A Frosty Secret

Frosty Secret Garden

A rare sunny winter morning in the Pacific Northwest. The sun slung so low in the southern sky that it casts a warm light on a chilly Secret Garden.

Awe-inspiring moments

Back lit frozen leaf

The older I get, the more awe-inspiring moments I have with the simplest things. I walked out my front door and saw this fallen leaf getting lit up with the low slung winter sun. I stopped dead in my tracks and marveled at the scene. Just wonderful.

Frozen, frosty, fallen leaves

Frosty fallen leaves

Frost makes nearly everything beautiful. This pile of frozen, frosty, fallen leaves, twigs looks sensational with a coat of frost.

Stipa Anonymous

Stipa tenuissima

My wife says I should go to Stipa Anonymous. She may be right. I do go a little crazy for it. And Mexican feather grass does find its way into many of my flower beds. But why shouldn't it? I walked out my front door just as the morning sun was back lighting this delightful grass. And this was in the dead of winter.

Saying good-bye to the Melianthus major

Top: Dec 5; Bottom: Jan 7

What a difference a month makes. The top photo was taken December 5th--before our string of cccccold clear days. The bottom photo was taken today, January 8th. The Melianthus major was going strong well into the holiday season. When temps dipped into the low teens, the leaves said, "Enough!" It's at this point that I cut the entire plant down and stack the cuttings on top, along with twigs, branches and fallen leaves--my mulch of choice.

Hellebore

I've not done right by my Hellebore. I've purchased many, some of which were high dollar purchases from Heronswood--the real Heronswood that Dan and his cohorts owned and operated. The magic I feel when I see them sited well and looking gorgeous in other gardens hasn't translated to my garden. So last spring I moved this Hellebore right next to the front walk in the Front Yard in hopes that seeing its evergreen presence (and nice blooms!) during the long, dark and wet winters days here in the Pacific Northwest would give me a boost each day. It seems to be working.

Dew drops on fennel seeds

Ferula communis

I love how the morning light catches the dew drops hanging from the seed heads of what I'm pretty sure is Giant Fennel.

Winter light barberry

Barberry fruit

I moved this chartreuse-leaved barberry last spring and it sulked for most of the spring and summer. I hope it recovers enough to be covered in fruit next year at this time.

Morning light on Miscanthus

Miscanthus sinensis 'Malepartus'

Back-lit by the morning sun, Miscanthus sinensis 'Malepartus' shows off her amazing self. Staying sturdy and upright even in the 40+ mph wind storms we've had, this great grass really is a top notch plant. Easily the most elegant and top performing grass in my Front Yard.

Through a leaf lightly

A fallen Carpinus japonica leaf

I love the frosty mornings when the entire garden is silvery and even the most mundane of objects--fallen leaves--become scrims for the low-slung, nearly-winter sun.

Window into winter

Frosty windows in the Secret Garden

Although framed to look like windows, this Trompe l'Oeil is actually a mirror. It's used to extend the view from the meander looking into the Secret Garden. I came upon this scene as I wandered through the garden as the sun was just starting to faintly fall in the Secret Garden.

First light on the Melianthus

Morning light on Melianthus

Probably one of my favorite plants, Melianthus major is a stalwart in the Piet section of the Front Yard. Indigenous to South Africa, aka, "Peanut Butter plant" because the bruised leaves smell like peanut butter. To care for this plant, I let it stand until the first hard frost. Then I cut it to the ground and cover the crown with the cuttings and add other twigs and leaves to form a 1 foot mound of mulch.

Flaming red flowering maple

Abutilon blooming well into December

I first came upon an Abutilon at the Northwest Flower and Garden Show about 8 years ago. It was in a display garden and I spent 10 minutes trying to match up the blooms with the maple-like leaves. Abutilons were not as popular then as they seem to be now. But talk about a great plant. Happy in bright dappled light, Abutilons in my Front Yard bloom from late June until the first real hard frost.

A frosty mornin' for the urn

Frost on urn in the Secret Garden

Sun and cold and frost. What a great combo! With temperatures falling into the upper teens, and ample moisture left over from weeks of rain, the garden has turned into a silvery paradise. Centered in the Secret Garden, the metal urn usually plays host to a delightful Agave Americana marginata. But in the rainy winter months, the urn is empty while the Agave takes up residence in the greenhouse.

Piet Falls Apart

'Piet' view from the Dock

This photo is about 5 weeks old and it shows the 'Piet" section of the front yard just starting to fall apart. The Molinia caerulea 'Transparent' (front) is starting its late fall collapse. The stunningly sturdy Miscanthus sinensis malepartus stands upright--even through the string of wind storms that have pummeled the northwest.

Syneilesis-aconitifolia

Although I grow Syneilesis aconitifolia for the leaves, I have to say that the seed heads are quite nice too.

Senecio cristobalensis

I just love this plant. Love, love, love! It was a weak-knee moment when I first came across it at Heronswood where I was wandering around in a pleasant plant stupor when it just presented itself to me. The gorgeous leaves (I've never seen it bloom) hold morning dew like liquid jewels. I also love the way it catches--in this instance--the late afternoon fall light. After several attempts at propagation, I finally found success. I'm hoping I don't lose my mojo because I'm leaving several plants in the ground to see if they winter over. (I'm still keeping a few in the greenhouse over the winter!)

Architectural Plants

Books and plants. Plants and books. Books about plants, and gardens and all things horticultural. I love books--real books that I hold in my hand. While I'd love to have a Kindle, it wouldn't replace the feeling of paging through a really good garden book. Now I'd love a Kindle for everything else I read.

This is my first post on Garden Books of Note. What I mean by that is I intend to list my garden books that I go back to time and again. Books that I typically learn something, or see something of value each time I open it.

These are not book reviews but rather postings about books I like and a few sentences of what makes me go back to them.

Christine Shaw's, Architectural Plants, is a book that has lots of solid info, good photography and a great layout that is conducive to reading a section (Palms, Ferns, Grasses, Bamboos, Climbers, Trees, Other leafy exotics, Spiky & Succulent plants), or opening to a random page.

I loved this bit from the chapter, Making the right decisions.

Unless you are especially stubborn, there is little point buying plants that have only a slim chance of surviving in your particular plot."

I surely place myself under the column of "especially stubborn." Or just a bit slow to learn.

Seattle Weather Forecast. Yikes!

Rain, rain and more rain. With weather like this, it's easy to cast back to sunnier and warmer days. So we'll fire up the time machine to last July when we visited Chanticleer, a Pleasure Garden.


Papaver somniferum

It was a pleasant sunny day when we visited Chanticleer. Uncharacteristically mild, temps in the low 80s, and very little humidity. So much to take in and alas so little time. The vignette of a last poppy blossom and the poppy seed heads caught my eye. And the light was hitting the poppy petals just so.

Whither Wilma?

Cupressus macrocarpa 'Wilma'

Sometimes it pays to see your mistakes front and center. I left this shrub, Cupressus macrocarpa 'Wilma,' in the pink pail holding the screen door open all summer. It didn't get the light it needed and did what it rightfully should have done: die. The shrub I paired with this, another 'Wilma,' also in a pink pail, sat about 3 feet away and flourished. Well not flourished, but she survived with just a wee bit more sun. Hoping against hope, I placed the sickly shrub on the Dock hoping for a miracle. And of course it was too late. And so it goes.