminated autumn’s very edges and gave me the reminder I needed to look up and out again. I’ve heard that the stars have aligned to give us a spectacular fall – we’ve had just the right amount of sun and rain over the summer and perfect temperatures now; no Hurricane Irene to brown the leaves prematurely like last year, and, knock wood, there aren’t any October snowstorms in the forecast. Whatever happens in the coming weeks, autumn already looks spectacular here. So bright and pretty that it’s hard for me to imagine that it will peak later. Maybe we’ll have a more gradual plateau of sustained gorgeousness…

Is fall shaping up to be a beauty in your garden too? – Are you remembering to look up?

We’ve spent the last couple of weeks moving back into the greenhouse; a touch of frost fell this past Saturday morning; and we’re mentally preparing to take the gardens apart this week to make way for tulips. But the season isn’t over. There are a few plants that only just got started and I think they were totally worth the wait. Pineapple sage (Salvia elegans) came back as robust green mounds of sweetly fragrant but otherwise blah foliage until finally deciding to bloom its heart out. It’s really too bad the hummingbirds missed this one. Trumpet spurflower too (Rabdosia longituba) was pretty boring looking until the muppet-lipped cobalt-blue water droplets finally appeared and I’m only sorry that anyone who chooses to visit other times of year instead of right now misses its magic.

Nobody ever minds waiting for mums. I don’t think ‘Sheffield Pink’ would be as pretty without a backdrop of fall color, in this case the dawn redwood hedge beginning to color up. And of course asters. But we have been frustrated enough by their tardiness – and in some cases, the enormous mass of their plain foliage through the summer – that we moved most out the North Garden where they also always got in the way of our fall game of musical perennials. But the bees love them so here they are (I believe this one is ‘October Skies’) in the Display Garden instead.

Plectranthus ciliatus is interesting enough pre-bloom with its army-green, purple backed leaves and stems that the glowing lavender flowers are like icing. And speaking of icing: Orostachys iwarenge. Nothing is cuter in or out of bloom.

It’s hard enough to take apart gardens that are still in bloom – dahlias, nicotiana, amaranth, African blue basil, tassel flower, coreopsis and a truckload of other things are in bloom still or all over again in the Cutting Garden, slated for pitching tomorrow – that if we didn’t have a few true late bloomers tucked in strategic places where they won’t need to be disturbed, I’d be heartsick.

What’s blooming new or still or again in your garden? For an inspirational look at October blooms every-which-where, head over to Garden Bloggers Bloom Day at May Dreams Gardens.

Last Friday, after a mostly rainy-drizzly week, Gail and I spent part of a fog-burnt morning surfing the interwebs in the Display Garden. I know spiders are busy this time of year because I have peeled their webs off my face and out of my hair, but as the dewy network was illuminated, it was plain to see that no plant, no span, no airwave is left untraveled. Amazing.

(Click on pictures for a better view.)

Can you see – or feel – the spidery activity in your garden?