There’s still plenty of snow pack up north and the local rivers are swelling with record rainfall. In between we’ve had record high temperatures followed by bone-chilling cold. No wonder we don’t know exactly what to do in the gardens of early April. It reached 18 degrees last weekend. It may hit 80 degrees this coming weekend. If you think you’re confused, so are the plants in your garden.

Fortunately soil temperatures are less fickle than air temperature.  The depths moderate the extreme fluctuations of the air and spring is a little more predictable subterrainially (that should be a word if it isn’t) speaking. Ground temperatures are what control things like the sprouting of bulbs, the breaking of dormancy and the emergence of weeds at least in a rooted seedling form. For those of you who want to discourage weed growth, the recent heavy rains may help. Crabgrass, for instance, is shallow rooted and the development of thick early spring roots in the lawn help choke it out. I’ll be experimenting with organic control of crabgrass this spring, applying corn gluten which discourages its development. I will say that everyone I talk to about this, nods reassuringly but I can’t help but think they shake their heads as I leave.  I actually think, without chemicals, it will take several years to rid my own lawn of crabgrass without chemicals. There is that dog that roams the backyard and eats and rolls in anything that has a strange odor.  I’m sure chemicals would qualify. The treatment I choose will include corn gluten and a sharp instrument in the ground digging at the ragged clumps of crabgrass in early summer. This will keep it from re-seeding. The roots are shallow so they dig out fairly easy and you might achieve a degree of machismo in the process. Good thick, healthy grass is the best way to control most lawn weeds.  Later in the year dandelions will offer a similar challenge.  But their even easier to spot with their blatant yellow and coarse leaves.  In the right circumstances dandelions can be quite attractive. In an otherwise green span of lawn they can be downright obnoxious in their pleasant  persistence; sort of like the census interviewer who is too nice to hang up on.

Shrubs and trees are awakening. There are magnolias already in bloom in Connecticut and along the shore. Forsythia is about to break through its tightened buds and offer that dependable, albeit often tiresome, signal of spring. Shrubs are showing the first signs of new growth. The sap is finished dripping and the syrup is bottled and labeled. The buds of the trees are swollen and seem to give off a strange energy; some subtle excitement of expectancy.  The trucks are on the highway hauling plants and trees from near and far. Easter will bring us forced azaleas and lilies that we’ll no doubt tire from before they finish forced bloom.  The ground is thawing and warming so that soon the rhododendrons and azaleas will begin a long sequence of extraordinary bloom. Remember when they’re done…to dead head and prune them back. They’ll be anxious to grow and I can almost assure you their final size will be too big for the spot you have in the garden for them. Prune new growth regularly.

Divide and conquer. It’s prime time to cultivate the soil in your perennial gardens.  It’s prime time to divide the abundant and overzealous perennials. If you’re not sure what to do with them tuck them in the corner of a vegetable garden.  It’ll be a few weeks in New England before you’re ready to introduce any hot weather crops. The open space of that good soil is a perfect place to tuck things away for proper consideration. Impulsive gardening usually fails, at least in overall composition.  Growing them on this way as divided clumps, and then transferring them to the garden after some consideration, makes a lot of sense.

But much of this is academic. As I look out of my window in northeastern Connecticut the streets are flooded and the low areas of my yard ware forming miniature ponds. The water pours in sheets across the windows of my sunroom. The dog sleeps at my feet. The gray clouds are buffered by even darker ones in the distance. She goes out only with great reluctance. The Connecticut River is at flood stage and the surrounding forests and farm land are saturated and shimmering with the swollen river… The gardens I cultivated on Sunday run with rivers of soil and mulch. It’s supposed to snow up north. The temperatures tonight are expected in the thirties. Much colder up north. Tomorrow is another day of rain and steel gray skies. But the sky is layered with the weather of other seasons. We will see three of them this week alone.

And the weekend promises…

…well, that spring, in all its contradictions, is finally here. And in a strange perfection the air will be gloriously warm while the ground stays cool for the moderate growth… the quiet stirring…the slow procession of season to season as if, about the entire phenomenon, nothing at all was new.

As the snow recedes and the frost oozes from the ground like a bad memory and we walk around the yard in March we have to remember to remove our boots when we return to the house or else we’ll truly bring the outside in. Our gardens may not be quite as neat as we remembered them in late fall; in those last warm November weekend days when we, not without some embarrassing frenzy, spent the last hours of the year in the garden before the deep frost gathered and the snow and ice of a New England winter embraced the landscape. I remember being out here in December… the temperature still hanging strangely onto 50 degrees… pruning hemlock and pine branches to string a twenty-five foot garland around the entrance porch. My enthusiasm at the time is evidenced by the not quite so selective pruning job I did in the spirit of the holiday. My early spring inspection of the yard reminds me that I’ll have some corrective pruning to do to make things right with my old (more…)

Pennisetum alopecuroides

In every season…every month,  nearly every week of the year really, a new star emerges on the stage of the landscape. Mid- to- late fall features such stalwarts as sedums and asters and chrysanthemums – amid the cornstalks and pumpkins – as the traditional stars. They’re dependable. And predictable, which for most gardeners is a good thing. But, to me, replacing these traditional acts this time of year as the real headliners, are the various Ornamental Grasses that have established an increasing presence in our gardens. From the understated Fescues(Festuca), to the overstatement of Porcupine Grass(Miscanthus sinensis “strictus’) these plants are nearly magical in the late autumn light and offer graceful motion, reflected and diffused light as they move across the fall sun and the autumn moon… and even sound, as in the autumn breeze they shift and settle like an uneasy audience at the opening of a new performance. The plants form grass blades of varied sizes and heights and a large palate of subtle colors. (more…)

My intention and enthusiasm to write this column on a regular basis – to

articulate my thoughts about gardening and landscape – is often clearly in direct conflict with my work as a landscaper and gardener as well as all the other myriad of things by which I am so often distracted and occupied. Free time doesn’t really exist for me, as I’m sure it doesn’t for many of you. I am easily distracted…or maybe it’s consumed. So instead of keeping current, I find myself looking back across the season, which offers a different perspective. And perhaps in looking back, I can see a larger, somewhat skewed canvas. (more…)