Bug Killer

There is a form of hypocrisy common to nearly all gardeners.  It does not affect only the gentle amateurs, but has been known to affect even the most hardened professional, who is not, generally speaking, a sentimental or squeamish man.  It is the human weakness which, accompanying our determination to rid ourselves of our slugs and snails, makes us reluctant next morning to contemplate the result of our over-night efforts.

-Vita Sackville-West
A Joy of Gardening; 1958

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I was sitting out with my husband the other night, which we tend to do a lot in the summer months.   I was telling him about some mysterious creature attacking my roses.  I never saw anything during the day but the next morning the leaves would be almost gone and my buds would disappear.   He gave me a flashlight and told me to go look for slugs.  I had just sprayed everything that day so smugly I took the flashlight not thinking I’d find anything.  I didn’t find slugs, but instead, multiple June bugs were having a slow menacing feast.  They kept on in their euphoric culinary heaven even while I flashed my light on them.  I flicked them off and they all landed on the ground with tiny crackling thuds like they were dead.   I grabbed a jar and gathered them up.  Then I went around knocking all the June bugs I could find into my jar.

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Succumbed to the poison they had consumed from my leaves, all but two were dead.  Or so I thought.  For twelve hours they sat still inside the jar.  Two still squirmed, clambering all over their dead in an effort to free themselves.  I thought it only fair to put an end to their suffering.  I soaked a tissue with alcohol and placed it inside.   It is the same thing I used to do in elementary school when we were assigned bug projects.   But somehow the alcohol brought them all to life again and they ALL began to squirm from the alcohol’s suffocating effects.  I couldn’t believe it.  I didn’t know June bugs played dead.  That’s what they were doing, hoping I’d leave them alone so they could continue their feast.  I promptly placed the jar in the freezer.  Now they are definitely dead.   Do you think I’m cruel?  Perhaps I am.   But I will only say, it is cruel for a creature to take away the health of my rose bushes.   There are plenty of other roses in this neighborhood.  The house next door, for instance, has two neglected climbers.   Since I gathered them, others have yet to find my garden.

If you do have this problem you can use a spray or dust with Seven.  You can also try to catch them in oil with a light, but I think drowning them in oil is just as cruel or perhaps more so.   It is cruel no matter what.  But we are human.  Unlike insects, we registrar thoughts and contemplate life and have to endure every bump and bruise conscientiously and to its full extent and if a beautiful roses bush brings us a little pleasure from all we must take on then God help the creature who treads through our gardens.

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A Gardener’s Haste Makes Waste

No good comes of repining, so let me note one special thing I saw at Nymans on that rather bleak March day, a thing that can be planted by any of us during the coming autumn with an assurance of immediate effect next spring.  You know how truly right daffodils look in grass?  It may be a very obvious and orthodox way of growing daffodils, but I never care how obvious and orthodox a form of planting is, so long as it is satisfying for the eye and pleasing to the plant.

-Vita Sackville-West
April 18, 1954
More For Your Garden

I imagine daffodils would look rather interesting planted among the grass.  However, it is an idea like this which I read about or plan diligently all winter which slowly dissipates.  The haste of the season spins me away from doing what I’ve planned on doing all along.  I find myself scrambling to get my garden in order and plant as many things as I can so I feel the summer was not wasted.  But by the end of the summer, I look at my hodgepodge of a garden and wonder what went wrong.  I have finally discovered the problem.

Last spring, I planned on focusing all my energy on roses.  But as the season unraveled, I found myself coming home with other plants and seeds which distracted me from my previous goal; nursing a fabulous rose garden.

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I have discovered my problem lies with the short Michigan growing season.    As the snow fell outside my window yesterday, I suddenly remembered my original love for roses.   I bought six last year (pictured throughout this post) which all got put on the back burner as I hurried to collect other flowering plants that would bring me pleasure.  In this haste, I had forgotten my first love.  As a result of my increasing neglect, they began to suffer from black spot and other pests I struggled to control.

There is a group; The American Iris Society.  Amongst other gardeners I follow, they have an obsession with the Iris.   Everyday on Twitter, they share new pictures of a beautiful Iris I would otherwise never have the pleasure of seeing.  I had no idea the Iris made such fascinating color combinations and had such diverse growing seasons.  I admire these folks.  I’m sure they love other flowers too, but they love the Iris most.  Perhaps it is where their love for gardening first appeared.  They know where their focus lies, and their gardens are top notch because of their mutual patience with the flowers over the years.

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As nothing in the garden seems to give me greater pleasure, I would like to do it right this year and really focus on my roses.  Yes, I love my honeysuckle and my clematis very much (among others), so much so I could kiss them, but there is something about the high-maintenance rose.  It is not easy to love you back like other plants.  You must earn its love, work for its love.  Yes, they are prone to pest and disease, but when they bloom for you it is all the more fulfilling.  So I have determined, and you can take my advice or leave it, when planning a garden one should travel back to the beginnings of their love for gardening.  It is here you’ll find your true calling or at least refocus your efforts.

Ask yourself: What was it that drew me to the garden in the first place?
I think in figuring that out, you’ll find your purpose and perhaps rekindle your lost love.

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Garden Of Roses…

Indeed, I think you should approach them as though they were textiles rather than flowers.  The velvet vermilion of petals, the stamens of quivering gold…

-Vita Sackville-West
In Your Garden
May 28, 1950

 

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I have been waiting all year for this.  Waiting for the perfect opportunity to purchase my roses.  They will be the staple of my garden forever more.   I knew the perfect place to go, and if you live around you should check them out.  Vita always gave suggestions to nurserymen, as she called them, and as I have become quite a connoisseur of the big names around these parts I will do the same.   The place for roses, without a doubt, is Wiegand’s Nursery in Macomb, MI.

I say this because they have a most well organized selection.  Organized by hybrid teas, old English, Floribunda and the climbers.  Each bush stands against a white picket fence.  What perfect staging!  Someone was clever enough to know the color of the blooms will stand out better.  Their position along the white picket fence also brings to mind the beautifully overgrown gardens of yesterday’s American dream.    Somewhere the Dining Sisters begin to sing in their usual perfect harmony, and all is right with the world.  Sigh…

Anyway, I ventured to this particular nursery because I knew I would find perfect specimens.   Each rose is clearly labeled.  You needn’t bend down to look at tags, but instead the information for each variety is displayed at eye level.

I walked along the pathways of old world romance and waited to be spoken to.  I didn’t have to wait long before I came face to waist with this, the most gorgeous rose I had ever seen. This floribunda Moon dance (above).  Its head did not waver or fall but stood erect, staring at me.  It’s petals did not fall at the touch of my hand.  Its color, a creamy white like churned butter, and its fragrance sweet.  All the leaves were intact and healthy, not one of them disturbed in the slightest.  Then, like a tidal wave, others spoke up.

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Floribunda, Sheila’s Perfume (above) was recommended to me by one of the staff.  I was a bit overwhelmed and told her I was going to plant similar colors that would eventually melt into each other as their colors fade to white, as most do.  I liked the two toned petals of yellow and pink so I added this to my collection.

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Floribunda, Tuscan Sun (above) joined soon after.  I liked it’s big full blooms, and I thought planted  within range of Sheila’s Perfume it would make a nice blending effect.  It starts out with the same pink as Sheila’s Perfume then ends with a peach.   With the Moondance behind them I think they will make a striking show.

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On the opposite side of my garden a white climbing rose will work its way up the fence.  Having a pink climber at home, I had to remember they bob their heads downward when they bloom so I told myself to not be discouraged by this sight at the nursery.  They are not wilting for lack of care or water, they are merely wanting you to see them better.  They have formed this habit of pointing their heads downward, because they know someday they will be a mighty towering thing and will have to look down at you.

I then was intrigued by a rose that is grotesquely named, but fortunately, its flower is not.  It’s called Ketchup and Mustard…

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Beside the Moondance, this bicolored beauty spoke to me in a very strong way.  I was disgusted with the name, but I put that aside.  Its coloring was quite beautiful, and attracted my eye.  Let’s instead refer to it as Sunshine’s Kiss.   Sounds much better than Ketchup and Mustard.  Gag me!  The name reduces a garden to a flimsy hotdog.  Not exactly what I meant before by achieving the American dream.   Anyway, last but not least I picked up a yellow to blend with the unfortunately named.

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Floribunda, Julia Child.  See the white climber in the background.  Like the moon aglow on a starry night.

I emerged from this adventure an hour later covered in blood (the thorns) and sweat.   I choose all Floribunda’s because they are hardier for Michigan.  I felt I had gone about my task carefully.   When I was done I drove away completely satisfied with all of my choices.  Not a drop of regret.  These roses will be in my garden for a very long time, hopefully forever if I can do my job well.   Wish me luck!!

Tell me, what is your favorite rose?

…And as always, thank you for reading…

A Rose That Spoke

They may roughly be described as roses which should be grown as shrubs; that is, allowed to ramp away into big bushes, and allowed also to travel about underground if they are on their own roots and come up in fine carelessness some yards from the parent plant.

-Vita Sackville-West
May 28th, 1950
In Your Garden

 

 

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Perhaps not exactly what she had in mind was this Oso Shrub Rose called Lemon-Zest.  Yes, other “classic” shrub roses are far prettier, I’m quite sure.  However, I saw this one on sale and I was instantly struck by how healthy it looked.  Compared to the other ‘fancy’ roses surrounding me, its leaves were brighter; every one of them so perfectly intact, and the buds!  The buds were plentiful with a promise of abundant color.

I slipped my hand under the leaves and checked the stems for any sign of grafting.  I do this because if the Michigan winds blow in a hard winter like that of 2013; with snow aplenty and temperatures continually below zero, your rose bush may not live to see another Spring.   Instead, it will die back, and up will pop a different rose; foreign and strange.  It is the rose which yours was grafted upon.  An unwelcomed guest indeed, and you never know what you might get.  So for this reason I prefer un-grafted roses.

This rose, I learned, will flower continuously until Fall and the flowers will not fade to white.  Because I’m such a lover of yellow lately, I thought it would make a nice picture set beside our side door which I intend to paint red or perhaps colonial blue.  I have yet to decide.

In future posts I will speak more of the roses Vita recommends.  I doubt this shrub rose would have been her first choice, in fact, I’m almost positive she would have been displeased as there are more attractive choices for shrub roses.  As she has stated, “I am no blind believer in the ‘improved’ modern flower: I don’t like delphiniums with stalks like tree-trunks; I don’t like roses with no scent and a miserable constitution…” But she has also mentioned that she doesn’t understand the snobbery that some gardeners possess.  However, to me this Lemon-Zest spoke, so its cultivar makes no difference in the world.

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