Our Gardens
Cheryl Hagedorn
My studio where I paint faces north. From my window I look on to the backyard. That sounds so mundane, "backyard". It's so far from being an ordinary backyard that I wonder why I said it. There are eight pockets or groupings of plants which cover half of the back lawn and five which cover half the front. When we first moved in, I double-dug the rose garden and we had a truck-load of dirt hauled in to create two other gardens in the front of the house. Lennie, our new neighbor across the street came over to hope out loud, "that you weren't putting in islands." "Not islands," I said. "Flower beds. Food for the soul. I know there's lots of other things we could be doing inside the house, but you need to take care of the soul first."
Just outside the backdoor to the left (under my studio windows) is what used to be "the" herb garden but since we moved many of its inhabitants to the vegetable garden, it's looking a little lean. Like most of the gardens, it is curved. I like the gentle invitation of curves and the way they lead your eye along. It is bordered with sweet melissa - lemon balm - with its spring-green colored leaves. It is no chore to keep the border trimmed! It smells heavenly lemon and the delicious cuttings are used in tea. Within the circle are the darker greens of spearmint and sharp peppermint, licorice-mint with copper-colored leaves, sprawling grey-green lavender and silvery artemsia. I often pick a mint leaf to chew as I stroll. At the far end of the herbs stands a white fan-shaped trellis which supports a dark green, small-leaved and sweetly-scented autumn clematis with tiny one-inch wide star-shaped white flowers. It forms a visual screen to the water garden which makes for a pleasant surprise when you turn the corner.
The patio is against the house. You can swing on the glider and hear the hum of bees in the herbs as well peek into the water garden which is right outside my bedroom window. I can hear the wind-chimes tinkling gently all through the night. The water feature itself is not large, just enough to hold the aquatic hibiscus, horsetail grass and five orange goldfish. It gurgles so softly that you really need to be seated in the rustic rocking chair just to the side of it to hear. The tub is set above ground so if you're sitting next to it, you can easily flick water at the dog. Five-foot high zebra grass with its bright horizontal stripes of yellow and a large floppy elephant ear plant rustle in the wind providing sound to complement the fountain as well as shade from the sun.
Across from the water garden blooms our "sunny garden", reserved primarily for annuals. Like our old herb garden, it too is bordered with lemon balm. I hesitate to describe this as circular, maybe egg-shaped or figure-eight would be more accurate. Every year this plot mutates and enlarges with gifts from friends. Last year Karl donated white fragrant phlox and a tubful of buttercups from his surplus. This is where we inevitably plant the red snap dragons - the huge "rocket" variety and yes, I still play with them to make their mouths pop open. Beside the lemon-yellow forsythia bush stand two intrepid butterfly bushes. Late to mid-summer one of them displays pink panicles, the other a lovely lavender. On the other side of the stone path (in the water garden) looms the majestic "Purple Giant" butterfly bush. All three give off the spicy scent of cinnamon that makes the butterflies fan their wings frenetically. Home to deep red carnations (which survived a number of moves before they landed here), the sunny garden also holds the pride and joy of the gardener: the almost-black irises. Next year we will have a surprise among the irises. While biking in the neighborhood, I came across a box labelled "Free Iris Bulbs". I hoisted the box onto my handlebars, brought them home and planted them next to our stalwarts. Another rescue was a brass headboard which brought new meaning to "flower bed." Clumps of coneflowers and mountain bluet with dark blue pinwheel-shaped flowers round out this garden.
Staying on the path to the back, your eye is drawn to the tree in front of which is the shade garden, crowded with lambs' ears. The soft-grey furry leaves are irresistible and in my mind I feel them between my fingers and brushing against my cheek. Volunteers which have self-seeded can be seen here and there in the grass, like the ears of baby rabbits. Low-growing candy tuft with its evergreen foliage and bright white flowers in spring forms a border on the woodlands' side. There are heavy pink peonies with their lush scent and dark green leaves. White whirligig butterfly plants on red stalks are a new addition. The delicately pastel-colored California poppies nestle near the bleeding hearts. White obedience plants compete disobediently with the blue Spiky Speedwell.
Wander past this "official" shade garden into the woodlands, following the winding path spread with woodchips. Here at the very back of the lot under a not so tall oak are shade-loving perennials: red and white hydrangeas, gold and green spiderwort with lovely true-blue flowers, green and white striped polemonium and rainbow-colored ajuga. In spring there are heavily-scented purple lilacs and sweet-smelling white-flowered lilies of the valley. Late summer wonderful smells from purple and white phlox fill the air. In fall the tall fronds of goldenrod wave majestically. The woodlands serves as home to bluejays and cardinals. This year I built a rustic arbor from the trunks of volunteer trees. I wove long strands of dried grapevine in and out of the supports. A two-foot wide stump serves as a seat within the arbor.
Seated within this arbor, I can look across to the vegetable garden which in late June is surrounded by waist-high sunflowers. If they look as if they are in constant motion, it's because they often are. Tiny yellow and black finches swing on the branches as they gorge themselves on seeds. Later the birds will fill the garden with the wonder of their songs. The sunflowers rise above short lattice-work fencing at the beginning of each row of vegetables. Above the sunflowers stand the cucumber trellis, the wooden teepees of sticks for the beans, and the tall pole which rises 12 feet into the air covered with scarlet runner beans that wobble like a banner in the breeze. There is a corner reserved for the red and green varieties of rhubarb near the compost bins. Straw-covered paths separate the rows. The normal plants are here: broccoli, beans, cucumbers, peas, watermelon, carrots, radishes, onions, beets, miniature eggplants, green peppers and tomatoes. The garden is bounded on the east by flowering hedges of honeysuckle and a four foot deep bed of orange daylilies.
If you bypass the other entrances to the vegetable garden you come to a half-circle which holds one end of an oriental wooden arbor. In spring the bright white stars of the bush burst forth before even one leaf makes an appearance. Walking along the pavers through the arbor brings you to a short row of herbs which holds the place of honor within this garden. Duck under the wind-chimes which sing a three-note song that sounds like an unidentified memory. An ancient lavender plant looks strangely bonsai-like beside the mountain of limestone on which sits an inscrutable green gargoyle lost in thought. Swiss chard, variety "Bright Lights" with its thick yellow, white, red, and orange stalks and large fan-shaped curling leaves doesn't really belong here but was irresistible for the colors and height. Tall, woody, pungent rosemary with its pine-like foliage, fragrant sage with grey-green leaves, borage with bright blue flowers, purple-leafed basil do belong, as do the curly-leaved parsley, and the tall German chamomile for tea, jelly and cakes. Thyme and oregano with their tiny leaves have been set as a border alongside the pavers.
Just around the first corner is yet another bench; you see it from the arbor and it beckons, drawing you past the herbs. The top with its wooden slats and dark, heavy varnish was rescued from a neighbor's trash and set atop concrete blocks. A bit too tall for a normal bench, it's just the right height to get a weary gardener back on their feet after a brief rest. Above the bench a tall, springy tree trunk supports an umbrella of sorts. Mostly whimsy but providing some shade and lots of conversation, the umbrella frame is the bell part of an old wooden chair that we have covered in fabric. It looks like a giant mushroom on a too-thin stalk.
Next to the garage is a small strip-garden. This year saw the addition of two agapanthus - West Nile lilies - the extremely generous gift of a friend. Their flower stalks rise like rocket trails, bend gracefully, ending in light blue teardrops. They are snuggled in between the stonecrop, the hollyhocks, the three climbing roses, more lilies of the valley, nasturtiums, and a reluctant reddish-purple clematis.
Outside the backdoor to the right is the corner garden. A purple and a pink hardy geranium live here in the company of quite a collection of Jack-in-the-Pulpits. True, the "jacks" belong in the woodlands but they do so well here we're afraid to move them. Dianthus, spicy-scented cousins of carnations, in white and magenta live here as do the white clover-headed gomphrena which make wonderful additions to dried-flower arrangements.
Behind the water garden, although hard to see, is the fourth arbor, an old-fashioned white painted wood trellis style, covered with an ornery red climbing rose. In fall the huge orange-red rosehips are beautiful. In spring and summer the thing is a nuisance with its long stalks insisting on being trained to trellis while teasing you with armsful of blooms. The arbor leads to the west side of the house which is covered in lilacs and a ground-cover of blue-flowering myrtle. Stepping along the flagstone path will lead you to yet another arbor and the front yard. Here again, "yard" is not the appropriate word because it too is filled with pockets, plots and beds - more gardens. We finally gave up and put an arbor here for the mailman - this is his cut-through to the neighbors.
Coming through the arbor from the side of the house, you will be presented with the rose garden. There are bush roses, miniature roses, and the standard floribundas. Colors range from barely lilac to deepest, darkest red to bright yellow, soft yellow, white and pink and all sorts of combinations. Planted in a U-shaped bed they surround a ceramic birdbath we fell in love with for its gently curving lips. Within the rose garden behind the birdbath, nearest the house, is a luxurious purple clematis that finally decided to bloom this year. Every year it filled the trellis with branches and leaves and not a single bud. This year it bloomed in spring, took a short rest and bloomed until the first frost as if to make up for all those lost years.
Moving from the rose garden towards the street, one is thankful for the hedge of forsythia and spirea. It's so much nicer to look at green things than the long line of cars and trucks in the neighbor's drive. Gary, the neighbor, does come in handy though because he's the one who trims the hedge and helps us shovel in winter. The hedge ends where the sidewalk would be if we had one. We don't. The street does not have curbs either. Both help to lend a country feel to the area which attracted us to this location.
Before you is the sunny front garden: pink, prickly coneflowers, bright orange canna lilies, audacious red Oriental poppies, deep pink coralbells, white daisies with cushioney yellow centers, enthusiastic yellow coreopsis, tender but tough mountain bluet for relief, brown-eyed susans - the rudbeckias. This year we have added some short darker cannas and some teddy bear sunflowers with their dinnerplate size fuzzy heads. In fall the coneflowers are visited regularly by birds which winter here.
On the other side of the yard underneath the listing cottonwood tree is the shade garden. Incredible hardy hibiscus dominate the one end. The bushes stand almost 4 feet high and are covered with a succession of colors. The blooms begin stark white with deep red centers which fade until the whole flower is a lovely shade pink before they form large seedheads. Beside them are the turtleheads with their tall stalks of purple and large fountains of foliage. Strong cardinal flowers with their 6 foot stalks tower above the foxglove but not for long. The tubes of the foxglove invite fingers to be stuck in them and I do. The blue-purple asters rise from among the light-blue balloonflowers which are all mixed up with the gypsophilia - baby's breath. The tiny white flowers are barely visible. Behind them the strong, tall lilies in furious reds and oranges compete for attention. Sleeping below the ground for most of the year are the crocuses, daffodils and tulips. A border of alternating candytuft and dianthus contain this collection of odds and ends.
Nearer to house along the sidewalk to the front door is a long narrow semi-cicrcular garden. This is the most formal of all the beds: two forsythiabushes, one lemon, one buttercup yellow anchor the corners; red azaleas alternate with white popcorn roses. Behind them are a wall of peonies. Across the sidewalk is a line of yuccas, big bushy cactus-looking things with peculiar overly-exuberant, creamy-white flower spikes that are such a joy to see. In front of them is a zinnia salute to grandmothers everywhere. Tall and multicolored they really don't belong on the yucca side of things but there wasn't room for them by the hollyhocks.