In New England we’re allowed call it summer whenever the switch has been flicked from sweater weather to sweaty weather (starting this past Wednesday). As a Rhode Islander, I can call it summer on Memorial Day weekend because lifeguards go back on duty. And as a gardener, I think it’s safe to declare it summer as soon as the scent of beach roses (Rosa rugosa – or as my grandmother called them, Rosie b’grosie) mingled with salty ocean breeze makes me swoon; when the irises start waving their flags; when the oxeye daisies open fresh as … well… daisies; and when we’ve finally moved the tomatoes out to harden off.

But of course I’m not quite ready to let go of spring and luckily I don’t have to. If there are still lilacs in bloom, it’s still spring. Syringa pubescens began blooming a good week after the everyday S. vulgaris. Its individual flowers are much smaller and pretty-in-pinker but the scent packs just as heavy a knock-out blow. Syringa meyeri ‘Palibin’ (right) is another late bloomer across the aisle from our pubescent lilac (at the entrance to the North Garden). I have to admit that until I looked at the tag today I thought was just another cultivar of the other. Palibin’s lilac blooms a titch later – if its blooms today are anything to go by (they’re still coming whereas the pubescent lilac’s are going by) – and a smidge bluer.

Red-veined enkianthus (Enkianthus campanulatus) is another that says spring to me – even though it smells as musty as a root cellar in winter. But any flower as delicately drawn as these, on any plant with as handsome a habit will be forgiven for being fragrance-challenged.

I freely associate Blue star (Amsonia tabernaemontana) with spring (late spring, that is). It’s pictured (below left) with Clematis recta ‘Purpurea’ and although my mind wants to lump all clematis into a summer category, I’ve been reminded this week that a few belong to spring.

Foggy mornings are a spring thing around here but these sweltering afternoons are so very summery. In any case, whether it’s spring or summer, the truth is, all gardeners are on the move. We’re racing against time to get the plants in the ground before the real heat of summer hits. But I was also reminded – and I’ll pass it along here – that it’s very important to slow down and watch your step – to try not to tread upon fledglings (a spring thing) or trip on bamboo shoots (summer thing).

Are you calling it summer or still enjoying spring?

Spring took two steps back last night. We didn’t get as much accumulation as predicted but it sure felt like winter. Even the birds, who have been so LOUD lately, observed the snow’s silence this morning. But like all truly spring things, the snow was ephemeral: as pretty as a picture (or several pictures) and gone by noon.

(hover over for captions and click on for a better view.)

Are winter and spring doing a waltz in your garden too?

Usually when people enter the Rose Garden they take a deep breath in through the nose and heave a big blissed-out sigh of appreciation …

Not today. The roses are still blooming; they are still sweetly fragrant, but the smell of the compost we started to spread yesterday is a little overwhelming. We decided to use Bristol’s own compost made from yard waste and … biosolids. If you’re not already familiar with the term, biosolids are the byproduct of sewage treatment. It’s nutrient rich and once it’s been thoroughly composted, pathogen-free. And pretty stinky.

Earlier this week, Gail and I visited the Bristol compost facility – which helped to facilitate deciding between spending the moon on our favorite organic compost that has to be trucked from all the way across the state, and getting Blithewold’s truck filled with the free compost made less than 2 miles away from here. We have both used the rich, dark biosolids compost in our own gardens (because it’s free!) but had never gotten the full scoop, so to speak.

It’s Class A, top grade compost made in a 20 year old facility (soon to be solar powered!) and is free to home gardeners who are able to pick it up themselves and sold to landscapers and garden centers all over the state. Sludge is trucked in from the sewage treatment plant, mixed with finely chopped yard waste, cooked for a minimum of 28 days and aerated by the most enormous rototiller on the planet (says me.) It’s tested for pathogens (fecal coliform) periodically throughout the cycle and the content is fully analyzed for heavy metal levels. Each batch must be within allowable limits – and 100% pathogen-free – before being released from the process. The people who make it are very proud of their product and seem to have good reason to be – plants love it.

We have been talking about amending the soil in the Rose Garden for years now. The soil is probably better than average, evident by the size and health of some of the plants in the garden, but has become more and more compacted and cement-like as we’ve all trampled it over the years. Some roses have struggled to thrive and it’s getting harder and harder, especially in a dry season, to water the garden well. I love thinking that this fall’s rain will really soak in right now rather than run off. And the unpleasant odor, which should dissipate within a few days, to me is a harbinger of next season’s sublime fragrance of a garden full of healthy plants. (Healthy soil = healthy plants.) We’ve taken so much – pleasure, plants and soil – from that garden over the years, it feels really good to finally give something back.

Have you given anything back to your garden yet? (Fall is the perfect time…) Have you ever tried compost made with biosolids? What do you think of it?

Now that it’s officially autumn, illuminated by an exquisitely timed harvest moon, blanketed in morning fog and wrapped in the katsura’s scent of burnt sugar, I am going to have to finally let go of late summer and start calling fall by name. I’ve been sort of  stubborn about acknowledging calendar shifts (all except winter into spring – I always jump the gun on that one) but I like to think it’s just my peculiar and contrary way of making sure I remember to appreciate the current moment, no matter what its name is.

In any case, it doesn’t behoove a gardener to be too resistant to change. Nature is ephemeral and capricious after all, and we’d lose interest if it wasn’t. Our gardens teach us to pay close attention and take nothing for granted.

Just like gardening, flower arranging is an excellent exercise in letting go. Yesterday, Blakely Szosz, one of our diva volunteer flower arrangers demonstrated the tips, tricks and a few of the rules (once you know the rules, you can break them) that go into making artful arrangements. Part of the beauty of an arrangement – and part of what is so fascinating and heart breaking (just like gardening) – is that it is a living sculpture that is going to fade, wither and die. You’ve simply got to enjoy it while it lasts. And then make another. I have to admit that I don’t have a natural inclination to bring flowers in the house or make arrangements. I’d generally prefer to leave everything be (and to the bees) in the garden. But as the days get shorter, I can begin to see the appeal of bringing parts of the garden inside for an extended period of appreciation. And now my frustrated inner artist is inspired too… There’s one more flower arranging demonstration in the Autumn Splendor series next Wednesday at 11AM on the mansion’s north porch.

Do you cut flowers to bring in the house? Any particular time of year more than another? Do you create a work of art?

I’m definitely on a fragrance kick lately. I don’t know if it’s that my nose is compensating for my other senses – I’m near sighted and I don’t always hear too well… Or if it’s just that it’s June and June smells really beautiful.

I have been walking through curtains of scent all over the property and have continued sticking my nose into every bloom to find the sources. Some are obvious – like the sweet peas. They happen to be one of the only flowers I’m willing to cut from my own garden to bring inside just so I can draw in every last whiff of them.

Lilah I think would be happy to take home a bouquet of her declared favorite rose, ‘Sweet Juliet’. Its scent is heavy enough to knock me right over but I can certainly smell why it might be anyone’s favorite.

I keep asking Gail if she can smell the linden trees  – in full bloom here now – and am amazed that she doesn’t much notice it. Even though there are lindens all over the property, Lilah and I took a little break the other day in the Linden Grove (Tilia cordata – Littleleaf lindens) just to twirl in the honey scent, and majesty of those trees.

Aside from the scent of them, which admittedly some people hardly notice, the linden flowers are pretty unimpressive. On the other hand, catalpa (Catalpa speciosa) flowers are amazing to look at but, according to my snifter, are kind of empty, fragrance-wise.

And for a flower that is both amazing to look at and has an intoxicating fragrance, nothing beats a night blooming cereus. It finally dawned on me that if I (and you through me) were ever going to experience an open flower, I’d have to bring a plant home. I took the pictures at about 10:30pm but I did notice that at least one of the (3) buds had started to open at dusk. – Does anyone know, is that when they typically open? I thought it was only after dark… In any case, it wasn’t very fragrant then or early the next morning. But in the dark, it was definitely a  “wow!” If only you could smell it too…

Can you smell the lindens? What’s fragrant in your garden? For a look, if not a sniff, at what’s blooming all over the world right now, check out Garden Bloggers Bloom Day over at May Dreams Gardens.