The Conservatory Garden in September

Our brief residence in Harlem (late 2013 - 2015) and proximity to Central Park introduced me to the early autumn fireworks of the Conservatory Garden in the park's northeast corner (it is very different, but no less colorful, in spring). 

The Frenchman and I walked down there from 127th Street one September, to find tiny hummingbirds vibrating from plant to plant. Recently, we returned, all grown up, driving an actual car. (And paying $22 for three hours of metered street parking. Yikes). The Frenchman has treated himself to a new camera lens, and he needed lightning-fast hummers to test it (it passed the test).

I just wanted to see the flowers. 

If I ever had a prejudice against annuals - and I did, dismissing them as semi-industrialized bedding plants, planted in blocks or rows of thoughtless and often offensive color - this icon of New York horticulture cured me. Thanks to its curator, Diane Schaub, I get them, now.

But first, perennials: In the dappled shade of a magnolia, tall, red-flowered angelica was in bloom.

So were Japanese anemones, at their graceful peak.

And right above me, a tiny hummingbird, taking a brief break from her voracious quest for nectar, her resting heart rate a mere 400 beats per minute.

Ruellia: Slender stalks and willowy leaves with silky purple flowers offset against sturdy zinnias.

If you like salvia, this is the place to be. And September should be declared salvia  month.

Zinnias are deployed dramatically, here, providing structure and pink reassurance.

As well as sustenance for swallowtails.

These clumps of alliums were buzzing with honey bees. I know! More perennials! If you have full sun (meaning six hours or more of direct sunlight), and space, plant alliums. There's almost an allium for every month, starting in May.

Cannas, salvia, pennisetum, hot little pops of gomphrena...

And just for South Africans, bulbine. whose gel-filled leaves are a traditional southern African treatment for burns and skill ailments, but whose vivid orange flowers are now very popular, Stateside (and invasive, in some states; sorry, Florida!). Bees like them, too. I have a pot on our tiny terrace, for kitchen burns and terrace pollinators.

We will be back. October is just as rewarding. But we'll find different parking!

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NYBG Class, 15 October

Garden design, remotely

It has been interesting designing gardens by proxy over the last couple of months. I mean, yes, I design the garden. But obviously there can be no in-person meetings, no site visits, no measurements by my own hand. No poking my fingers in the soil or sniffing the breeze or pondering the sun. Instead, video calls and pictures, and sketches from clients. Good, careful sketches, with rough layouts and measurements, accompanied by thorough observations of sunlight.  Most of the gardens are in New York City but the one I was working on above is in Seattle.

I am very happy that people are thinking about gardens and growing, and the benefits of living with plants.

Other things? The picture above the desk is by the Frenchman, taken while flying high over the Sahara, en route to Cape Town from a European layover. And, hm, well, yes, the cooler, in hiding. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Call me Born to Camp. It's now filled with a stash of wine. The wooden box on top is handy for carrying things to forage picnics, or a whole side of salmon gravlax to a party. Picnics. Parties. What are those, again?

The hat in the box is from Babylonstoren, and beside it the silver things like spoons are a pair of my fastidious father's shoe horns. He was a man who wore good shoes, and he took care of them. I just like having them around.

The June Garden

I skipped so many spring blog posts of the garden (tagged on Instagram as #1stPlaceBK) that I realized I'd better post something early summerish before August. It's not for lack of interest. I am just perpetually five items behind on my To Do list, and blogging comes very last, right now. It's an indulgence, timewise, which I miss. Today I managed to cross off bottling seven quarts of linden flower, elder and honeysuckle cordials, two quarts of flower vinegars, processing 10 lbs of serviceberries, staking 27 lilies (how is that possible?) and the tall nicotianas before a big storm front hit, and building a small bamboo trellis for the scarlet runner beans I planted (with hummingbirds in mind). Still five items behind. So I'm blogging. That was not on the list.

Early summer and the oakleaf hydrangea (above, center) is in full bloom, with the bees ecstatic about it. Honeybees and carpenter bees visit and can barely stagger away with their fat pollen sacs. The hostas have begun to flower. Their crisp, sculptural leaves are a lifesaver in the pots close to the house, where they receive some sun in the mornings in midsummer, but none later and earlier in the year.

One plant of Geranium x cantabrigiense 'Biokovo,' dating back to the Harlem terrace, has now filled five pots. It spreads quickly and is a very good filler for semi shady spots. It flowers prolifically from mid May to mid June. Beside it is a small-leafed Heuchera, which might be Heuchera sanguinea 'Snow Storm.' Behind them are Ligularia japonica, whose huge leaves add interest to the tricky western side of the garden dominated by the ivy wall. Very shady until late in the day when the western sun gives these pots a blast for an hour or two.

After I discovered a local cat in the garden I made a second birdbath nearer the house, between the ostrich ferns and the Rodgersia. The cat was staking out a more secluded one.

Bad cat! It climbed straight up and down the fence (I photographed it through the closed glass kitchen door). Yes, I miss having a cat of our own, very much. I spend a lot of time alone, and a cat companion is still my favourite kind. No, we may not have a cat. Them's the rules. End of story. So we watch for possums, instead.

This side of the garden faces east, with direct sun in the mornings, and also gets some western sun, so I have packed a lot in. As common as they are the two hydrangeas that I bought after we moved here give me great pleasure. They are full, easy to look after, and bloom for a very long time, staggered over months. And they take both summer's blazing heat and the Deep Dark of Winter. The so-called peegee (Hydrangea paniculata) blooms later - I don't even see buds, yet.

A late freeze in spring nailed some of my lily bulbs, which rotted after I had overwintered them carefully in peat-filled baggies in the fridge. But some regal lilies escaped harm and are looking beautiful. At their feet are some South African bulbs - pineapple lily, or Eucomis. They will bloom in late July, I think. 'Black Lace' elderflower on the right.

The fig (rear, above) that the Frenchman bought for me last year, and which the Gowanus Nursery very kindly delivered (it was very heavy) has fruit again - the main crop, on new growth. I am expecting a bird net to be delivered any day now, and then I will wrap it. I lost all the breba figs (on old wood) to some bird. or maybe the dang squirrel/s.

The Nicotiana mutabilis from Annie's Annuals turned out to be mostly lime green, but two were correct. Annie's sent me a gift voucher for the balance to make up for it, after I sent them some pictures and explained what had happened. Very good customer service. In the meantime, many Nicotiana volunteers have germinated in pots, and I have transplanted some to see what they turn out to be. I have grown N. sylvestris, alatus and mutabilis before, and they could be any of those. Again, hopeful hummingbird buffet.

The lovely thimbleweed (Anemone virginiana) I planted the same fall that we moved in (2015). It has filled in nicely and has very tall threadlike stems and dancing flowers, each about an inch across.

The chartreuse Nicotiana don't look bad - I do like them. Especially as a backdrop for the complicated seedpods of Fritillaria raddeana (the frittilarias were a big success in spring).

Some grey sugar peas made it into the perennial beds. They are exquisite. The foxgloves bloomed this year for the first time - I planted them last year, also from Annie's. Unpromisingly named 'Polkadot Pippa' but billed to be everblooming. I'll deadhead and let you know.

And last, one of two perennials that predated our arrival - the ubiquitous day lily (Hemerocallis fulva), long limbed and useful to me because it is edible. And I love the flowers. I divided a massive clump and planted it in two spots.

Next post? Fruits! Or maybe vegetables.

We'll see.

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Spring around the corner

...literally: One of my favourite local gardens, on 3rd Place in Carroll Gardens. It looks good all year round, not an easy feat.

We enjoyed freak weather on Sunday, summer-hot: 87'F/30'C. In the woods we visited in the Bronx, the spring ephemerals wilted without leaf cover from the still bare trees. And my own garden's daffodils are still only in bud.

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Book a Spring Forage Walk

Open Gardens Constantia 2016

Photos: Marianne Alexander

Hello, Cape Town. I miss you.

This weekend the biennial Open Gardens Constantia takes place. Four beautiful private gardens will be open to the public for two days only.

Tickets are R60 if you purchase them at the following garden gates:

29 Brommaert Avenue, Constantia (plus tea, cake!)

72 Starke Road, Bergvliet (plant sale)

5 Susanne Avenue, Constantia

5 Parade Crescent, Constantia Hills

Advance tickets are R50 online, at WebTickets.

You can also buy R50 advance tickets from the following shops:

Ferndale Nursery, Brommersvlei Road, Constantia

Peter Gilder, Constantia Village, Constantia

Sherwood Hardware, Ladies Mile

The Greenhouse Nursery, Montebello, Newlands

One ticket purchase gives you access to every garden and includes a garden tea (29 Brommaert Avenue), plus all the home-baked cakes, muffins, sweet loaves and sandwiches (made fresh all day) that the Constantia and Constantiaberg Garden Clubs can produce. And that's a lot.

The gardens range from grand to manageable. Three are in Constantia, one is in Bergvliet.

Gardens are open on November the 12th from 10.00am - 5.30pm, and on Sunday the 13th from 10.00am - 4.30pm. 

There are food gardens, shade gardens, indigenous gardens...

In addition to the gardens and tea, tickets also give you access to the plant sale. Members of the garden clubs have been growing and propagating plants for the last two years. Snap up shade-loving Haemanthus albiflos:

Ticket sale proceeds are donated to Abalimi bezekhaya and Soil for Life, two established and highly-regarded not-for-profits that provide essential infrastructure, support and training for food gardeners working mostly on the Cape Flats. These food gardens help provide income for microfarmers, as well as food for the farmers and their neighbours. Abalimi's CSA box is available from Harvest of Hope.

In 2014 my mom was able to had over sizeable checks to both beneficiaries. Help be part of their success again.

Enjoy the gardens, post on social media (#opengardensconstantia), and have some cake for me.

The gardens around us

In this week's article for Gardenista, I wrote about gardens in the hood. It is called Carroll Gardens, after all. Click that link for lots more pictures. A little local colour, literally. And I met some neighbors.

The garden above belongs to Polina Siterman, who grew up tending strawberries in the family's dacha garden in Russia.

Sadly, the pink flamingoes did not make the cut for the story. That is perhaps a whole other story. Every third or fourth garden in Carroll Gardens is stuffed with statuary. Flamingos, gnomes, Catholic saints, the virgin Mary, Jesus, baby sheep, mangers...

Changes

Before the heavy rains of last night I snapped a picture from the rear of the long back garden here at Chez 66 in Carroll Gardens. After snipping the tops of these fava beans (to eat raw in salads), I pulled them out. I love them - they have been a staple of my New York gardening life, perhaps especially as they are the first up in spring and the last down in winter, but I did not feel like doing daily battle with black aphids and a squirt bottle of soap (though it has worked on my Camassia flowers, also besieged).

I chopped the bean plants up, dug unaffected parts back into the soil, and used the lower stalks (also no aphids) as a leafy mulch in one very difficult and sloped corner that stays very dry (under the viburnum). It is planted with some volunteer purple perilla and sunchokes.

The umbrella from Patio Living has been even more useful than I had anticipated. In these months the sun actually clears the building well enough to make the area where the table is very hot in the morning, so if I have coffee out there, I can hide from it (the sun, not the coffee). And the Frenchman likes to keep it open for dinner because it creates a room beneath, a screen that gives us some sense of privacy.

This photo has made me decide: Those paths have got to go. I really dislike the color and texure of those pavers, especially in photographs. I have a nice little Rewards Card from my credit card company (points mostly due to long distance air tickets) and I'm going to blow it on river gravel, which will camouflage them.

It's decided. Phew.

Where to stay near Cape Town

In frozen-solid January (in New York) it is good to think about faraway places. 

What are my favourite things? Food, flowers, foraging, fruit, a Frenchman.

Shake that all up and you get an idyllic 18 hour stopover.

In September, at the end of our wildflower trip up South Africa's West Coast, we cruised back towards Cape Town by way of Babylonstoren, less than an hour from the city. While I have visited on day-trips many times - for lunch, for garden stories - I had never spent the night, before, and we were thrilled to be Babylonstoren's guests for our last stage on the road. 

The transition from the preceeding two days in a remote and very basic semi-desert cottage without electricity to intense luxury in the winelands was an experience that left us both with the best sort of whiplash. It was rough, but we handled it.

The kitchen gardens at Babylonstoren typically combine indigenous South African plants like spekboom ("bacon tree") - Portulacaria afra, bottom right, and succulent waterblommetjies (Aponogeton distachyos, in the pools), with deeply familiar western plants like southern French lavender.

In spring the lettuces were popping.

And the orchards were blossoming. While the central kitchen gardens inside whitewashed walls are planted with plenty of espaliered quince, plum, nectarine, citrus, and more, the larger farm beyond contains big orchards, and while we were there every citrus tree was in bloom, with a perfume that I last smelled on the Mediterranean in southern Turkey. It was like being in a scent-movie.

And when the day visitors left, the overnight guests had the run of the place. 

The grounds are large, and beautiful and we walked, and walked. The clivia show had just begun.

There was no one else to be seen...

(...but some chickens.)

Leaving our cottage was hard enough. Within half an hour of arriving, and our early exploration of the estate-bottled and chilled Viognier waiting for us, a waiter was at the door with smoked trout canapes. Our feet were up, the fire was roaring, and we smiled.

The old Cape Dutch buildings have been renovated to within a glossy inch of their lives, with polished floors, heated towel rails, huge baths, scented posies of herbs, thick towel and robes, silky linen, and baskets of freshly picked fruit.

And a fully equipped - and very sexy - kitchen, with the farm's tea, olive oil and wine on tap. And that roaring fire (with pine cones!). 

New York could go to hell, for all we cared.

Books. An exquisite collection of books.

We were invited to pick what we wanted, where we wanted, but I still felt like a child raiding the neighbor's fruit trees.

The lemons went back to Cape Town with us, as gifts.

Breakfast in the conservatory yielded my favorite fruit, good coffee, farm eggs and invitations to enjoy spa treatments, mountain bike rides and wine tastings.

But we were Cape Town-bound. If we could have stayed I think I would have buried myself in a book and walked in the garden some more, perhaps picking salad for a self catered supper near the fire.

So we shopped for a bit, quickly.

And bagged some more oranges.

We drove away with the windows rolled down, sniffing the last of the citrus blossom.

If you have the time and the opportunity, and you are in the cold North, head south (the exchange rate is very much on your side, right now, you will get very good value for money). Spend a few nights at Babylonstoren. This is the kind of hospitality that needs to sink into your bones. There is so much to do and see on the farm, and in the immediate vicinity that you owe yourself the luxury of coming home to that cottage, in those gardens, every night. 

There endeth my lesson.