Rose Tour 2011 Continued

More photos from the garden.

This exquisite semi-double is David Austin's 'Comte de Champagne'. It's only been in the ground for two years, where it's part of a grouping of peach- and apricot-colored roses.

I was the lucky recipient of a castoff. Some unfortunate person didn't have room for one of the most beautiful roses I've ever seen. 'Heaven on Earth'--well named!--is so laden with blooms right now that the young branches bend almost to the ground from the weight of them. A Kordes hybrid, it was introduced in 2003.

Roses, Roses Everywhere

There’s nothing like the first flush. It’s glorious. I usually write about my garden problems–you know, the unending and losing battle with nut grass, that stuff. But I don’t garden because of the weeds. I garden because there are days like today.

So today I’m just going to post some photos.

Probably my favorite Austin rose, and that's saying something! It's supposed to be a tall shrub rose, but here in the San Fernando Valley, it grows to the top of my nine-foot patio cover and then spreads out for six feet in any direction. Peach Blossom blooms and blooms and blooms. The flowers don't last long, they're not much good in a vase--but the fragrance is heavenly and there are always more in bud.

A rare solo shot of Peach Blossom. Usually the blooms are crowded together.

I love delicate, semi-double cup-shaped blooms. Peach Blossom is only one of many such roses in my garden.

Tomato Avarice

The day I plant tomatoes is a highlight of my personal calendar. I went to the first of the Tomatomania seedling sales, on March 25, and I was so good. So restrained. So disciplined. I only bought one more plant than I have room for.

Now they are in the ground, mulched with Bumper Crop for the moment (I think the bed as a whole will get a bale or so of alfalfa for mulch; I’ve never tried it before but a Nebraska farm boy of my acquaintance recommends it, and he should know) and protected from nocturnal nibblers with a misbegotten array of bags and burlap. It doesn’t seem to take much to dissuade the nibblers, but if I leave the plants unguarded, there won’t be a leaf left by dawn.

Pink Berkeley Tie-Dyed is supposed to be wonderful. Am I actually going to forgo Cherokee Purple in favor of it?

This year I’m experimenting with several new-to-me varieties. How could I resist one called Pink Berkeley Tie-Dyed? Missouri Love Apple. Big Mama–that’s a paste tomato. A small yellow one called Golden Girl. And in case my experiments don’t produce fruit, my favorite, Japanese Black Trifele, and Momotaro.

Then there’s Mr. Stripey. Mr. Stripey can be an extremely irritating tomato. The first time I grew it, it was wonderful, a delicious and beautiful bicolor that gave me tons of fruit. The next year it was…something else. Apparently at least half the time it’s labeled Mr. Stripey but it’s actually Tigerella. There are people who like Tigerella. I’m not one of them. Scott Daigre, Mr. Tomatomania himself, says he was promised that this is really Mr. Stripey and not Tigerella. We’ll know in about 80 days. It’s taken me five years to get over that last disappointment and risk the space on another try. (Okay, I’m not really over it. I’m still bitter.)

The one I don’t quite have a place for? Another bicolor, Gold Medal. According to the label, it bears one-pound yellow fruits with red streaks and grows well in cool nighttime temperatures. Um, yeah. Maybe I should find it a home with cool nighttime temperatures?

There is one tiny little hitch. My friend Nina is going to bring me at least three more seedlings. Seedlings of tomatoes I need.

Goldilocks Gardening

Trust me when I tell you this: It’s always too cold, too hot, too wet or too dry to work in the garden. It’s never just right. If I only gardened when it was just right, I’d do it about six days a year.

And that’s why I’m transplanting roses and irises and a bunch of perennials now. I should have done it in February, when the roses were freshly pruned and the irises were not getting ready to bloom. Oh, but it was raining then. And when it quit raining? You’re not supposed to walk in your beds when the ground’s wet because you’ll compact the soil.

I always get into trouble when I move things that have been cut way back. Oh, wow, I say to myself, look at all the room I have.

Yeah, right. Three months later I say to myself, Oh, wow. That gets a lot bigger than I remembered it getting. So I’m trying to leave space for that Teucrium fruticans–I know I should take it out, but I just can’t. I love its silvery foliage. I love its pale blue flowers, and so do the bees. I love the way it looks with ‘French Lace’ and cupid’s dart and ‘Hemstitched’ irises. So I’m putting it in the only possible spot, and I’m pretty sure that by July I’ll be sorry I didn’t break down and remove it entirely. Either that or I’ll look at floating above the irises in the twilight and love it even more than I do now.

Occasionally, something in the garden is just right.

The Weeds That Bloom in the Spring, Tra-La!

Peach blossoms--sure sign of spring

Second week of March. A week ago we had sleet. Today it’s 83 degrees–because I do still have some daffodils, which bloomed after our last daff-frying heat wave. But it’s definitely spring in the San Fernando Valley. The scent of pink jasmine is everywhere. The magnolia is abloom, the stocks, the peach tree…

Pink jasmine--it's an imperialist, trying to take over the entire yard, but I forgive it everything when it blooms.

And guess what? Nut grass is germinating in the beautifully sifted soil of my new lawn area. I’m shocked!

I'm shocked--shocked!--to discover nut grass germinating in my garden.

I would accuse myself of wasting my time were it not for the new vegetable bed I’m creating by cutting down on lawn area and moving ornamentals. Eggplant? Cucumbers? We’ll see….

And come fall, I’ll be putting in that new peach tree.

Sifting Soil

I have a confession to make. My war with nut grass has taken a turn for the truly lunatic.

It started when I decided to dig up the patch of weeds in the backyard that we casually call the lawn. I thought I’d turn the soil over, take off the top layer of weeds and rake it smooth so it would be easier to mow. We use a push mower, so ease counts. (Why do we use a push mower? We have so little “lawn” that there’s no point in even thinking about a power mower. And when we do think about a power mower, we think “noise” and “noxious fumes” and “ugh.”)

It's pointless, but I can't stop myself. I'm sifting nut grass tubers out of the backyard.

And so I started at the western edge, next to ‘French Lace’ and my ‘Hemstitched’ irises. I stuck the spade in the ground and turned over…nut grass roots and tubers the entire depth of the spade. The wretched stuff went down at least 10 inches. Disgusting. Disheartening. And that’s when I lost all sanity.

I turned over most of weeds to let them dry out a little and I got out my garden sieve–and I began to sift the soil in the backyard. Why do I have a garden sieve? I ordered it six or seven years ago from Lee Valley Tools for the express purpose of sifting nut grass tubers out of my tomato bed. At least I was planning on growing food there. I don’t have any such excuse with this lawn area.

I’ve been at it now for about three weeks (with time out for painting the new patio cover, but that’s a saga for another day). I’m about two-thirds done.

Here’s the thing: I know it’s essentially pointless. I know that however many roots and tubers I remove, I’ll never get them all. I know that at best all I’m doing is slowing down the nut grass. In four years, five tops, it’ll be back, just as dense as it is now. That’s what happened in the tomato bed.

A garden sieve in use. Rational people use it to get pebbles out of their garden beds.

The good news: now that I have all this nice, sifted, clean, beautiful soil, I’m rethinking the western side of the garden. I’m going to move ‘French Lace’ and the irises in about three feet. I’ll put ‘The Nun’ where the irises are now. The teucrium might have to go. And then…then I’ll have room for another peach tree. Who the hell needs lawn anyway?

Garden Envy

The Getty is a photographer's delight--there are lots of opportunities to frame a few.

I love the central garden at the Getty Center (the one in Sepulveda Pass, not the villa in Malibu). It is formal and informal, highly structured–and in winter you can see all of that structure because very little is flowering.

We paid a visit to the garden a week or two ago, on a spectacularly clear day: The sun was blazing on the Pacific and we could see Hellen’s house…I mean, the San Bernardino Mountains, as well as the nearer San Gabriels.

The color range of the plantings has always been carefully selected, with an emphasis on oranges and reds and russets, but

A view like this is almost enough to make me rethink all those roses in my garden.

they have added a gorgeous array of succulents in response to the drought and water rationing here in L.A. I’ve never been that fond of succulents, but they had some examples that have me rethinking my bias. The beautiful selection of phormium reminded me of how much I love pink-leaved flaxes. I might have to break down and find a spot for one or two–if I can locate one that won’t become a giant in my garden, where normally modest-sized plants have been known to assume gargantuan proportions. (Or die for no discernible reason…and, yes, I am talking about that ‘Apple Blossom’ Leptospurmum.)

When we were there, a crew of four was weeding and pruning. Now, that’s something to really envy! A crew of knowledgeable gardeners–wow. And yet, with all that knowledge plus a fabulous budget, some of their sweet

The azalea maze and a bare ruined choir.

peas were keeling over just like mine. My jealous heart unkindly rejoiced.

You can find info on visiting the Getty Center here.