A hidden snack

A hidden snack

Busy at work or a tasty snack?

Busy at work or a tasty snack?

Testing the Waters

The only way to truly test the waters is to jump in.

Testing the Waters

The only way to truly test the waters is to jump in.

The day the gravel came

First, I must say I've been blogged down recently.  I went to Pawleys Island, S.C., for a week.  The weather was great, and I didn't work much.  I meant to, but just didn't.

Then, yesterday I was exhausted and surrounded by suntan lotion-scented beach towels that needed washing, not to mention everything else I took over there.

But, today it's back to business.  For some reason, I started thinking about a day I'd rather forget.  It was the day the pea gravel arrived at my house.

The background:  When we built this house in 1980 at the very highest mortgage rates ever, I advertised in the paper for cobblestones to make a front parking court.  I ended up buying 4,000 Belgian blocks - the ones that look like a big loaf of bread and weigh a ton each.

My husband and my daddy, using a dump truck from Daddy's business,  fetched them from a huge pile somewhere down near Marietta Street.  The stones had come from the site where the CNN complex is now.  I assume they had originally been ballast for ships coming from Europe.  A lot of that area of downtown Atlanta had cobblestone streets at one time.  I think there are some that are still paved over.

Anyway, I got the cobblestones, and soon afterwards, I made a huge mistake.  Our builder sent over someone who needed the money for a heart operation for his baby.  I was skeptical, but he had the sweet, very sick baby with him.  We agreed on a price.  I am very sure the father had never installed a cobblestone, or any stone for that matter, in his life.

So, I got what I paid for.  Lines of cobblestones so curvy they'd make you dizzy.  Also, he ordered river sand and did not set them in concrete (which might have been a blessing, after all).  The first time it rained, I had a lake in my front parking lot.  In fact, you needed waders to get from a car to the front door.  I had the young man come back and install some grates and drain pipe, none of which worked.  If we had a party or guests, I just prayed it didn't rain.  Also, when my mother-in-law first visited, she had to grab my husband's arm to maintain her balance, so uneven (up and down) were the cobblestones.

I can't tell you how much I grieved over this mistake.  I won't go into the years of rain followed by silt that would cover half the parking court.  Every week, when he could have been doing something else to enhance the landscape, my husband shoveled silt and wheelbarreled loads of it to the compost pile.  We weren't the kind to fix things.  We just managed what we had.

After my husband passed away, things got worse.  The cobblestones sank even more, and I couldn't keep up with cleaning them.  There were lakes when it rained, always followed by a fresh sea of mud.

Something had to be done.  I contacted a landscape designer, and she gave me a price to re-do the front of the house.  I should have known when she came back with a drawing that put a lot of foundation plants where I had none that she didn't understand the aesthetic of my stucco and limestone house.  And, the price to remove the cobblestones and use some of them to outline a pea gravel parking lot was astronomical.  I had paid 40 cents apiece for the Belgian block.  She wanted $12 to handle each stone.

So, I became the contractor.  I hired a Bobcat driver I knew who said he could dig the cobblestones.  I then got a driver from my daddy's business to say he would come get the cobblestones and haul them to the farm.

The first breakdown came when the Bobcat driver quit halfway through.  He suggested I find a landscaper to come buy the rest of the cobblestones and remove them.  Then, the driver and I had a disagreement over his hauling price, so he said he couldn't do another load.

It was a disaster and remained so for what seemed like several weeks.  Somehow, I found another Bobcat man, and he had a friend with a dump truck.  They finished up the cobblestones, brought in crusher run and packed it down, and put a thin layer of pea gravel on top.

I've been happy with the results.  I thought I would miss the cobblestones, but I love the gravel.  It brightens the look of my house.

The above photograph was not taken here.  It's the entrance courtyard to an architect's office.  But the idea is the same.  Gravel, boxwoods (I only have two flanking my front door - they had to be raised and re-planted when this all took place) and vines (I have Boston ivy going up the wings of the house).  It's a simple concept, but I like the look.

I shudder when I think of standing there that day, half the cobblestones gone and a hideous mud pit in front of my house.  I can't believe it ever got it fixed.  There's still more work to do.  I'd like to bring some cobblestones back to outline the gravel, but it might take a few more years before I have the gumption to fool with anything like this again.

The day the gravel came

First, I must say I've been blogged down recently.  I went to Pawleys Island, S.C., for a week.  The weather was great, and I didn't work much.  I meant to, but just didn't.

Then, yesterday I was exhausted and surrounded by suntan lotion-scented beach towels that needed washing, not to mention everything else I took over there.

But, today it's back to business.  For some reason, I started thinking about a day I'd rather forget.  It was the day the pea gravel arrived at my house.

The background:  When we built this house in 1980 at the very highest mortgage rates ever, I advertised in the paper for cobblestones to make a front parking court.  I ended up buying 4,000 Belgian blocks - the ones that look like a big loaf of bread and weigh a ton each.

My husband and my daddy, using a dump truck from Daddy's business,  fetched them from a huge pile somewhere down near Marietta Street.  The stones had come from the site where the CNN complex is now.  I assume they had originally been ballast for ships coming from Europe.  A lot of that area of downtown Atlanta had cobblestone streets at one time.  I think there are some that are still paved over.

Anyway, I got the cobblestones, and soon afterwards, I made a huge mistake.  Our builder sent over someone who needed the money for a heart operation for his baby.  I was skeptical, but he had the sweet, very sick baby with him.  We agreed on a price.  I am very sure the father had never installed a cobblestone, or any stone for that matter, in his life.

So, I got what I paid for.  Lines of cobblestones so curvy they'd make you dizzy.  Also, he ordered river sand and did not set them in concrete (which might have been a blessing, after all).  The first time it rained, I had a lake in my front parking lot.  In fact, you needed waders to get from a car to the front door.  I had the young man come back and install some grates and drain pipe, none of which worked.  If we had a party or guests, I just prayed it didn't rain.  Also, when my mother-in-law first visited, she had to grab my husband's arm to maintain her balance, so uneven (up and down) were the cobblestones.

I can't tell you how much I grieved over this mistake.  I won't go into the years of rain followed by silt that would cover half the parking court.  Every week, when he could have been doing something else to enhance the landscape, my husband shoveled silt and wheelbarreled loads of it to the compost pile.  We weren't the kind to fix things.  We just managed what we had.

After my husband passed away, things got worse.  The cobblestones sank even more, and I couldn't keep up with cleaning them.  There were lakes when it rained, always followed by a fresh sea of mud.

Something had to be done.  I contacted a landscape designer, and she gave me a price to re-do the front of the house.  I should have known when she came back with a drawing that put a lot of foundation plants where I had none that she didn't understand the aesthetic of my stucco and limestone house.  And, the price to remove the cobblestones and use some of them to outline a pea gravel parking lot was astronomical.  I had paid 40 cents apiece for the Belgian block.  She wanted $12 to handle each stone.

So, I became the contractor.  I hired a Bobcat driver I knew who said he could dig the cobblestones.  I then got a driver from my daddy's business to say he would come get the cobblestones and haul them to the farm.

The first breakdown came when the Bobcat driver quit halfway through.  He suggested I find a landscaper to come buy the rest of the cobblestones and remove them.  Then, the driver and I had a disagreement over his hauling price, so he said he couldn't do another load.

It was a disaster and remained so for what seemed like several weeks.  Somehow, I found another Bobcat man, and he had a friend with a dump truck.  They finished up the cobblestones, brought in crusher run and packed it down, and put a thin layer of pea gravel on top.

I've been happy with the results.  I thought I would miss the cobblestones, but I love the gravel.  It brightens the look of my house.

The above photograph was not taken here.  It's the entrance courtyard to an architect's office.  But the idea is the same.  Gravel, boxwoods (I only have two flanking my front door - they had to be raised and re-planted when this all took place) and vines (I have Boston ivy going up the wings of the house).  It's a simple concept, but I like the look.

I shudder when I think of standing there that day, half the cobblestones gone and a hideous mud pit in front of my house.  I can't believe it ever got it fixed.  There's still more work to do.  I'd like to bring some cobblestones back to outline the gravel, but it might take a few more years before I have the gumption to fool with anything like this again.

Carol's retribution - did the punishment fit the crime?

Back in June, my long-time friend Carol Tessier (originally from South Africa) and her French husband Luc had three of us for dinner in their garden.  We had hors-d'oeuvres out on the lawn, surrounded by Carol's miraculous garden.  We then moved into the conservatory for dinner, as it was a bit cool still.  Summer was late coming to Paris this year.

Anyway, Carol was to fetch (a word she would use, but I wouldn't) the three of us - my older daughter Anne, my beloved childhood friend Linda and me - at the end of the Metro line.  For some reason, Carol and I start laughing the moment we see each other.  This time, I was all apologies.  We had forgotten the bottle of wine we'd bought to give them.  We were early, so I dispatched Anne to buy another.  The catch was that we were in a very unlikely spot to find any sort of store, surrounded by high rise apartments and office buildings as we were.  Anne had gone dutifully off in the direction that looked the least deserted.

Carol arrived, and we waited and waited.  No Anne.  It seemed like an eternity.  I was worried.  Had she gotten lost? These streets all looked alike.  But finally Anne came running up, totally out of breath, wine bottle in hand.  Amazingly, she'd found a Monoprix (sort of an abbreviated WalMart), but the line had been long.

We were laughing at our folly as Carol drove over the Seine and pointed to some flower-filled boxes on the bridge. "They always have very beautiful hanging baskets,"she explained.  "Last autumn, I decided to help myself to some slips.  When I was taking the cuttings, a bee stung me really hard and said, 'Good for you; one doesn't do that sort of thing!"

When we got to her house, she showed me the tiny courtyard outside her kitchen where the purloined cuttings had just been put in.  Not much was going yet.  However,  I just recently received the above photo with Carol's observations:

"I thought you might like to see what our kitchen courtyard and window boxes are looking like. Most of the plants seeded themselves including the petunia bravely coming up between two paving stones. The lobelia seeded from last year and the purple tobacco as well.  What amuses me is the large white tobacco coming up in the window box; heaven knows how the seed got there. Otherwise all the other plants came from slips that I took last autumn on the Pont de Courbevoie over the Seine."

It was hard to choose from the three photographs Carol sent.  That yellow begonia and the trailing blue lobelia in the box on the left are great seen up close.  And this view doesn't show the mysterious white tobacco that came from who knows where.  But from the looks of the courtyard I'm thinking that crime did pay, after all.  But perhaps Carol should consider wearing some thick gloves this fall if she decides to be a repeat offender.

Carol's retribution - did the punishment fit the crime?

Back in June, my long-time friend Carol Tessier (originally from South Africa) and her French husband Luc had three of us for dinner in their garden.  We had hors-d'oeuvres out on the lawn, surrounded by Carol's miraculous garden.  We then moved into the conservatory for dinner, as it was a bit cool still.  Summer was late coming to Paris this year.

Anyway, Carol was to fetch (a word she would use, but I wouldn't) the three of us - my older daughter Anne, my beloved childhood friend Linda and me - at the end of the Metro line.  For some reason, Carol and I start laughing the moment we see each other.  This time, I was all apologies.  We had forgotten the bottle of wine we'd bought to give them.  We were early, so I dispatched Anne to buy another.  The catch was that we were in a very unlikely spot to find any sort of store, surrounded by high rise apartments and office buildings as we were.  Anne had gone dutifully off in the direction that looked the least deserted.

Carol arrived, and we waited and waited.  No Anne.  It seemed like an eternity.  I was worried.  Had she gotten lost? These streets all looked alike.  But finally Anne came running up, totally out of breath, wine bottle in hand.  Amazingly, she'd found a Monoprix (sort of an abbreviated WalMart), but the line had been long.

We were laughing at our folly as Carol drove over the Seine and pointed to some flower-filled boxes on the bridge. "They always have very beautiful hanging baskets,"she explained.  "Last autumn, I decided to help myself to some slips.  When I was taking the cuttings, a bee stung me really hard and said, 'Good for you; one doesn't do that sort of thing!"

When we got to her house, she showed me the tiny courtyard outside her kitchen where the purloined cuttings had just been put in.  Not much was going yet.  However,  I just recently received the above photo with Carol's observations:

"I thought you might like to see what our kitchen courtyard and window boxes are looking like. Most of the plants seeded themselves including the petunia bravely coming up between two paving stones. The lobelia seeded from last year and the purple tobacco as well.  What amuses me is the large white tobacco coming up in the window box; heaven knows how the seed got there. Otherwise all the other plants came from slips that I took last autumn on the Pont de Courbevoie over the Seine."

It was hard to choose from the three photographs Carol sent.  That yellow begonia and the trailing blue lobelia in the box on the left are great seen up close.  And this view doesn't show the mysterious white tobacco that came from who knows where.  But from the looks of the courtyard I'm thinking that crime did pay, after all.  But perhaps Carol should consider wearing some thick gloves this fall if she decides to be a repeat offender.

Anna's idea for a column

This photograph of clematis was actually taken at well-known rosarian's home.  For years, Anna Davis had a front-yard rose garden which she would so generously put on tour.  I especially remember a long wooden fence covered with the pink double rose 'Eden.'  At her mailbox was a charming, low-growing  yellow rose, which I particularly loved (I have the name written down somewhere).  Elsewhere around the yard were rose covered arches and all manner of shrub roses and more climbers.  It was spectacular.

And then I heard the news.  Anna was moving.  She was downsizing.  We all thought we'd die.  I could not do any more drive-bys (when her garden was not on tour, you could stop in her neighborhood, park your car and walk to her corner.  Most of the roses were in the front of her house).

For several years, I lost track of Anna.  Finally, it was announced that she was going to be on the Atlanta Botanical Garden's Gardens for Connoisseurs tour, which is always held on Mother's Day weekend.  I was ecstatic, but I couldn't feature what a downsized garden could look like.  After all, the other garden was not really huge.

But I needn't have feared.  Anna had moved into a cluster home (I'm not sure this the right term; the houses are very close with just a narrow strip separating each one.  The tiny lawns in front all looked alike) and had turned it into a showplace.  Although the garden was tiny, you didn't get that sense.  She had clematis and roses climbing the walls of her house.  As you went down the alley to the sunny, postage stamp sized back yard, you felt as if you were walking through a fragrant tunnel to enter The Secret Garden.  At the end was a rose-covered arch with clematis woven in.  Just after this sat Anna in a rose bedecked swing, gazing out at a colorful display of dazzling flowers, all in the best of health.  Mixed in with the roses were several varieties of clematis.

To find out the name of this large-flowering type, I called Lyndy Broder, who is an active member of the International Clematis Society and who travels all over the world visiting gardens and nurseries.  Here is what Lyndy wrote back:

"The clematis should be 'Hagley Hybrid' which was sold in the states as 'Pink
Chiffon'.  Google clematis on the web.  It is a wonderful search site for
identifying clems.  They say it is group 3 which is hard prune.  Anna Davis
has the most beautiful clematis.  I asked her how she did it and she said
she listened to me!  So  I guess I should follow my own advice.  Her soil, of
course, is impeccable and the size of the garden is manageable.  Her
combinations are fabulous."


The lessons from Anna's garden are many, but the striking one is that she uses the vertical surfaces of her home to showcase climbers - both clematis and roses.  The treatment of this brick column is just one example of how an otherwise plain space can be transformed into a thing of beauty.

Anna's idea for a column

This photograph of clematis was actually taken at well-known rosarian's home.  For years, Anna Davis had a front-yard rose garden which she would so generously put on tour.  I especially remember a long wooden fence covered with the pink double rose 'Eden.'  At her mailbox was a charming, low-growing  yellow rose, which I particularly loved (I have the name written down somewhere).  Elsewhere around the yard were rose covered arches and all manner of shrub roses and more climbers.  It was spectacular.

And then I heard the news.  Anna was moving.  She was downsizing.  We all thought we'd die.  I could not do any more drive-bys (when her garden was not on tour, you could stop in her neighborhood, park your car and walk to her corner.  Most of the roses were in the front of her house).

For several years, I lost track of Anna.  Finally, it was announced that she was going to be on the Atlanta Botanical Garden's Gardens for Connoisseurs tour, which is always held on Mother's Day weekend.  I was ecstatic, but I couldn't feature what a downsized garden could look like.  After all, the other garden was not really huge.

But I needn't have feared.  Anna had moved into a cluster home (I'm not sure this the right term; the houses are very close with just a narrow strip separating each one.  The tiny lawns in front all looked alike) and had turned it into a showplace.  Although the garden was tiny, you didn't get that sense.  She had clematis and roses climbing the walls of her house.  As you went down the alley to the sunny, postage stamp sized back yard, you felt as if you were walking through a fragrant tunnel to enter The Secret Garden.  At the end was a rose-covered arch with clematis woven in.  Just after this sat Anna in a rose bedecked swing, gazing out at a colorful display of dazzling flowers, all in the best of health.  Mixed in with the roses were several varieties of clematis.

To find out the name of this large-flowering type, I called Lyndy Broder, who is an active member of the International Clematis Society and who travels all over the world visiting gardens and nurseries.  Here is what Lyndy wrote back:

"The clematis should be 'Hagley Hybrid' which was sold in the states as 'Pink
Chiffon'.  Google clematis on the web.  It is a wonderful search site for
identifying clems.  They say it is group 3 which is hard prune.  Anna Davis
has the most beautiful clematis.  I asked her how she did it and she said
she listened to me!  So  I guess I should follow my own advice.  Her soil, of
course, is impeccable and the size of the garden is manageable.  Her
combinations are fabulous."


The lessons from Anna's garden are many, but the striking one is that she uses the vertical surfaces of her home to showcase climbers - both clematis and roses.  The treatment of this brick column is just one example of how an otherwise plain space can be transformed into a thing of beauty.

Organized chaos for this time of year

This garden in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, always intrigued me.  Kit Flynn, the owner, had turned her entire sloping front yard into a garden.  She had a few paved walkways and some nicely placed urns, but she did have a point in calling her composition, "organized chaos."

I've heard other gardeners use this term.  Kit had all sorts of plants - roses, perennials, flowering shrubs - packed into what was once a quiet lawn, like her neighbors all had.  In fact, as you drove down her street, you were all of a sudden startled by what you saw.

I visited her garden in September.  What I remember most were the grasses.  She had them everywhere - in the ground and in containers.  Somehow it all worked, and there was plenty to see and admire in what is usually a down-time for a Southern garden.

You can't see in this view, but the front walkway going up to the street was lined with ornamental gingers, not the kind you see in Florida, but a dwarf variety.  Elsewhere, she had a mishmash of yellow composite daisies (there is a crude term for this, but I can't remember it now and wouldn't write it if I did), sedums, including a flopping patch of 'Autumn Joy', Japanese maples, boxwoods, banana plants and several other tropicals.

I liked her garden a lot (it was featured on an episode of A Gardener's Diary on HGTV), but I'm already so chaotic that I would not be able to keep up with a garden like this.  The main thing, though, is that she enjoyed her creation so much and loved every minute of the experience.  She didn't mind taking chances, and some of her combinations were quite stunning.

I think the thing that saved her was that she had invested in stone paving and some evergreens that gave the eye a bit of relief.  Otherwise, it would have been a very chaotic sight.  For a September garden in the South, though, I would say it was quite successful.

 

Organized chaos for this time of year

This garden in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, always intrigued me.  Kit Flynn, the owner, had turned her entire sloping front yard into a garden.  She had a few paved walkways and some nicely placed urns, but she did have a point in calling her composition, "organized chaos."

I've heard other gardeners use this term.  Kit had all sorts of plants - roses, perennials, flowering shrubs - packed into what was once a quiet lawn, like her neighbors all had.  In fact, as you drove down her street, you were all of a sudden startled by what you saw.

I visited her garden in September.  What I remember most were the grasses.  She had them everywhere - in the ground and in containers.  Somehow it all worked, and there was plenty to see and admire in what is usually a down-time for a Southern garden.

You can't see in this view, but the front walkway going up to the street was lined with ornamental gingers, not the kind you see in Florida, but a dwarf variety.  Elsewhere, she had a mishmash of yellow composite daisies (there is a crude term for this, but I can't remember it now and wouldn't write it if I did), sedums, including a flopping patch of 'Autumn Joy', Japanese maples, boxwoods, banana plants and several other tropicals.

I liked her garden a lot (it was featured on an episode of A Gardener's Diary on HGTV), but I'm already so chaotic that I would not be able to keep up with a garden like this.  The main thing, though, is that she enjoyed her creation so much and loved every minute of the experience.  She didn't mind taking chances, and some of her combinations were quite stunning.

I think the thing that saved her was that she had invested in stone paving and some evergreens that gave the eye a bit of relief.  Otherwise, it would have been a very chaotic sight.  For a September garden in the South, though, I would say it was quite successful.

 

Cheerful flowers do the trick

Is it the heavy air outside, the gray skies, the mosquitoes?  I know cooler days are coming.  It's in the seven day forecast.  But, for some reason I needed to see something cheery today.  All day I felt sort of gloomy (maybe it was because I had to clean the house and wanted to be doing something - anything -else).

So, I scrolled through some photographs and came upon this view of Monet's Giverny that I don't think I've posted yet.  When I began examining the flowers, I realized it won't be long before it's time to scatter the poppy seeds I've saved.  I marked the flowers at the farm I wanted to preserve last June.  Most of the blooms were double and cherry red, but there was one flower that was almost purple.  I'll have to wait until next May to know if my selections worked.

Poppies remind me of zinnias.  You never know what you're going to get from last year's seeds, and I don't know if selecting only the ones you want always works.  Mother had a patch of cherry red peony poppies that went on for years.  I don't remember seeing the single pink ones that seem to be dominant if you let everything go for years.

Earlier in the week (or was it last week?), Diana Mendes posted pictures of her garden.  It set me afire.  I need flowers.  I dream about having flowers and have for years.  So, it's time to get aggressive and figure out how to get this deer problem solved. They've eaten practically everything (just saw they'd mowed down the crossvine I planted in the spring).  The good news is that the Aster tataricus still has buds.  They clipped them all last year.  The pink daisy chrysanthemums have been sheered again, but I'm hoping I'll have a few buds.

But, back to the poppies.  They do best when you prepare the soil and smooth it over.  That means no grass or weeds, just good, bare ground.  Ruth Mitchell, poppy expert, would put the tiny seeds in the palm of her hand and blow them out onto the ground.  It seems like a long time until next spring, but getting everything ready will definitely pay off later.  Poppies make such a great show, it's worth the effort.

Cheerful flowers do the trick

Is it the heavy air outside, the gray skies, the mosquitoes?  I know cooler days are coming.  It's in the seven day forecast.  But, for some reason I needed to see something cheery today.  All day I felt sort of gloomy (maybe it was because I had to clean the house and wanted to be doing something - anything -else).

So, I scrolled through some photographs and came upon this view of Monet's Giverny that I don't think I've posted yet.  When I began examining the flowers, I realized it won't be long before it's time to scatter the poppy seeds I've saved.  I marked the flowers at the farm I wanted to preserve last June.  Most of the blooms were double and cherry red, but there was one flower that was almost purple.  I'll have to wait until next May to know if my selections worked.

Poppies remind me of zinnias.  You never know what you're going to get from last year's seeds, and I don't know if selecting only the ones you want always works.  Mother had a patch of cherry red peony poppies that went on for years.  I don't remember seeing the single pink ones that seem to be dominant if you let everything go for years.

Earlier in the week (or was it last week?), Diana Mendes posted pictures of her garden.  It set me afire.  I need flowers.  I dream about having flowers and have for years.  So, it's time to get aggressive and figure out how to get this deer problem solved. They've eaten practically everything (just saw they'd mowed down the crossvine I planted in the spring).  The good news is that the Aster tataricus still has buds.  They clipped them all last year.  The pink daisy chrysanthemums have been sheered again, but I'm hoping I'll have a few buds.

But, back to the poppies.  They do best when you prepare the soil and smooth it over.  That means no grass or weeds, just good, bare ground.  Ruth Mitchell, poppy expert, would put the tiny seeds in the palm of her hand and blow them out onto the ground.  It seems like a long time until next spring, but getting everything ready will definitely pay off later.  Poppies make such a great show, it's worth the effort.

The rose I'd like to have

The first February after I got married 39 years ago, my husband and I fell victim to the packages of roses at the grocery store.  We selected several in different colors and planted them in probably some of the worst clay on the planet.

When May came, we were disappointed.  What had been a space with full sun was now in deep shade, thanks to the leafing out of a giant oak tree.  I'm thinking we did have some blooms that year, but the plants suffered from black spot, and all the foliage had fallen off by the end of the summer.  We were left with spindly bushes (if you could call them that) which, in two or three years' time, had succumbed to the poor conditions.

Fast forward to last fall, when I came home to find a 40 foot long branch (it could have been a whole tree, given its size) lying in my driveway.  It had fallen from a 100+ year old white oak tree.  I had the city arborist come out to give me an opinion.  It was the second such limb that had come down.  The man said the impossibly tall tree, part of which hung over my slate roof,  had to to be taken down.  The only good part to the expensive procedure was that I avoided the pounding of acorns on the roof, which had always kept me awake and filled the gutters to the max.

This summer, I realized that I now have a spot for a climbing rose at the corner of my house.  I have full sun there, now, starting in the morning.  And, now I know better than to leave the soil unimproved.

The problem is zeroing in on which rose.  I know I don't want a thorny monster like 'New Dawn' (although it's so beautiful and reliable here).  My house is stucco with limestone trim, so it's sort of a beige-gray.  I really ought to opt for a red rose, but there aren't any I'm in love with (I do like 'Dortmund', but I want a double flowering rose).  'Zephirine Drouhin' is not quite the color I want, although it's close, and I love its fragrance.  I need to check with Erica Glasener, who grows this rose at her house on the other side of Atlanta.  I'm concerned about whether the rose does well in our heat and humidity.

What I'd like is a big, double cabbagy rose like the one in the photograph above.  Maybe it could be a shade darker, although I'm okay with this pink.  It needs to be fragrant, and it can't be a rambler that would go everywhere.  I would be able to see it from where I'm sitting right now, and I could open the window in spring and catch its fragrance.  I would like a repeat bloomer, of course, which would give me a big spring show, some sporadic blooms in the summer and another flush of bloom in October.

So, if there's someone out there with a suggestion, I'm open.  I do need to call Pat Henry at Roses Unlimited in South Carolina to see what she would recommend.  In the meantime, when the weather turns cooler and the humidity is down, I'm going to work on the ground at the corner of the house.  This time, I'm going to be prepared and give the yet unknown rose a good home.

The rose I'd like to have

The first February after I got married 39 years ago, my husband and I fell victim to the packages of roses at the grocery store.  We selected several in different colors and planted them in probably some of the worst clay on the planet.

When May came, we were disappointed.  What had been a space with full sun was now in deep shade, thanks to the leafing out of a giant oak tree.  I'm thinking we did have some blooms that year, but the plants suffered from black spot, and all the foliage had fallen off by the end of the summer.  We were left with spindly bushes (if you could call them that) which, in two or three years' time, had succumbed to the poor conditions.

Fast forward to last fall, when I came home to find a 40 foot long branch (it could have been a whole tree, given its size) lying in my driveway.  It had fallen from a 100+ year old white oak tree.  I had the city arborist come out to give me an opinion.  It was the second such limb that had come down.  The man said the impossibly tall tree, part of which hung over my slate roof,  had to to be taken down.  The only good part to the expensive procedure was that I avoided the pounding of acorns on the roof, which had always kept me awake and filled the gutters to the max.

This summer, I realized that I now have a spot for a climbing rose at the corner of my house.  I have full sun there, now, starting in the morning.  And, now I know better than to leave the soil unimproved.

The problem is zeroing in on which rose.  I know I don't want a thorny monster like 'New Dawn' (although it's so beautiful and reliable here).  My house is stucco with limestone trim, so it's sort of a beige-gray.  I really ought to opt for a red rose, but there aren't any I'm in love with (I do like 'Dortmund', but I want a double flowering rose).  'Zephirine Drouhin' is not quite the color I want, although it's close, and I love its fragrance.  I need to check with Erica Glasener, who grows this rose at her house on the other side of Atlanta.  I'm concerned about whether the rose does well in our heat and humidity.

What I'd like is a big, double cabbagy rose like the one in the photograph above.  Maybe it could be a shade darker, although I'm okay with this pink.  It needs to be fragrant, and it can't be a rambler that would go everywhere.  I would be able to see it from where I'm sitting right now, and I could open the window in spring and catch its fragrance.  I would like a repeat bloomer, of course, which would give me a big spring show, some sporadic blooms in the summer and another flush of bloom in October.

So, if there's someone out there with a suggestion, I'm open.  I do need to call Pat Henry at Roses Unlimited in South Carolina to see what she would recommend.  In the meantime, when the weather turns cooler and the humidity is down, I'm going to work on the ground at the corner of the house.  This time, I'm going to be prepared and give the yet unknown rose a good home.

It's wrong, but I can't resist

Lyndy Broder, clematis expert, please forgive me.  And, to all the people in the southeastern U.S. and the mid-Atlantic states, know what this plant does before you let it into your garden.  It is invasive.

Still, I couldn't resist.  It was the frothy white blooms, the sweet scent and the view against the blue sky. This is Clematis terniflora, also known as sweet autumn clematis.  The above is growing on a fence at the farm.  For some unknown reason, the deer have not ravaged it like they have my plant here in Atlanta.  In fact, I wanted to cut some strands for an arrangement at church yesterday, but the deer had eaten all my flowers except for those they couldn't reach.  Of course, I couldn't reach the blooms, either.

I did see a photograph of sweet autumn clematis growing on an arch at a well-respected nursery near Athens, Georgia. Garden designer and blogger Sandra Jonas had posted the picture on Facebook.  It made me feel more justified in taking this picture and delighting in how lovely the vine looked on the fence.  This time of year, when there aren't a lot of blooms in the garden, the starry white flowers are a welcome sight.

It's been probably thirty some odd years since I attended a wedding reception at a private home.  Tables were set up in the garden, even though it was late August (somehow, it was not very hot that day) for the afternoon reception.  Butterflies were flitting about on colorful zinnias, and there was a whole wall of the white blossoms of sweet autumn clematis (back then, it had an impossibly long species name).  I've loved the plant ever since.  It was perfect for a wedding.

I found a map on a Web site that showed the states where Clematis terniflora is listed as invasive.  Georgia is one.  I suppose the wind and the birds distribute the seeds.  I did see a mass of white blooms climbing up a small tree in my neighborhood.  I guess the deer don't wander down that way.  As for here, I won't have much of a problem with sweet autumn clematis taking over.  My many white-tailed residents will see to that.  If only they liked wisteria, I would be a happy camper.

It's wrong, but I can't resist

Lyndy Broder, clematis expert, please forgive me.  And, to all the people in the southeastern U.S. and the mid-Atlantic states, know what this plant does before you let it into your garden.  It is invasive.

Still, I couldn't resist.  It was the frothy white blooms, the sweet scent and the view against the blue sky. This is Clematis terniflora, also known as sweet autumn clematis.  The above is growing on a fence at the farm.  For some unknown reason, the deer have not ravaged it like they have my plant here in Atlanta.  In fact, I wanted to cut some strands for an arrangement at church yesterday, but the deer had eaten all my flowers except for those they couldn't reach.  Of course, I couldn't reach the blooms, either.

I did see a photograph of sweet autumn clematis growing on an arch at a well-respected nursery near Athens, Georgia. Garden designer and blogger Sandra Jonas had posted the picture on Facebook.  It made me feel more justified in taking this picture and delighting in how lovely the vine looked on the fence.  This time of year, when there aren't a lot of blooms in the garden, the starry white flowers are a welcome sight.

It's been probably thirty some odd years since I attended a wedding reception at a private home.  Tables were set up in the garden, even though it was late August (somehow, it was not very hot that day) for the afternoon reception.  Butterflies were flitting about on colorful zinnias, and there was a whole wall of the white blossoms of sweet autumn clematis (back then, it had an impossibly long species name).  I've loved the plant ever since.  It was perfect for a wedding.

I found a map on a Web site that showed the states where Clematis terniflora is listed as invasive.  Georgia is one.  I suppose the wind and the birds distribute the seeds.  I did see a mass of white blooms climbing up a small tree in my neighborhood.  I guess the deer don't wander down that way.  As for here, I won't have much of a problem with sweet autumn clematis taking over.  My many white-tailed residents will see to that.  If only they liked wisteria, I would be a happy camper.