Caught speeding – 0-60 in 23 years

It seems like yesterday. Well, actually it doesn’t. I’ve been gardening this plot now for twenty three years, and it’s grown up. There are beeches and hornbeams that have rocketed past forty feet, and wide spreading Japanese maples and flowering trees. Small shrubs have sprouted far above my head, and some areas are planted so thickly that it’s nearly impossible to push through the vegetation.

There was a time when I was impatient for the garden to grow. Though there was a swath of woodland bordering the southern property line, the remainder of the property was bare except for field grass from the farm that once occupied this land, and a patch of brambles in a small spring-fed wetland. I fertilized the first young plants with MiracleGro every week to give them a jump start, and whether this accomplished anything or not, I don’t know, but within a few years the garden began to look like a little something.

It’s been long enough that most of the details are long forgotten, but somehow the small wetland (that was damp enough to suck a boot off your foot) was leveled, and drainage from the spring was directed to a larger wetland at the back of the property. Sometime in those early years a garden shed was constructed just above the origin of the spring, but the back three quarters of the property was left open for football and baseball while the kids were young.

After ten years the front and upper portion of the rear garden nearest the house had begun to grow up, and by now the kids were weary of tossing the ball with dad. So, work was started on the back garden, and suddenly, here we are. There’s practically no space remaining to plant in, though that hasn’t seemed to stop me. Every year plants are purchased and shoehorned in, though I’m now convinced that my wife is at least partially correct. There is no more space for planting trees, but I can’t foresee that I’ll stop planting smaller somethings for at least another decade or two.

Along the way there have been plenty of mistakes made, but there have been more triumphs. I’d be mistaken to say I wouldn’t change a thing, but I have barely any regrets. I’ll say that it would have been wiser to pay attention to my instincts and not plant bamboo and wisteria that were painful and labor intensive to remove, and I’ve probably wasted a small fortune on plants that weren’t cold hardy enough, but I just had to try to see if there was even the slightest chance for their survival.

Some plants have come and gone, and some are back again. I planted evergreen azaleas from the beginning, then was discouraged by lacebugs and poorly drained clay so that most declined in health and were removed. I was content without them, but then began to plant more azaleas when the spring and autumn repeat blooming Encore azaleas were introduced. I was determined to test the Encores to see if they could survive, and if they would dependably rebloom. I found that they were as good as advertised, with increased cold hardiness and a surprise resistance to the lacebugs that had plagued the old favorites that I’d planted and discarded.

A few common, and supposedly tough as nails plants have never survived under my care. I suppose the fault is mine, but I’ve not been successful with Moonbeam tickseed, coneflowers, or Blackeyed Susans, though for a few years the rudbeckias seeded with abandon. Most of these troubles I will blame on shade that has rapidly encroached as the numerous trees I planted grew and spread. And then, the back third of the rear garden is almost constantly damp, and it takes a while to figure out plants that will tolerate almost constant wetness if you’re not willing to settle only for wetland plants.

Some, or maybe most of the blame for failures is probably on me. I readily admit that I buy first, plan later. I’m paid to do this for a living, and of course I should know better, but most everything works out for the best, so it’s difficult to change your ways when there are many more successes than failures. I’m willing to suffer the occasional lost plant, or plants that slowly fade as full sun turns to mostly shade.

I have constructed five ponds in the garden, and another wet weather pond that holds storm water runoff from neighboring properties before it reaches the wetland. The original pond that I built has been redone four or five times, but once I settled on a low maintenance formula the other ponds went in without a hitch. The largest of the ponds is nearly fifteen hundred square feet, and it was was dug deep enough that occasionally I’ll float around in it on a hot summer afternoon.

For a few years I battled a persistent heron that cleaned out koi and goldfish from the smaller ponds, so now all the fish are in the deep swimming pond. I began with ten of the the least expensive koi that I could find, and now that there are fifty or a hundred (who can count?) I’m certain there are no prize winners, but there’s an amazing diversity of color and patterns, and I can’t imagine rambling through the garden without a visit to feed the ever hungry fish.

I’m a landscaper and a gardener, not a scientist (like our son), and haven’t a clue if the ever warmer summers and winters are a long term trend or a short term anomaly. Part of me would prefer to live in a warmer zone, but I know there are severe ramifications if temperatures don’t trend back to the norm. I could move south, but I’ve moved before, and though it was quite a while ago, I determined at the time that this would be my last home, and my last garden. Now that it’s up to speed, I’m content to sit back and enjoy.

No mulch, lots of plants

A friend of my wife recently remarked that our large garden must require truckloads of mulch each year. I don’t know how my wife responded, but she should have told her that no mulch is added annually, and most parts of the garden haven’t been remulched since they were first planted (twenty some years ago). I have nothing against mulch, and some of the garden is top dressed with shredded leaves each autumn, but I’m cheap. I’d rather buy plants instead of mulch. I figure that plants look a whole lot better than open areas of mulch, and a covering of plants is just as effective as a heavy blanket of mulch in discouraging weeds.

There is a real benefit to mulch. It conserves soil moisture, keeps soil temperatures more even, and to some extent it keeps weeds down, but I’m willing to sacrifice these advantages to purchase a few more plants. In many parts of the garden there is bare soil, but it’s hidden beneath a cover of shrubs and wide spreading perennials.

I don’t know if my garden fits into the ideal of low maintenance, or if it’s a maintenance nightmare. I don’t give it much thought, but I know there’s always something that needs tending to, and there are a bunch of things that are never accomplished. There are times when there’s way too much to do, and times when I sit back and enjoy, even if a few weeds don’t get pulled. It’s certain that the garden’s not no maintenance, and I suspect that there are few gardens that could truly be considered low maintenance.

I’m certain there are times in the spring when most people would turn and run rather than face the tasks that are absolutely necessary to make the garden barely presentable. I don’t claim to have a greater work ethic than the next guy (or gal), but the choices are to do the work myself or pay someone to do it. No question, I’ll get it done, not that I’m having fun. I hear gardeners say that they enjoy it all. I’m sorry, but weeding and raking leaves are not my idea of fun. These tasks are time consuming and monotonous. I’d rather be doing something else, even nothing.

There are times in the spring when it’s great to be outdoors after a long, dismal winter inside. The sun’s shining, the sky’s blue and it’s pleasant enough to enjoy being outdoors doing anything, even weeding. But, after a week or two of long days it gets old, and I’m pretty sure I could never learn to love weeding and spring cleanup.

Usually, by early April (or a week or two later) the worst of the chores is over, and from then on the spring’s a joy. Through the late spring and summer, every time I’m out in the garden there’s a little something that’s done, but it’s at a leisurely pace. A few weeds are plucked out, a few fallen twigs are picked up, or a stray branch or two is pruned. This is not work. When the leaves fall the work begins again, though there’s little hurry as winter approaches.

There are five ponds in the garden, and one day a year in March I enlist some assistance in cleaning out the leaves and debris that have blown in over the winter. But after an initial spring cleanup I do nothing, or almost nothing the remainder of the year. Yes, there are a few times when I have to get after the string algae, but that’s usually minor. Occasionally there will be a blockage in one of the pumps, but most months I spend  more time feeding the koi than I do maintaining the ponds, and many months I do nothing.

I rarely bother with pests, though I devote fifteen minutes every month to spraying a deer repellent to protect the garden’s hostas and other treasures that deer would eat to the ground if given the opportunity. There are bugs in the garden, and occasionally they’ll chew enough to make plants unsightly for a while, but I don’t spray anything to prevent bugs of any sort. At least almost never. Five or six years ago I sprayed a dwarf crapemyrtle with an insecticidal soap to hold down the aphid population. I’ve been tempted to use a systemic insecticide to be rid of the lacebugs that plague the pieris, but I haven’t gotten around to it and probably won’t.

In the end, I’ve found that damage from bugs is usually fairly minor. One of the weeping golden chain trees was recently defoliated by caterpillars. I caught it before the last leaf was chewed (though most branches were naked) and flicked the caterpillars to the ground. They didn’t make their way back up into the tree, and several weeks later the tree has leafed about halfway, so there’s no long term damage. It doesn’t look great, but it’s not too bad, and it will be going dormant in another five or six weeks, so who cares?

Every once in a while there will be some tent caterpillars or fall webworms, and one of the blue spruces once had a bagworm problem. These can usually be managed by hand or by using a stick to break up the caterpillar tent. I don’t bother at all with Japanese beetles. They chew a little, and most definitely they’re a bit of a nuisance, but they do little damage.

Why not spray to prevent bugs? I’m content with a garden that is less than perfect, so a few scattered plants with damaged leaves don’t bother me. I spend nearly as much time in the garden enjoying the bees, butterflies, and birds, and I’m concerned that even an occasional spray of insecticides could be harmful. I understand that there are people who want their gardens pristine and unblemished by weeds or insects, and pesticides are appropriate for them. But, I’ll suffer a few weeds (or a bunch) and bugs, and for a few weeks I’ll work like a demon to keep up so that I can enjoy the garden for the rest of the year. I don’t know if this is low maintenance, but I really don’t care. The reward is worth the effort.

Odd and wonderful

Even in the heat of summer there are wonderful and odd happenings in the garden. One recent afternoon I was astounded by the number of dragonflies in the neighborhood of the large swimming pond, and no wonder there are fewer mosquitoes in the rear garden. There are plenty of mosquitoes in the side yard, in particular in the area where a large clump of bamboo was recently removed. These are mostly the tiger mosquitoes that are more aggressive and have a more painful bite. Since my wife and I spend most of our time in the rear garden, the dragonflies are a welcome presence.

Dragonflies are territorial, and though the pond is well over a thousand square feet, they appear in constant conflict, frantically zipping across the length of the pond, chasing newcomers into submission. No one is hurt in this bloodless quarrel, and I don’t pretend to understand how the victor is determined, but it’s fascinating to watch on a lazy summer afternoon.

The quantity and variety of stinging insects on the mountain mints is astonishing, and only in late evening is it safe enough to get close without the threat of being stung. This community of insects works in seeming harmony, each going about its business. Only butterflies are reluctant visitors to the small, nectar laden blooms. They appear highly distracted by bees and wasps buzzing about them, and soon they take flight away from this rambunctious crowd to more sedate blooms.

Yesterday I was walking along the swampy rear property line, and was amazed to see a line of small caterpillars edging the leaves of one of the tall river birches (Betula nigra, above). Only a few leaves were effected , and river birches are not generally troubled by insects to an extent worth worrying about. I don’t expect the caterpillars will be any problem, though I’ll check back in a few days to be certain they haven’t traveled further into the tree. I left them alone to munch on their few leaves. The birch has plenty, so losing a few won’t be much of a bother.

There are some flowers that are amazing in their architecture, and even leaves and seeds that are quite wonderful. Several of the garden’s passionflowers (Passiflora incarnata and lutea) are now flowering, and these are splendid enough in their construction to warrant their own story in a few days. I’ve recently noticed the seeds of the weeping European hornbeam (Carpinus betulus ‘Pendula’, above). The tree is unremarkable, but the seeds are extraordinary. I can only wonder at the marvels I’ll discover this evening.

Groundhogs and snakes, oh my!

There’s a new groundhog in the neighborhood. Well, not just in the neighborhood, but under my garden shed. Another groundhog lived under the shed until last year, then he mysteriously disappeared after the snowy winter. Perhaps he had grown too fat and lazy, living in the relative luxury of this garden with ample water, food, and cover, but I suppose when my neighbor gave up on his garden the groundhog might have departed for another patch of vegetables.

This fellow constructed a well hidden second tunnel under the plume poppies (below) only a few feet from the vegetable garden, and for a few years there wasn’t much to harvest due to this furry little guy. I didn’t notice the groundhog’s holes until I cut the poppies to the ground the following spring, and at the time I didn’t see any reason to disturb them.

In the spring following the groundhog’s departure (but before we knew he was gone) my neighbor constructed a relative fortress to protect the garden, so I suspect the new groundhog has moved in not figuring on feasting on the neighbor’s tomatoes and peppers. I filled the hole dug beneath the shed by the earlier groundhog with rocks and debris, and it appears that the new one has dug a home on the other side of the shed.

I saw the new (and considerably slimmer) guy when I was dumping some branches into the compost pile behind the shed, and saw that the window needed repair. While fiddling with the window I looked down, and there he was.  After a moment he realized I was standing there and he fled back into his hole in terror. It seems that groundhogs have no sense of smell or human movement to protect them, as I’ve unknowingly wandered upon them several times so close that I could have accidently stepped on them. My sense of smell isn’t so great either, and I was more than a little startled.

I’m certain that this digging of holes under the shed can be of no good, but I don’t plan to do anything to be rid of the fellow, at least for now. I didn’t see any damage to the garden from the old groundhog, though I’m certain that my neighbor would disagree. Now that the vegetable garden is impenetrable the new guy will have to eat something, whatever it is that groundhogs eat, but if there’s no damage we’ll coexist peacefully.

I’ve planted very few plants intending to attract wildlife, but in a garden chock full of trees and shrubs there will be critters. Where there are flowers, there will be butterflies and bees, and then birds, so that in an acre and a quarter that is densely planted with plenty of water there will be an abundance of beasts, large and small.

The ponds, in particular, seem to attract a large share of wildlife, most attracted by the plentiful drinking water, but some more interested in the rapidly increasing population of koi and goldfish. A few weeks ago I went down to the swimming pond (above) to feed the fish and noticed a small koi on its side at the pond’s edge. The other fish were not flocking as usual to the edge to greet me in anticipation of of being fed, and it wasn’t until I started to scoop the dead fish out that I noticed his mouth was covered by something. Oh, a snake! Duly startled, the snake swam off with the small fish clutched in its jaws. I jumped, but I’m quite certain I didn’t scream.

Of course, this isn’t the first snake that I’ve seen in the swimming pond. Several times I’ve seen them as I’ve been floating in the pond, and usually they go the other way when I come close. I’m quite certain that there are no poisonous water snakes in northwestern Virginia, and the small snakes I’ve seen in the water  are not aggressive at all, so I’m not too worried to be in the pond with them.

For the most part the wildlife does its thing with little interference on my part. After a few years of letting deer munch away on the hostas, my wife decided enough was quite enough, and since I’ve kept the vulnerable plants sprayed with a repellent so that the deer visit regularly, but don’t stop to eat.

My wife and I have seen foxes (which seem to have vanished as more civilization has encroached), and of course there are bunches of squirrels. There are tiny burrows under boulders at the ponds’ edges, and occasionally I see chipmunks scurrying around, though they seem very aware of the hawks that are perpetually circling overhead. A pest control guy attempting to keep the squirrels out of the attic (unsuccessfully) trapped a possum and skunk on successive nights, and a year or two ago a neighbor reported a bear sighting, though no one else seemed to believe it. It wouldn’t surprise me if the bear was living in our garden. Every other type of creature seems to call it home.

Are five ponds too many?

This spring the Japanese irises planted in the shallows of the swimming pond (below) seem to have doubled in size. I know that there is limited room in the gravel filled crevices between boulders that edge the pond, and those spaces have been filled for a few years, but the irises are more robust and floriferous this year.

Most years one variety of iris flowers, then fades as another begins to bloom, and the succession results in flowers surrounding the pond for a month. This spring all of the Japanese irises except ‘Lion King’ (Iris ensata ‘Lion King’, below) flowered within days of the others, and then of course they faded in the next week. So, the wonder of having irises blooming for four weeks has been replaced by one marvelous week, and then another week with more scattered flowers from ‘Lion King’.

The irises flowering coincided with several hydrangeas (below) that are perched just above the pond’s waterfall, so for one week in late May into early June there are arguably too many blue flowers bordering the pond. I don’t say that I’d argue that point. The irises and hydrangeas are nearly perfect. I’d prefer if the irises would remain in flower another week or two longer, though any longer and they would be taken for granted and the week or two in the spring would not seem quite so extraordinary.

Several weeks ago there was a minor outbreak of string algae in the pond’s shallow gravel filter area, so I waded through the yellow flag irises and variegated cattails to remove as much as I could by hand. Several large bucket fulls were added to the compost heap, and after removing that algae I added a dose of barley straw extract that will help to control further problems. The fifteen minutes wading in the pond removing the algae was the only maintenance time spent on any of the garden’s five ponds over the past two months.

The koi and goldfish have been feeding enthusiastically and several are getting some size to them, though I don’t feed regularly enough to grow them into the monsters that I’ve seen in other ponds. I haven’t seen any babies yet this spring, but sometimes I don’t notice them until later in the summer when they’ve grown a bit. There’s no practical way to count fish in a fifteen hundred square foot pond, even though the pond’s water is perfectly clear.

The original ten koi dropped down to five shortly after they were introduced to the pond, then two goldfish were transferred to the large pond from a smaller one. Over the past five or six years baby koi and goldfish have increased the pond’s population to sixty or seventy by my best guess, and there could be more. I feed them whenever it occurs to me, though now I leave a bucket of feed by the pond so I feed them somewhat more regularly.

Since I’ve had problems in the past with herons there are no fish in the garden’s four other ponds that are shallower than the swimming pond. I see the herons flying around the neighborhood’s farm ponds occasionally, so I know they’re still around. I’ve no reason to feed them, so I won’t have fish in the smaller ponds until the day when the swimming pond is overpopulated and some must be moved.

I’ve had to trim some of the ferns and the green leafed Japanese maple that arches over the oldest of the ponds, but otherwise there is little labor involved in maintaining the ponds after a quick spring cleaning. The ponds must be covered with netting in late October to keep out leaves from the garden and neighboring forest, but sometimes I’m tardy and have to scoop them out before they foul the water. A few times a year I’ll need to add a bit of water to top off the ponds if evaporation gets ahead of rainfall, but this doesn’t amount to much.

I’ve known people who fool endlessly with their ponds, but if properly constructed and filtered there should be little work for most of the year. Pond manuals suggest regular cleaning of pumps and filters, but I’ve seen no advantage to messing with these things, and I’ve rarely experienced a problem. Pumps run flawlessly for five years or longer without any fiddling on my part, and several of the ponds’ pumps have endured for ten years or more.

There is unquestionably considerable expense in constructing a pond (or five), and five pumps will consume a recognizable sum of electricity if you’re watching your pennies. I prefer to ignore this expense. My enjoyment is far more valuable. Five ponds are not required, and I cannot claim that five are that many times more enjoyable than one, but for this garden five ponds is just right, and I would not be without even one.

The easy iris

I believe that irises have a reputation for being finicky, and I think that this is mostly with bearded irises that must be divided and watched for iris borers. I’ve concluded after years of trial and error (mostly error) that Japanese irises are the easiest and most beautiful of the the irises. I haven’t tried very hard, but I’ve fooled with Siberian, German, and Dutch irises off and on, with limited success. Well, less than limited since there are none left alive.

The rear garden is prone to sustained periods of overly damp soil through the spring, and any other season when there’s an inch or two of rainfall in a week. The splendid Siberian iris ‘Caesar’s Brother’ (Iris sibirica ‘Caesar’s Brother’, above in better days) is considered nearly bullet proof in wet or dry soils, but in my garden it died off after a few years. It was planted in good earth that alternated between flooded springs and bone dry summers, but I think that lack of sunlight eventually killed it.

My lust for planting flowering trees and Japanese maples has shaded much of the garden, so that I sometimes delude myself to consider any plant with sun at high noon to be in full sun. Some plants will tolerate the few hours of sunlight, but not irises. I’m guessing.

I’ve planted Louisiana (above) and yellow flag iris (Iris pseudoacorus, below) in shallow water in a few of the garden’s ponds with success. Louisiana iris is planted in containers in two ponds that are shaded through most of the day. Before trees grew to overhang the ponds this iris spread exuberantly so that excess growth required trimming a time or two each summer. But now, in more shade it stays put and still manages to bloom for most of a week.

Yellow flag iris is sturdy and aggressive enough to fill any area of shallow water. In my large swimming pond it’s planted in a large area of gravel that filters the pond’s water, and in gravel yellow flag spreads more slowly than it would in soil. It’s invasive if allowed into waterways, but I monitor the overflow of the pond to prevent its escape, and I’ve seen no sweet flag growing in the neighboring wetland.

I’ve planted a variety of Japanese irises (Iris ensata) between boulders in shallow water in the swimming pond, and a few in a damp, spring fed swale where other wetland plants are established. In soil, Japanese iris spreads moderately, but planted in full sun in small gravel and shallow water it preforms best, forming thick clumps.

Japanese iris blooms dependably, though each flower lasts for only a few days. On an established clump there will be dozens of flowers, and there will be ten days from first to last bloom. With several cultivars and slight variations in sunlight exposure, there will be flowering irises for a month.

No care is required, particularly when Japanese irises are planted in water. There are no bug or disease problems, and though I’ve heard that thick clumps benefit from dividing occasionally, I’ve left mine alone for nearly ten years with no apparent decline.

There is  no magic to selecting the best varieties. I started with the variegated leaf type with dark purple flowers with a small streak of yellow (above). The foliage is attractive from mid spring through early autumn, but the flowers of many non-variegated types are larger and offer welcome variation in form and color.

Yellow flag

In May frogs bellow at each other beneath the yellow blooms and eighteen inch tall foliage of Yellow Flag iris (Iris pseudoacorus, below). Hungry koi and goldfish lazily swim through the shallow water searching for a meal, and many thousands of tadpoles feed on bits of algae that cling to stones at the pond’s edge. 

I planted yellow flag long before there was much talk about invasive plants, and though it is frequently listed as invasive, in a garden pond there is little danger that it will escape into the wild so long as the gardener does not dispose of excess plants in an irresponsible manner. Yellow flag spreads by rhizomes and by water borne seed, and it’s very unlikely that seed will hop out of the pond and through the garden into the nearest waterway.

I’ve planted yellow flag, Louisiana (below), and Japanese irises at the margins of several of the garden’s five ponds, but not in the dirt bottom, wet weather pond at the rear of the property. This pond stays full through the spring, but is intermittently full and dry through the summer as it fills from rainwater draining from two neighboring properties. Since this pond is prone to overflow it would be very likely that yellow flag would escape. I’ve planted mint and variegated cattails to filter the water before it enters the pond, which then slowly percolates into the neighboring wetland. The wetland area is full of brambles and cattails, but no yellow flag, and I’m determined to keep it that way.

The largest colony of yellow flag I’ve planted is in the filtration area of the fifteen hundred square foot swimming pond that I constructed (below). Eight or ten plants have slowly spread through the gravel to cover two-thirds of the two hundred square foot filter, and I’ve not had to remove any overaggressive growth. Shallow areas in other parts of the pond have been invaded by plants that have grown from seed that is circulated by the pond’s pump, and earlier in the spring I had to remove a thick clump that was blocking half of the pond’s waterfall. In a few other spots yellow flag grows along side Japanese iris, sweetflag (Acorus calamus), variegated cattail, and rushes, but this is easily controlled and there seems no danger that it will take over.

Yellow flag was an appropriate choice for the filtration area because it was intended to spread to assist in filtering water that flows up through the deep gravel filter. The roots of the iris take in excess nutrients in the pond’s water that would feed algae growth, and most other pond plants would not accomplish the job so efficiently.

Yellow flag is now passing out of bloom, and in another week the first of the multi colored Japanese irises (Iris ensata, above) will begin to flower. The Japanese iris are beautiful, and they spread into nice clumps, but they are not as useful in filtering the pond’s water as yellow flag.

Mystery hosta

An abundance of hosta seedlings annually pop up in the garden, and while many must be removed because they grow immediately at the edge of a path, others are left in place and encouraged. In two years the clumps grow fat and full, and the leaves large so that my faulty memory presumes they’ve been there all along and I must have paid a dear price for them.

The leaves for most of these are similar; large, slightly blue-green, and heavily corrugated, much like the old favorite Siebold elegans. I’ve bought several similar hostas, though I can’t recall now which ones I bought and which ones are volunteers. And it hardly matters.

Occasionally, one of the variegated hostas reverts to the same blue-green or plain green, though the vigorous invader that crowds out the old clump could be just another seedling. I’m certain that a more attentive gardener would chop the encroaching hosta out before it overwhelms the more prized variegated clump, but for one reason or another I let them go for a year (or two), and one day the damage is done and the all that remains is the large leafed blue-green hosta.

One seedling hosta grows on a small island between two small waterfalls in the middle of one of the garden ponds. At one time only a few stones and river gravel covered the rubber pond liner, then moss began to grow, and then the hosta appeared. At first, I couldn’t imagine that the hosta would survive with so little soil, but its roots have snaked under and around the small rocks and into the shallows of the pond, and the clump is multiplying and obviously enjoying this spot. Now, one waterfall is completely obscured, but I’ve grown fond of this seedling, and it will stay as long as it pleases.

Not all seedlings are blue or green, or even attractive. One odd looking seedling with narrow, ribbed, almost yellow foliage popped up five or six years ago between a clump of daisies and Japanese Forest grass. There is nothing noteworthy about this almost ugly hosta, except that it is almost ugly in a way that no other hosta in the garden is. So, I’ve carefully kept a space carved out for it. Certainly not one of my proudest moments, but I noticed a few days ago that it looks better this spring, much better, to the point it could almost be possible to believe it came from the garden center. But not quite.

At one time there were more than a hundred varieties of hosta in the garden, but I ignored the damage that deer were inflicting for a few too many years, and a dozen or more disappeared. Now, I spray a deer repellent at the start of each month May through October. Several hostas that had declined considerably have returned to good health, and the deer don’t bother  them at all (unless I skip over a plant when I’m spraying). Occasionally, there is some damage to hostas from slugs, and hail in summer thunderstorms can inflict damage on hostas without tree cover, but these injuries are usually minor.

This spring I’ve planted a handful of new hostas, divided a few of the oldest clumps, and transplanted a few of the more robust seedlings to more permanent homes. I’ve always felt that it’s not possible to have too many hostas. Differing foliage sizes and colors blend readily, and so long as one doesn’t shade the other they will live in harmony for many years. Generally, I favor large leafed types, which I’m supposing is very typical of a man’s garden,  but there are a sprinkling of cute, small leafed hostas, some that have have spread to cover a good bit of ground.

Most of the hostas are planted in medium to heavy shade, though a few have most of a full day’s sun. A few hostas struggle along in root infested dry shade, but even here they perform better than other shade tolerant plants. In slightly damp  or deeper soils the hostas thrive, and the clumps become fat and the leaves large. Though they require almost no care at all, if the gardener makes any effort to keep out deer and invading seedlings the hosta is likely to survive at least as long as the gardener.

Don’t sit!

My wife says the chairs are fine, but I wouldn’t dare sit on them (I suspect she’s after the life insurance. I wore out my welcome years ago). They’ve been in the garden for twenty years or more. They’re not teak, but some other type of exotic, rot-resistant wood that was going around at the time. I’m fairly confident that the exotic wood has not rotted, but the dowels that hold it together are pine or poplar, or some other soft wood that is bound to be fully rotted by now. I’m afraid that the only thing holding the chairs together is gravity, and if my wife trusts sitting on them, be my guest.

For as long as I can recall the chairs have just been ornaments. At one time there was a small bench alongside on the patio, but the dwarf blue spruce grew to be not-so-dwarf, so the bench was moved elsewhere. I don’t recall where because it soon fell apart and was discarded. When it first fell to pieces I remember nailing it back together because I couldn’t replace the rotted dowels, but that didn’t last, and the bench is long gone.

This patio is rarely used except to walk through, and even when the bench and chairs were new my wife and I rarely sat on them. Why? The small, circular bluestone patio is on the top side of the first of the ponds I built. I planted a Japanese maple and other stuff above the pond, so that from the patio the water can’t be seen and the waterfall can’t be heard. It should be a cardinal rule of pond construction and design that a seating area must be below the pond so that the water and waterfall are easily seen when sitting. The patio was constructed so long ago that I don’t recall whether it came first or the pond, so I don’t know if I ignored this matter of common sense, or if there was some other reason for the patio being placed where it is. The point is, there was never any reason to sit on the chairs on this patio.

Now, the green leafed dissectum Japanese maple (Acer palmatum dissectum ‘Viridis’) has grown into the patio to partially cover one of the chairs, and Ostrich ferns (Matteuccia struthiopteris) strain at the patio edges. If there was any need to sit in the chairs I would have to move them further into the center of the patio, but then the path to the lower patio would be blocked. Oh yeah, the lower patio. Since I couldn’t see or hear the water from this upper patio I built a second one a bit further down the slope. At the same time I decided that a second pond would be nice, so two large stone slabs in the path cross a section of this newer pond.

The second pond is visible from the second patio, but also from the deck above. They’re only ten feet apart, but one pond cannot be seen from the other (though the water can be heard), and one patio is not visible from the other through the maple and tall nandinas. Trust me, it all fits together somehow.

If you’ve gotten hopelessly confused by the chain of events in constructing two patios and two ponds, then this is likely to be a good time to end this story, before I can explain how and why the third, fourth, and fifth ponds were built, and the other three or four patios. I suppose that garden design should be a more organized process, but when you’re constructing a garden for yourself the rules seem not to apply so much, so here I am with five ponds and patios, and more plants than I can count. It’s wonderful!

Preparing the ponds for spring

The pump went out in one of the garden ponds in late autumn, and I haven’t a clue why. Perhaps it was old age. I know the feeling.

Replacing the pump was a rare expense for my ponds, that is if the cost of running electricity twenty four hours a day for five ponds through the year isn’t considered. I rarely mention this cost, and don’t even think about it when the monthly bill arrives. After more than twenty years living with ponds, I can hardly imagine living without.

Today the ponds aren’t at their best, just water and rocks, moss, and perennial plants that have newly been cut back. The hostas, caryopteris, and hydrageas that flop over to soften the pond’s edges have just broken dormancy, and it will be another month before they make any show at all. The koi and goldfish are barely awake, and only moving about because air and water temperatures are far above normal in the very early days of spring. But, spring peepers and other frogs that return to the ponds to mate are in full throat through the afternoon and evenings.

Three of the five ponds in the garden are under two hundred square feet, one is slightly larger, and the largest pond is bigger than all the others put together. The swimming pond is almost fifteen hundred square feet, and five and a half feet at it deepest point. I should say that it’s a bit of a misnomer to call it a swimming pond, since I don’t really swim in it. Swimming is too  much like exercise. I float. I have a reclining lounge chair (with a drink holder in case I’m so inclined) that drifts with the breeze while I slip in and out of consciousness on sunny weekends watching the dragonflies dart overhead with koi nipping at my toes.

Spring clean up of the ponds is a straightforward matter. The swimming pond requires only to drag the net off without dumping too many leaves that have accumulated over the winter. The stirring up of debris leaves the water murky for a few days afterward, but then it clears up and if the water temperature is sufficiently warm the fish suddenly recall that I’m the guy who occasionally feeds them. The whole mess of them flock to whichever side I’m working, and if I’m cutting the Japanese irises that grow in the shallows the large koi will nudge out of the water to remind me that it’s feeding time. Not yet, I’m afraid. In a few more weeks the water will warm up and feeding will begin.

This large pond contains about twenty thousand gallons of water, so I’m determined never to empty it for cleaning. The net keeps the worst of the leaves out, and the few leaves and bits of debris that sink to the bottom break down and disappear without any assistance on my part. On occasion there will be an outbreak of string algae, but barley straw keeps it under control.

I don’t take as much care to cover the smaller ponds, so it’s not unusual for them to require a bit more spring cleanup. Most years I scoop out the leaves, clean the filter pads on the ponds that have them, and the pond is ready to go. If leaves and gunk are too much then the water will be pumped out and discarded into the garden, the leaves and debris scooped out, and the rocks and gravel will be washed down with a hose. Then, the pond is refilled. A dechlorinator is added to condition the water for the fish, frogs, and tadpoles, and the ponds are ready for spring.

The Japanese irises, sweetflag, waterlilies, and other pond plants are treated like any other perennials. The spent growth from last year is pruned off and sent to the compost pile, and they’re ready to go. Most of my pond plants are planted directly in rock and gravel rather than in pots, so there’s no need to divide them or to repot into larger containers. I have never fertlized any of the pond plants and they grow vigorously without.

I drag the nets off the ponds early in March, but don’t usually mess with cleaning the ponds until later in the month. The clean up takes most of a day, though I’m frequently distracted so bits and pieces of other projects take up some of the day. Once the spring cleaning is accomplished there’s very little maintenance done to any of the ponds for the remainder of the year, until the nets go back on in early November. The ponds are the easiest and most enjoyable part of the garden, so replacing a pump every seven or eight years is only a minor nuisance.