Browse published articles attributed to Francis Rosenfeld, with full-archive search.
It is amazing what special status roses have in gardens! A gardener will move a tree, completely restructure a flower bed and change the location of a patio before they decide to touch an established rose. New homeowners who inherit roses plan their entire gardens in ways that feature and complement them.
At the most basic level there are three types of soil: sand, loam and clay. Most soils are a combination of the three, in various proportions. Every soil type has qualities and defects. Sandy soils drain very well, they are easily tilled and provide optimal conditions for the development of root vegetables. They are nutrient poor and dry up easily. A variation of this soil is silt, which is the worst of both worlds: it has the small particle size of clay and the looseness of sand, all the defects and none of the qualities. This soil is practically unworkable unless amended.
Here is next year's garden, well, at least part of it, anyway. The seeds will go into labeled little bags and wait for spring. The pepperco look-alikes are four o'clock seeds, the tiny grains spilling from capsules belong to nicotiana, the red fruit is a "Hansa" rose hip and the rest is a mixture of Chinese forget-me-nots and delphiniums. Last but not least, the bean pods are sweet peas.
Talk about unbounded, here is to the endlessly growing morning glory, swirling around supports and draping over hardscape, deceptively strong with its springy vines weaving an intricately detailed and highly redundant veil the color of the sky. The braided loops that clamber trees shy away from the extremes of the weather, saving their huge trumpet shaped cerulean flowers for just the crisp bright morning.
I know that Jack in the Pulpit is not the only living thing that changes genders in order to adapt to its circumstances, but I still think it is a cool enough fact to mention. The plant starts out male and if in time it finds its location accommodating and its nutrient supply adequate, it becomes female and produces fruit, beautiful red berries that pepper the forest floor throughout the summer. If over its lifetime it stumbles upon a lean year it will turn male again until conditions improve.
I know, when you think cooking herb, lemon verbena is not the first plant that comes to mind. A lot of people, especially here, up north, where it is not winter hardy, may not be familiar with this wonderful plant, so I'll do the honors. It has the fragrance and taste of lemon zest, with just a hint of green herb, and it can be used in any recipe that asks for lemon flavor, from meat stews and salads to fish dishes, candy or sophisticated desserts.
So, since I brought it up, a little more information about soil pH. The alkaline soil is quite easy to recognize, it’s usually clay, heavy, and out in the open, away from any large trees and shrubs, whose annual leaf drop helps acidify the soil. It tends to dry out on the surface, but deep down it keeps moisture better than other soil types, and plants who had time to develop a good root system thrive in it. It is usually found in the open plains and arid areas.r
The most important characteristic of perennial flower beds is tough soil. Their residents, once established, don't take kindly to being disturbed, and as much as you try to dig around their roots, the dirt tends to get much harder than it would in an annual border. This is both a good thing, because many plants really thrive with more weight on their roots, and a bad thing, because heavy soil tends to drain poorly and make weeds harder to pull. If you are a plant propagation enthusiast, mulching is not an option because it can be very damaging to young seedlings.
A shaded corner isn't usually the gardener's dream, but the challenge of creating abundance in an otherwise barren and uninspiring spot is impossible to resist. Fear not, eager green thumbs, for the effort you put forth into finding out what would grow in less than ideal conditions brings with it the prize of a relaxing nook for the sweltering summer days.r
Plants that grow in pots on the window sill like pretty much the same things as the ones cultivated in the garden: a good amount of natural light, sufficient water and a little bit of help in the form of fertilizer every now and then. That being said, indoor plants have their own set of needs that have to be addressed in order to keep them healthy and, fingers crossed, blooming, and they are as follows.
Most suburban dwellers don't have the space and the sun exposure required to grow pumpkins, the big round fruit has a sprawling growth habit and an unruly disposition that doesn't endear it to its tamer vegetable companions. If you still want to grow pumpkins, here is how: pumpkins appreciate humus rich soils that hold water well but don't get soggy, a good amount of organic fertilizer, warmth and plenty of sunshine.
Every spring I plan on planting more annuals and every summer I fall short of the desired effect. At least this year I have an excuse: after clearing up the shrubbery from a large portion of the front yard, the design of a new perennial border became a priority. There seems to be a quiet understanding among the plants that every year a precious few will get to shine while the others considerately fade into the background. It's not something you learn from gardening books, the garden teaches the gardener a thing or two over the years.
There are many traditions, myths and folk tales associated with the summer solstice, many of which involve the herbs and plants that bloom around this time and whose medicinal and aromatic properties are said to be enhanced when gathered on the eve or morning of the solstice.
Whether rose pruning is best done in the fall or spring is a matter of preference. I usually leave it for spring, for some reaso I feel the plants will fare better over the winter if they keep the growth from the previous year. If you do choose to prune before winter, do so, keeping in mind that you’ll have to go back to them in spring and clean out any canes that had suffered winter damage.
The peonies would have bloomed by now, the buds have been ready to burst for more than a week, but it is so unseasonably cold, weird May weather! Temperatures in the fifties, I almost have to question the wisdom of moving the basil outside, it looks miserable. Peonies are the object lesson for why gardeners benefit from being patient. You don’t get this cascade of blooms from a plant that doesn’t ask anything of you until you put a few years into it. Three, to be specific.
You will not believe the level of chaos nature can impose on a reasonably well tended garden in three weeks. It took the plants that long to look scary and me one week to salvage the back yard from the wilde ess. Five foot tall weeds, cracked nutshells, broken branches, vines grown out of control, covering pathways, grabbing onto everything in sight and smothering their defenseless neighbors. And this is the extent of my whining. Seriously, it was offensive.
Speaking of wonders of the plant world, how amazing is it that a Pennsylvania Smartweed, a plant that only thrives in boggy sites, decided to pick the drought summer of them all to beautify my garden. Graceful and delicate, it keeps good company to the broad leaved nicotiana that undoubtedly protected its roots from the scorching heat.
Stinging nettles are quite amazing plants, full of qualities both medicinal and nutritional, but who cares when their blistering touch burns like judgment and brings you to tears?
I got the candy, and the pumpkins, and the scary ghoul costumes, we're all set for trick or treat. The garden path decorated itself in expectation of little guests. Well, technically I was too idle to clean up the fallen leaves, but I recently renewed my committed to a positive outlook on life and refuse to see it that way. I'm trying to ignore the hibe al light, or lack thereof, that puts a chill through the bones for no other reason than a rodent inspired instinct to settle into a cozy tree hollow and stockpile nuts. Ugh, winter.r
The rain started right before midnight, with a soft, somewhat tentative thunder announcing it from afar, almost as if it was asking itself whether or not it had the right time. I listened to it for a while, reliving a memory. The sounds, the scents of rain, removed from sight, speak to the soul in the same way your favorite old sweater comforts you, without you even being aware of it, that sweater you can grab from the closet without looking.
There is a time around the middle of July when the garden looks absolutely resplendent. It feels like every flower is in bloom, competing for attention. The late spring blooms haven’t faded yet and the some of the late summer ones decide to show up early, so there is a surreal mix of seasons that coexist in harmony before my very eyes: delphiniums, lilies, salvias, roses, daisies, bee balms, cone flowers, catmints, lavender, yarrow, spider flowers, black eyed Susans, day lilies, hostas, coral bells, and last, but not least, giant clumps of fragrant garden phlox.
Even though the three basic sun exposures are full sun, part sun and shade, the last one comes in so many variations, all with their own little quirks, that it deserves a full chapter all to itself.r
I always have a few pots of herbs on the balcony, which get to bask in the sunshine all summer long. Contrary to my expectations, herbs are not the kind of care free plants that will forgive you if you forget to water them, not even the drought friendly rosemary.
I'm always in awe of the energy that propels fall bloomers to spring forth flowers, often weeks or days before the first frost. There are so few of them, and understandably so. I'm not talking about the frost tender plants from warmer zones that act as annuals in cold climates, those whose winters were supposed to be mild but had to surrender their natural growing cycles to the whim of the hardhearted northern gardener.r
I can’t get over how beautiful these flowers are, and am so happy and proud to have them in my garden. Their eerie hooded flowers, decorated with elegant stripes that make them look like custom wrapping paper are, indeed, the packaging, called the spathe. The inflorescence, which contains male and/or female flowers, is the spadix inside it.
The country garden relies on scent just as much as it does on color and texture. Gertrude Jekyll popularized this garden design, praising the care free style of cottage perennials.
I know gardening wisdom says that most herbs thrive in poor soils, category that always includes clay for some reason, but in my experience that is not true. Many ‘poor soil’ herbs can’t be bothered to last a whole season in clay, not to mention come back the following year. For instance, throughout a whole decade of gardening I haven’t managed to keep thyme alive long enough to witness the end of summer. Chamomile lasts even less. I’ll make a list of plants that thrive in clay with very little effort, sometimes to the point of becoming invasive.r
If you were wondering what the color mauve looks like, exactly, it's the color of French mallows. We know that because this flower, mauve des bois, gave the color its name.
Us hopeful rosarians have to admit that roses are not just another pretty flower. There is something very special and noble about them, the older they are the more rare and valued their flowers and often the more persnickety they get. Here are some cultivars to test your rosarian mettle. Plant only if you are willing to dedicate a lot of time to these cherished heirlooms: -Souvenir de la Malmaison, a delightfully fragrant bourbon, feeling very at home in warmer climates, not so fond of winter. Susceptible to black spot, needs winter protection.r
Toad lilies are the last flowers of the year, at least in the garden. They start blooming mid-October, to keep company to the already brown seed heads of the sedums, and they stay in bloom until November, braving the first frosts. People tend to associate bulbs with spring, and ignore their potential in the garden during summer and fall. I really miss the Casablanca lilies, I don’t even know if they reached the end of their natural life cycle or succumbed to the unforgiving winter, but they all vanished one year, for no apparent reason.
My lovely itinerant snapdragons! Anticipating their next location is one of my favorite gardening activities. I am not sure why this particular plant likes to change its location, but it does so with a fluid path of movement devoid of the randomness of tomatoes or nicotiana in its slow travel through the garden.
The amount of time I spend contemplating the fresh seedlings in the starting tray would probably irritate an action oriented person. I would likely have some difficulty explaining to that person the wonderment of seeing the first set of leaves emerge, or the excitement of watching the tiny shoots develop from delicate strands barely hanging on to life to healthy plants ready to withstand whatever circumstances bring.r
If you thought February is when the gardener has nothing to do but wait for spring, that would not be correct: February is planting time.
If I knew how much I would enjoy purple beans, I would only have planted those to begin with. Besides being an attractive feature in the garden, they taste better and are not stringy at all, which is a blessing. Of course the purple color turns green in the pot, but that's beside the point.
Ajuga reptans, bugleweed, is a fail proof groundcover for any sun exposure or soil type. I started with its Latin name because I always thought it sounded more patrician and better suited to this plants' sophistication. I love bugleweed, it is a versatile plant which helped me bring back to life several locations with dry shade where few other plants thrive. It tends to get invasive when it has full sun exposure and rich soil.r
Between the forty five degree mornings and the eighty degree afte oons, I don't know if I'm coming of going anymore. So much so that I had to look at the calendar to remember it is almost time to plant spring bulbs. Or not. Good gardening practice advises to plant them after October 15, but if it's still warm they get confused and I don't want a garden full of tulips at the end of November. I guess I'll wait a little longer to plant them, I doubt the soil is going to freeze any time soon.r
I honestly can't warm up to this plant; I appreciate its warm and golden chenille panaches at the beginning of fall but loathe its unbelievably depressing wet hay appearance in spring. It looks pretty for exactly three days, right before the velvety seed heads open, and then it turns into fluff in the wind and oddly sticks out of the snow, purportedly to provide winter interest in the garden for the next six months.
If you have established perennials, they are a readily available source of new plants for your garden.
There must be a hive somewhere in the neighborhood, because bees visit my garden very often, to gather nectar from their favorite flowers. Sedums produce an abundance of it, and their small flowers make an insect's work a little easier. Did you know that a worker bee lives just forty days over the summer and during all this time of collecting nectar it only manages to gather a twelfth of a teaspoon's worth of honey? I feel guilty now, just thinking of all the times honey dripped off the bread.r
I plant morning glory every year. Always in the same spot, always the same variety - Heavenly Blue. I forget about it after I plant it, it is slow to start in spring and its foliage gets lost in the jumble when the mid-summer growth takes over the flower beds. Come August, its growth accelerates enthusiastically, especially if summer rains have been plentiful, and it swallows up its supports, clambering eagerly to the highest point it can find, and only there it starts to bloom.
Every year the generous tomato plants bless us with an overabundance of fruit that doesn't have the chance to ripen before the first frost. Tomatoes take their sweet time to figure out how to bear more and more fruit and their best and most abundant yield goes so far into the fall they don't have time to finish it. For any of the tomatoes that started ripening even slightly, just keeping them on a countertop in your kitchen for a few days will turn them into salad fare. They may not be as tasty as the ones that ripen on a vine, but will still be juicy and delicious.
Speaking of purple plant pigments, the ones in opal basil are responsible for turning aromatic vinegar a beautiful shade of rose, I always look forward to preparing some during the summer. For all of us who enjoy this lovely herb it will come as a shock that the Greeks believed it to be driving men to madness. It is associated with the basilisk and folk tales say one needs to curse and rant when planting it, in order for it to grow, because it is an herb of hatred and anger, born of the scorpion's poison.
Rosemary is the memory herb. This is both a fact and a metaphor: the smell of rosemary improves retention and concentration, and its stems were traditionally offered as tokens of devotion, especially between lovers who were driven apart. I don’t know if it works for memory and concentration, but I became fond of its fragrance, which is both sharp and soothing. For some reason it reminds me of rain, a strange memory association for an herb that thrives in dry soil, on sun baked cliffs.
A resilient weed, native to the Northern Hemisphere, yarrow grows wild in open fields and along the sides of the roads, and had only recently acquired the privilege of being cultivated in flower gardens. Don't judge this humble herb to be ordinary, Achillea millefolium is a well documented medicinal plant, astringent, anti inflammatory and tonic, but above all it has a special gift: it is a hemostatic.
Summer garden maintenance usually goes unnoticed, masked by the fervent activity of the plants themselves at the peak of their vegetative cycle. Because this is the season when a lot of the perennials rush to bloom, you don’t notice any glitches in the life of the garden unless you happen to fall behind on any of the following activities, in which case the charming haven of renewal immediately turns into an unkempt abandoned wasteland:r
Today I was out in the garden before dawn and I watched the crescent moon fade slowly into daylight as carpets of clouds moved very fast across the sky. Slowly the birds and the moths started to emerge from their nightly hideouts, eager to catch an early meal before the morning rush.
A perennial garden is an aggregate entity, not a discrete collection of plants. There is a surprising amount of inter-dependency that needs to develop between the neighboring plants, an adjustment that takes years and happens mostly underground.
The quintessence of romantic imagery, the Bourbon rose! There is an unspoken consensus among rosarians that roses are the crowning glory of botanical creation. No other plant was capable of achieving this status and no one ever will, even though many classic perennials, such as peonies, clematis and chrysanthemums have their fair share of fans.
People ask gardeners all the time why they waste so much time and effort on a pursuit that at any scale smaller than a farm yields so little benefit? Green thumbs may be blindsided by the question, shrug their shoulders and keep on with the activity they were engaged in, for how can one quantify that feeling of achievement, that inner knowing that one's own hands have helped, even if in a very small way, bring out life from the depths of the earth?
I woke up this morning to a wispy snow flurry, the thin and icy kind that comes about when temperatures drop too low. Eighteen degrees, to be precise. It settled, unsure, in a thin, powdery layer that still lets the ground show through. I almost hesitated to disturb the pristine cover when I went out into the back yard to put seed in the bird feeder. It doesn’t feel cold, though, I don’t know why, just eerily quiet and still, like it is in winter sometimes, as if the thin layer of snow absorbed all the sounds.