From the Soil

Linnaeus Day: Viburnum lantana 'Mohican'

2012-01-23T00:00:00.000-08:00

This post is a part of my Linnaeus Day series, where I learn more about the history of plant growing in my own garden. I invite other bloggers to do similar posts and link to them in the comments below.

Years ago, my good friend Laura Hayden (who blogs over at Durable Gardening) let me in on a little horticultural secret. When you come upon a woody shrub that you can't identify, it behooves you to guess Viburnum. Despite the apparent breadth of this genus implied by Laura's advice, until recently I knew very little about Viburnum and grew none in my own garden. I cannot think of a better genus for my inaugural Linnaeus Day post. As Michael Dirr shares in his work on the genus[10], Linnaeus himself classified Viburnum in Species Plantarum (1753).

More specifically, I have chosen to share the history of Viburnum lantana 'Mohican', a shrub that I added to my driveway border in the fall of 2010. I hadn't heard of 'Mohican' before finding it on the clearance table of a local garden center that was going out of business. I needed shrubs to fill in the new border, and I was attracted to the upright habit and striking near-white bark of 'Mohican'.

'Mohican' was introduced by Don Egolf of the National Arboretum in 1966. While there is an unexplainable dearth of information about Egolf's biography available online, he is known for his many plant introductions through the Arboretum up until his death in a 1990 car accident.[9]

Egolf selected 'Mohican' from among 87 seedlings grown at the Aboretum from a Polish seed source. It's interesting to note that the seedling first flowered in 1956, but wasn't introduced until 10 years later.[5] Nearly a half-century since its introduction into the nursery trade, Dirr still refers to 'Mohican' as "superior to the run of the mill Viburnum lantana."[2] Another Viburnum in my garden, V. x rhytidophylloides 'Allegheny', is the result of an Egolf cross between the 'Mohican' seedlings and V. rhytidophyllym.[10]

Viburnum lantana is also known as the wayfaring tree. V. lantana is commonly found along roadsides and hedge rows in its native Europe[4], and would have been a common sight for travelers on foot (wayfarers). At least one source credits 16th century botanist John Gerard for coining this name[6], while others claim the exact origin of the name is unknown[7]. In her 1837 work The Spirit of the Woods, Rebecca Hay celebrates this common name of V. lantana[8].

"Way-faring tree! what ancient claim
Hast thou to that right pleasant name?
Was it that some faint pilgrim came
Unhopedly to thee,
In the brown desert's weary way
'Mid toil and thirst's consuming sway,
And there as 'neath they shade he lay,
Bless'd the way-faring tree?
Or is it that thou lov'st to show
They coronals of fragrant snow,
like life's spontaneous joys that flow
In paths by thousands beat?
Whate'er it be, I love it well;
A name, methinks, that surely fell
From poet, in some evening dell
Wandering with fancies sweet."

When I began my research into 'Mohican', I didn't anticipate I'd find anything in its history that would sour my opinion of the plant. But one of the first resources I found was a US Forest Service bulletin that named V. lantana as the "Weed of the Week."[3] Its fruit is both a favorite of birds and quite virile. Many states, including here in Illinois, have declared V. lantana an invasive species.

Its unclear whether 'Mohican' has the same tendency to spread as the species. I certainly won't know next year, because in an absentminded fit of overaggressive deadheading, I cut all the dead flowers off my 'Mohican' thus decapitating its ability to produce fruit for the year.

Like most of the plants in our garden, 'Mohican' currently rests in winter dormancy, unchanged in its appearance. But as I walk by it to get in my car each morning, I'll see it in a new light -- the light of its storied history.

Sources:
(1) Dirr, Michael. Manual of Woody Landscape Plants: Their Identification, Ornamental Characteristics, Culture, Propagation and Uses. Champaign, IL: Stipes Pub., 1998. Print.
(2) Dirr, Michael. Dirr's Encyclopedia of Trees and Shrubs. Portland, Or.: Timber, 2011. Print.
(3) "Weed of the Week: Wayfaring Tree." Forest Health Protection. U.S. Forest Service. Web. 2012. <http://na.fs.fed.us/fhp/invasive_plants/weeds/wayfaring-tree.pdf>.
(4) "Viburnum Lantana." Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia. Web. 22 Jan. 2012. <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viburnum_lantana>.
(5) "Viburnum Lantana 'Mohican'" Arboretum Plant Introductions and Releases. United States National Arboretum, Nov. 1999. Web. 22 Jan. 2012. <http://www.usna.usda.gov/Newintro/mohican.pdf>
(6) "Wayfaring-tree." Science and Plants for Schools. Cambridge University Botanic Garden. Web. 22 Jan. 2012. <http://www-saps.plantsci.cam.ac.uk/trees/wayfaring.htm>.
(7) "The Woodland Trust | Tree Guide | Wayfaring Tree." The Woodland Trust | British Trees. Web. 22 Jan. 2012. <http://www.british-trees.com/treeguide/viburnums/nbnsys0000004326>.
(8) Hey, Rebecca. The Spirit of the Woods. Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, Green, & Longman, 1837. Accessed January 22, 2012 at http://books.google.com/books?id=7k1HAAAAYAAJ&pg=RA1-PA246&dq=The+Guelder+rose+what+ancient+claim&hl=en&sa=X&ei=ZiIcT8q6EIvUgQfbus3bCw&ved=0CDIQ6AEwAA#v=onepage&q=The%20Guelder%20rose%20what%20ancient%20claim&f=false
(9) "A Viburnum Garden." Gardening in the Ozarks. Web. 22 Jan. 2012. <http://www.ozarksgardens.com/news/0/0/ZXHvd/a-viburnum-garden.html>.
(10) Dirr, Michael. Viburnums. Portland, OR: Timber Press, 2007. Print.

A Frosty Fog in the Garden

2012-01-22T10:38:00.000-08:00

Weigela florida 'Variegata'

Hamamelis vernalis

Rosa Knockout® Rainbow

Clematis ternifolia

Rosa Knockout®

Callicarpa dichotoma 'Early Amethyst'

Aronia arbutifolia 'Brilliantisima'

Echinacea purpurea

Miscanthus sinsensis 'Gracillimus'

Growing in My Garden: January 16-22

2012-01-21T20:52:00.000-08:00

As my son and I left his Cub Scout meeting on Friday night, I could only describe the weather as pouring ice. Steady waves of icy pellets fell noisily on the sidewalk outside the school. We were on the southern edge of a storm system that dumped several inches of snow along the Great Lakes, but left us with a few hours of sleet. When I woke up Saturday morning, I was expecting a crunchy crust on the garden. Instead, the grass was already peeking out from a patchy coating of what looked like snow.

By early afternoon when I walked through the garden with my camera, the bright sun had melted even more of the covering. In one of the front porch containers, the bird nest that came in our Christmas tree held a bit of ice.

Around back, Zefr sat waist deep in ice with the first signs of frost damage appearing on his glazed surface. When I first bought this piece of garden art, I knew it would be a wonderful symbol to welcome visitors to my backyard gardens. Even up to his elbows in ice, he maintains his "what will be, will be" attitude.

Salix integra 'Hikuro Nishiki'

We haven't had many blue sky days this winter, so I took the time to stand beneath the dappled willow and look up through its cross-cutting branches. The kaleidoscope of red and gray against the deep blue sky is among my favorite textures in the winter garden.

Prunus ceracus 'North Star'

Mahogany buds on the North Star Cherry have begun to stand out against the waxy brown twigs. Along with nearby lilac and serviceberry, this tree holds the promise of early spring in a tight embrace.

Helleborus 'Melody'

Last year's Hellebore foliage remains a deep green, if a little wilted by the frigid temperatures we had this week. It's one of the few evergreen plants in the back border. I won't cut back this foliage until well after the new flowers and foliage emerge in February and March.

As I worked my way around to the front yard, the calls of a large flock of geese called my attention upward. I'm not sure which way they were headed, north or south. Perhaps they're as confused by our mild winter as the rest of us are.

I noticed earlier this week that only one of the three sweet gum lining our driveway is covered with seed pods. There are a large number of seedpods on the ground around the other two, but I can't figure out why one tree would still hold onto them while the others dropped.

Looking at the trees, I noticed quick flashes of movement. With a closer look, I saw several goldfinches plucking seed from the dried seed pods hanging from the branches. I returned inside for my zoom lens so I could capture them up close.

At one point, six of them gathered in one section of the tree, hanging every which way to stick their beaks into the openings. For every beak-full they retrieved, a shower of seed would rain out of the pod. Every so often, the finches would flutter over to the neighbor's roof to get a drink from the melting ice.

Getting outside was a good antidote to being cooped up by winter this week. The plants may have been visibly retracting from the frigid air, but a morning of sunshine allowed the critters to come out from hiding and bring some much-needed life to the garden.

Today's Pause: January 16

2012-01-16T16:14:00.001-08:00

Growing in My Garden: January 9-15

2012-01-16T10:06:00.000-08:00

Not so fast Spring! I'm now wondering if this blog has more influence than originally thought. As soon as I publicized my worry of an early spring, winter was delivered. Temperatures took a nosedive mid-week as a cold front carrying high winds and light but constant snow moved into the Midwest. Over the course of three days, a thin blanket of snow covered most of the garden.

Crysanthemum

I left a few sturdy plants in containers on the front porch, waiting for snow. The plants (including this mum) provide interest even without a covering of snow, but fulfill my aesthetic intentions once covered with a couple of inches of the white stuff.

Aronia 'Brilliantisima'

The shrubs in the driveway border no longer blend into the brown mulch. I'm now wishing I had planted more Aronia, as it has turned out to be a spectacular specimen in winter.

Picea pungens 'Fat Albert'

The needles of the Colorado Blue Spruce collect the light snow up the length of its twigs. The icy snow didn't melt much, so individual flakes could still be seen along the ridges.

Pinus mugo

I barely notice the Mugo pine in the front border until we have a snowfall. The rest of the year, it's a solid shrub that provides good shape and constant color. When its green needles poke out through the fallen snow, it becomes a highlight of the garden.

Picea pungens 'Fat Albert' and Clematis 'Jackmanii'

I'd like to claim credit for planning it this way, but rather accidentally the front border is filled with plants that make excellent show catchers. Of all our garden areas, this part is the best example of the winter garden.

Hylotelephium 'Autumn Joy'

The tall sedum that grows at the base of the spruce may be named 'Autumn Joy' for its russet flowers, but my favorite sedum season has always been winter. The upright stems topped with broad corymbs will collect snow for most of the winter. As stems are broken by the weight or wind, I'll remove them.

Baptisia australis

I tried a new technique with the Baptisia in the front border while cleaning up the garden in fall. Instead of cutting the old stems down to the ground, I pruned the front of the plant down to half-height and the back to around 3/4 height. I'll take them down completely in spring, but I'm enjoying the different architecture it provides for now.

Miscanthus sinensis

Temperatures in the upper teens led to a very dry snow; very little stuck to plants without horizontal surfaces. With the strong winds that we had, I'm surprised any held on to the seed heads of ornamental grasses.

Hylotelphium 'Matrona'

Tall sedum makes an excellent companion to tall ornamental grasses, in both autumn and winter. Against the snow, their color becomes even more pronounced.

Itea virginica 'Little Henry'

My jury is still out on 'Little Henry' sweetspire. It has interesting summer flowers and good fall color, but its habit and overall impact in the landscape is underwhelming. I'm growing two of these shrubs in the back border, and if I'm honest they've been disappointing. Even with a snowy background, the branches and seed heads don't scream "look at me." It's possible they need to be moved to place where they are less of a focal point.

Hibiscus syriacus

Despite the high germination rate of their seeds, I leave Rose of Sharon (Hibiscus syriacus) pods on for winter. I'll be pulling saplings out next season, but I enjoy the ornamentation they provide during winter. I always chuckle when I see a Rose of Sharon sapling for sale in our garden center. I could probably retire by selling the seedlings I remove.

As I write this, it has warmed up to 46F and large areas of mulch have reemerged in the garden. If this is our only real taste of winter this year, I'll be disappointed. But as most gardeners will attest, satisfaction in the garden is an undefinable mix of hard work, good (perhaps lucky) choices and a willingness to accept what Mother Nature provides.

A Friendly Reminder

2012-01-15T16:22:00.000-08:00

This past week, I haven't done well in fulfilling my pledge to pause each day to let nature's splendor fill me with inspiration. I let the panic of life set in, running from one task to the next, letting other concerns take precedence over this simple exercise in humility and recharge. Thankfully, I received a friendly reminder when my friend Steve Bender (Southern Living's Grumpy Gardener) posted my Thanksgiving essay to his Facebook page.

Tonight at sunset, I drove out to the same location that had inspired that post to catch the final bit of orange as it slipped past the horizon.

Without Steve's reminder, I may not have chosen to look outside when my wife asked about tonight's sunset. As much as we repeat our personal mantra, sometimes it takes good friends to help remind us just who we want to be.

Changing of the Seasons at Meadowbrook Park: January 14

2012-01-15T12:06:00.000-08:00

Winter arrived in central Illinois this week in the form of three straight days of light, blowing snow. A thin blanket of white filled the gaps between the dried stems of the prairie during my Saturday afternoon visit to Meadowbrook Park. Against the background of white, the prairie appeared more as a collection of individual plants than the swaying mass of bronze and gold.

Much of the snow that remained on the ground collected in drifts flowing along the edge of the walking paths. It was hard to tell just how much snow we received. Some drifts stood knee high, while other areas were swept clean by steady, strong winds.

A good number of people enjoyed the park, despite temperatures in the 20s. I've envied the residents that live adjacent to Meadowbrook, with such a magnificent resource literally in their back yards.

As I began my hour-long hike, flurries filled the air but the breeze became still enough to let the snow fall to the ground. Out in the middle of the prairie, I stopped several times just to listen to the quiet; I could almost hear the flakes settle into the tallgrass.

Pycnanthemum virginium

The gray stems and seed heads of Mountain Mint (Pycanthemum virginium) stand out among the brown tones. In such a monocromatic landscape, even subtle differences in hue create a striking contrast.

Lespedeza leptostachya

The dark russet seeds of prairie bush clover (Lespedeza leptostachya) dotted the prairie. Normally lofted on thin grey stems, a few of the plants showed fasciation near the flower head (pictured on top and bottom right).

I chose to walk off trail towards the stream that runs through the park. Thickening ice fogged the surface of the water; a light dusting of snow powdered the frozen surface. The sound of flowing water emerged from small, unfrozen pockets along the shore.

I made my way upstream toward the beaver dam. The increasing frequency of severed 12-18" stumps told me I was getting closer to their aquatic architecture.

The stream above the dam was more thickly frozen, collecting a heavier carpet of snow. From many angles, upstream was indistinguishable from the shoreline woods. As I walked along, I was careful not to end up in rather than along the stream.

Pin cherries seem to be the favorite of the park's deer population. Deer damage and hoof prints were common along the entire stream.

Rhus typhina

A small grove of staghorn sumac (Rhus typhina) grows near where the stream turns north. The large, bright red seed heads are visible for a distance through the trees and brush. Judging by the number of fuzzy saplings growing in the area, it's a prolific spreader.

Bird nests could be spotted easily as they've become snow collection points. I noticed this nest during last weeks visit. It had been filled with a red fruit (perhaps honeysuckle or crabapple) by some bird. Some of this fruit is still visible beneath the snow.

Asclepias

Milkweed (Asclepias) pods slowly allow seed to become airborne. I can only imagine with the winds of the past few days where these opportunistic seeds will find their next patch of fertile ground.

Alnus glutinosa

The northern stretch of the stream is lined with alder (Alnus glutinosa). Alder is a tree commonly found at the water's edge due to its ability to withstand long periods under water. Alder is monoecious, with both long, slender male catkins and rounder female catkins on the same tree. I was fascinated by the root morphology at the base of the trees. Alder have a nitrogen-fixing symbiotic relationship with a bacterium that forms root nodules. I need to do more research to determine if these interesting root formations are the result of this relationship, or simply a function of being under water for the parts of the year when the stream is high.

The Meadowbrook stream is fed by stormwater runoff that enters through an inlet just north of a pedestrian bridge that connects the inner and outer walking paths in the park. I hope to visit at some point this year after a major rain event to see how this area changes during high water.

The hazy, descending sun began to peek through the clouds, shining off the top of a metal sculpture "Position 1" (by Chicago sculptor Ron Gard) just on the other side of the bridge. I stood and watched the sun reflect off Gard's work, a fitting end to this icy visit to Meadowbrook Park.

What Will Happen, Will Happen

2012-01-12T20:33:00.000-08:00

I have a confession to make. I worry. I worry a lot. I worry that I worry too much.

This past weekend, as the temperature broke 50 degrees, I worried that the plants would be fooled by a false spring and my garden be wiped out by the true winter that was sure to come.

Then, on Wednesday morning, I read this edict on Facebook, by way of Steve Bender (aka Southern Living's Grumpy Gardener).

"How can you stop this mild winter weather from causing shrubs, trees, and bulbs to bloom too early? Answer: You can't. So stop worrying about it. Que sera sera."

Epiphany may be too strong of a term for what I felt reading Steve's words, but they struck a central chord in me. It certainly wasn't my first introduction to the idea that I shouldn't worry about those things I can't control. Every list of Top 20 Ways to Improve Your Life includes this admonition in one way or another.

So why did Steve's words strike me as so poignant on Wednesday morning? Steve was talking to me in terms of my garden -- that unique place in my life where freedom, expression and control exist in a most perfect harmony. The design of my garden and the work I put into are my personal expression at its most raw and unimpeded. It is me expressed through nature. My choices, my creation. But even here, there are variables beyond my control. I can't control the weather; I can only make sure I choose the right plants for our climate and give them the right location and fuel they need to grow. After that, I must learn to accept that what will happen, will happen. Que sera sera.

Understanding this in terms of my garden, I now must apply it to my life. Even in those parts of our life where we feel the most control, we don't write the entire dialog. We make the choices that both logic and our gut tell us are right. We give what we can give. Then we must do the hardest part ... let go ... and accept that what will happen, will happen. Que sera sera.

Growing in My Garden: January 2-8

2012-01-08T17:06:00.000-08:00

Spring has arrived at our quarter-acre plot in the middle of the central Illinois suburbs! The lawn is starting to green up, bulbs are bursting through the soil, and early shrubs are starting to break bud. If I hadn't looked at the calendar before walking through the garden today, I would have sworn it was March instead of January. The new year has definitely taken a turn for the .... balmy.

Yesterday, when I brought our Christmas tree outside, I threw on my Carharrt not because of the cold, but for protection from the dried needles of our Canaan Fir that stopped drinking nearly 10 days ago. I stood the tree up between a stand of Miscanthus and our old satellite dish (that needs to be removed). Until it's recycled when the calendar hits spring, our Christmas tree will provide shelter for wildlife in the garden. Unless you looked under the lower branches, you'd never know it wasn't growing in our garden.

Monarda didyma

My footsteps in the back border crushed some of the old Bee Balm (Monarda didyma) foliage on the ground, releasing a minty fragrance into the air. A few of the Bee Balm seed heads remain standing along the back fence.

Viburnum rhytidophylloides 'Allegheny'

In the side yard, the first flower bud on an 'Allegheny' Viburnum has formed. This shrub, considered semi-evergreen, has remained green so far this winter. Only when the temperatures dropped suddenly into the teens earlier this week did the foliage show any damage.

Syringa vulgaris

The lilacs are kicking into spring mode, their terminal flower buds bright green and swelling. This sight normally brings a wide smile to my face, but in January my grin is tinged with worry.

Rosa Knockout® 'Rainbow'

Bright red buds have formed at the nodes on my Knockout® 'Rainbow' roses.

Iris germanica

It's not unusual for the new foliage of bearded Iris to emerge in autumn and persist through winter, but I'm seeing signs of new growth throughout the garden. A return to more seasonable (i.e. cold) weather shouldn't hurt the iris, and the flowers don't emerge until long after the foliage has grown.

Salix integra 'Hakuro Nishiki'

The young twigs on the dappled willows in the back border are displaying their characteristic red winter color. This color is most apparent at the top of the shrubs, which have now grown taller (12-14 feet) than we ever expected. If we can find a way to control the scale that's started to colonize one of the trunks, this shrub should be a focal point in the border for years to come.

Several unidentifed bulbs have sprouted in the new patio terrace. They are likely Muscari or perhaps Chionodoxa, but haven't come up in numbers that concern me yet. When we finally get some cold (yes, I said when), the remaining bulbs will return to dormancy and come up at more expected times.

Hydrangea quercifolia 'Snow Queen'

One of my favorite shrubs in winter is oakleaf hydrangea. I love the color and texture of the fuzzy leaf buds. A look at the past bud scars on this shrub show that last season was a good growth season for this young shrub. I'm glad the fact that I moved it twice in one year doesn't seem to have stunted its progress. It now grows under the 20-year-old honeylocust at the end of the patio terrace.

Acer palmatum 'Roseo Marginatum'

Near the hydrangea is the first Japanese maple I've added to the garden. Bought at the end of autumn from the discount section of a local garden center, I'm pleased with the number of healthy buds that cover its tender young branches. Planted along one of the terrace walkways, I hope it will provide a beautiful focal point from both our dining room and gazebo. I'm already dreaming of the evening light filtering through its variegated, cutleaf foliage.

Heuchera 'Cherry Cola'

Most of the Huechera in the garden haven't shown any signs of succumbing to the cold. 'Cherry Cola' -- a variety whose color is highly dependent on environmental conditions -- has returned to the hue that inspired its pop-ular name.

Liquidambar styraciflua

A mainstay in our winter garden, the seedpods of sweetgum hang with ornamental precision. Now that we no longer have any turf beneath these trees, the cleanup and hassle of these spiny balls is minimal. They simply become additional mulch in our 8'x60' driveway border. What cleanup we do is to rake those that fall in the neighbor's yard.

Buxus microphylla 'Wintergreen'

The five boxwood shrubs that curve along the leading edge of the our front foundation border are afterthoughts for most of the year, but in winter stand out against a backdrop of dried ornamental grasses. They, too, are enjoying the spate of warm weather -- retaining a glossy green sheen. Often, their winter color can take a rusty cast.

Hylotelephium (unknown variety)

The tall sedum (Hylotelephium) throughout the front borders stand in various angles from upright. We've had no snow or ice yet to break their stems, so most are retaining a summery habit, sans foliage. The clump pictured above grows at the base of a Whitespire birch on the southeast corner of the house. In summer, the foliage is a bit too light green for my taste, but it is among my favorites in winter.

Rhododendron catawbeinse 'Nova Zembla'

The buds on my four Rhododendron are growing slowly, some larger than others. It's normally interesting to watch their evergreen foliage curl along the midrib on colder days on winter. This week, they've been curling as much as the Olympic team from Costa Rica.

Clematis ternifolia

A few of the smoky tails of sweet autumn clematis seeds remain on the vines that cover the southern rail of our deck. Last year, a large number of seedlings emerged in the river rock along the deck. I'm hoping for a repeat performance so that I can transplant some to other areas of the garden. This vine is an amazing performer.

Miscanthus sinensis

Miscanthus is one plant that I'm glad doesn't reseed (at least not in my garden). Hundreds of seeds line each of the strands that make up the floral plumes of this clump-forming perennial. I love this three-season grass (it gets cut back in spring and doesn't reach appreciable form until summer), but would have second thoughts if I had to deal with an aggressive reseeding habit.

Hamamelis vernalis

I mentioned that shrubs were starting to break bud. Well, make that one shrub -- the vernal witch hazel that has been both hallmark and stallwart of the western border since I started gardening at Cherry Creek. I noticed the first flower starting to emerge on Saturday. By today, several more had broken bud.

When I close my eyes tonight, I will be hoping for our true winter to arrive. The plants don't know any better. They don't understand that a freeze is sure to come. They have no calendar, no sense of history. Only a genetic predisposition, an instinct to follow.

A Mounded Microclimate

2012-01-08T13:38:00.000-08:00

I was out in the garden this afternoon when I noticed a yellow-green tip sprouting from the top of a small mulch pile I'd left in the western border. It was one of those fall garden chores that never got done, spreading mulch over the freshly planted bulbs. I'll just use it in spring, I thought.

What I didn't anticipate was that the mulch would be such a wonderful heat collector and insulator that it would convince the bulbs beneath it that winter was over. In this mounded microclimate, several of the daffodil bulbs had grown nearly 16 inches to reach the top of the pile.

I dug the sprouted bulbs out of the ground and replanted them in clay pots to bring indoors. I highly doubt they'd survive once normal winter arrives, so at least we can have some spring flowers to enjoy in January. Based on the location, I'm guessing they are Narcissus 'Martinette' -- my favorite of the daffodils in my garden. After they bloom indoors, I can hopefully keep the foliage under my plant lights until I can replant them outdoors in spring.

Changing of the Seasons at Meadowbrook Park: January 7

2012-01-07T10:04:00.000-08:00

The thermometer read 33F, but the bright rising sun and cloudless sky inspired me to leave hat and gloves at home for my first visit of 2012 to Meadowbrook Park. I've chosen the 80-acre park in southeast Urbana as my subject for this year's Changing of the Seasons series; for equal parts aesthetics and metaphor, I wanted my first visit to be in the early morning.

The restored tallgrass prairie that covers nearly half of the park awoke in waves of bronze and gold as the sun emerged from beyond the evergreen treeline that separates Meadowbrook from the abandoned orchard to the east. The tall heads of Indian grass (Sorghastrum nutans) interspersed with clumps of big bluestem (Andropogon gerardii) waved softly in a breeze strong enough to move the prairie, but not so much that I rued my optimistically springish attire.

The edge of the sprawling prairie begins along a split-rail fence that draws the line between the children's playground and open field that make up the recreational area of the park.

I heard a harried rustling as I approached the prairie viewing platform on the outer loop of the network of walking paths through the park. I looked out through the tallgrass to see a small group of deer, cautiously curious of my approach.

Sorghastrum nutans

The fine stems of Indian grass danced, their movement adorned with gilded halos.

Andropogon gerardii

Big bluestem, the Illinois State prairie grass, is not as plentiful in the park as Indian grass, but stands out with its reddish stems in winter. It is commonly called turkey foot because of its shape.

Ratibida pinnata

The yellow coneflower are slowly being deseeded by the birds in the park, revealing flower's inner cone.

Silphium laciniatum

The only wildflower to rise above the tallgrass are the compass plants (Silphium laciniatum) whose dried centers remain atop sturdy stems.

"Marker" by Peter Fagan

One of my favorite parts of Meadowbrook is the sculpture that is placed throughout the park, blending the masterpiece of nature with that of human hands. While some of the sculpture is beyond my appreciation, others seem the perfect marriage with the prairie.

A juvenile maple grows in the middle of the prairie. I wonder whether the placement of the trees in the park is a conscious effort of the park managers, or a result of a random seed taking advantage of good fortune.

Cirsium discolor (possible ID)

Some of the wildflowers in the park, like this thistle, aren't listed among the official plants in the prairie restoration; nevertheless they make attractive neighbors.

Birds of all kinds formed a choral soundtrack to my walk. The park's hospitality to our avian friends is obvious, judging by the number of nests I saw. The nest pictured above rested in the branches of a young sapling, and didn't measure more than 3-4 inches across.

A small stream runs through the middle of Meadowbrook, lined by a narrow woods on each side. This area is currently in transition, as the park managers attempt to remove the Japanese honeysuckle (Lonicera), a non-native plant that has invaded the woods.

A beaver dam threatens to halt the flow of water, so recently a culvert pipe was installed to route the water under the dam while allowing the beaver to maintain its home. The dam is an engineering marvel, considering the entire thing was built by a small mammal.

I spent more than two hours in Meadowbrook and merely sampled its offerings. My appetite is deliciously whet for another year of being awed by Mother Nature as she changes with the seasons.

Today's Pause: January 6

2012-01-06T15:56:00.000-08:00

Fenestraria rhopalophylla (Baby Toes)

Today's Pause: January 5

2012-01-05T20:17:00.000-08:00

2012: Grow. Share. Observe. Learn. Pause. Focus.

2012-01-01T19:00:00.000-08:00

Grow. Share. Observe. Learn. Pause. Focus. Six simple words I hope to live by in 2012.

I will grow my garden so that I may grow with it. There is nothing that reminds me of who I am more than having my garden's soil under my fingernails. As it grows, I will make an effort to welcome more people into it. My garden gate is as open as the minds that pass through it.

I will spend more time visiting the gardens of others so that I may share both their beauty and history. What makes a garden more than a collection of plants are its stories and the memories of life it evokes. These moments need to be preserved.

I will observe the wonder of nature as it changes before me. I have chosen Meadowbrook Park, 80-acres in Urbana, Illinois as my subject. The park includes a 30-acre tallgrass prairie restoration, woods and a small stream. It should provide an endless continuum of interest as I record the changing of the seasons.

I will learn more about the plants I grow. If there is one thing that I learned in 2011 is how little I actually know about the plants in my garden. To begin the slow elimination of my ignorance, I will write a monthly "Linnaeus Day" post on the 23rd of each month (Carl Linnaeus -- the Swedish botanist considered the father of modern taxonomy was born on May 23, 1707) in which I learn about and share the history, breeding and unique characteristics of a plant growing in my garden. I invite other garden bloggers to join in Linnaeus Day, as I think we all can learn more about the plants we grow.

I will pause each day to let Mother Nature refill me with the humility and awe necessary to appreciate her grandeur. The tornado of our hurried lives often leaves the impression that everything revolves around us. Whether it is a fiery sunset or a tiny water droplet hanging from the tip of a leaf, I will find that suspended instant in the day that restores my perspective and purpose.

I will focus, through my lens, but more importantly in my mind and heart. 2011 was a watershed year for me. It was a year that demanded I discover and define who I am. With a quiet confidence that I've never felt before, I can move forward with purpose in this new year.

Thank you for walking with me on this journey. My sincere hope is that I enrich your lives in some small way as I grow ... share ... observe ... learn ... pause ... and focus.

2011: A Year of Kindred Spirits

2011-12-30T17:06:00.000-08:00

Annual retrospectives are challenging endeavors. Looking back isn't the problem. I always become contemplative in the waning days of each year, ruminating over the previous twelve months. There's nothing unique about this; the closing of one year and the beginning of another is a natural signpost in life.

The challenge for me in writing a retrospective lies in preventing the exercise from becoming a self-aggrandizing litany of accomplishments. I'd be remiss to play the humility card and claim that I haven't done much this year. I'm certainly proud of what I've accomplished and appreciative of the resulting opportunities. It feels like I've found a stable niche and growing audience for my writing and photography.

But as I look back on the year, what stands out are not my personal accomplishments. The lasting memories of 2011 revolve around people -- from those whose paths I crossed only momentarily to those who walk with me into 2012 as my closest friends. It is these people, whose love for plants and passion for life gives us a common thread despite our differences and distance, that made 2011 one of the most satisfying years of my life.

Dr. Michael Dirr, me and Chip Tynan

The year began as I traveled with Laura Hayden (a longtime friend and blogger at Durable Gardening) to the National Green Centre trade show in St. Louis. This was the first horticultural industry trade show I'd ever attended, and it was fascinating to walk the floor talking to nursery owners about new plants and attending seminars given by some of the top names in the industry. At National Green Centre, we had the opportunity to meet and learn from Dr. Michael Dirr and Dr. Allan Armitage, two plantsmen who have long held a prominent place in my horticulture library. The plant walk hosted by Dr. Dirr at the Missouri Botanical Garden was an unforgettable experience. Not only did we get to experience the wisdom of Dr. Dirr "out in the wild", but also had the great pleasure learning from Maria Zampini (Horticulture and American Nurseryman columnist and president of Upshoot plant introductions), Chip Tynan (manager of MoBot's Horticultural Answer Service), and Robert Smith (Arbor Day Foundation).

Louise Hartwig and Kylee Baumle

In March, I sat in the garden writers' media room at the Chicago Flower and Garden Show as we waited for the go ahead to start our preview of the show. In walked two women -- Kylee Baumle and her mother Louise Hartwig -- who would instantly become two of my favorite people on earth. Kylee and I had been corresponding electronically ever since meeting on Twitter in 2010, so I had a pretty good idea we'd get along in person. Little did I'd know our friendly bulb competition from the previous autumn would turn into an incredible friendship.

Laura Hayden, Shawna Coronado and me at Navy Pier

After a brief TweetUp on Navy Pier with a group of bloggers that were attending CFGS, we were heading back to the CFGS show floor when Shawna Coronado (author of Gardening Nude and sustainable lifestyle activist) stop at the food court for a quick snack. Our cafe table turned into the stage for a lengthy conversation about writing, photography, parenting and life in general. Shawna's energy, candor and generosity were infectious and inspiring. I instantly knew I'd found a kindred spirit.

(Photo courtesy of the Garden Media Group)

The week after CFGS, I was invited to participate in the Costa Farms Social Summit in Miami. The first morning in Miami, I'll admit to feeling a bit intimidated as I left my hotel room. Also invited to the summit were Steve Bender (Southern Living), Justin Hancock (Better Homes & Gardens), Stacey Hirvela (Martha Stewart Living), Helen Yoest (Gardening with Confidence), Judy Lowe (Christian Science Monitor) and Brenda Haas (GardenChat). The insecure feeling quickly dissipated as I was warmly welcomed to the group led Suzi McCoy and Stacey Pierson from Garden Media Group.

Mike Rimland of Costa Farms

A common trait among growers is their enthusiasm for their work. The people that make up the Costa Farms family are no exception. Maybe it's the increased oxygen from the millions of plants growing in their facilities, but you could almost smell their love of plants in the air. When we drove out to the Anthurium production greenhouses, Costa Farms director of business development (and one of the top growers in the world) Mike Rimland spoke with a parental pride about his plants.

By the end of the dinner that ended the summit, there was no doubt that I'd met several people who would be a part of my life for years to come. My short time in Miami reinforced the central theme of 2011: the love of gardening is a common bond stronger than the differences that divide us.

Kylee Baumle photographing Canada Anemone

The first weekend in June, my wife and I traveled to visit Kylee and her husband in Ohio. I smiled broadly as we walked through her garden listening to Kylee and Romie sharing the stories that comprised its history. I've always believed you can feel the gardener's spirit as you walk quietly through a garden, so I made a point to wake up early to experience and photograph Kylee's garden by myself.

I did find time in 2011 to work in my own garden, including the installation of a 70-foot long retaining wall and raised bed to complete our backyard patio terrace. The photo above is of me working on the wall in 95-degree heat and humidity in the middle of July. My son had just thrown a snowball -- one he'd been saving in the freezer since last winter -- to cool me off.

I know that I border on the edge of obsession at times; my wife and son are eternally patient with the amount of time and energy I expend working in the garden, capturing it with my camera, and sharing it via this blog. Some of my fondest moments this year have been the after-dinner flower walks with my wife, where we alternately admire our little slice of Eden and make plans for its future.

Laura Hayden, Shawna Coronado, Kylee Baumle and me at IGC.

In August, I traveled to Chicago for the Independent Garden Center Show. It was a great reunion with several garden writers I'd already met, and an opportunity to meet several other writers, growers and industry people who I'd gotten to know online. In the whirlwind three days, I spent a great deal of time talking with nurseries and garden product manufacturers on the show floor, but even more time bringing these virtual relationships to life. Among what feels like an endless list of people I was blessed to meet for the first time are Bruce Bailey (Heavy Petal Nursery), Danielle Smith Ernest (Proven Winners), Jenny Peterson (J. Peterson Design), David Spain and Ken Gergle (Moss and Stone Gardens), Clint Albin (IGC), Mimi San Pedro (Hortus, Ltd.), Patty Craft (F&W Media), Kate Copsey (America's Home Grown Veggie Show), Kerrie Rosenthal and Carol Niec (SeedKeeper Co.), Mud Baron (LA school garden activist) and LaManda Joy (the Yarden). Several months after IGC, I still look in awe at the creativity and positive energy of these individuals.

P. Allen Smith and Mimi San Pedro (Photo courtesy of Louise Hartwig)

Garden media personality P. Allen Smith was the keynote speaker at IGC, and I was overjoyed to have a few minutes to meet and talk with Allen during the show. We've continued our conversation via Twitter, where Allen regularly engages fellow gardeners to talk about gardening, food and home design.

Kylee Baumle and Laura Hayden

The afternoon before the IGC show began, Laura and I met Kylee, Louise, and Diane McCarthy at the Chicago Botanic Garden to do our impression of the plant paparazzi. Our group progressed through the gardens in a constant volley of superlatives and stories.

Bruce Bailey and Helen Yoest

One morning before the show floor opened, I met Bruce Bailey and Helen Yoest at Lurie Garden, Chicago's five-acre rooftop garden in Millennium Park. Our visit to Lurie was one of those moments that will be an indelible memory for me. Enjoying Lurie (the creation of landscape design visionary Piet Oudolf) with Bruce and Helen was like eating dinner with two food connoisseurs in the home of a master chef. Before entering the living walls of Lurie, I felt a strong bond with both of these amazing people. After we left, that bond was permanent.

Brenda Haas, Dan Heims and Laura Hayden

The next stop on my virgin garden show/meeting world tour was the national Garden Writers Association meeting in Indianapolis at the end of August. Laura and I hopped in my car for a long turnaround day, but it was well worth the trip. After a morning of excellent informational sessions, hundreds of garden writers hopped on buses to tour a selection of grand gardens in Indianapolis. The gardens were beautiful, but the highlight of the tours was -- you guessed it -- the people. The day was full of hugs and handshakes as I again met a wonderful litany of new people including Meg Cloud (Stark Bros.), Joe Lamp'l and Christa Hanson (Growing a Greener World TV), Dan Heims (Terra Nova), Kelly Norris (Rainbow Iris Farm), Laura Mathews (Punk Rock Gardens) and Joseph Tychonievich.

So much of 2011 involved the pleasure of meeting people in person who I'd previously known only via Twitter or Facebook. But that's not to discount the value of these online relationships. Of those I met in person and now consider dear friends, nearly every relationship had its foundation and birth online. The connection I felt with Helen (@HelenYoest), Kylee (@ourlittleacre), Shawna (@shawnacoronado), Bruce (@whereplantsrock), Keri and Carol (@seedkeeperco), and Jenny (@mulchmaven) didn't materialize the second I met them in person. It only intensified.

I sincerely hope that 2012 brings me the pleasure of meeting in person more of those that I consider family -- Michael Nolan (@michaelnolan), Carolyn Binder (@cowlickcottage), Chris McLaughlin (@suburban_farmer), Chris VanCleave (@redneckrosarian), Teresa (@agardendiary), Annie Haven (@greensoil), Steve Asbell (@rainforestgarden), Benjamin Vogt (@brvogt), Carri Stokes (@betweenthelimes), Rick Schoellhorn, Lloyd Traven, Vice Grip, Barry Ruta, Joyce Grigonis, Anne Larson (@iowagardencoach), Katie Ketelsen (@ketelsen), Christina Salwitz, and William McClenathan. I'm not sure if they even understand how much insight, satisfaction and happiness they've brought to my life this year.

There are just certain things you know in your heart; I know that each of these people are my family -- my kindred spirits -- in the soil.

Happy New Year!

Changing of the Seasons at Japan House Pond - 2011 in Review

2011-12-30T08:04:00.000-08:00

Changing of the Seasons at Japan House Pond - December 29

2011-12-30T06:35:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I made my thirteenth and final visit of 2011 to the Japan House Pond at the Illinois Arboretum on a warm, bright December day. Wearing a sweater and light windbreaker, I hiked around the pond to take in this place I've watched morph through the seasons. Near 50 degree readings on the thermometer guaranteed a lack of snowcover, unlike last year at this time when the arboretum was blanketed in thick white snow.

The red-brown twigs of the cherry trees lining the southern edge of the pond are tipped with next spring's flower buds that wait for the new season's green flag to wave. The air was so fresh during my visit, it was easy to imagine the cherries covered in white and pink blooms.

The growth of previous years is clearly marked on the young branches of a Japanese maple. Older growth matures to a bright mahogany; the newest twigs grow with a red-purple sheen.

Japan House is where I developed my affection for Japanese Beautyberry (Callicarpa), a shrub whose tiny purple berries persist through the winter on thin arching stems.

The bayberry shrubs (Myrica) have lost most of their leaves, revealing the grey-white aromatic fruit gathered along the lower stems. The fruit color contrasts beautifully with the brown branches. From a distance, it gives the appearance of snow.

The weeping Cherry that grows within the main wall of Japan House glowed in the late afternoon sun. Glorious in spring, its pendulous habit makes a beautiful winter specimen as well.

My favorite season for the hawthorns (Crataegus) along the pond's northern edge is winter. Bare of foliage, the true character of these distinctive trees appears. Only the branched thorns that grow along the trunk keep me from running my hands along the bark to feel its flaky texture. In the lawn surrounding the trees, dandelions bloomed. The remnants of milkweed vines that grew shrouded in summer foliage now dangle as ornaments from the network of branches. I stood beneath the hawthorns with the sun in my face for quite a while, feeling a palpable connection with the things I hold true.

As the sun set lower in the sky, long shadows formed beneath baldcypress (Taxodium distichum), alternating with the glowing bronze of the fallen foliage that provides a thick layer of mulch beneath these majestic trees.

The air grew cooler as the sun fell behind the pines that grow on the hill to the west. A warm yellow colored wispy cirrus above the pines, turning Japan House and its surrounding gardens to silhouette. The remaining light glistened off the water.

As I walked away from Japan House Pond, I felt both melancholy and content. But more than anything, I felt one with this place that I've watched change through the seasons.

Driveway Border in the Winter

2011-12-29T20:08:00.000-08:00

The 60'x8' patch of earth that lies between our driveway and the neighbor's yard has slowly evolved over the 11 years we've owned our home. It was originally four young trees (three sweetgums and a crabapple), equidistant vertical islands in a sea of bluegrass. In the fall of 2010, I dug out the last 250 or so square feet of turf and planted a variety of shrubs and bulbs. My hope was to have a brilliant spring show and then work on planting perennials and annuals over the summer. The results during the growing season exceeded my expectations, but I'll admit that I hadn't given much thought to how the border would look in winter.

I'm not a big planner when it comes to the garden, but rather a firm believer that the spade is both the pencil and eraser in the garden. When plant shopping, I tend to buy plants I like, then find a place for them when I get home. Sometimes this creates chaos, other times beautiful serendipity. Sometimes the perfect combination of both. The driveway border still has a few years to grow in, but I'm pleased so far with the way it looks stripped to bark, berries and bones.

I tore most of the spent annuals out after our first heavy frosts, but saw the potential of the Angelonia seed pods to remain structural during the winter. This Serena Blue variety is grown from seed, so perhaps I'll get seedlings in spring as well.

One highlight is the young Aronia 'Brilliantisima' on the eastern end of the border. I've read conflicting accounts on the desirability of the bright red berries to the avian palette (perhaps the root of the common name Chokeberry). So far it seems that the birds are leaving them alone.

The 'Mohican' Viburnum (one of two that survived last winter) iights up the center of the border with its near-white bark. I joke with my son that this is the "Yoda Plant" because of the resemblance of the paired leaf buds to the ears of a certain Jedi master. (It's truly a vain attempt to get the kid interested in the garden.)

A few clumps of purple coneflower (Echinacea) seedheads remain in the border. The seeds are slowly plucked by finches, leaving the central cone to stand in solitude.

While most of the border is painted in the winter hues of grey and brown, a small planting of snapdragons (Antirhinnum) remain green. The past few days of warm weather has a couple of the plants forming new flower buds. Annual flowers for the New Year will certainly be a first for me in my Zone 5 garden.

Winter landscapes in the suburbs can look dull, flat and lifeless. Somewhat accidentally and with equal parts chaos and serendipity thrown in, our driveway border is proving quite the opposite. Now, if we could get some snow to cover the bare soil, I'd be one happy gardener.

Images from an Afternoon Hike at the Illinois Arboretum

2011-12-29T16:10:00.000-08:00

Garden Walk: December 29

2011-12-29T08:02:00.001-08:00

Just yesterday, I said my garden was depressing. Today, I feel like I owe it an apology. Early morning clouds have moved east, revealing a blue sky and a vibrant garden alive on a light breeze. The air is fresh and cool. The warm sun makes a jacket nearly superfluous.

Breezy winter days are the one of the many reasons I love growing Miscanthus.While the breeze makes them a bit difficult to photograph, I like watching the seedheads dance in and out of the lens frame as I snap away. Every so often, I'll capture a crisp photo that still evokes the feeling of movement.

The dried inflorescence of Hydrangea 'Annabelle' is one of the more persistent features of my winter garden. These large (8-10" across) brown puffs last until spring when I cut them back as new leaf buds emerge lower on the stems.

The bark of the red-twig dogwood (Cornus sericea) growing just inside the backyard garden gate is dotted with white lenticels along its length. This particular dogwood is susceptible to a variety of diseases as it ages, so I try to cut back any stems that get thicker than an inch. It's more than willing to grow new stems from the base after a hard pruning.

Zefr (short for "Zen Frog") sits in his permanent meditation across from the dogwood, the semi-evergreen Geranium 'Biokovo' by his side.

The unseasonable warmth has tempted the witch hazel (Hamamelis vernalis) to peek out from its tightly wrapped buds to see if perhaps winter had forgotten us this year.

A tightly-branched Japanese Maple (Acer 'Roseo Marginatum') lies dormant in the shadow of the honey locust and gazebo, buds waiting patiently for spring.

I left the last flowers on the Knockout® 'Rainbow' rose planted at the far end of our new raised patio terrace. They've formed beautiful hips at the end of spiny stems.

The remnants of last spring's Pieris (P. japonica 'Dorothy Wyckoff') bloom still arch above its evergreen foliage.

Heuchera must have antifreeze in their veins, for they are one of the few perennials still green in the garden. Rising above the crinkled fallen leaves of the red maple that forms the summer canopy for my shade garden, H. 'Brownie' is a retracted form of its warm-season self but otherwise seems unfazed by repeated nights below freezing.

Next season's leaf buds emerge on Viburnum 'Allegheny' below the umbrella of this year's leaves. I've read this variety is considered semi-evergreen and it is certainly proving that in my garden. Perhaps half the leaves turned yellow and fell, but the others show no sign of demise.

The blue spruce (Picea pungens 'Fat Albert') that anchors our front border shines in the morning sun. The contrast between the bronze stems and the blue foliage is among my favorite color combinations in the garden.

When cleaning up the garden this fall, I decided to leave the Baptisia stems standing, cut back perhaps by one-third of their summer height. I've enjoyed the textural effect of the dried grey-white stems against the background of the spruce.

The bright red berries of Aronia 'Brilliantisima' are beginning to desiccate, but remain the highlight of the driveway border.

After a series of very cold nights where I was convinced they wouldn't survive, the ornamental kale in our front porch containers is still welcoming visitors to our home with its bright-purple cheer. This is my first year growing kale, so I have no idea how cold is too cold for them. Only time will tell.

What a difference a day can make. Yesterday, I was ready to shutter the house up for a long, grey winter. Today, the garden is once again alive with inspiration.

Memories of the Garden

2011-12-28T17:52:00.000-08:00

It's a bit depressing out in the garden right now. The dusting of snow that fell yesterday has melted, returning the damp, dull brown that has muted the garden since late October. We've had so few sunny days, it seems miraculous and almost disorienting when rays of light do stream through the windows. The lack of snow and sun has me craving the spring garden and we've yet to reach even the new year. Memories of this year's garden that linger indoors are all that keep me from packing for a tropical vacation.

One collection of memories rests on my bedside table, greeting me each morning and bidding me good rest each night. The centerpiece is an arrangement of heart-shaped coleus. Every few weeks, I need to pinch back the hundreds of coleus plants growing in my makeshift guestroom greenhouse. Instead of disposing the pinched foliage, I place the larger of the cuttings in small vases of water. Not only do coleus make beautiful bouquets, they will last all winter as they root easily in water.

Dried seedheads of grasses and perennials fill a tall vase behind the coleus, another reminder of the growing season just passed. The light turquoise glazing of the vase and tan hues of the dried plants mirror the color in the window drapes.

A jar of dried Gomphrena flowers retains the bright purple color that graced the front edge of this year's driveway border and brings out the fuchsia veining in the 'Strawberry Drop' coleus.

The living still life at my bedside is rounded out with a small Moss Rock, a tiny moss garden inset in a ceramic rock. The Moss Rock reminds me of the wonderful, new friendships I've made this year through this blog. It was given to me by David Spain of Moss and Stone Gardens whose acquaintaince I made in Chicago this year.

With the warm, grey start we've had to winter, I'm not hopeful for a picturesque dormant season in the garden. Perhaps it will pass quickly, and I will soon be laying belly-down in my garden photographing the first sprouts of spring bulbs. Until then, I'll rely on memories of the garden -- living and dried -- to sustain me.

Wordless Wednesday: Living Holiday Decorations

2011-12-28T08:25:00.000-08:00

Cornus sericea (Red-twig Dogwood) flowering from cut branches

'Sonora White Glitter' Poinsettia

Hippeastrum 'Minerva'

Coleus cuttings as background accent to holiday decorations

Overnight Snow

2011-12-27T14:35:00.001-08:00

The Morning After Christmas

2011-12-26T08:43:00.000-08:00

Confessions of an Amaryllis Convert

2011-12-17T09:23:00.000-08:00

My first Amaryllis bloomed today. It's a beautiful candy-striped variety named 'Minerva' that I picked up in the discount bin our our local garden center a few weeks ago. It was on sale because it had already started to sprout and wouldn't make the best holiday gift plant if it bloomed before Christmas. So there it sat with other early premature bloomers, marked down to $5 a bulb.

You might be wondering why this is my first Amaryllis. It's not exactly an uncommon plant, and I've been gardening for most of my 40 years on this earth. Well, it's because I've never taken Amaryllis seriously. They make me giggle like a ten year old because of an Amaryllis my mother grew when we were kids. It was nicknamed Willie. For those of you unfamiliar with the growth habit of Amaryllis, it's ....well.....rather pornographic. Picture a long, thick fleshy stem growing out of a light brown, scaly bulb about the size of a ... fist. At the end of this stem is a large swelling flower bud. I'll leave the rest to your imagination.

Willie grew on a table next to one of our dining room windows, and provided inspiration for countless hours of juvenile entertainment around the dinner table. I haven't been able to look at an Amaryllis with a straight face since.

Fast forward about 25 years to when I first met Kylee Baumle, a fellow gardener who blogs over at Our Little Acre. Kylee and I bonded immediately over our love for gardening, photography and writing and I now consider her one of my closest friends. The reason I'm bringing her into this sordid story, is because Kylee is a bit of an Amaryllis aficionado. In her own words, she's loved Amaryllis as long as she's been gardening. I can't remember exactly how many bulbs she grows every year, but it's many more than a handful. I've been tempted to make the four-hour trip just to see them in bloom.

Kylee's enthusiasm for the Hippaestrum genus and her continual entreaties that "You have to try Amaryllis!" are the reason I took a second look at those castoff early bloomers in the discount bin. Aside from an agreement to disagree on the subject of chartreuse plants, I tend to listen to Kylee when she gets excited about plants.

For the past three weeks, I've watched 'Minerva' continue to grow on the window seat in our bedroom. And, yes, there have been several cases of stifled giggles. But this morning, after viewing 'Minerva' blooming in the filtered winter sunlight, I'm a convert. My giggles turned to pure admiration.

You have to try Amaryllis!

Still Standing

2011-12-17T07:22:00.000-08:00

One of the first things I do each morning before getting out of bed is check the weather report for the day. I've been hoping for a white Christmas, but the forecast hasn't looked too promising as we get within a week of the holiday. So it felt like Christmas morning for me when my weather app was showing "light snow showers" and a wintry landscape in the background. I jumped out of bed a little faster than normal and looked out the window to find the garden slightly frosted, but without snow. Not a single flurry danced in the air. Another lesson learned: the most accurate current weather forecast exists right outside the window.

After getting breakfast and coffee, I ventured out into the garden with my camera. The overcast skies started to break a bit, revealing slivers of blue among the clouds, reflected in the rivers of frost on my car's windshield. The thermometer hovered at 26F, but it felt considerably warmer in the still air.

In a sign that the ground is finally starting to freeze, the top inch of compost in the more recently added areas of the garden assumed a fractured texture that lightly crunched underfoot. I'll be very happy when the ground finally freezes, serving as a deterrent to the squirrels that seem determined to steal my spring bulb show.

Weigela florida 'Variegata'

Hydrangea quercifolia 'Snow Queen'

Some deciduous shrubs continue to hold onto their dried leaves, creating curled foundations from which frost crystals grow.

Miscanthus sinensis 'Gracillimus'

Ornamental grasses have taken center stage, giving me my seasonal reminder why I planted so many of them. Unless we have a major ice storm, these seed heads will remain upright the entire winter, curing the garden of its dearth of curves and motion.

Abies koreana 'Cis'

Sedum rupestre 'Angelina'

Thuga occidenntalis 'Emerald Green'

Frosty evergreens provide brushstrokes of color in the landscape. For some reason, evergreens are the last thing I look at when shopping for plants and never truly appreciate them until winter.

Aronia arbutifolia 'Brilliantisima'

Callicarpa dichotoma 'Early Amethyst'

Brightly-colored berries dot the garden with a festivity befitting of the season. Early in the month, I thought about cutting branches off the Aronia and Callicarpa when I was creating holiday arrangements for our indoor decorations. I'm glad I decided against it, for these fruits will persist outdoors long after our indoor decorations have been put away for the season.

Geranium cantabrigiense 'Biokovo'

Viola

Rosa Knockout®

Hylotelelphium 'Matrona'

Echinacea purpurea

Stachys byzantina

Hemerocallis fulva

Even herbaceous perennials and annual still provide beauty in the garden, long after the growing season is over. I do a bit of cleanup in the garden beds in fall, especially plants that showed signs of disease in late summer.

Most of my garden stands during winter, for good practical reasons. It's healthier for the plants because the decaying stems and foliage as well as fallen leaves from the trees all protect the crown of the plant from excess moisture in winter. Wildlife finds a standing winter garden more sustaining and habitable.

But most of all, my garden is still standing because it fills me with awe, even while sleeping.

Frosty, Mossy Morning

2011-12-11T11:48:00.001-08:00

The Beauty Left Behind

2011-12-11T11:46:00.001-08:00

First Snow: An Enticing Tease

2011-12-10T07:23:00.000-08:00

We woke up yesterday to a light dusting of snow, our first official accumulation of the season. Low temperature and overcast skies kept the snow around for a good part of the day, but it was all gone by late afternoon.

I look forward to snow in late fall and winter. Not only does snow cover help protect the garden from the harshness of winter, it also hides the ugly side of the dormant season and brightens the cold days of December through February. As a garden photographer, a snow-covered winter landscape is a most agreeable subject.

While yesterday's snow wasn't even enough to hide the browning blades of our lawn, it gave us a enticing tease of the coming beauty of the winter garden.

The Simple Intricacy

2011-12-04T17:44:00.000-08:00

Over the last few years, I've been watching this tree die. It's a Scotch Pine (Pinus sylvestris), I believe. I've never gone through the trouble to get a positive identification, in spite of my fascination. It may seem morbid that I've taken such an interest in its demise, but this tree has been more than a plant to me. It's a symbol that even in death, there is a beauty.

The craggy, flaking bark holds the most wonderful textures. Even though it no longer holds the life required to spring forth new needles, its trunk feels solid and strong. It may appear contorted, but seems unmovable when you lay your hands upon it.

A closer look reveals a new life of moss and lichen appearing along its branches. I don't know how long it will be allowed to stand, but I hope I am able to witness the renewal of life along its bark and branches for years to come.

Life around the Scotch pine continues, ignorant of its neighbor's demise. A young maple nearby stands leafless but full of samaras, ready to fall or be carried by the wind to nearby soil.

A few scattered leaves hold on to the branches of an oak just a few meters down the hill from where the dying pine stands. The oak is dormant, but already forming the new buds that will burst forth in the spring.

As my lowered my gaze from the oak and took a first step down the hill toward my car, I saw a single dandelion puff - a dandelion in December. I scanned the grass as far as I could see; it was the only one of its kind - a survivor ready to spread its perfectly aligned seeds on the next strong gust of wind.

As I walked down this hill that I've known so well, I paused. I looked back and admired the pine, supporting new life even in death. I drew inspiration from all of its neighbors, going about their business of survival. Most of all, I stood in awe of the simple intricacy of it all.

Foliage with a Flash

2011-12-04T14:24:00.001-08:00

Dark clouds and occasional light rain have covered our part of the country for the entire day, making my normal rounds of garden photography next to impossible. So I took the opportunity to see what my new macro ring flash (Phoenix Smart Flash RF46C) would do in such terrible light conditions.

I shoot with a Canon Rebel XS, a camera with a great kit lens, but terrible on-board flash. If light conditions don't allow me to shoot at 1/40s or faster (sans flash) outdoors, I generally don't even bother. Today was my first attempt using the macro ring flash in low light conditions outdoors. I've used it as an indoor fill flash with good results, but not outdoors.

Here are a few of the foliage shots I took today.

You can certainly tell that its taken with a flash, but I'm pleased with the first-time outdoor results. The color is saturated and true and the details are crisp shooting between 1/80s and 1/160s at f/13.

Fresh Cut for the Holidays

2011-12-03T19:09:00.001-08:00

The first weekend in December heralds our family's expedition to a local tree farm to cut a Christmas tree for our home. This tradition started in 1994, a year after our first Christmas together as a married couple. That first Christmas, we bought a cut tree from a tree lot in town. In the process of decorating it, the white shirt I was wearing started to turn green. Our "fresh" tree had been spray-painted green. After that experience, we've insisted on cutting a tree ourselves. Not only are we assured a fresh tree, it's also a way to support the local economy instead of a tree farm hundreds of miles away.

Over the years, we've rotated through a few local tree farms, including Seifert Tree Farm in White Heath, Hardy's Reindeer Ranch in Rantoul, and Conkeytown Tree Farm in Fithian. We're always shopping for a taller-than-average (around 8-9 feet) but narrow tree, so most tree farms only have a few trees that match our requirements. Each year, we'll also take note of potential candidates for the next year's tree and rotate to a new farm if we think pickings will be sparse. This year, we chose Hardy's because we were happy with the selection last year and our son wanted to see the reindeer, too.

The selection was rather slim at Hardy's for a skinny 9-footer, but we found a Canaan Fir (Abies balsamea var phanerolepis) on the edge of the farm that fit the bill. Canaan Fir is related to Frazier and Balsam firs and native to the Canaan Valley in West Virginia. (Source: Penn State University)

There was quite a bit of grass growing up into the lower branches of the tree, so before cutting I had to make like the gardener I am and do a little weeding. Last year, we had to dig out tree out from two feet of snow, so I certainly wasn't complaining about a little fescue.

While I did my weeding, my son found a tree more his size and gave it a little TLC. Since my face was buried in weeds, I didn't know what he was doing this until seeing this photo that my wife snapped. My son has a soft spot for baby animals, so it was heartwarming to see him extend this love to a young tree.

Once the weeds were cleared a way, I took out the pocket chainsaw my father-in-law had loaned me from his pilot's survival kit. I'd had a chance to use one of these saws during scout leader training, and was impressed once again with its ease of use. If you've ever tried to cut a sappy tree with a bow saw while simultaneously laying on the ground, you'll appreciate a much easier alternative. In less than 30 seconds of arm pumping, the tree lay on the ground. (I'll admit, this was on the second pass. One note about the pocket chainsaw: Don't stop in the middle and lose your momentum, or you'll never get it started again.)

I love the feel of the air out in the field of a Christmas tree farm. It's like you can sense the increased oxygen being pumped out by the rows of fir, pine and spruce. Each row is renewal, as saplings serve as neighbor to beautifully mature trees. But the true experience is olfactory. The scent of evergreens makes a skeptic like me believe in a benevolent higher power.

The forecast rain never amounted to more than few sprinkles, so we had time after tree cutting to visit the reindeer that give Hardy's Reindeer Ranch its name. We watched in awe as these beautiful animals slowly made their way around, noisily munching the grass in the paddock.

Once home, we were joined by my wife's parents and began to decorate the tree. My job is to put the lights on the tree and then help my son attach the star on top. It's certainly nice to be able to use our loft staircase in stead of teetering on a ladder for this finishing touch on the tree lighting.

To fit the tree in our tree stand, I needed to remove several of the lower branches. Combined with some red-twig dogwood and boxwood from the garden, they'll make a nice holiday centerpiece for our dining room. The smaller vase will decorate the vanity in our master bathroom.

After we'd selected our tree at the tree farm, I noticed a bird's nest in the interior branches. We've always considered this a symbol of good fortune, so we removed the nest so it would survive the tree shaker and then replace it once the tree was decorated.

While many families choose a different decorative theme for their Christmas trees each year, our tree is more of a family history. Along with more generic ornaments, our tree is decorated with ornaments from our childhood trees as well as one new ornament from each year of our marriage. Pictured above is our ornament from 2003, soon after our son was born. This year, we added a jingle bell painted like a baseball, to celebrate our son's first year in Little League.

Each year after our Christmas tree is trimmed and the other holiday decorations are put up, there is a feeling in the house like no other. No matter what stresses may enter our daily lives during the holidays, we try to end each night enjoying each other's company in the glow of the Christmas lights. There is no other time of the year when our house feels more like home.

Holiday Plants for a Good Cause

2011-12-02T16:13:00.001-08:00

Last weekend, when I visited our local garden center, I was somewhat disappointed in the quality of the poinsettias. The flowers had already been snipped out of many of the plants, a sure sign they'd come into flower early and would be less likely to last through the holiday season. When I heard about the poinsettias being sold as a University of Illinois Conservatory and Plant Collections fundraiser, I made a trip over to the Plant Sciences Lab to purchase some.

I bought two 'Sonora White Glitter' and two 'Ice Punch' poinsettias to use as Christmas decorations in our house. I generally move a few houseplants out of our living room and put the poinsettias in their place. The combination of the poinsettia red with the greens of our normal houseplants creates a striking visual effect for the holidays.

'Sonora White Glitter' is by far my favorite poinsettia. The flecked bracts come in a variety of patterns from white/red to dark green/maroon and many combinations in between.

'Ice Punch' is a traditional red poinsettia whose bracts are white-washed down the center with a white/pink brush effect. This is a new variety for me, and I'm quite taken with the watercolor effect.

The poinsettias available via the fundraiser were excellent quality plants, most still tight in bud. With poinsettias, it's important to buy plants whose flowers haven't opened yet. This will ensure a much longer-lasting plant in your home for the holidays.

The holiday plant sale is open from 10am-3pm on Saturday, December 3 and 1-3pm on Sunday, December 4. Along with poinsettias, a small number of other holiday gift plants will be available for sale. In addition to 'Sonora White Glitter' and 'Ice Punch' poinsettias I purchased, the sale also includes red, white and even orange varieties. The Plant Sciences Lab is located at 1201 S. Dorner Drive in Urbana, IL.

The U of I Conservatory and Plant Collections are a great resource for the community. If you live in the Champaign-Urbana area, stop by to buy some great quality plants and help support the conservatory in the process.

Hello, December

2011-12-01T05:07:00.001-08:00

November Redux: The Garden and Days End

2011-11-30T17:35:00.001-08:00

Wordless Wednesday: 25 Days 'Til Christmas

2011-11-30T16:24:00.001-08:00

Jumpstarting Christmas

2011-11-28T14:22:00.001-08:00

Oh, the weather outside is ..... gray. Yes, it was another textbook November day here in Illinois. Aside from the brief break in the clouds that played peek-a-boo with a sliver of blue sky and sunshine, today was a carbon copy of yesterday's unpleasantness, only colder and more windy. The weather muted my ears to the sirens of the garden, so I did the next best thing. I visited a garden center to get a jumpstart on Christmas.

We won't be putting up our Christmas tree (fresh cut from a local tree farm) until this coming weekend, but I'm craving Christmas. Ever since smelling the scent of the trees while shopping at a home improvement store on Friday, I've been dreaming about the annual transformation of our home for the holidays. On today's shopping trip, I picked up a poinsettia, amaryllis and Christmas cactus to bring some Christmas color into the house.

I'm a strong proponent of buying holiday plants from an independent garden center rather than big box stores, simply because holiday plant sales are often the difference between black and red for many IGCs. Plus the plant quality is almost always better at IGCs than the large discounters. (I was a little surprised today to find the flowers of most of the poinsettias already clipped out, meaning the plants had come into bloom earlier than expected.)

The amaryllis, a red and white flowered variety (Hippeastrum 'Minerva'), is on the verge of bloom. I found it near the checkout lane in a bin of amaryllis that had sprouted too early and were discounted. Amaryllis is a traditional gift plant that is usually purchased as a dormant bulb, which the recipient then grows to flower later in winter. I figured since I was jumpstarting Christmas, an impatient amaryllis was the perfect purchase.

Since its still early to bring poinsettias into the house, I only bought a single plant today -- 'Sonora White Glitter', a descendant of the original white sprinkled 'Jingle Bells'. I absolutely love the variegation in this plant. It still offers the true red of the traditional poinsettia, but with a unique look that makes you stop and stare. Last year, our local IGC offered very large plants of this variety, but today only had a few medium-sized pots. I'm hoping there are more waiting in the greenhouse. In a couple of weeks, I'll be returning to buy several more poinsettias to complete our home decoration and give as gifts.

The Christmas cactus (Zygocactus) I purchased was a small 4" pot. I've never grown this plant before, despite its ubiquity in the houseplant world. It's known as a plant that can survive generations, with cuttings being passed down through families. I planted it in an eco-friendly, biodegradable pot -- so I'm hoping the plant outlasts the pot. I suppose its possible the plant will outlast me.

The house still has a very late fall feel to it -- dried flowers and the green of houseplants providing the botanical color. But a quick trip to the garden center has it starting to feel a ... little bit ... like Christmas.

A Little Slice of Summer

2011-11-27T14:50:00.001-08:00

Yesterday's balmy temperatures and rain moved through and left behind what I can only describe as pure dreck. You might convince us that the sun never even rose, for a feeling of late dusk prevailed the entire day. A steady breeze blew damp air. The ground squished softly underfoot. I ventured out into the garden to do some final autumn cleanup, but didn't even last an hour before it began to feel like an oppressive chore. I can't remember a day when working in my garden has had such a depressing effect on my mood.

After a short nap didn't cure these late November blahs, I decided to go commune with the plants I'm overwintering in our guess bedroom/winter greenhouse. Earlier this fall, I installed track shelving along one wall of our guest room so that I'd have plenty of room to grow my coleus cuttings and overwinter some of the tender tropical plants from the summer garden. With the addition of shop lights, full-spectrum bulbs and a timer, my "greenhouse" was installed in about two hours for about $200 in materials.

The nice thing about the track shelving is that it is nearly all removable (with the exception of the hanging track that is attached to the wall studs along the top of the wall). During the warm months, the whole thing can be taken down in a matter of minutes if we have guests and want to make the room look less like a greenhouse. Although, I suspect many of our friends wouldn't mind sharing a room with plants.

Nearly all of the shelf space this year is taken up by the coleus I'm overwintering. In each of ten flat trays, 15 coleus grow in plastic cups. I water the coleus from the bottom, flooding the flat trays with about 3/4 inch of water every week to 10 days. The coleus take up the water through the three holes punched in the bottom of each cup.

Simply spending a few minutes upstairs, seeing the vibrant colors of the plants and brightness of the plant lights, made a huge difference in my outlook. We hope someday to build a conservatory on the back of our house. Until the day when we have such a luxury, I'll count my blessings that we have the room and resources to have a little slice of summer in this small corner of our home.

Spring in November?

2011-11-26T11:51:00.001-08:00

Today is November 26. Today is November 26. Today is November 26. I had to keep repeating this to myself this morning as the temperature quickly topped 60F before noon. As I hung Christmas lights from the blue spruce and arborvitae in the front border, something felt off. I wasn't wearing a jacket and no cold wind whipped my face. I wasn't exactly complaining about the balmy conditions, but it's much harder to get in the holiday spirit when it feels like spring.

The garden certainly looks like late autumn. Most of the trees and shrubs are showing their winter bones. Some hold onto a few solitary leaves. A select few have just come into color and provide small splashes of color in the landscape. After I finished hanging the Christmas lights, I grabbed my camera and took a lap around the garden to capture some of the remaining autumn beauty.

Hydrangea quercifolia 'Snow Queen'

Itea virginica 'Little Henry'

Viburnum rhytidophylloides 'Allegheny'

Liquidambar styraciflua

Geranium cantabrigiense 'Biokovo'

I lingered in the garden a bit after photographing it, enjoying the pleasant temperatures. My wife was also on the roof, cleaning leaf litter from the gutters -- a chore that should never be done without someone else nearby. I started to notice the fine details of the garden, and suddenly realized that I wasn't alone in my "feeling off." The garden was confused as well. Tree buds were swollen, new growth had sprouted, and many bulbs have broken through the ground.

Hydrangea macrophylla Endless Summer® 'Twist and Shout'

Prunus cerasus 'North Star'

Hamammelis vernalis

Helleborus

Iris hollandica

Amelanchier arborea

I was dumbfounded when I saw that one of my newly-planted Hellebores had flower buds on it.

Helleborus 'Jacob Classic'

'Jacob's Classic' wasn't confused at all, though; it was right on schedule. I bought this variety earlier this fall without doing any research on it, but it turns out to be a November-blooming Hellebore, a Christmas -- not Lenten -- Rose.

I hope that more seasonal temperatures return quickly so that the garden can continue its march towards dormancy. I look forward to spring as much as the next gardener, but spring in November seems confusing all around.

Crossing Paths

2011-11-25T20:35:00.001-08:00

As the day after Thanksgiving drew to a close, I watched the southwestern sky as wispy cirrus clouds began to gather. The day was unseasonably warm and the sun had shone brightly in a virtually cloudless sky for most of the day. A constant strong breeze limited my photographic options, so I decided I'd walk out the point at my in-laws house to capture the setting sun.

The sun rapidly descended behind the opposite shoreline, bringing the trees into silhouette and warming the clouds with a subtle fire that faded skyward to pink. The occasional fishing boat rippled the surface of the lake, creating a constant melting of gold and black in the water.

The color began to deepen as I noticed motion to the west. Just a few at first, but eventually a kettle of turkey vultures took to the air, soaring on the thermals. The lake has become a nesting and migratory spot for these vultures, and this group of hundreds was likely beginning to gain altitude for a long flight. Many consider turkey vultures to be an unsightly bird, but the choreographed chaos of the kettle was astoundingly beautiful.

One of the two Great Blue Herons that live on the lake flew through my frame, a dart through the air when compared to the soaring vultures. The herons are my favorite of the lake wildlife. I love to watch the stealth and patience of their hunt along the shorelines.

Crossing contrails illuminated as the sun sank lower. The imagination only wonders how close in time and space these two aircraft flew, as these frozen symbols of travel can linger for hours in the sky. Contrails, much like footprints on a beach, are ephemeral marks of intersecting human journeys.

So much of human intersection is lost in inattention. We pass through the lives of others, unannounced and without the simplest of hesitation. I often wonder how different our lives would be if we stopped -- even for a few seconds -- to do more than just cross paths in ignorance of each other.

A Thanksgiving Day Walk in the Woods

2011-11-24T14:01:00.001-08:00

Opening Your Eyes to the Masterpiece

2011-11-23T15:31:00.001-08:00

When asked what I enjoy most about living in the Midwest, I always include autumn sunsets near the top of the list. I don't know whether it's a pure meteorological phenomenon or caused by the large amount of soil and dust in the air from harvest, but we are regularly treated to breathtaking views. It's easy to get spoiled by these natural spectacles and feel disappointed when the day ends without a masterpiece on the horizon.

Last night as I was coming home from work, the sky looked destined to disappoint. Wispy clouds scattered among the blue had held promise earlier in the day, but by dusk had been replaced by a thickening grey soup that shrouded the sun. I still decided to drive past our subdivision and find my way out west of town. Something in me whispered that I would have to work harder to find the day's masterpiece.

I stopped along a country road near a small stand of trees and stepped out with my camera. The remaining light was slowly sliding past the horizon. I wasn't sure any of the photos would be worth keeping, but I kept adjusting my frame and focus trying to capture the moment. When I returned home to process the photos, I was surprised to find a subtle range of color on the horizon -- even more than my eyes had seen.

As I sit here on Thanksgiving morning, I am overwhelmed for what I have to be thankful. This past year has been a true gift to me, one of the best years of my life. It was not without tumult and pain, both personal and professional. But it has been a year in which I learned a great deal about myself, and who I am meant to be. It has been a year that taught me the lesson that made me keep driving last night: The essence of life isn't just about finding inspiration in the breathtaking. It's about opening your eyes to the subtle masterpiece constantly in view.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Wordless Wednesday: An Old Couple at Sunset

2011-11-23T15:27:00.001-08:00

The Wonder of Allerton Park

2011-11-19T12:24:00.001-08:00

When I awoke yesterday to a thick overcast and the sound of wind howling alongside the house, I wasn't sure how many families from our Cub Scout pack would show up for the nature hike we'd planned at Allerton Park and Retreat Center in nearby Monticello, IL. I was pleasantly surprised when seven scout families showed up at our caravan rendezvous point at the school at 9:30am. Raindrops were falling, but judging by the radar, they wouldn't amount to much. When outdoors with some of the younger scouts and their siblings, we have to ensure reasonably comfortable weather conditions. Hiking in 40 degree rain with gusty winds wouldn't qualify, so I was hoping the forecast would hold and the woods of Allerton would provide some cover from the elements as well.

As we made the 25 minute drive from Champaign to the far side of Monticello, the fates smiled on my decision not to cancel. The further west we traveled, the brighter the overcast became. We were even treated to a few stray beams of sunlight through slight breaks in the clouds. Upon our arrival at the Allerton visitor center parking lot, I was confident we'd have a pleasant morning for a hike.

(courtesy of Allerton Park and Retreat Center)

Allerton Park is the former estate of Robert Allerton and was bequeathed to the University of Illinois in 1946. The park covers 1,500 acres along the Sangamon River and is an amazing natural resource here among all the corn and soybean fields of central Illinois. With woods, prairie and large formal gardens, Allerton was recently named one of the Seven Wonders of Illinois by the Illinois Bureau of Tourism. Our family has enjoyed visiting the park over the years we've lived in the area, so I was excited to share it with the scout families who had never visited.

We started our hike at Robert Allerton's former mansion, that now serves as the conference center in the park. My wife led the first part of the hike. As a geologist and educator, she was looking forward to teaching the scouts and their families about how rivers change over time. It's always a great pleasure of mine to witness my wife in educator mode, using her amazing gift for teaching highly technical concepts with vocabulary and examples that her students can easily comprehend.

The Sangamon River was very low, so we were able to see evidence of how the river is slowly carving a new main channel in this part of Allerton Park. From the spot where we stood, the scouts were amazed to see the high water mark on the tree trunks -- far over most of their heads.

After learning about rivers, we continued down the river trail (the yellow trail on the map above). The leaves have fallen from nearly all of the trees, many of them collecting on the river's edge. While a barren woods on the verge of dormancy may not present many obvious opportunities for teaching moments, I enjoy the challenge of finding interesting observations to share with the scouts. Along the trail, we found lightning-struck trees, knotty burls growing on tree trunks, and even an abandoned wasp nest hanging overhead in the branches. I discuss my observations in the form of questions to the scouts, and am always amazed to discover the knowledge and inquisitiveness in these young minds.

We were lucky to visit Allerton during the end of one of the controlled burns that happen in the park. While a few of the scouts seemed concerned when they saw puffs of smoke from some smoldering brush, I reassured them that is was an integral part of helping the forest rejuvenate itself. Fire is a natural occurrence in most wooded areas, necessary for a healthy forest. Controlled burns are a way to help nature along, while at the same time keeping a safe environment for park visitors.

Robert Allerton was an avid world traveler and art collector who believed in the beauty that lies in the combination of human artistry and nature. Many of Allerton's collected pieces are displayed throughout the park, expertly placed in harmony with the natural surroundings. The scouts and their families seemed to appreciate the sculpture intertwined with nature.

As we returned to the parking lot by way of the formal gardens at Allerton, many of the scouts exclaimed how much they enjoyed the hike. For a group of boys who we often find hard to pull away from Star Wars, Mario and Legos, I'd say that's a rousing endorsement for the wonder that is Allerton Park.

The Week's End

2011-11-18T16:00:00.001-08:00

(Wordless) Wednesday Evening Cardoons

2011-11-16T16:33:00.001-08:00

Cynara cardunculus

Before the Storm

2011-11-15T19:04:00.001-08:00

Yesterday afternoon, a line of strong thunderstorms moved its way through the Midwest dotting the Doppler with warning boxes of red and yellow as it gusted its way through the heartland. While most people associate thunderstorms with angry gray skies, I always look forward to how the landscape looks in the minutes before the storm hits. The colors pop against the darkening skies, achieving a rich saturation unattainable on sunnier days. Luckily I grabbed my camera to capture them before the deluge washed the moment away.

Finding Your Way Off the Section Grid

2011-11-14T15:30:00.001-08:00

Today was a sick day. After spending much of yesterday feeling on the verge of illness, my son and I both woke with identical symptoms this morning - sore throat and headache. We spent the day camped out on the sofa, alternately watching TV and resting when our eyelids felt heavy. Severe weather rolled through earlier in the afternoon, but skies began to clear near sunset. I'm not a person that deals well with inactivity. My body gets antsy and my mind contemplative.

To squash the stir-crazy feeling that was building most of the afternoon, I took a short trip out west of town as dusk fell. Within a few miles, I'd found my way off the main section roads. The loose gravel floated under my tires as I splashed through potholes filled by the afternoon thunderstorms. I stopped along a freshly-tilled field, crooked corn stalks dotting the earth to the horizon. A treeline surrounding a rural homestead provided scale and silhouette at the end of the road.

The hum of the interstate provided a consistent, unobtrusive score to the evening. My congested lungs breathed in the cool, still air left behind by this afternoon's storms. I could faintly smell the earth that had so recently been home to intense production. The road seemed to point down the straight and narrow, to that indistinct point on the horizon, a symbol of destination. But life isn't straight and narrow. It's easy to dismiss the twists and turns in the road as detours, as getting lost along the way. But life isn't truly about destination. Life is about finding your way off the section grid and discovering what lies beyond the treeline.

Jar Full of Summer

2011-11-12T10:02:00.001-08:00

One of my favorite plants from this year's garden was Gomphrena 'Buddy Purple'. From the day I planted a flat of these annuals at the leading edge of our driveway border, they started churning out flower after everlasting purple flower.

The flowers have a dry texture to them, similar to Helichrysum bracteatum (Strawflower), making them very resistant to heat, drought and cold. Even during the broiling, rainless heat we experienced this summer, 'Buddy Purple' did nothing but produce.

When temperatures dipped to 26F on Wednesday night, the foliage of the plants was damaged beyond recovery, but the flowers were simply dusted with a frosty coat. It was time to harvest.

Today, I removed the flower heads from the plants. As I was harvesting them, a neighbor walked by and asked if I was saving seeds. It was the logical question, but I wasn't pulling the flowers off to save the seeds. I was saving the flower heads themselves, as they retain their color when dried and make wonderful home accents. I'll dry them indoors on a cookie sheet for a few days, to make sure any foliage or stems desiccate before storing them in a jar. If they're not completely dry, mold could develop and ruin all the flower heads.

By next weekend, the Gomphrena flower heads will be placed in a glass jar and used as a bit of home decor, likely on the bookcases that hold my gardening library. As I work at my desk during the dormant months, I'll be able to glance over and smile at my jar full of summer.

The Garden Takes Its Final Bow

2011-11-11T08:25:00.001-08:00

First Frost

2011-11-10T19:49:00.001-08:00

The first heavy frost of autumn fell on the garden last night, folding petals and foliage and marking the end of the growing season here at Cherry Creek. Many of the fallen leaves scattered over the lawn and landscape were edged in tiny ice crystals. Rose petals curled ever so slightly in response to the cold.

Later in the day, as the wind ushered the chill of winter, the first snowflakes of the season fell with sporadic abandon. The first flakes carried with them a hint of nostalgia, remembering winters past, and a good bit of anticipation of the winter yet to come.

When Life Makes Us Improvise

2011-11-09T10:52:00.000-08:00

Dissipating storm clouds driven across the sky by an advancing cold front let through just enough blue sky and sunlight this morning to bring our autumn color to a breathtaking crescendo. I pulled my camera out of my bag to capture the moment, removed the lens cap, and flipped the switch. Nothing. My battery was dead. After uttering a few choice words to no one in particular, I turned away for a moment when I remembered my iPhone in my pocket. Noting the photography adage, "the best camera is the one you have," I snapped a few shots, including the one above.

The morning light was fleeting, soon replaced by a thick, gray pall accompanied by howling winds that likely have torn leaf from limb. I love it when our unpredictable lives demand that we improvise in order to capture the moment.

Dancing in Hazy Moonshine and City Lights

2011-11-08T20:36:00.000-08:00

A few minutes ago, a gentle rain began to fall on the roof. I stepped outside to hear the slow, steady drip-drop off the gutters onto the fallen leaves below. The scent of freshly-dampened leaves always evokes memories of my childhood, of moments without a care when jumping headfirst into a pile of leaves was considered a days work.

A wave of nostalgia consumed me as gentle breezes blew through the trees, dancing silhouettes illuminated by hazy moonshine and city lights. Even in darkness, nature continues its beautiful symphony.

Beauty, Even in the Gloom

2011-11-07T19:55:00.000-08:00

The tone for the day is often set the moment we set foot out the door. This morning a steady drizzle greeted me, the annoying kind of rain that scoffs at umbrellas and seems to surround you in Newtonian disobedience. The sky was a murky gray, barely betraying a sun that had risen an hour earlier. It was the kind of welcome that inspires daydreams of hibernation courtesy of a blanket, hot tea and a good book.

But then I saw a single Hibiscus flower, drizzled with November rain, gently reminding me that there is always beauty, even in the gloom. Slowly, my eyes opened to more glimpses of splendor in my garden. The dreary morning became magical and I spent the day feeling like I'd walked into the sweet spot of the universe.

Digging Is Over, But Dreaming Has Just Begun

2011-11-06T13:20:00.000-08:00

The last few weeks have been bulb-planting time here in my home garden. While it hasn't been the frenzy of last year when I planted more than 1,000 bulbs, a few trips to local stores and a large online order from van Bourgondien quickly brought my 2011 bulb purchase to 670 total bulbs. I planted most of this year's bulbs in our new backyard patio garden -- the only "fresh ground" in our landscape.

I built the new garden earlier this summer by installing a retaining wall around our deck patio, taking advantage of the sloped yard to create a terrace. Since the garden is largely unplanted, save for a few perennials and shrubs transplanted in early fall, there is a large expanse of open soil. I decided to plant lower growing bulbs along the edge of the retaining wall, so I dug a shallow 3-5" trench with a hand trowel. I've always been a bulk bulb planter -- digging out a large area, placing the bulbs, and then recovering with soil.

With bulbs, I try to ignore my predilection towards control as they end up looking better when they're planted in a somewhat haphazard fashion. This year I'm pushing the chaos a little further by mixing several of the smaller bulbs (Muscari, Chionodoxa and Iris reticulata) together before planting. By not knowing which bulb is which, I'm hoping to introduce some unexpected combinations in the spring garden.

I placed the mixture of bulbs in the bottom of the trench (tip up, of course!) and backfilled the trench. Since squirrels aren't a huge issue in our garden, I don't need to add any wire mesh or other methods of detracting rodents before covering the bulbs with soil.

The bulbs I've planted this fall include:

Allium caeruleum (12)
Allium christophii (10)
Allium 'Purple Sensation' (20)
Chionodoxa forbessi (15)
Crocus 'Tricolor' (36)
Iris reticulata Danfordiae (25)
Iris reticulata Reticulata (25)
Iris reticulata 'Alida' (10)
Iris reticulata 'Harmony' (25)
Muscari armeniacum (75)
Muscari azureum (25)
Muscari 'Magic Carpet' (60)
Narcissus 'Double Beauty' (5)
Narcissus 'Golden Ducat' (12)
Tulipa bakeri 'Lilac Wonder' (25)
Tulipa clusiana 'Lady Jane' (25)
Tulipa 'Banja Luka' (45)
Tulipa 'Beauty of Spring' (25)
Tulipa 'Golden Apeldoorn' (15)
Tulipa 'Holland Beauty' (15)
Tulipa 'Kung Fu' (15)
Tulipa 'Little Beauty' (40)
Tulipa 'Miranda' (25)
Tulipa 'Ollioules' (25)
Tulipa 'Purple Flag' (15)
Tulipa 'Sensual Touch' (5)
Tulipa (Triumph Mixed) (40)

Tulipa 'Ollioules'

After planting the last of the bulbs and transplanting a few perennials from containers into the ground, I returned my spade and trowel to the garage. The digging season is now official over in my garden. The dreaming season has just begun.

Changing of the Seasons at Japan House Pond: November 2, 2011

2011-11-06T04:55:00.000-08:00

The second stage of autumn is well underway at Japan House Pond at the Illinois Arboretum. The hawthorn and maple that form the northern border of the pond have dropped their leaves to reveal the grey-white bark so reminiscent of winter. A bronze background of oak peeks out from between their barren branches. The alder to the left staunchly retains green leaves as if oblivious to the cooler temperatures.

The fiery foliage of Euonymous breaks the evergreen consistency of the gardens surrounding Japan House, providing a red that will soon exist in the holly berries that persist through winter.

A rusty orange has begun to cascade from the tops of ornamental cherries that line the path along the southwestern edge of the pond. The foliage on the lower branches remains green, but autumn color covers the tops of the trees. On the weeping varieties, the color appears to erupt from the center of the tree downward.

The younger maples in the Japan House gardens remain full of leaves and striking in color. My visit was greeted with a particularly stiff breeze, so capturing the maples in a still moment was a challenge. I didn't complain, for watching the sunlight dance among the leaves was simply mesmerizing.

Several varieties of Japanese maple are planted in the house gardens. I don't think I've ever seen such spectacular fall color in them. The wide spectrum of color in each tree -- and even in each leaf -- would have satisfied me if it were the only sight to see on this visit to Japan House Pond.

Fresh Air and Fraternity

2011-11-05T17:29:00.000-07:00

I'd been planning to spend the afternoon working in my garden, planting the last batch of bulbs that arrived this week. When my wife suggested that we do something outside as a family, and my son eagerly agreed, I abandoned my bulb planting plans so that we could enjoy a spectacular autumn day hiking in Meadowbrook Park in nearby Urbana, IL. Much to my son's delight, we arranged to have one of his good friends join us for the walk.

Meadowbrook Park is an treasure here in Champaign-Urbana. Located in southeast Urbana, it stretches over 80 acres including 30 acres of restored tallgrass prairie. More than three miles of paved paths and countless steps of unimproved paths through the prairie make the park a destination for walkers, runners, and hikers alike. When my wife and I were newly married and living in Urbana, we'd frequently break out our rollerblades and spend evenings getting some much needed exercise after a day at the office.

In this first week of November, the prairie at Meadowbrook is in full autumn splendor. The arching stems and seed heads of wildflowers intersect the upright architecture of native prairie grasses to create an unending visual symphony of texture and shape.

At one point during our hike, my wife noticed the cirrus clouds behind us formed a smoky white whisp rising from the horizon, the perfect foil to the vertical orientation of the prairie.

A variety of sculpture are installed throughout the prairie walk at Meadowbrook. The bronze pictured below is a Peter Fagan piece called "Marker". As with most art, not all of the sculpture in Meadowbrook appeals to every visitor, but the park district has done an excellent job in rotating a wide variety of work over the years we've visited. For me, the sculpture is the perfect marriage between the artistry of nature and that of humankind.

Most of the trees in Meadowbrook have already dropped their leaves, so foliage color was sparse during our walk. The bright red foliage of sumac, wild rose and brambles was visible from a great distance as it stood in contrast to the brown and bronze of the dried prairie plants.

For a November day, the weather couldn't have been more ideal. A light breeze, warm sun and blue sky entertained our senses for our two hours at Meadowbrook. My wife and I followed from a distance as my son and his friend shared conversation and laughs for the length of the hike.

It was the perfect day for fresh air and fraternity.

A Walk Through My Garden: November 5

2011-11-05T11:26:00.000-07:00

Our slow, unfolding autumn continues here at Cherry Creek, as the hue of the garden slides away from summer brightness toward the earthiness of fall and winter. A few summer tropicals growing near the house foundation seem to shrug off the near-freezing nighttime temperatures, but most of the tender plants without the benefit of microclimates have given up the fight for survival. Each day, new color emerges in the trees, shrubs and perennials. Occasional dabs of blue and purple highlight a highly-textured palette of brown, maroon, gold and orange throughout the landscape.

I took an early-morning walk around the house, soon after the sun rose above the neighborhood roof lines to the East. A warm light gilded the garden, drawing an ethereal halo around many plants, sharpening the color in others. Please enjoy those that politely asked me to capture their beauty on this morning's walk through my garden.

Hibiscus

Cornus sericea

Monarda 'Marshall's Delight'

Syringa vulgaris

Miscanthus sinensis 'Gracillimus'

Itea virginica 'Little Henry'

Miscanthus sinensis 'Variegatus'

Acer rubrum

Rosa Double Knockout Red

Callicarpa dichotoma 'Early Amethyst'

Gomphrena Buddy Purple

Angelonia Serena Blue

Ceratostigma plumbaginoides

Aronia arbutifolia 'Brilliantisima'

Liquidambar styraciflua

Euonymous alatus

Picea pungens 'Fat Albert'

Gomphrena Buddy Purple

Mandevilla Sun Parasol Crimson

Liquidambar styraciflua and Quercus rubra

Wordless Wednesday: November Blooms

2011-11-02T04:58:00.000-07:00

Calibrachoa Superbells 'Cherry Star'

Antirrhinum Liberty

Leucanthemum 'Becky'

Rosa Double Knockout

Pelargonium 'Happy Thought'

Cleome Senorita Rosalita

One Tree, One Stone, One Spider at a Time

2011-11-01T20:38:00.000-07:00

We spent a good part of this weekend camping with my son's Cub Scout pack at Camp Drake in Oakwood, Ilinois. Since joining the pack more than two years ago, the fall camping trip is my favorite activity of the scouting calendar. The October weather is usually perfect for hiking (and sleeping in a tent) and the color in the oak and hickory forest creates a beautiful canvas for the weekend's activities. When we arrived Saturday at our Hickory Haven campsite, a thick carpet of fallen leaves shuffled and crunched as we set up camp.

A short wooden bridge that leads from Hickory Haven is the traditional trailhead for our afternoon nature hike. My enthusiasm for plants and nature and the lack of a more skilled naturalist makes me the de facto leader for our pack hikes, so I briefed the scouts and their parents on the basics of hiking safety and responsibility before leading the group across the bridge. Taking the first steps on any hike is an exhilarating moment for me. When I have the opportunity to help the scouts understand the natural world in new ways, I'm completely in my element.

Although I've hiked this trail several times in the past, there's always a newness about it when I'm using all my senses to scan the woods for teachable moments. As we walked, I collected leaves from the trail in a variety of colors. When I had enough, I stopped to asked the scouts if they knew why many leaves changed color in the fall. I smiled broadly when the scouts answered with most of the correct answers, a testament to past exposure to these basic concepts of plant science either through school or scouting.

One of the more exciting moments on our Camp Drake hikes is crossing the wooden suspension bridge over the Salt Fork of the Vermilion River. When the bridge takes on the weight of our entire pack, it shimmies and sways quite a bit, leading to exclamations and giggles from all the scouts (and even some of the parents).

Even if the bridge invokes your fear of heights, you have to admit the view from the middle of the span is breathtaking on a still day. The way the rusty gold of the oak and hickory forest shimmers off the blue-black water rivals some of the autumn scenes I witnessed growing up in New England.

Due north and downstream of the bridge, the Salt Fork bends nearly 180 degrees and begins to head south back through Camp Drake. This sudden change in direction results in the deposition of a large amount of river sediment (a "point bar") on the inside of the turn. To Camp Drake regulars, this area is known as Pebble Beach. We always bring the scouts down to Pebble Beach for them to skip stones, search for fossils and just have a little unstructured fun at the halfway point of the hike. Three of the scouts, including my son, started their own mining operation at the water's edge.

Pebble Beach is also home to a symbol of nature's resiliency -- a sycamore tree that is growing from a crack in one of the large boulders along the shore. A towering sycamore stands about a hundred feet away from this spot. I asked the scouts to imagine how a seed could have traveled over, landed in a small amount of soil in the crack, and grown into its current form. It may never be a full-grown sycamore, but the scouts were impressed that the roots of the tree were actually splitting the rock down the middle.

When you're hiking through the woods with a bunch of elementary school boys, wildlife rarely makes an appearance. The animals, birds and insects can hear us coming from a hundred yards away and follow their instinct to find safety in shelter or camouflage. When we came across a freshly-cut log with a spider the size of a silver dollar, I called the nearby scouts to come take a look.

We found the spider because we had decided to hike back along one of the valleys rather than double back along the river bluffs. The trail was more densely covered in leaves and some areas even had vegetation growing, a sure sign that this was a path less traveled. For me, that's really what being a scout leader is all about -- helping these boys experience the wonder of the world one tree, one stone and, yes, one spider at a time.

The Lingering Beauty of Autumn

2011-11-01T19:25:00.000-07:00

With the impending time change looming on the weekend horizon, my chances for enjoying the garden on weekday evenings are numbered. Darkness will soon greet me on my exit from work, and the weekends will be my only opportunity to enjoy the garden at dusk. So tonight I grabbed the day's remaining sunlight and took a stroll through my garden.

Acer 'Roseo Marginatum'

My newly-planted Japanese maple has lost most of its leaves, but those that remain are edged with an increasingly-rosy ivory margin that brings out the color in its red stems.

Hosta

Although most of the Hosta in the garden are tattered, the gradual cooling and lack of hard frost this fall has allowed them to turn the most amazing shades of gold. The white-edged varieties are particularly striking.

Hydrangea paniculata 'Little Lamb'

The summer's drought took a toll on the flowers of most of my Hydrangea, but the fall foliage has begun to color nicely.

Geranium

I was surprised to find the burgundy leaf of a perennial Geranium hovering above the green Heuchera below. Normally, this particular Geranium is the star of the spring and early summer garden but dies back to the ground by late August. I don't think I've ever seen its autumn color in the past.

Hosta

The Hosta beneath our Red Maple have taken on a golden-brown sheen, possibly caused by a couple of dips below freezing this past week. Surrounded by the maple's fallen yellow leaves, these Hosta paint a colorful portrait outside our living room windows.

Viburnum carlesii

The neighbor's Koreanspice Viburnum is a couple of days away from peak fall color. The dark red color starts at the leaf margins and slowly bleeds down towards the veins and midrib. Its hard to decide if this shrub is more beautiful in autumn or when fragrantly blooming in spring.

Hamamelis vernalis

The witch hazel that grows along the back fence, in full view of the dining room windows, is one of the elders in my garden. It has marked the changing of the seasons in my garden since my hands first plunged into this quarter-acre patch of soil. Some plants seem to change overnight. Not this witch hazel. It is never hurried, no matter the weather nor the behavior of its botanical neighbors.

This leaf seemed to hold the shadow of a lush, green summer in its veins, a subtle message to Old Man Winter to bide his time and let the beauty of autumn linger just a wee bit longer.

A Tropical Reprieve

2011-10-26T20:40:00.000-07:00

Hibiscus tiliaceus tricolor

Dracaena 'Song of India'

Oxalis

Philodendron 'Choco'

Codiaeum

Leea coccinea

Musa

Dichorisandra thyrsifora

Anthurium

Acalypha hispida

Rhyncholaelia digbyana 'York'

Oncidium

Ludisia discolor

Zygopetalum mackayi 'Arthur Elle York'

Angraecum 'Lemforde White Beauty'

Wordless Wednesday: Eucharis grandiflora

2011-10-26T16:04:00.000-07:00

A Walk Through My Garden: October 23

2011-10-23T17:30:00.000-07:00

Hydrangea macrophylla 'Twist and Shout'

Trycyrtis 'Samurai'

Viola

Abies koreana 'Cis' (Dwarf Korean Fir)

Hosta 'Whee!'

Impatiens Harmony®

Cyperus papyrus

Rudbeckia

Euonymous alatus

Hibiscus

Centhranthus ruber

Betula populifolia 'Whitespire'

Hypericum 'Mystical Orange'

Rosa Knockout® 'Double Red'

Weigela florida 'Variegata'

Grasshopper on Zinnia Zahara® 'Starlight Rose'

Clematis 'Rouge Cardinal'

Acer palmatum 'Rosea Marginatum'

Colocasia

Hamammelis vernalis (Vernal Witch Hazel)