Joining a Horticultural Society

Published in the HamiltonNews.com
at https://www.hamiltonnews.com/opinion-story/9059799-growing-green-joining-a-horticultural-society/

During the winter months, gardeners in colder climates find themselves having to fill the many hours usually spent tending their garden plots. It can be a relief for some and something akin to facing empty-nest syndrome for others.

Often gardening withdrawal doesn’t take root until after the holidays; so, before frigid temperatures and seasonal inactivity settle in, some forward thinking might help alleviate the dreaded mid-winter blahs.

When I joined the Mount Hamilton Horticultural Society last fall, I was unprepared for how much I would enjoy being part of the group: The comradery, interesting guest speakers, group activities and shared knowledge helped sustain me through the long winter months; and, provided me with great ideas for the gardening season to come. I’m considering expanding my participation within the MHHS and looking forward to continued involvement with the ‘Growing Green’ writing collective.

Having no previous experience in - or foreseeable aptitude for - a specialized gardening art I find fascinating, this year I joined the Bonsai Society at the RBG. My thinking is that winter seems as good a time as any to read and research Bonsai techniques and philosophy, attend meetings and workshops, and try my hand at keeping a few indoor plants alive.

Joining a horticultural society is a perfect way to expand your gardening joy and knowledge. Most groups offer a free first visit; and, the good ones will make you feel welcome right away. The two groups I chose certainly did.

Growing Green is a regular feature prepared by the Mount Hamilton Horticultural Society (gardenontario.org/site.php/mhhs or Facebook). Member Nancy (Haigh) Gordon, the author of this article, is a new member of bonsairbg.com, and also writes the gardening blog thepollinatorpotagerproject.blogspot.ca.

The Leaf-Mulching Process

As published in the HamiltonNews.com
https://www.hamiltonnews.com/opinion-story/9000786-growing-green-the-leaf-mulching-process/

In the summer of 2017, my thoughtful husband bought us, on sale, a leaf vacuum/blower/mulcher. When the leaves started falling from our large little-leaf linden tree, the new gadget made swift work of the leaf-mulching process.

The mulched leaves were placed in large trash cans, for storage and use in the garden once a heavy frost had come upon us, or so I thought. However, when I went looking for the finely mulched leaves, I discovered that they had been mistakenly put out for the city’s garbage and compost pickup.

Acceptance of the loss still left me with an urgent desire for more of the nutrient-rich soil-amending leaf mulch. Luckily, I was able to acquire six bags of leaves from a neighbour who had no plan to use them — and a new iteration of the saying, “One man’s trash ...” became “is this gardener’s treasure.”

So, over the next few days — thanks to our good luck, ingenuity and teamwork — my husband mulched his way through the bags of replacement leaves, and I set about spreading them on our front and side gardens. Mission accomplished: flora, fauna and garden soil would reap the benefits of our combined effort.

The memory of last year’s adventure returned to me just as 2018’s leaves started making their seasonal pilgrimage from branch to ground. It reminded me that persistence is important when faced with adversity, and that — pleasant or poor — I should embrace every day in the garden.

Growing Green is a regular feature prepared by the Mount Hamilton Horticultural Society (gardenontario.org/site.php/mhhs or Facebook). Member Nancy (Haigh) Gordon, the author of this article, also writes the gardening blog thepollinatorpotagerproject.blogspot.ca.

A Pretty Good Yield

The Pre-Garlic Delicacy
Known as a Garlic Scape

Last summer, my husband Doug and I purchased some garlic while visiting a country home during the Hamilton Spectator Open Garden Week tours. It was healthy, organically grown, and delicious; and, the $20 bouquet kept us well stocked over the winter.

Following careful research late last autumn, I decided to try growing garlic myself in our pollinator potager; and, I used a head of the organic garlic as seed stock. I prepared 12" deep planting holes of loose loamy soil before inserting 7 garlic cloves, one in each hole. Then, I covered them with leaf mulch to insulate the garlic over the winter, and crossed my fingers.

This spring, before the snow was barely off the ground, up popped plant-lets I knew in my bones were the garlic I had sowed in early November; and, I was delighted. Apparently, I'd become a garlic farmer!

In early summer, I was amazed by the appearance of garlic scapes that rose and circled above the garlic stems; and, which I picked before they had a chance to flower. Garlic scapes, the pre-garlic delicacy that can be used as favouring before the actual garlic cloves are ready, are the bonus that you don't receive when you purchase your garlic at the grocery store.

I harvested my own organically grown garlic in mid summer, when the stems were just beginning to yellow and wilt. The heads were a little smaller than the organic stock we bought in the country; but, the cloves were tasty and stored well for future use.

In addition to garlic's beautiful graceful presence in the garden and its seemingly pest resistant quality (I had very little rabbit damage this year), by growing my own garlic I learned it's a plant that keeps on giving: Specifically, from just one head of seven cloves of garlic, I was able to grow seven more heads of garlic – a pretty good yield for any crop.
 
Inspired and motivated by the prolific nature of Allium sativum, I’m getting ready to plant more garlic for harvest again next summer. I recommend that everyone attempt the growing of at least one clove of garlic, somewhere in your garden. I suspect you’ll be pleasantly surprised.

Mesmerizing Buzz

Cicada exoskeleton left behind
on Stella Peach Hemerocallis 

It's summer, and we've been listening to the mesmerizing buzz of the somewhat elusive Cicada. It's a nostalgic sound I remember all the way back to my early childhood: A noise always expected during the very hottest days of summer.

Ironically, sightings of actual cicadas didn't always produce a warm and fuzzy feeling, for me at least. I thought them more than a little creepy, having once found a cicada exoskeleton - almost as big as my child-sized hand - clinging to the Willow tree trunk in our yard.

Lately, though, hubby and I have become mesmerized by not just the mystic sound of the cicada; but, also the life cycle and habits of the ancient Cicadidae.

For instance, we've learned that local cicadas typically make their homes in trees. They are sustained by tree sap and lay their eggs in cracks in the tree bark: Our Little Leaf Linden tree with its deep cracks and crevices must be a great draw, explaining the frequency of sightings in our garden.

The larva that fall to the ground and burrow below the soil at the base of the tree, eventually emerge and leave their exoskeleton behind in various locations. Cicadas that live in our neck of the woods are generally considered an annual species; and, their distinctive humming sound is actually the male cicada's mating call, a sound loud enough to actually cause permanent hearing loss if produced close to a human ear.

I recently rescued a couple of cicada, found early in the morning, lying on their backs with legs flailing. Hubby and I introduced our young grand-daughter to these interesting insects and she was excited to see and learn about both versions of cicada: Winged insect and empty exoskeleton.

It's comforting to know that she won't have the uneasy relationship with cicadas that I had growing up: She even named one, "Cicadie".

Cicadie, as named by my grand-daughter

A Relay of Blooms

Our Shasta Daisies
passing the baton to
the Black-Eyed Susans
in a relay of blooms

I love Shasta Daisies! But, I don't love the Shasta's all-too-short bloom-time. For weeks they tease their arrival, only to bloom for as little as 7-days. It's a lot of dragging-of-feet for very little kick-at-the-can.

And, just as I've had to enjoy my daisies on the fly, my Black-Eyed Susan clusters require patience of another kind. These showy favourites typically last longer than daisies; but, it’s usually mid-July before I get to see any blooms at all.

This year, I planted my Black-eyed Susan and Shasta Daisy perennials together – side by side – almost as one plant: A strategy long-known as companion planting. Lucky for me, Daisies and Susans mingle readily, their foliage is complimentary, and their bloom times are virtually consecutive.

The success of this experiment convinced me that the ability to work within the confines of what life has to offer - merging pro and con, yin and yang, Daisy and Susan - is essential in a garden setting; and, just as gardening has always been a series of trade offs and substitutions, a gardener’s occasional creative guidance must work in conjunction with the natural order of things.

Happily, I've learned that just as human runners pass a baton from one team-mate to another in a relay race; similarly, plants pass an invisible baton in a relay of blooms. This year, enjoyment of two of my flowering favourites has been greatly enhanced through creative planting that helped guide one such relay process in my garden to a resounding win.