Each year the Mt. Lebanon Library hosts a Garden Tour as a fundraising activity. For a modest fee, mere mortals are given the opportunity to tour half a dozen or so of the finest local gardens and “ooh and aah” at their splendor. On two occasions, gardens in our neighborhood made the cut; their owners promptly imported professional landscapers to enhance their already immaculate grounds. I’m sure that our garden will never even make “also ran”, but I really don’t care. On a classic (“what is so rare as a day in …”) June afternoon, I feel like Freddy Eynsford-Hill, “there is nowhere else on earth that I would rather be”.
I suspect my appreciation of my immediate surroundings is enhanced by the fact that my recent decline in ambulatory capability has terminated walks in my beloved woods. A byproduct of my limitations has been my increased awareness of the wonder of simple miracles that are close at hand – the incredible beauty of a rhododendron blossom, the myriad of shades of color in the field stone work on the exterior of our house and the way it changes with the sunlight, the pleasure of sitting on the swing in our patio and soaking in all the joys of nature, and dozens more.
Let’s begin out front. No one, even those on this year’s Garden Tour, can match the glory of the three massive azalea bushes at the foot of my driveway, in bloom. This year we were doubly blessed that they bloomed at the same time as the dogwood adjacent to them. We have supplemented them with perhaps a dozen smaller azaleas, plus mountain laurel and rhododendron. The succession of blooms on these shrubs as the Spring progresses is a joy to watch.
Our house has a large bay window in the front of the living room. Only recently did I realize its potential for bird watching. We have had bird feeders for years in other locations, but nothing is as rewarding as sitting in my favorite easy chair in the living room and watching the ornithological show on the other side of the bay window. Currently we have a “squirrel-proof” box feeder full of sunflower seeds, a suet cake holder filled with suet laced with hot pepper, and two hummingbird feeders. I don’t think anyone can afford to feed squirrels – they could empty a feeder in a matter of hours. The counterweighted bar on the box feeder works well to deter them; however, a clever chipmunk has figured out how to support his weight on the box frame and nibble in the outermost hole in the feeder. We have agreed to a cease-fire and accepted the responsibility of feeding him.
This is the first year I have been successful in attracting hummingbirds, thanks to Elizabeth’s setting a feeder up for me, just on the other side of the bay window, and introducing me to the joy of watching hummers. I am religiously following instructions, cleaning out the feeder weekly and refreshing its nectar, and have been properly rewarded by regular visits by at least one hummingbird every time I sit down and watch for a few minutes. It is a welcome addition to the dozen and a half different birds that frequent the other feeders. A major surprise recently was a visit by a large hawk, which Ryan Tomazin identified for me as a juvenile Cooper’s Hawk. Mr. Cooper sat on a perch peering through the window at me for several minutes, making me wonder which one of us was in the zoo and which was the observer.
Our house originally had a lovely stone patio behind it, bounded by a pair of stone retaining walls with a narrow shelf between them and a pair of steps leading up to the rest of the back yard. In the summer, the shelf on one side of the steps is populated by the survivors of my wife’s house plants. At last count, this included twenty-five jade plants, six Einstein begonias, five holiday cactus, three painted-leaf begonias, and two spiderworts. The plethora of jade plants is the direct result of my aggressive pruning and re-rooting the offending branches. I wish I were as successful with the Einstein begonias. Elizabeth got us started with them. It is well documented that Albert Einstein was an avid gardener in his later years and that he shared clippings of his begonias with his academic neighbors in Princeton. These then proliferated throughout high level academia; one of Beth’s colleagues at Washington University in St. Louis gifted her with one. Hers continue to prosper; mine grow long and spindly, begging to be pruned. I must consult with her on propagating them.
The shelf on the other side of the steps is the home of my patio garden, boasting three tomato plants, two peppers, one cucumber, one squash, and one strawberry, all in pots, plus two disappointing lettuce plots. Each of the potted plants is already producing fruit, easily enough to justify their existence. My experience with lettuce, however, is embarrassing. Last summer I tried seeds in pots and never got anything except skimpy seedlings. This year I prepared two small in-the-ground plots, filled them with imported topsoil, and carefully planted two or three seeds in each of two dozen holes. When nothing came up, I reverted to buying plants, which quickly became sustenance for resident rabbits. Beth responded by buying me small mesh tents to cover the beds. So far, they have protected the next generation of purchased plants, and, so far, nothing has shown up from my second re-seeding.
Please consider this column as your personal invitation for a tour of my garden. There is no fee required; a courteous “please” will suffice. We will be open for visitors any afternoon from now through October; it is not necessary for you to “bring your own bottle”.