Meg’s Wildlife Sanctuary and Boot Camp

Sand

2009-07-01T23:49:00.016+03:00

Leaves in various states of decay had accumulated on the surface. I brushed them away and thrust the shovel into the brown earth between the daylilies. They had bloomed once, in their youth, but they had long since exhausted the nutrients in the soil. Shallowly rooted, they relinquished their lives with little resistance.

Beneath the lilies was sand, gray and dry with a gloss of quartz. The spade sliced easily through the soil. Loose sand slid from the spade back into the hole, where it was shoveled out once again.

Deep in the sand were objects lost long ago -- four orange bricks, two large chunks of soft stone, and thin pieces of fencing, perfectly preserved. Digging deeper, the shovel struck clay, compressed and compacted, a primordial slab.

The tool slammed into the clay, like steel to bone. A few shards chipped off, but the core did not yield the shadows buried there.

Love

2009-06-29T04:58:00.007+03:00

She watches every move. Even now, curled in a ball, snoring lightly, she senses me. I turn my head toward her and she opens her eyes slowly. I stand and walk softly to the door. She rises sluggioshly to follow at my heel. She sighs deeply.

I often invite her to help me in the garden, but she prefers the controlled temperatures and cushioned surfaces of the house. If I slip outside, she moans and whines. As I work throughout the garden, she follows my movements from inside the house, running from window to window, hoping to catch a glimpse.

She only has eyes for her love, but if she could see beyond, here's what she would find:

These intricate flowers look exotic, but the passion vine (Passiflora incarnata) is native to Piedmont NC.

I removed the butterfly bush this spring and exposed these purple coneflowers (Echinacea purpurea) to more sun. In celebration, they put on a big show.

Hummingbirds love the red blooms of Monarda didyma. I do too, except for its tendency to flop. This year, the blue Brazilian sage (Salvia guaranitica) offers its support.

Hemerocallis 'Baltimore Oriole' is near the end of its season.

I planted this button bush (Cephalanthus occidentalis) in 2003 and it bloomed for the first time this year. Button bush likes a damp spot and this spring, there was ample rain.

The prettiest flower of all.

Reading garden

2009-06-23T06:14:00.002+03:00

Across the hall from our new library at Duke is a new, but rarely-used, terrace. On the North side of the building, the terrace is on the second floor and overlooks a remnant of woods. Four enormous glasscrete containers dominate the space, each with a single coralbark maple in the center. Tables and chairs are scattered about the terrace.

For several months, few people went outdoors to enjoy the fresh air, the new furniture or the coralbark maples, except a few smokers who used the containers as ashtrays. Last month, I asked the administration if I could buy some additional plants and warm up the space. They agreed and I started experimenting with building a reading garden, where students can read or study or meet in small groups.

The terrace is surrounded by glass walls. I used hostas, heucheras and ferns in this shady area. These plants can be seen from inside the building and the low profile does not obstruct the view to the rest of the garden. Hostas with thin blue leaves burned in the morning sunlight, so next year, they will be replaced by thick waxy leaved hostas and heucheras.

Along the far edge of the reading garden, I experimented with plants to attract hummingbirds, including lantana, pentas, salvia and petunia. I created four containers and these are growing so vigorously, I wish I had bought more.

The glasscrete containers in the center of the garden were planted with scented geraniums, trailing vinca and sweetpotato vine that will eventually trail over the side to cut down on the glare from the planters.

Almost immediately, people started using the new reading garden. No one smokes there now. A co-worker told me that the smaller containers were out of scale for the large space. That is true, but they are removed at the end of each season, so they must be portable. I need to create more mass without creating more weight.

Pssst

2009-06-18T03:26:00.004+03:00

.

Did you hear something?

It's Lisa's birthday!!

Hope it is a happy one, sweet girl.

Kiawah

2009-06-15T04:52:00.002+03:00

For your birthday, I wish we could spend the day at Kiawah.

In the morning, we would wake early to walk to the beach while the air is cool. Along the surf, sandpipers dart in and out of the water as we search for sanddollars and seashells. The gray-blue ocean stretches on forever.

In the afternoon, we stay indoors to escape the heat. We talk or read or nap in air-conditioned comfort. Hours later, the sky darkens and we hear thunder. The rain cools the sultry air and in the evening, we venture out again to window shop at the Straw Market.

Time goes on forever in an ocean paradise. I wish we had that time again at Kiawah.

June bug

2009-06-12T04:41:00.006+03:00

Once we lived in the same house, you and I, with more than a dozen others. Now we live in separate homes 600 miles apart.

Despite the crowds and miles and years, I often think of you in June, your warm and welcoming style, your quick smile and ready laugh.

I think of you in my garden.

The hostas in your garden on Tristam were magnificent. 'T-Rex' is a new hosta in my garden this year. The blooms are tall and strong but the folliage is no comparison to your 'Gold Standard.'

Orange dayliles and blue stokes aster seem to smile in a rare sunny spot in my garden. Opposite colors often make lovely combinations.

Common milkweed loves to travel and welcomes visitors of all kinds. In June, milkweed buzzes with bees on every sunny day. In autumn, monarch butterfly caterpillars use the foliage for food.

Chipmunks love to dine on lily bulbs. These have escaped notice, so far. These lilies bloom every year on your birthday.

I wish you a very happy birthday and a year of abundant beauty.

Intolerable cruelty

2009-06-10T17:05:00.010+03:00

While deadheading the columbine, I noticed a brown caterpillar clinging to a stem, it's body covered by the pupae of parasitic wasps. The caterpillar was motionless, past its misery, mercifully.

At dusk, I noticed a young bird sitting quietly in the neighbor's grass. He was a big fellow with black feathers and hooked beak. I watched and listened for his mother but he was alone. The next morning, the bird lay on his side, motionless. An ant crawled up his leg.

Nature can be so cruel.

When I looked today, the bird was a handful of black feathers tossed among clumps of green turf. That silent trace will be completely erased on the next mowing with the John Deere.

Green and white

2009-06-05T05:15:00.006+03:00

Soothing colors of green and white look fresh as the days turn hot in June.

Hosta albomarginata and Virginia creeper (Parthenocissus quinquefolia) get no respect from the horticultural community, but their tenacity in a difficult spot in my garden is much appreciated.

Bees adore the white racemes on the Virginia sweetspire (Itea virginica) but people love this shrub for its colorful fall foliage.

I once discovered a lush planting of goatsbeard (Aruncus dioicus) at a state park in Indiana. Last year, I bought two from Niche Gardens, but they struggled throughout our sultry summer. This spring, there is a lone survivor.

Hosta 'Francee' started life in a pot, but after a few years, she outgrew her home. I planted her in a hosta bed under a mature Japanese maple, a garden mistake. I rescued 'Francee' on her deathbed but she has made a fine recovery in a large pot under the dogwood

The small white flowers of the tall meadow rue (Thalictrum pubescens) are sweet, but this perennial is grown for the delicate foliage.

Hare

2009-06-02T05:52:00.005+03:00

Many small mammals call my garden home, among them, a clan of hares. Hares are born above ground in a flattened area called a form. They are born furry with good vision and can fend for themselves within a few days of birth.

Last week, beside the path to the concrete bench, I noticed a square patch of bare earth among the leaf litter and Virginia creeper. Upon inspection, I noticed a shallow cavity at one end. I looked inside but no animal was nesting there. Then my soaker hose caught my eye. An animal had chewed through the recycled rubber of the hose.

The following day, the leaf litter was returned to the space. I walk up the path every morning, hoping to catch a glimpse of baby hares in the nest, but I have never seen them.

Dark night

2009-05-29T06:14:00.005+03:00

I peered out the window, checking for fireflies, but the night was thick and black. The rain had stopped so I stepped outside into the gray fog. I walked down the driveway. A strong methane gas odor wafted from the daylilies. I shined a flashlight into the flowerbed and noted that the asters had been eaten.

As I stood there quietly, I sensed someone's presence among the azaleas. Fear rose within my chest. Suddenly, a young deer jumped back and ran down the street.

To cut off access to the garden, I backed the car midway down the driveway. As I walked to the house, I noticed the tender new plants purchased today for my container garden at work. As I carried them into the kitchen, I noticed a soft brown substance on the side of the petunias. It leaped off onto the floor and hopped away.

It is not easy to trap a toad. Eventually, I caught it in a dishtowel and moved it outdoors without damage. He stuck around long enough to be photographed. Good luck, little fella.

Deer

2009-05-28T00:57:00.008+03:00

In the morning, I smell them. Their scent floats along the fence on the East side of the garden. A musky smell, wild and dank.

I look for evidence. Phlox glaberrima 'Morris Berd' -- every pink blossom is nibbled away. Chartreuse foliage on yellowroot (Xanthorhiza simplicissima) is tattered and torn. Gumpo azaleas are trimmed into a tight ball.

Along the grassy path to the driveway, a branch on the dogwood hangs limply. The Johnny jump-ups, full of color yesterday, are nipped to the ground. The tender tips of the asters are roughly chopped. By good fortune, the daylilies and hostas are spared -- for now.

I have heard that deer love roses, thorns and all. Yet the ground cover roses along the street are ignored. If only 'Snow Carpet' would become a good meal, I could find the courage to replace them. I planted them 5 years ago to provide rose hips for the birds, unaware that ground cover roses form no hips. But despite my garden regrets, I do not welcome grazers.

I wish the deer family well -- a long and happy life. Living creatures need food to thrive. I hope they find plenty of nourishment in our neighbors yards.

Memorial day

2009-05-26T00:59:00.007+03:00

.

The garden is lush and green during the last week of May.

In the morning light, tall oaks shade the stone path to the door.

.

Johnny jump-ups at the front of the path were trimmed regularly by deer and rabbits throughout the winter. They explode with flowers in May but will flag in the sultry days of June.

The bleeding heart and purple heuchera make a striking combination beside hostas 'Sum and Substance' and 'Francis Williams.'

Near the end of the path, more hostas are protected by low sweeping branches of a Japanese maple.

A concrete bench invites rest in the shade beyond the hostas.

Remembrance.

21

2009-05-07T21:11:00.006+03:00

She would be 21 this year, she noted. I wonder how she'd be?

There was a long silence and when she spoke again, there was a catch in her voice.

When she heard the news, a crevice began in your mother's heart that deepened with every passing week. The sides are dark and jagged with sharp rocks. At the bottom is a salty river of tears.

Beautiful days in the month of flowers are the most difficult.

At 11, you were a serious student, a kickball champion and a help-mate to your mother. By 21, you may have remade yourself several times over. But you would be proud of your mother's new career, and you might admire the scholarly achievement of your sister, although you would have earned several of your own by then.

It was not your choice to leave, and we would have stopped fate if that were possible. There is still an empty seat at every dinner table, and in every reunion photo. But most of all, we miss you today, and wish you could stand beside us as we look at the ferns and hostas in your mothers garden.

Cinco de Mayo

2009-05-05T17:02:00.011+03:00

!Feliz cumpleanos a mi querida hermana,
hoy en 5 de mayo!

Prayer

2009-05-05T03:47:00.005+03:00

Blessed are those who are slow to anger
And quick to forgive.

Blessed are those who are gentle in spirit
And kind at heart.

Blessed are those who are merciful to children
And generous with parents.

Blessed are the peacemakers,
For they bring the kingdom near.

May blessings come to you today,
On your birthday, and always. Amen

Nomadic pond

2009-05-01T05:09:00.011+03:00

Every spring, I dig up my pond and move it.

Last year, I found the perfect site in the far corner of the yard, nestled among ferns and mosses and wild dayliles in a low spot, shady and cool on a hot afternoon. Flat stones circled the rim. Three pond plants and three small goldfish completed the habitat.

At the time, we were in drought, but a few months later, a hurricane slogged along the coast, kicking up 4 inches of rain within hours. The water puddled until it submerged the pond, which could no longer be seen.

In the deep water, the fish swam over the rim of the pond and hid amid the floating leaf litter, twigs and chunks of bark. They celebrated their emancipation, darting and diving in their expanded home, unaware that it was only temporary.

As the water subsided, I could see the rim of the pond. To rescue the fish from doom, I crouched in the mud, spaghetti strainer in hand, but the fish were adept at hiding among floating debris. They darted this way or that, avoiding the strainer, which in turn stirred up additional rubbish.

The fish enjoyed their freedom and didn't give it up easily.

In April, I moved the pond again and began contructing a rain garden on the low shady spot. As I do every spring, I vowed never to move that pond again.

Crickets

2009-04-23T04:18:00.003+03:00

The Chemlawn truck prowled around the neighborhood this week. People pay companies to spray poisons on their gardens. I hope for rain -- cool wet days to wash away the poisons before the chemicals complete their killing.

By late April, crickets sing their scratchy songs every evening. I walk down the driveway after dark and listen.

I pass the house to our West. The yard is completely silent. I continue down the street. The next house is also silent. The house after that has crickets. They are lawn people, but they also have two small daughters.

I continue the cricket inventory. Our neighbors to the East have no crickets. The next yard or two down the way is also silent, but at the corner, crickets are singing their happy tune.

Back in my own garden, I listen. So many crickets -- they make me smile. May they be abundantly fertile.

Purple

2009-04-22T06:12:00.005+03:00

In The Color Purple by Alice Walker, Shug Avery explains that the color purple is God's way of showing love. "I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it."

Tradescantia ‘Purple Profusion’
Spiderwort blooms for weeks in the spring, rests for a month in the hottest part of summer, then blooms again for weeks in the autumn.

Iris cristata
The crested iris is only three inches tall and disappears when the weather gets hot. A good spreader, there is a two foot patch of Iris cristata near the birdbath in the back garden.
This year, a hungry visitor nibbled the blooms off every iris except this one, which was hidden by a clump of bloodroot, Sanguinaria canadensis.

Viola cornuta

Johnny Jump-ups are so sweet. The yellow ones set off the purple ones nicely.

Everyone notices purple in my garden, thank God.

Goboon

2009-04-15T05:53:00.011+03:00

Discovery:
Members of my household are unfamiliar with the word "goboon."

Goboon?? Howls of laughter. Never heard that word before.

The peacemaker surmised that "goboon" is a colloquialism in common usage in the midwest among people of Slovenian origin.

But does "gah-BOOON" sound Slovenian? Not to me.

This a language that produced sounds like hoo-DEECH and GAH-teh, names like Dobroslavovich and Milharsic and Floreancig, where g's and c's always seem hard and j's run around wild.

Gah-BOOON. How to spell it is a mystery. Gah-BOOON could not be found in a dictionary.

Usage: There is a goboon of azaleas in the back garden.

There is a goboon of mayapples near the downspout at the corner of the house.

There's a goboon of bracts on the neighbor's dogwood.

Goboon. Wonderful word, and if it isn't one, it should be.

Highway

2009-04-11T02:07:00.012+03:00

In the middle of the night, the sound of the highway is a chorus of mechanical voices. Altos hum and tenors drone with an occasional rumble of baritone.

Low murmurs and mumbles and moans, with an enormous hollow echo, going on and on.

At 5:20, Amtrak passes by, sounding its whistle.

Last week, my daughter took her first train ride on Amtrak to New York. You should try it, she said. It was da bomb.

But I know no one in New York. In the middle of the night, I listen.

The dog wakes and walks to the door. Outside, the air is cool and damp with the earthy scent of spring. I walk down the driveway behind the dog, looking for deer, disappointed that the street is completely empty.

Garden tour

2009-04-07T04:42:00.006+03:00

A woman walked past our house and mentioned that she liked to see the changes that I make to the garden. I invited her for a tour, but she just walked on by.

My daughter Julia came for a visit and I asked if she would like a garden tour. She reminded me that I had just given her one recently.

I can't get anyone to take the garden tour.

Here's what they are missing:

In the front garden, spring wildflowers take in the sun while the tall oaks are still bare of leaves overhead.

In early April, Virginia bluebells are at their peak. They are among the earliest of bloomers.

Near the Virginia bluebells, the mayapples have just opened their umbrellas. Jacobs ladder can be seen in the background, but the wispy blue flowers do not photograph well.

Carolina jessamine invites visitors to the back garden.

Beyond the Carolina jessamine is my new garden bench, a birthday gift from my husband.

To the left of the new bench is a Asian hybrid azalea that refused to bloom for 10 years. Three years ago, I threatened it with a shovel. Finally this year, it bloomed for the first time.

When the flowers of the bed buckeye tree open, it is time to put out the hummingbird feeders.

The bloodroot is almost finished blooming, but this last pair reminded me of two beautiful daughters dressed up for Easter.

Happy spring.

I will survive

2009-03-28T03:57:00.005+03:00

Several weeks ago, I was cleaning the kitchen and a sports movie from the 80's came on TV. In a bar scene, one of the characters put a disco song on the jukebox. "I will Survive" is now stuck in my brain.

Every morning, I hum it when I walk the dog down the street. I sing it while I feed the fish and fill the bird feeders. I think of it often when I walk about my garden.

These roots from ironweed look formidable. This plant is never recommended for containers but I tried them in a large plastic pot for a few years. This plant is a survivor.

This penstemon planted itself beside between the concrete of the driveway and some composting leaf litter. I forgot about it this winter and swept up most of the dirt, but they hung on tenaciously. They will survive.

This winter, I covered Hosta 'albo-marginata' with a large stone, part of a mini-wall around my wildlflower bed. Today I noticed that the hosta pushed that stone out of the way. It will survive.

For many years, this woodland phlox was attacked regularly by deer. After hellebores were planted in front, the deer moved on. The phlox will survive.

These Virginia bluebells are growing through the WeedBlock that the landscaper installed under the river rock walkway. This year, they will bloom. And they will survive.

The jury is still out on Frances Williams, the hosta that my husband ran over with the van this week. Think she'll lay down and die?

Oh no not I.

I will survive.

Oh as long as I know how to love

I know I'll stay alive.

I got all my life to live

and I got all my love to give.

and I'll survive.

I will survive.

Spring begins

2009-03-20T01:25:00.005+03:00

First day of spring. I leave work promptly at 6:30 and rush home to see what has changed in the garden.

Five days of soaking rain awakened my favorite wildflowers along the path. The flowers in this patch of bloodroot are huge this year.

I love bloodroot -- ugliest of names for the loveliest of wildflowers. I see a bee land on the bloodroot and fly away disappointed. Poor bee. Bloodroot has no nectar.

Trilliums are another favorite. Deer love to eat trilliums and these are the only ones that have escaped their midnight raids. These trilliums have the common name "Stinking Benjamin," but they don't smell bad -- really, they don't.

Golden ragwort is another misfortunately named wildflower. Their bright rayflowers cheer up the last days of winter.

Virginia bluebells along the path start out pink, then turn blue, just before they open.

Late winter/early spring is about gentle showers and native wildflowers.

Water

2009-03-15T01:44:00.004+03:00

We were like water once. A deep pool overhung with branches of maple and birch. In the still water, we seeped into one another, silently, smoothly, easily.

Our thoughts were without thinking. Our voices spoke in chorus. We breathed one breath.

A boatsman entered our quiet pool, his motor cutting a wake into our still world. Waves lapped onto the shore. Our hearts no longer beat in rhythm. We felt a stirring in the cooler water below. We came up for air.

Now we are stones along the path, weathered in tones of ocher and slate.

Reflecting the cold light of a full moon.

Radiating the warmth of sun on a summer afternoon.

Touching, but just barely.

Snow

2009-03-02T18:11:00.007+03:00

The garden is peaceful in the early morning after snow.

The back garden:

The front garden:

Peace be with you.