Since my last post was about sweet smelling blooms, it seems only fitting that  that this one should be about a plant at the other end of the fragrance spectrum. Don’t get me wrong – I love the smell of onions especially when they’re being sauteed in butter. But it’s safe to say that ornamental onions are not grown for their fragrance. –Unless of course you take into consideration their value as a companion plant: the odor of them is said to repel aphids and other garden pests.

The number one reason we grow ornamental onions is because they’re outstanding. Literally and figuratively. There’s nothing like a star-burst on a stick to change the way you see the whole garden.

We’re really pleased with the ones we chose for the Rose Garden this year. Allium schubertii (above) actually seems to alter the atmosphere within and around its enormous firecracker spray. I can’t really explain, but everything near it (through it) seems slightly color shifted. Schubertii stands only a foot or so off the ground but has a large presence and we’ll save the seed heads for Christmas decorations. The stately Allium ‘Ambassador’ stands at least 4′ tall and they have carried large deep purple globes for a good 4 weeks. We’re also growing chives as companion plants in the Rose Garden and so far we haven’t had any major aphid infestations there…

In the North Garden we chose a combination of alliums pictured in the Scheepers’ catalog. Allium multibulbosum and A. atropurpureum really are gorgeous together. The white one (A. multibulbosum) opened first and is beginning now to fade to green. The dark wine color of A. atropurpureum is a perfect contrast – perfect with the rest of the colors in that garden too. Nectaroscordum siculum ssp. bulgaricum, formerly known as Allium bulgaricum, is one of my very faves even if it’s not officially an allium anymore. It’s on the subtle side – perhaps that’s why its name was changed.

In the Display Garden, the Allium ‘Globemaster’ and ‘Purple Sensation’ have all faded but the seed heads are still quietly spectacular. A few years ago we planted a row of them within our peony row – which turned out to be a great idea because the peonies hide the alliums’ one drawback, scrunky foliage. We planted Allium albopilosum (a.k.a A. christophii or Star of Persia) to peep over the edge of our stepped-down center bed. It’s another firecracker and shimmers a metallic lavender.

And finally here’s an ornamental onion only a mother could love. Allium ‘Hair’ is as disheveled as I generally feel. But to my (mother-ish) eye, there are no bad ‘Hair’ days!

Do you grow ornamental onions? Which are your favorites?

The air smells so pervasively sweet right now that it’s almost hard to identify which plants are producing all the fragrance. I have now stuck my nose in so many flowers, it’s probably a wonder I haven’t had an asthma attack or been stung by any annoyed bees.

There are a couple of easily identifiable, all encompassing scents right now – you can’t set foot or nostril in Rhode Island right now without catching a powerful whiff of roses. Rosa multiflora – an invasive plague – smells almost as wildly spiced as the slightly less aggressive beach rose (Rosa rugosa). Beach rose is  my favorite scent in the whole world especially when combined with a sea-salty breeze. So I’m in heaven right now. The fancier roses in the Rose Garden all have distinctly different scents – some almost cloyingly perfumed and some exactly like apricots. And I’m still trying to identify the tropical fruit I ate as a kid that peonies smell just like the taste of…

And around the property there are all sorts of  fragrances both heavenly and heavy. I’ve never before noticed the Kentucky yellowwood (Cladrastis kentuckea ‘Sweet Shade’) in bloom – maybe because I am tethered to the gardens in June. But it smells pleasantly almond-y sweet to Lilah and me. The climbing hydrangea on the other hand is a little more intense. We think that one is close to “over-ripe pineapple”. I’d rather have the yellowwood in my garden – if only I could fit it in. It’s a smallish tree – 30-50′ at maturity – but it branches low and can be nearly as wide as it is tall. (I’m thinking about knocking down the garage…)

What is heaven scent in your garden right now?

Waves of excitement have washed over me all spring long – it’s really been such an extraordinary season with so much coming into bloom early and then lingering. Since it’s all been about two weeks ahead, we’re on track now for the first week of June blooms – and right on time (?) the Chestnut rose is beginning to open!

Even when the season isn’t pushing us forward, we gardeners often cast ahead – especially when we’re in planting-mode, like now. Every year Gail and I try new designs, new plants, new combinations. We’re getting to exercise our creative muscles every day (a river of sedum!) and follow through on ideas that have been percolating and incubating since last summer (a Display Garden bed of bold textures and deep colors!). And I’m getting so psyched to see it all come together.

Simply being creative in the garden can sometimes be all the inspiration we need to be even more creative – like any muscle, it gets stronger the more we use it. But there’s nothing like talking to another gardener to really get the ideas and enthusiasm flowing. A few years ago Gail and I jumped at the chance to hear a talk by Fergus Garrett. Fergus, of course, is head gardener at Great Dixter, which is the home of the late Christopher Lloyd and one of the most inspiring gardens in the world, whether you’ve been there or not (I have not). Fergus spoke on how to plan and plant for a succession of blooms and made it look so easy. We have been jazzed to follow his advice in our gardens ever since – especially the North Garden where we just took out the tulips to make way for swaths of annuals and tender perennials whose blooms will carry us through the summer into fall.

And that’s why, when Gail and I heard that Fergus Garrett is coming here – to Blithewold! on Sunday, June 27 (12-2pm), we just about went over the moon. His talk will be about the gardens of Great Dixter and his work with the Great “Christo”. So if you’re looking for a little push to get psyched about your own garden – or even if you’re already excited about it – you should absolutely not miss this event. Click here to register.

Are you flexing your creative muscles in the garden? Do you try different things every year? Will you be joining us on June 27th? – Let me know and I’ll save you a seat!

It’s not often that little Rhody makes the national news. By now most of you have probably already heard that we just had a “100 year flood”. (Only we’re not supposed to call it that. – It’s just that the flooding here was worse than any on record. Ever.) The first rainstorm last week, while I was away, already set us back a bit in the gardens. It was too squishy-wet for Gail and the volunteers to prune roses or cut back perennials without compacting the beds and then this week was a washout. Literally.

Much of Bristol was under water on Tuesday, mostly because storm drains couldn’t handle the deluge, but compared to other parts of the state we were on the lucky side. All things considered, I’m happy to report that Blithewold didn’t fare too badly. The major damage was to our paths, which became a network of grand canyons. Visitors beware: the Shrub Walk is CLOSED until further notice.

Not only have the grounds become a slippery slope (everyone, please be careful walking around the grounds!) but spring seems to be suddenly sliding along at a prodigious rate. No fooling, the daffodils are refusing to wait for Daffodil Days (April 10 – May 2) and that’s why I included my first Daff Cam shot of the season at the top of this post. We’re hoping that they hold off peaking until at least the 10th. I’ll keep you updated.

Spring is coming along so quickly that I’m suddenly feeling a little panicked. The roses broke dormancy last week – right on time with the forsythia, which is a good week early as compared to the last few years. I’m desperate to get the roses pruned so they start sending all this good early energy into only the strongest canes. We still have a lot of perennials to cut back too and it’s so much trickier to do that when the new growth is growing gangbusters and getting in the way of snips. Not only that but now that spring is here and there’s everything to do all at once, I’m worried that in my busy-ness and hurry to catch up on the work I’ll miss my favorite season altogether. It’s an occupational hazard – but hopefully preventable. I want to hold onto each moment and see every unfurl. So with the sun set to be out all weekend, I plan to put my own brakes on and take as much of it in as I can. You too?

Do you worry that spring will go by before you can fully enjoy it? Maybe an early start to spring means it will linger longer? We can only hope…

As a New Englander I can be pretty certain that the garden will be hit by a frost … sometime … and over the course of the fall, we coastal New Englanders can reasonably expect high tides, rain, big winds, Indian summer and even snow. But I wouldn’t have guessed that we’d have all of that within one December week. The fall has dragged on so interminably mildly that I’ve heard stories of Star Magnolias opening up (ours is still closed, thank goodness) and many annuals left to their own devices have continued to bloom like it’s their job and a few perennials have started working again. Even the roses haven’t been saved by the bell. (Fred and Dan lament that the roses are stealing their Rose Garden light-show – shown above, unlit. The roses enhance the show, says me, but it must also be said that Rosa ‘Champlain’ is working very hard to earn everyone’s undivided attention.)

Last Thursday dawned with a windy deluge, (not so) perfectly timed with high moon tide and once again (see last year’s pictures here) the Rock Garden became an island and yards of shore were swallowed by the bay.  And when the sun came out later that day, the balmy tropics blew in with it. Does anybody recall it ever being 65 shirt-sleeve degrees in December before?

And then Saturday night it snowed. I’d expect a heavy, wet, bone-chilling snow to qualify as a killing frost but it looks to me like some of our plants need further convincing. Hit or not, snow equals winter in my book – as does the month of December – and I’m chagrined to confess that, at home, even with plenty of time over a long and temperate fall, I was still caught with a few bulbs unplanted. Please tell me you’ve planted bulbs in the snow too! (I believe everyone should have that story to tell. –That must be why I waited.)