I’ve done a lot of grousing about March lately. And it’s almost as if she heard me and said “Oh yeah? You think I’m a drag? I’ll show you how awesome I can be!” Over the last couple of days, the weather has been beyond gorgeous. Quite a few visitors have taken advantage of bright beautiful days to wander the grounds. — But not all of the visitors, at least yesterday, were human. I’ve seen turkeys on the property before but never actual birds with feathers, wattles and all. A skittish trio strutted and lurched across the front lawn right in front of my camera. It looked like a female and 2 males – would that be a happy family or a hot chick with suitors? (My clearest shots only captured a pair – I think it was the female who stayed out of the frame.)

I’m usually on vacation in early March so I can’t tell from my stack of calendars/garden journals, but I have a memory – some vivid memories actually – of really awful weather right about now in recent years. (I know for sure that it was cold and rainy on the 8th two years ago. — Rain makes the knot tighter.) If I go by pictures, last year I took my first shots of skunk cabbage on the 13th. Either I was late spotting them or the skunk cabbage and crocus are early this year. By the looks of some of the skunk cabbage blooms, they may have been up for a while already. Anyone else keeping better track?

Skunk cabbage (Symplocarpus foetidus) is probably not my romantic ideal of a native wildflower but it is a fascinating creature. I didn’t know (before looking it up on the internet) that the flower, which is a spadix inside a spathe hood, produces heat. It’s one way of attracting pollinators – the other way being a foul odor (I did know about that). The heat they produce is also useful for busting through frozen ground earlier than almost anything else.  Today’s pollinators were honeybees – I’m not sure I’d just love the taste of skunk cabbage honey but the bees will take what they can get this time of year and skunk cabbage knows it. Another fascinating thing is that the roots grow and then contract like muscles pulling the plant ever deeper into the ground. The older the plant the more deeply embedded. The pointy bud that shows alongside the bloom spathe, and should have been showing actually since the fall (though I never noticed it), is a spiral of leaves that will unfurl as the flowers wilt. To see skunk cabbage in action, look around swampy areas – most of ours are down by the water garden. It’s an eye test – all but the most solidly burgundy-colored are well camouflaged right now in the dapple and leaf debris.

Have these last few days been better than average in your garden too?

Nature is out there making all sorts of promises and I intend to hold her to them. I am not afraid of spring. I know what’s coming. My eyes are open and I’m ready for it.

Some might say that spring is – or at least ought to be – a gardener’s least favorite season. There’s too much to do and not enough daylight to do it. The possibilities are so endless that a gardener could conceivably become paralyzed with indecision and the coming season holds so much potential that we could easily feel overwhelmed.

Whatever.

I love spring the very best – always have. If it weren’t for spring, there would be no reason for summer, fall, and winter. What would be the point? Besides, is there anything better than the spring tease of new growth busting out? – Much sexier than the undressing of fall – though I love that the very best too. I know that the work through the next few months will be mentally and physically challenging at times and the hours long but I can honestly say that I’m looking forward to it.

The crocuses are up at Blithewold – look carefully and tread lightly – especially in the grassy vicinity of the Osage orange by the North Garden. Stinking hellebores (Helleborus foetidus) have started to open by the Moongate; tulip foliage tips have emerged (don’t tell the deer); and of course buds everywhere are swelling. The weekend forecast is for near 50°F and sunny. Spring is a promise. Bring it on.

Maybe I was too hard on March. Last week, like a miracle, a light switched on during my morning dog-walk. And today dawned with blue skies and sunshine. Maybe March isn’t going to be as dreary as I thought?

Then again, day-light savings is coming up (March 14) and will throw my morning back into the night and there’s snow in the forecast for later today and through most of the rest of the week. I guess the deal with March is that it forces us to not take any of the good stuff for granted and to appreciate every single sunny moment to the fullest. And at least the sun, when it’s out, is starting to feel warmish.

Gail and I took advantage of today’s sunny moment (which lasted pretty much the whole day after all) to search for signs of spring – it’s evident in the 4” high daffodils, emerging tulips (- got to get the deer-off on!), the red buds on maples and yellow haze of willows, and a rumor spread by a favorite visitor about a crocus blooming somewhere on the grounds. Gail cut some more forsythia – it shouldn’t take long to force, maybe a week. And we spent most of the day organizing the greenhouse and making space for seeds, which we’ll start sowing in earnest this week. (Starting with perennials, biennials like foxglove, some cabbages and kale, calendula, snapdragons… Dick’s onions, leeks, and artichokes are already coming up.)

Meanwhile, Fred and Dan have been diligently pruning trees and shrubs all over the property. The best time for dormant pruning is any above-freezing day before the buds break. They are not ones to wait for sweater weather, like me…

All in all, there’s plenty to work on, lots to look forward to and I appreciate a slow start to spring – and I really shouldn’t knock March (- it might knock back). Have you started sowing seeds? Are you bad-mouthing March or getting busy with the pruning instead?

As gaps go, this wasn’t a bad one in my book. Just now I seem to prefer a garden in budded transition – I think it satisfies my need for a glass is half full optimistic outlook (which may be followed all too closely by the half empty pessimism as soon as the buds open and I begin to mourn their passing). And just as the gap started to close on its own in the North Garden, we started planting annuals to help fill it up. Placing annuals is a mental toughness test for Gail and me – tempers can flare, frustration ensues, ennui sets in. Every year we have to relearn how to make the soup with “too many cooks” but the truth of the matter is we’re dependent on each other and wouldn’t want to attempt it alone. So we hemmed and hawed and placed and planted annuals (we couldn’t have done that without the volunteers!) in the annual pockets vacated by the tulips last week and in other open slivers of ground. And it will be beautiful. I’m especially proud of a little coup – a new color in the garden. We placed annuals in the Rose Garden the same morning and a tiny dahlia ordered for the Rose was switched at the last minute to the North. After all, what is a more divine complement to the prevailing french blue-y purples than a delicious apricot orange? We’re only a little nervous that it could look vile with all the pinks…

Here are a few of the May gap perennials in bloom just this week.

- Isn’t this the most OMG! iris? I swear I have never caught this bloom before and have no identification for it.  All I know is it’s one of Julie Morris’ favorites and I always wondered why.

Is your May gap filling up? Have you started planting annuals? Are you feeling pretty optimistic about it all?

Just as Gail and I teetered on the edge of overwhelmed, Cathy (Harvest Meister) and Lilah (Weed Woman) came back to lighten our load and lift our spirits -and not a moment too soon! Non-gardeners never believe me when I describe this time of year as “stressful”. I mentioned to someone that I spent the weekend “madly gardening” at home and was told that that must be an oxymoron – after all isn’t gardening supposed to be contemplative and therapeutic? Fellow gardeners, I know you know the frenzy that can overtake just now (let’s call it a Maynia). Not only is there an endless list of must-do-right-nows – like planting and digging out weeds that grew 5 feet tall all of a sudden when we were focused on planting – but we must also remember to notice and appreciate all of the returning plants and blooms – as if they’re old friends back for an annual reunion. I don’t know how many nights I’ve woken up worried that I might have missed a favorite plant’s peak (and right now they’re all my favorites). I almost snubbed the tree peony this year… I have some catching up to do with you all from before the long weekend. Here are some things I would have been disappointed to forget to welcome back and show off to you:

Hover over for captions/identification and click on for larger image.

Last Friday, Gail, Linda (one of the Rockettes) and I were “madly” planting/weeding in the North Garden when some visitors up on the north porch called our attention to the enormous red-tailed hawk taking a bath in the fountain not 30 feet from where the three of us were working. I’m so glad we didn’t miss that spectacle – although the hawk might have preferred a little privacy…

Are you feeling stressed out at all? Are you remembering to stop and contemplate the leucothoe?

After the tulips have gone by and before … everything else starts up in the North Garden, we cross The May Gap. It’s almost as if the garden is taking one last deep inhale before singing the high note of early summer – a note that sustains at least until … The July Gap. Gail and I annually focus at least 73% of the sum total of our garden design energy on creating and maintaining the look of peak bloom in that garden throughout the growing season but we are thwarted by late May. According to Gail, it was my predecessor, Sheila, who coined the phrase – probably with a sigh of resignation. There must be something that would bridge it. Perhaps we could tuck in cool season annuals – if we weren’t so consumed with moving and planting perennials in all the other gardens… Perhaps there are 3 or 4 early early blooming perennials we just haven’t thought of yet – that don’t take up too much room or are otherwise handsome for the rest of the season. Do you have any suggestions?

But just because the North Garden is on the quiet side doesn’t mean the rest of the property isn’t shouting out. Even though I’m here everyday to witness the transformation, I’m still amazed that -all of a sudden- it’s definitely fully late spring already – I would even call it early summer since Memorial Day is right around the corner. If you haven’t come to see the dove tree (Davidia involucrata) yet, ahem… what are you waiting for? It might not be as floriferous as last year but it’s still a beautiful beautiful thing. The empress trees (Paulownia tomentosa) are starting to scent the air with ode de cough syrup – good thing the blooms are gorgeous candelabras or I might not like them at all. And the tulip tree (Liriodendron tulipfera) buds will be open any day – I’m determined to catch them this year. Here is more evidence of visit worthy vistas:

And there are other May transformations around the property as well: New trees and shrubs planted, sculpture installed and gardens in the process of renewal. Every gardener knows there’s no lull now in the workload and not enough time in the day to accomplish everything on the list. Although we’ll switch gears next week from planting perennials to annuals, we can’t lose any speed. But if I happen to go quiet and miss a post or two now and then, you could call it The May Gap and know I’ll be gathering breath (and pictures) for a big shout.

Do you and your garden bridge The May Gap?

May is one of those idyllic months ranking right up there with September but, to make an inevitable play on words, there’s nothing idle about it. We are kept constantly on the move trying to stay a step ahead of the weeds (impossible) and on track with the planting (2 cart loads per day). The plants are almost alarmingly hasty in their growth and apparently I forget the sequence of events from one May to the next. I was a little shocked to see the Dove tree in bloom – and isn’t it early for the Father Hugo’s rose? It isn’t. They’re right on schedule. I’m glad that May still takes me by surprise and keeps me on my toes – I think that must be what makes it one of the most anticipated months of the year. In honor of Garden Bloggers Bloom Day in the middle of this, our host Carol’s (from May Dreams Gardens) favorite month, here’s a selection of Blithewold’s blooms (and one bud).

Hover over for captions and click on for larger image. Open your scratch-n-sniff application to view the daphne.

What have you been surprised by this month?

I’m not sure I should admit to how much time I spend thinking about my own garden while I’m working in this one. I can’t help but distractedly eyeball all of the plants that I want for myself. Why is that? I’m surrounded by thousands of beautiful plants here at work – why do I have the burning desire to have so many of them at home too? I guess gardening must be more obsession than profession – probably people in other lines of work are more able to separate themselves from it when they go home. (Booksellers might have a tough time too, come to think of it…)

But then it can hardly be helped – what is a public garden for, if not to bring home ideas? Right now Viburnum carlesii (Koreanspice bush also known as Mayflower viburnum) is at the top of the list of plants on the property for which I would pay full price. Michael Dirr, in his Manual of Woody Landscape Plants says, “A garden without a viburnum is akin to life without music and art.” – so obviously my garden shouldn’t go another day without one.  Dirr does imply in Viburnums: Flowering Shrubs for Every Season that the Koreanspice is rather pedestrian as viburnums go. But with such a perfume, who wouldn’t want one of their very own?  The shrubs are also pleasingly rounded, dense and typically 4-8′ tall – ours are in the 6-8′ range. They can take sun or shade (I imagine they are more floriferous in the sun) and a range of soil conditions – excepting wet according to Dirr. They are hardy from USDA zones 4-8ish. A couple of years ago we planted V. carlesii ‘Compactum’ in the Rose Garden and that’s the one for me. Not only is it a dwarf that grows only to 3-4′ but it was introduced by my great-grandfather’s friends and colleagues at Hoogendoorn Nurseries in Middletown, RI back in 1953.

Anne Raver, mentions Koreanspice bush in this NY Times article about attracting pollinators.  She noticed that as delicious as the scent is to us, her bee population was not as hungry for it. I feel strongly, like she does, about planting natives – which are generally more attractive to our wildlife – and so my plan is, for every exotic I plant in my garden, I’ll plant two natives. How’s that for justifying some serious plant shopping this weekend?

Do thoughts about your garden distract you while you’re at work? What’s at the top of your full-price wishlist right now?

“There is of course no such thing as a green thumb. Gardening is a vocation like any other – a calling, if you like, but not a gift from heaven.”                                            – Eleanor Perenyi (1918-2009)

For the next few weeks Gail and I will plant, divide and move perennials in any kind of weather short of a monsoon-style downpour but we both had to agree that, even though we are Spring-sun junkies like most people, yesterday’s weather was perfect.  Overcast, spitting rain here and there, somewhere in the 50’s or low 60’s – the plants hardly noticed that they were being messed with and we warmed up as we worked. And the weather for the rest of the week looks ideal for a stress-free settling in. With rain and cloud-cover, plants can concentrate on repairing roots rather than urgently putting on green growth and photosynthesizing (and wilting from the exertion). It’s perfect weather for garden gazing and photography too – gray skies make colors pop. As usual, hover over for captions and click on for larger view.

We picked up where we left off last October when we rearranged the furniture in the North Garden, and took out a few more Phlox paniculata ‘David’ and added in our favorite (OK, my favorite) Phlox paniculata ‘Natural Feelings’. We replaced the standard pink Japanese anemone with white, early flowering Anemone ‘Honorine Jobert’. We tucked in a few sweet flag (Acorus calamus ‘Variegatus’) for some bright spears to break up the monotony of a predominantly billowy garden. And we plucked out a few of the front row catmints (Calamintha nepeta) and replaced them with a 12″ speedwell (Veronica ‘Twilight’) that we have high hopes for.  And everything we took out (aside from the potentially mildewy phlox) will be replanted in another garden. Gail calls it “Musical Plants” and we do a different version of that cake walk every year. There’s nothing like moving boring old perennials to another garden to rejuvenate our interest in them. Do you do that too? (- Do you ever move them to a friend’s garden and then want them back again?)

When I decided on the title for this post it occurred to me to mention conditioning flowers for arranging. Our volunteer flower arrangers are starting work this week and tomorrow Gail or I will cut tulips for Terri who is leading the pack. (Once or twice over the course of the season, each volunteer arranger will make two arrangements for the house with flowers and foliage we cut from the grounds.) Tulips are pretty easy as cut flowers go: Cut them before they’ve opened and place in plenty of water with a leaf or two still attached. They’ll keep growing in the vase and according to Garden to Vase: Growing and Using Your Own Cut Flowers by Linda Beutler, they prefer sugary water to bleachy and should last 10 days. My favorite trick for keeping the stems straight is to drop a penny in the vase – but sometimes a graceful flop is a lovely development. Do you cut your tulips or leave them in the garden?

The landscape is changing before our very eyes. Plants have taken advantage of the recent heatwavelet to push out leaves, flowers and seeds like it’s their job and they’re putting in for overtime. I’m astonished to look up and see nearly fully clothed trees – I thought I had been paying attention but it’s happening so quickly now. I’ve been told that it’s every New Englander’s birthright to complain about the weather and we are given special dispensation to whine about the brevity of spring. I have to admit that even though I like to think I have a Pollyanna-ish appreciation for all kinds of weather and a keen eye out for spring, I’ve been whining a little louder this year too. Wouldn’t we all like the tulips to hold on, the cherry trees and magnolias to keep blooming, and the trees to stay nearly naked in their feather soft lingerie a little longer? – Or is it just me?

Like the trees, we’ve taken advantage of the sun and warm temperatures too and are keeping ahead of schedule. Gail’s new mantra is “we’ll plant something everyday and it will all get done.” We’ve got another 8 weeks or so of planting ahead of us and if we keep up our industrious pace, we’ll be done in … I would guess … maybe 7 weeks. On Tuesday the Deadheads planted the sweet peas right on schedule – they graciously allowed me to take my annual chorus-line shot of them. And Wednesday the Rockettes tackled planting lettuce, cabbages, Swiss chard, beets, pansies, orlaya and calendula in the Display Garden bed that we have designated The Potager.  Gail and I wrestled the crowning agave into the (almost) exact center of the ellipse and are crossing our fingers that we won’t have a frost. The weeds, of course, are putting in overtime too and the Florabundas had their work cut out for them yesterday in the Rose Garden. (Gail and I planted peonies. – Plant something every day!)

Now that the weather has turned gray and rainy, we’ll complain a bit about that too. But everything recently planted will take the opportunity to get straight to work.

What is working overtime right now in your garden? – Are you?