Veggies unveiled!

When I transplanted my cabbage and cauliflower seedlings out to the raised beds in early March, I decided to protect them with row covers, since the temperature was still dipping down quite a bit at night. In fact, we had at least one night in the mid- to upper-twenties, and the row covers did their job, keeping my babies safe.

I had written previously that I was wary about putting the covers directly over the plants, and had held them up with some wooden shims. Well, the shims fell down pretty quickly, and although a couple of the cauliflower leaves look like they might have been broken by the covers, in general I've decided that I don't have to fuss about keeping the covers up off the plants. Next year I probably won't even bother with the shims at all.

In any case—in typical Ohio fashion, the temperatures zoomed into the 80s this past weekend, and this time I was worried about baking the little guys, so I took the covers off. I was briefly tempted to leave them on since they also offer protection from bugs, but I decided to live on the edge and rely on my insecticidal soap should any bugs start nibbling.

Is it crazy to think that cabbage is cute? I love the way the leaves curl up, like cupped hands!

Now that the cabbage is uncovered, some of the pine straw that I put down in the paths between the beds has blown in and nestled among the leaves. I'm assuming that the heads will form as more and more leaves grow from the center, and I don't have to worry about encountering pine straw needles when I make slaw, but I've never done this before, so I'm not certain.

I am somewhat concerned about the cauliflower. The plants seem large and healthy, but they have not formed any heads yet.

I transplanted the seedlings out to the garden on March 7, and here it is April 28, and no heads! Early White Hybrid is supposed to be ready for harvest 52 days after transplanting, which would be now, and I've got zip! Are there any cauliflower growers out there with insights or suggestions?? If I'm not seeing anything in the next couple weeks, I'm just going to pull them to make room for the summer veggies. And add cauliflower to my list of things to avoid growing!

Not-so-plain Jane

I'm always rather amazed that magnolias grow here in Ohio at all. I tend to think of them as a southern shrub, not well suited to the cold winters and crazy freeze-n-thaw springs we have in this corner of the world. Nevertheless, many people in these parts do grow them, myself included.

We currently have two magnolias, one of which—Magnolia Jane—we added ourselves in 2007. Her first spring show in 2008 wasn't bad...

...but this year was much better!

The flowers start appearing in late March, and don't open fully until the weather gets warmer. Which is fine with me; I actually think they look better when they stay a little closed.

Jane is supposed to be a rebloomer, although I don't know what that means in the context of magnolias. In roses, I know it means I can expect flowers to come and go all summer. I've never seen a magnolia bloom in the summer, so perhaps it just refers to the fact that there's a second smaller flush in the spring after the first flowers have faded? There are a few more buds opening now, even though most of the first batch of flowers are gone.

Of course, even when Jane isn't blooming, she's an attractive shrub. Here she is in the summer:

The flowers have no particular fragrance that I've noticed; the smack-down winner in that category is my beloved Sweetbay Magnolia, which I'll write about when I have some better pictures to share.

Happy, happy hesperis

Our house in New York didn't have one square foot of land that got full sun, so I was constantly trying new flowers that would tolerate part/full shade, and one happy discovery was Hesperis matronalis 'Alba'. It looks a little like Phlox paniculata—it's about the same height, and the leaves and flowers are somewhat similar. As a bonus, it has a mildly spicy fragrance.

I wasn't as diligent about recording bloom times in New York as I have been now that we're back in Ohio, but I took these pictures in late May, and I do remember it flowering for several weeks. The tall stems benefit from support; I used some linking stakes to keep the gang together.

Since we have some shady spots in the yard here in Ohio, we decided to start some more hesperis and see how it likes the Midwest. I'm thinking the white flowers might look good next to the river birch.

The seedlings are doing quite well at this point.

Hesperis is a biennial. I don't remember if it bloomed the first year, but it definitely came back each year thereafter, perhaps self-seeding. I only recently discovered that it's considered invasive in some states, although Ohio is apparently not one. Which is fortunate, because we do try to be conscientious about avoiding invasives.

Syringa Story

I suppose I owe my life to lilacs.

My mother used to ride the bus to work, and one day she got on board carrying a large bouquet of lilacs. A gentleman tipped his hat and said, "You're a pretty little flower yourself, y'know." She told the story at work, and for days afterwards, the other ladies would ask, "Was Mr. Lilacs on the bus today?" Eventually they dated and married, and a little more than a year later, I was born! Would my father have worked up the nerve to talk to my mother if not for the flowers? We may never know.

I've had lilacs almost everywhere I've lived, and they do fine here in USDA zone 6, but I think they really prefer much colder winters. The most gorgeous lilacs I've ever seen—gargantuan shrubs densely covered with foliage and flowers—were in upstate New York. I hear they're also quite spectacular in northern Michigan. Nevertheless, the varieties I've grown in warmer climes have performed nicely.

Lilacs are a bit of a tease—the Gypsy Rose Lee of the plant world when it comes to blooming. I'm not sure exactly when the little leaf clusters encasing the buds first appeared this season, but they were definitely there back in December. Then ever so sloooowly, the leaves unfurl to reveal the tiny, tightly packed buds.

For weeks, the buds get larger and looser until finally, in mid-April, after months of hinting at the show to come, they finally reveal their inner flower.

It's a testimony to the hardiness of lilacs that they survive transplanting extremely well. At our home in New York (Long Island, not upstate), there was a mature lilac that was badly positioned near a deck, and our landscaper cut some of its older branches back and moved it to a corner of the yard where it would get more sun, and it took to its new site without complaint. (I don't know what kind it was, but the two smaller lilacs in front of it in this picture are Syringa 'Tinkerbell'—a dwarf lilac that, as I recall, blooms a little later than standard lilacs.)

When we moved back to Ohio, there was a large white lilac directly in front of our bedroom window, and we decided we wanted to see more of the yard than that one plant, so we had it moved to a corner by the screened porch. And like the other shrub in New York, it handled the relocation with ease!

This particular lilac didn't seem to have much scent at first, but it becomes quite fragrant when the weather warms.

R.I.P, departed friends!

While spring is usually a time to celebrate new growth, it's also a time to see which warriors lost their battle with the elements. This year we lost two David Austin roses in the sunny border. One was Falstaff, which we plan to replace with another red rose, William Shakespeare (no irony intended).

Another was Ambridge Rose, which we plan to replace with another pink, Scepter'd Isle.

I'm actually not sure if it was the cold this winter that did in the roses, or negligence on my part last summer. The roses in the sunny border were badly hit by black spot and dropped a lot of leaves, and I didn't get around to buying an organic fungicide until after the season had ended. But the other three roses in that area—Eglantyne, Benjamin Britten, and Alnwick—managed to come back nicely, so it's hard to say why those survived and the others succumbed.

I also would have expected to see some growth from my verbascum by now, but none is showing up.

Likewise, I saw growth from the Lisianthus earlier this year, but it seems to have disappeared at this point. (Yes, I know Lisianthus is supposed to be an annual, but for me it has behaved much more like a perennial—sometimes not flowering the first year, only to come back to grow and bloom for years aftewards.)

And my Coreopsis 'Sweet Dreams' is now a fond memory.

It's always hard to lose a plant that I've enjoyed, but it's all part of learning what will thrive in my own particular microcosm, and what is better left to other gardeners.

Amelanchier

Boy, I had to look that one up! I have never heard anyone use the Latin name for serviceberry. And a very serviceable shrub it is! Ours has just started to bloom.

Its small white flowers remind me of a Star Magnolia, but they bloom several weeks after that plant, so they're less likely to be killed off by a late frost. But they last only about a week anyway.

After the flowers pass, the branches are covered with small, oval leaves that turn yellow or rust in the fall. It ostensibly has berries, but I don't recall seeing any last year. We grow it mostly because it provides a nice vertical element in the garden, requires no maintenance, and offers both spring and fall interest.