It almost looks like we could ride this heat wave straight into fall. The Tupelo (Nyssa sylvatica) have been dropping bright red tokens since mid-July; the scent of ripe grapes hovers on whatever little breeze we can catch; the autumn crocus (Colchicum autumnale) are emerging from the ivy (a good 2 weeks earlier than last year); the dreaded schoolbus yellow is not only present in the gardens (black and brown-eyed Susans have been blooming since mid-July) but is suddenly on our roads too. While part of me is crying uncle! because of this summer’s relentless heat, the other part of me is nowhere near ready to let go. It can’t possibly already be September, can it?

Despite the fact that we’ve actually had an extra long and hot summer season, it still feels to me as if it only just started. In one way, that’s a little bit true. The gardens here – especially the Display Garden – are reaching their peak now. And barring some sort of natural disaster (Earl, step away from the gardens!) or the early frost that I’ve been pessimistically predicting since the daffodils came early, summer will be stunning for quite a while yet.

But first we’ve got to ride the wave. Gail and I are trying to get as much deadheading and weeding done in the gardens as we can first thing in the morning before copious sweat makes the sunglasses slide off our noses (we’ve given the volunteers a reprieve this week). And we’re keeping a weather eye on Hurricane Earl and family. Forecasters keep saying we’re in for it this year but we’ve got all fingers and toes crossed. – If that doesn’t work to fend off a hurricane, I don’t know what will.

Meanwhile, this is the best time for Gail and me to look over the gardens and make our annual assessments. We’ve grown plenty of plants worthy of rave reviews, put together a few winning combinations, and had our share of head-scratcher disappointments. All of which need to be documented (stay tuned). And of course we’re already kicking around ideas for next year’s gardens…

Have you started taking notes about this season (and next) – or have you been keeping track all along? Have you let go of summer?

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…

Everyone deserves something sparkly – or at least shiny – in time for Valentine’s Day. Wasn’t it nice of Mother Nature to give us her latest gift – a 14 karat white-gold with diamonds storm (known in my household as The Apocalblyzzard That Wasn’t). We only had a couple-four inches of snow here but it was heavy and wet and even after 2 days of sun, it is still clinging to tree trunks and sparkling like jewelry. (I took the pictures first thing on the morning after. Hover over for captions and click on for a closer look.)

And what’s Valentine’s Day (weekend) without a love story? I’m not sure what made me stop and turn my gaze way upwards but after a moment’s reverie I spotted our resident pair of hawks (we think they’re Red-tailed) gazing back down at me. Red-tailed hawks generally mate for life and our female should be laying a clutch of eggs in the next month or two. We have seen them circling around a bit lately screeching and that, according to the wikipedia entry, is foreplay. — On that note, I’ll just wish you all a Happy Valentine’s Day (weekend)!

This weekend’s blizzard dropped an immeasurable foot or two of snow at Blithewold and sculpted it in great drifts and wavelets. No need for dreaming (though the song is spinning endlessly in my head) because we’ve got the real deal – more white stuff than we’ve had all at once in a while and it looks like it will stick around for the week. With any luck, Christmas will be just like the ones we used to know.

And the darkest day is so brilliantly bright! Today the sun stands still before it begins it’s optimistic climb back north to June. You probably already know that this is my favorite holiday – or second favorite anyway, after Groundhog’s Day. I always like to think that the shift away from the shortest day will be immediately noticeable even if the coldest day is still a month or two away. (-Relatively warm ocean temperatures traditionally keep any day in December from being the very coldest – although with this wind, it feels like it’s right down there.) So I’m wearing my sunglasses and celebrating the solstice: I’m listening to the carols of ice sliding off the greenhouse panes; I’ve looked for tracks in the snow; and I’m going to wrap my mind around the toasty-warm promises of spring and summer. How do you celebrate the solstice?

Happy Holidays everyone!

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.)