Death and Coffee

A robin's nest in a juniper in my garden

I hate crows. But it wasn't always this way. They used to remind me of Edgar Allan Poe, Halloween and road kill, until this morning when I witnessed a site that was both horrific and fascinating.

As I sat on the patio sipping my morning coffee and listening to the wrens and finches, the Caw! Caw! of two crows silenced an otherwise peaceful scene. Bird panic ensued as the crows perched on the peak of my neighbor's house. One crow hopped down to the edge where the roof meets the gutter and plucked something, a young robin, from its nest. The robins went bananas and were joined by other robins in adjacent trees who dive bombed the crow, trying to help the parents free the baby. The crow was unfazed, returning to the peak, baby in beak.

The crow released the robin and began eating it, pulling and tearing at its flesh as the birds continued to scream and swoop the rogue pair. I sat there in disbelief, yet unable to look away. I felt the distress of the robins. My racing pulse, a visceral effect of nature in its rawest form.

"Opportunistic, quickly taking advantage of new food sources." 

A crow's feeding habits as described by Audubon.org 

I cursed those crows for the rest of the day and shared the story with my family. My oldest daughter simply said, "I can't believe you watched that Mom." 

Damn crows.

   

Who's Afraid of A Bare Root Rose?

Several years ago I fell in love with rugosa roses. Their tough constitution (I don't have the time or patience for persnickety plants), toothy foliage and sublime fragrance get me every time. As the daughter of a police officer and the wife of one for almost 20 years, I also appreciate their prickles which are a great deterrent, when planted beneath ground-floor windows, to unwelcome guests who wish to make surprise entrances. If a shrub can provide a bit of home security and look and smell pretty doing it, giddyup!

But I made a mistake. A case of wrong plant, wrong place. In my enthusiasm, I purchased three Hansa rugosa roses, a repeat-blooming beauty whose spicy clove scent perfumed my family room and backyard. Hansa wanted to be six feet tall even when I hacked her back mercilessly every year. Subsequently she destroyed several screens and I realized it was time to find her a new home in the garden.

A little research and I discovered a new rugosa, Dagmar Hastrup, who's smaller size would be more appropriate and still provide the attributes I was after. Unfortunately, I chose a rose that's not widely available in containers but was relieved to discover that Edmunds Roses in Wisconsin carried them so I ordered three.

Unlike what you commonly see at garden centers and big box stores, my roses came bare root, looking more like skeletons than lush rose bushes. Maybe a little intimidating for the first-timer, but a cinch to plant. It was also important that they be own-root as opposed to budded roses. Why? I've had great luck with own-root, which simply means that the plant above ground is the same plant below. Budded roses are propagated by grafting a bud eye onto different root stock and can only produce canes from the bud union, the round knot located just above the roots. If it should produce canes from the roots (aka suckers), they will be different from the variety you purchased. Surprise! If you're cool with that, by all means rock on!

This is how my roses arrived and since it was too cold to plant them right away (this is one cold Chicago Spring!) I left them in their packaging and stored them for a few days in the basement where it was cool and dark.

The day before planting, I soaked the roots in a bucket of water with a splash (about 1.5 tsps) of Superthrive, a vitamin solution I use on my roses and transplants. The roses were left in the bucket until planting. Never allow the roots to dry out.

When ready to plant, dig a hole wide enough to fan out the roots. Remember, always best to put a $5 plant in a $50 hole. I always amend the soil and added Moo-Nure organic compost I bought at Home Depot. You'll often find recommendations for making a soil cone in the bottom of the hole that you position the rose over, draping the roots along the sides. You can do this if you want to create more work for yourself. But the roses will do just fine my way provided you make sure the bud union of a grafted rose is about two inches below soil level. The same is true for own-root roses. In the photo above, the knot from which the canes in these own-root roses originate should be planted two inches below the surface. Supporting the rose with one hand, carefully back-fill the hole until it's about half full. Give the rose a little shake to eliminate any air pockets and continue filling until it's just about covered. Release the shrub and pack the soil gently with your shoe. No jumping please!

Give it a good drink and allow the soil to settle before adding the rest of the soil. Water it in well with at least two more gallons.

I top dressed each rose with more compost.

And then I bagged them. Protecting the canes by either completely covering them with soil or bagging prevents them from drying out before feeder roots become established. I cut a few small slits in the top of each bag for ventilation.

Keep them covered until you see the first leaves emerge. It took about two weeks and Voila! ROSES!

Do you have a favorite rose? I'd love to know!

2015 Chalet Farm Tour

Last September I was invited to tour Chalet's farm in Wisconsin. And what a treat that was! Chalet Nursery in Wilmette is among my favorite garden stops and a must see if I'm working along Chicago's North Shore. Not to mention that they've always been so gracious to show me around when I'm location hunting for my next magazine shoot.

The 183-acre farm is located a stone's throw from Lake Michigan in a bucolic corner of Southeastern Wisconsin. I climbed a small ridge to get the shot overlooking the never ending rows of trees and shrubs grown on the farm.

Our tour began on golf carts that took us down an old bridle trail through deeply shaded forest to our first (unintentional) destination. Chris, our tour guide and the farm's manager, was willing to humor me when I abruptly asked him to stop for this...

a puffball mushroom the size of a basketball! I was fascinated, having remembered these from woods walks with my dad, and struck with a bit of nostalgia for fungi. Our golf cart caravan unloaded and we all hovered over it like small children burning ants with magnifying classes. I couldn't resist the urge to say "Let's kick it!"

Ever wonder how large trees are dug and transplanted? Say hello to the skid steer and humongous spade. This beast wedges in around as much root space as possible before lifting the tree. A real back saver for farm hands!

Following the field tour, we ventured into the hoop houses where we got a taste of all the goodies yet to be introduced to the gardening community. A few stunners, like this Hydrangea paniculata 'Fire Light' from Proven Winners, really caught my eye. At the time this was shot in late September, the plant had been in full pink color for over a month! It has the same growth habit of Hydrangea paniculata 'Limelight.'

What's not to like about a tough-as-nails plant whose blooms emerge creamy white and age to shades of pink and red?

Chalet is a member of the Pollinator Stewardship Council, a national organization dedicated to the advocacy for and awareness of our vital pollinator populations, and treated us to a sampling of their honey harvest. The lighter honey was harvested in July and was no doubt the product of Spring ephemera. It had a delicate sweetness and somewhat runny consistency compared to its September-harvested counterpart. It's bold flavor and amber coloring was a result of the aster and goldenrod favored by the bees.

 

As the day waned, this unusual viburnum drew oohs and ahhs. Viburnum nudum 'Brandywine' is a fabulous example of a plant offering more than just a pretty face. White Spring blooms, followed by blue and pink berries in the summer and glossy maroon foliage come autumn makes this a winner in my book.

As we concluded our tour visiting several spectacular gardens designed by Chalet, this old shed caught my eye. It wasn't the lovely teal (my favorite color) paint, it was the moss-covered roof. A reminder that nature, when left to it's own devices, finds a way.

Uh-oh...

They just keep coming! These days the mailbox is a Pandora's box of goodies. Minus the bills and junk mail of course. Garden catalogs are the highlight of my day as I imagine the beauty that has yet to unfurl in my garden. And it will. Eventually. It's the hope for what my garden will be this year, even when my boogers freeze instantly in my nose on the first inhalation, that keep those creative juices flowing. I know, gross, but Chicago is wicked cold.

So as I dog-ear pages (that's Stella by the way in the catalog spread) and make my lists of new additions in 2016, and there are many, especially since I chose poorly early in my garden adventure and installed 'Hansa,' a beautiful rugosa rose with a spicy clove scent that grew too large for its space. My husband declared that he "Would not be replacing any more shredded screens this year." Which was code for GET THE ROSES OUTTA HERE. What was I thinking? 'Hansa' was lovely, but far too leggy for my small space garden. Here I was thinking I'll just prune them to shape every spring and it would all work out. Wrong. There's a reason why experts preach "Right plant, right place." You simply don't plant roses that want to be eight feet tall in front of windows that sit low to the ground. We've bought a lot of screen these last few years.

 

As the daughter of a police officer and now the wife of one, security always plays into my thought process when it comes to windows. A very vivid imagination (with a little touch of paranoia) of all the horrible possibilities that could come through those windows in the cover of darkness, resides in the darker parts of my mind. Ugh. I love the prickles of the rose for their less than welcoming attributes and their crinkled, toothy leaves. And the hips, well they're about the only hips where a woman would say with certainty bigger is better.  Roses are a lady's way of politely telling wannabe intruders, "Don't even THINK about it."

So Hansa will be replaced with a more diminutive, but equally prickly and beautiful rugosa rose, 'Fru Dagmar Hastrup.'

And now for what I did right...

  
After writing a story on succulents for The Old Farmer's Almanac, I've simply fallen in love with them. I found these interesting wall pockets at Marshalls last summer and filled them with blue senecio, my beloved Aeonium arboreum 'Zwartkop,' creeping jenny and a paddle plant that can barely be seen in the larger pocket. A milkweed, courtesy of a passing bird, found a home in the garden too. Monarch's need all the help they can get! My Peruvian daffodils were spectacular last year and are currently overwintering in my garage.

The patio was a favorite destination for my family and me, made all the more intimate and tropical feeling with the banana plant, agapanthus and a flowering Rose of Sharon that I started from a 6-inch cutting given to me by my mom several years ago. I planted it close to the house as a constant reminder of the beautiful woman who raised me. Say hello to handsome Hermes, who sprouted Proven Winner's 'Baby Tut' papyrus from his head. In years past, he's donned pig tails of pink and lime green ornamental oregano and was a pretty good sport about it. My husband hates him.

I'm a sucker for a grand entrance and this one was no disappointment. As I planned this space, I wanted something that popped in late summer/early fall. It's the west gate looking north from my backyard garden. Sweet Autumn clematis found its way across the arbor (with a little help). A word of caution about the clematis, this guy likes to seed freely. The spherical seed heads of Echinops ritro and Summer Beauty allium were left for not only their interesting shape but also for the finches who love to teeter on their stalks and feast.

The west side of the garden has been an exercise in scale and proportion and I can't seem to get it right. But that's the beauty of gardening. I can always tear out or transplant. While the 'Becky' daisies are lovely, they are far too leggy for this tight space and the white draws the eye more that I would like. Last fall, I ripped them out and replaced them with Coreopsis Big Bang Star Cluster, which I used in a magazine shoot with a softer white flower. We'll see how they fare. Heuchera 'Caramel' is just as scrumptious as the name implies. This work horse stays vibrant even in this exposed, wickedly hot location. It's particularly eye catching when the wind blows to reveal the amethyst undersides of its leaves. Stunning.

Funny how just when you think your garden is complete, you come to realize what a silly notion that is. You're never really finished. How dull would that be? It will remain a perpetual work in progress with new plants to try (and kill in some instances). You ain't a gardener if you haven't killed a few things!

Dig on my friends!

Apple Picking Time!

Have you ever had a childhood memory that was so lovely you felt it was only right that you shared the experience with your children? Well I do and so I did. Last Sunday I packed up the kids, the hubs (who worked a double shift the day before and was beyond exhausted) my parents and a picnic basket and headed to Tree-Mendus Fruit orchard in Eau Claire, Michigan.

My heart raced as we approached the orchard and I reminisced with my kids how their uncles managed to annoy the mounted orchard cop (no kidding, they had a lady on horseback who monitored all the pickers and caught my brothers scaling trees to get to the highest fruit.) Apples were launched from high places into waiting baskets below. My mom and I were in charge of catching the apples and my dad was in charge of catching the boys.We tend not to follow the rules from time to time. It's a Blackmore thing and keeps life interesting!

Bins full of apples lined the aisles of the orchard's shop.

The orchard shop, where you registered to pick, housed a selection of jams, syrups and coffee mugs in addition to various kitschy items. One wall of the shop, that was off limits to customers, contained an incredible selection of heirloom apples whose beauty was revealed at the sampling counter.

Trays set on the counter contained an assortment of heirloom apples grown at the orchard. Each apple was labeled with it's name and we could pick and choose what we wanted to try.

My girls kept asking to sample and the gentleman behind the counter was a good sport. Fortunate for us we were the first customers that morning so there were no lines.

I wish I could remember the name of this beauty. Have you ever seen one with flesh like this?

After we bought an assortment of heirlooms, we headed out to the orchard with our 3-gallon buckets to start picking. My goal was to accumulate an assortment of tart apples for pie. Lots of pie. So we got to picking until my dad discovered the Honeycrisp. And this is what happened...

 
No more talking or picking. Just relishing every bite.

Funny how time skews your memory. The trees seemed so much bigger 35 years ago, but then I was only six and everything's bigger when you're six. What I remember most about that day and this one was the feeling of pure joy. To be with the ones you love making memories...and eventually, lots of pie.

We're not big fans of the selfie but we figured what the hell. Photo-bomb courtesy of Abigail.

Perhaps someday these two gals will return with their kiddos.

 

Turds... 

(and other discoveries under the snow)

Turds. Nuf said.

They're the bane of my garden and about the only thing that invokes murderous thoughts. Piles of their perfect, spherical turds decorate my backyard like pigeon poop on a windshield. As the snow melts, I'm reminded of his (or her) omnipresence. My husband swears one particularly fat one (who likes to chill on our patio frequently) flips me off every time he sees me. I send the dog out, she loves a good chase, yelling "Get that rabbit!" and watch delightfully as she rips through the yard, zigging and zagging until he and his little white tail disappear under the fence. Next time I mumble, next time. Is that bad? 

Pussy willow catkins

The pussy willow trees in the back corner of my yard are fuzzy and white, kinda like that darn rabbit's tail, but enough about the rabbit. They should be humming soon with honeybees and we'll enjoy standing among the trees as they go about their business, completely undisturbed by our presence. It's wonderful.
 

A new critter has come to town.

During my backyard walkabout yesterday, I discovered an interesting labyrinth that lay hidden until the snow melted and ran from my patio to the veggie boxes. Voles. Great. These mice-like rodents run trails beneath the snow in search of food like tree bark and shrub branches. Good thing I wrapped the trunk of my tiny Little Twist cherry tree, whose bark would be a perfect delicacy, before the snow arrived. Have to admit I kinda like the backward "S" shape of his trail.

And since I started with turds, I'll end with them. Yesterday marked my traditional poop pickup, where I tip-toe and jump around the yard on the first warm day after the snow has melted, shovel and bags in hand, to pick up all the lovely presents my dog left but that became covered with snow. Yep, that's right. Those two bags in the foreground are full and I was just finishing up when my daughter snapped this. As I tied this last bag, Stella (my dog named so my husband could channel his inner Marlon Brando) meandered to the back of the yard and took a dump. I think she flipped me off too!

Everything-But-The-Kitchen-Sink Veggie Soup

It's always a challenge coming up with fast, healthful recipes everyday but I struck gold a few nights ago when I raided the cupboards and came up with a soup that has a little bit of everything, with the exception of animal protein which you could certainly add if you have it. I didn't so I made the best of it and came up with something pretty tasty and FULL of veggies. Even my kids ate it!

A warm ciabatta roll completed my veggie soup.

My family loves soup of any kind and I love an opportunity to take things that I typically have and combine them in such a way that causes silence at the dinner table. They're too busy slurping. That's when I know I have a winner.

I'm pretty conscious of sodium in our diets, especially since the hubs has issues with it. His ears turn fire red when he's had too much so all my prepackaged ingredients are either "low sodium" or "no salt added" varieties. I'm a label reader and have been ever since my oldest was diagnosed with nut allergies when she was five.

Feel free to tweak this with whatever you have. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Ingredients:
2 32-oz boxes no salt or reduced sodium chicken stock (I use Kitchen Basics)
1 5-oz bag fresh spinach
5 carrots sliced into circles
1 turnip cut into strips
2 celery stalks, diced
1 medium yellow onion, diced
1 14.5-oz can fire roasted tomatoes
1 can reduced sodium cannellini beans, rinsed and drained
2 cups ditalini pasta (or whatever you have on hand)
2 tablespoons olive oil
salt and pepper
red pepper flakes (optional, we like heat)

Cook pasta separately according to package instructions. Cooking it in the soup will reduce the amount of broth. When finished cooking, rinse and set aside.

Heat olive oil on medium high heat in dutch oven. Add onion, celery, carrots and turnip until softened - about 8 to 10 minutes, stirring frequently. Pour in undrained tomatoes and spinach, stir and cover until spinach wilts (this only takes a few minutes). Add beans and chicken stock, stir and bring to a simmer. Add pasta. Salt and pepper to taste. I add a liberal amount of red pepper flakes.