In The Garden: 2012

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

FIRST VIEW

I stood on the deck behind our new home surveying the overgrown jungle that claimed co-occupancy of the property. The sun was just coming up but it would be some time before it cleared the tops of the towering trees to share its warmth.

Under more favorable circumstances this would have been a garden. The real estate agent had with a perfectly straight face referred to this region as a naturalized area and once I even thought I heard her mention the word forest. It is certainly true that there were trees, and lots of them, but a forest it was most definitely not.

My idea of a forest is one of flat or gently rolling terrain with a lush carpet of pine needles or soft exotic grasses inviting the weary traveler to rest beneath a shady hardwood while he observes the local wildlife. This would be the kind of idyllic setting where one might expect to see squirrels frolicking in the trees as chipmunk and deer scamper around in a playful and joyous manner. It would be like a scene from a Disney cartoon where weary traveler would drift off into a gentle slumber, soothed by the tranquil sounds of a babbling stream.

It is important to understand that in the northern Atlanta suburbs, a level building lot is something of a rarity and, unfortunately, one which we did not enjoy the benefit of. The sight before me did not, by any extended employment of the imagination, suggest gently rolling terrain. There was only a slope that pitched away from the back wall of the house at a treacherous angle, sliding off into the ‘naturalized area. It was not easy to assess the degree to which the ground sloped away nor was I able to determine how far it went because of the impenetrable foliage that blocked my view.

Before me was a tick tangle of vines, weeds, brambles, fallen trees and overgrown bushes that prevented me from discerning anything about the geography of the back yard, and made the idea of a hidden glade of pine needles and charming woodland creatures extremely unlikely. Huge trees emerged from this tight undergrowth and stretched upward to meet the sky, gently swaying in the light morning breeze and for the first time I noticed that some of the trees were uncharacteristically devoid of leaves. I had to conclude that they may not be particularly healthy.

As I watched and listened I would occasionally hear a loud rustling, accompanied by the sound of breaking branches. Unable to detect the origin of the noise, I feared the worst – my imagination running to imagery of a pack of hungry and ferocious mountain lion, herds of wild bear, and perhaps even a savage hog or two. Making a mental note to clean my gun I went inside for another cup of coffee

I should explain that until moving to Atlanta my wife and I had lived in Florida for over a decade. We had occupied a variety of houses situated in the densely populated urban sprawl of various concrete and stucco cities, consequently the postage stamp sized building plots were just large enough to build a house and park a car, so naturalized areas were a new and daunting experience for us.

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Stephen R. Drage
Author: MUD LANE

Thursday, June 28, 2012

JUNIPER REMOVAL

The next morning I woke and found myself praying for the sound of soft and soaking rain. The kind of rain that prevents any gardening projects from being undertaken or at least completed. Hearing none, I resigned myself to another day of back breaking labor and rolled out of bed. Completely without warning I collapsed into a heap on the bedroom floor. Apparently my body had its own ideas about avoiding garden work for today. I slowly assessed the damage, probing and prodding my tender flesh as I winced in pain. I felt as if I had just survived several rounds with a group of pro wrestlers, each armed with a baseball bat. My back was still reluctant to straighten out, my arms ached and as an unexpected bonus my left knee would not bear my weight without protests in the form of a searing pain just behind and slightly to the right of my kneecap.

I proclaimed a day of rest, most of which I spent psyching myself up to the ‘battle of the stumps’

Looking back I find it quite amazing that what I had originally supposed to be multiple small plants were in fact only three, probably placed into the earth a long, long time ago. They had stood the test of time, avoiding being consumed by dinosaurs and remaining steadfast while the first inhabitants of this land battled the elements to carve out an existence for themselves. And all the while they grew, spreading out to claim new territory. They had survived war and strife and trial by fire as General Sherman’s troops invaded this fair land, and they had become stronger from the ordeal, thicker and more determined. They had even prevailed against the ongoing progress of the twentieth century, avoiding the bulldozers and earth movers which are the henchmen of urban development, such a long history they had endured only to die at the determined hands of a would be landscaper, Sentenced to death by finger crusher for the heinous crime of being "too green."

But the project was now beyond the point of no return and the stumps had to be removed. I was pretty sure that I would be violating numerous local ordinances as well as sections of the homeland security act if I was to employ dynamite or some other high explosive substance to eradicate the stubborn stumps, and so with a great lack of enthusiasm I set to work with conventional methods

The first one only took two hours. Two sweaty painful hours of digging and tugging, straining and grunting as I attempted to wrestle it from the ground. The second one was more difficult and left me spent. It also claimed my shovel as a victim, as I tried to get some leverage by sliding the shovel blade under one of the larger roots. My expectation was that the force would cause the stump to surrender its grip on the dense clay and be wrenched from the ground. But it was the shovel that was to admit defeat and with a staccato crack the wooden handle snapped, but in relinquishing it life the digging implement had loosened the stump enough that I was able to remove it after just three short hours.

The third one was the worst. I had deliberately left it for last in the hope that a miracle would occur. I considered that it was possible that a kindly farmer would happen by and offer me the use of his tractor, or a bus load of Olympic weight lifters, lost in suburban Atlanta would, pause their journey long enough to volunteer their assistance. I even considered the possibility that a herd of deer would happen by and devour it, perhaps as compensation for the consumption of the cherry trees. But needless to say none of these things happened. .

For the rest of the day armed with only a hand trowel and a crow bar I loosened and removed as much of the surrounding soil as I possibly could and then I grappled with the root and pulled. And pulled, And twisted and tugged, and then pulled again. I was definitely moving but not coming out. I couldn’t tell what caused it to remain planted to the earth, but I carried on. I dug my heals into the dirt, bent over, grabbed the resilient wooden mass and attempted to straighten up my body. I feel sure that a chiropractor or a spinal surgeon would have advised me against such a strategy, but neither was present. I took a deep breath and strained a mighty strain, and for a moment I seamed that I felt some movement, but it was difficult to know for sure because just about then I began to lose consciousness. As the lightheadedness and delirium overtook me I experienced a fleeting vision of the roots extending down all the way thought he earth to emerge as another juniper plant somewhere just outside of a small Chinese village with an unpronounceable name. There an entire Chinese family would be gathered round their Juniper bush holding onto it for dear life as it descended into the earth.

There was a loud crack. Not unlike the sound of the shovel’s demise, but in this case it wasn’t the shovel. It was my back

By the afternoon of the forth day the stump was removed. I stood trembling before a pile of ruined tools, a feeble shell of a man, broken and bent, bloody but victorious. I surveyed the terrain before me. The juniper was at last gone. In its place was an expanse of brown uneven rock filled clay and at the location from which the resilient and overgrown juniper bushes had sprang forth, three large irregular shaped craters stood testament to a once proud shrub. All that remained was to convert this barren surface into something more beautiful involving the colorful plants. This would be no trifling accomplishment considering that current view looked more like a missile test range than a garden

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Stephen R. Drage
Author: MUD LANE

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

JUNIPER

“I don’t think that look very good”

This is how it always starts, with a casual comment from my loved one, suggesting that a landscape change be implemented. In this case the subject of her casual comments was about 200 square feet of Juniper plants. The principle objection expressed was that the garden appears too green, I pointed out that the brown spots of dead grass on the front lawn afforded some nice contrast but this comment was not well received.

It was pointed out to me that if the juniper was removed we might install some colorful plants in their place. I suggested that we should leave a border of the hardy shrubbery to provide a decorative band between the azaleas and the colorful plants, the species of which had yet to be decided. After a microseconds consideration this idea was also rejected. All of the juniper had to go.

At first I didn’t much like the idea of digging up what must be upwards of one hundred and fifty plants, after all my mission of late was to get things to grow not tear perfectly good plants out of the ground. But then an idea struck me. I could transplant them onto the bank where the dead hydrangeas lived, to replace the loriope that I would remove to create a lawn border; this would have the added advantage of supplying so much ground cover there.

So the very next morning at first light, before I had an opportunity to change my mind I stepped outside to begin.

It was now the end of August, and the temperature was a refreshing eighty five degrees so I prepared my customary gallon of iced lemonade picked up a small hand trowel and set forth. I stood a few yards distant and visualized the finished project. I find that this helps tremendously. Not only does it provide the necessary encouragement to continue, but it allows you to form a ‘plan of attack.” In this case, contrary to my wife’s drastic strategy, I would remove most of the Juniper but still leave my decorative border. I felt sure that I would be able to convince her that this was the right approach.

I approached the edge of the planting and lifted a tendril to find the root but alas no root was visible. I lifted higher but still could not ascertain the point at which the course shrub sprang from the earth. I next grabbed the branch with both hands and raised it as high as I comfortable could. It was heavier than I expected, and seamed only to be connected to other juniper branches. This mystified me and gave cause to reformulate my plan. I would take the finger crushers and chop away some of the larger parts until the root became visible. With each passing hour the branches became thicker and more resilient to the finger crushers efforts, but my trustee tool and I battled on, cutting our way through the offending tangled growth. And still no roots visible.

It was about one thirty in the afternoon when exhausted and drenched in sweat I collapsed next to my empty lemonade jug. My muscles ached, my hands were sore and in many places skinless, my head ached and my back seemed to be telling me that we would never walk upright again.

I have often found that when life has delivered all of the hardship and frustration that it seems the human spirit can endure, it is only then that a glimmer of hope is revealed, not to torment you with the idea that you will live on to continue cutting Juniper, but to give support and hope and just enough positive fortification to make you feel some sense of achievement, so that renewed with energy you are driven on to complete the task. In this case as I lay face down on the dirt sucking huge quantities of air into my burning lungs, the glimmer of hope came in the form of a ground level view of the juniper plantation’s underside, and there in the shaded gloom I could just make out the shape of a root. Energy rushed back into my lifeless form and I dragged myself up to carry on.

By the time the sun set, I had made significant progress, and stepped back to admire my accomplishment. I was standing on the very spot that I had occupied that same morning while performing my visualization exercise. Then the sight before me was of a sprawling field of Juniper, now the juniper leaves and branches were gone, and all that remained were three massive trunk like root systems protruding from the uneven dirt. Each trunk was a tangled and twisted conglomeration of roots with some pieces as thick as my weak and trembling legs.

I stumbled into the house and collapsed into a deep sleep, the last thing I remember thinking before I drifted into a deep and peaceful sleep was “thank goodness the difficult part is over.”

Stephen R. Drage
Author: MUD LANE

Monday, May 7, 2012

Deer Repellant

I walked down to the shed, but on the way something caught my eye. I gazed in surprised wonder at the newly planted crape myrtles. Two of them were showing signs of severe distress, with branches cracked and broken and some even torn off and missing. There was definitely something wrong here, I theorized that mayhem like this does not occur spontaneously and there must have been some interference with the fledgling plants. But what could it be? Was there some kind of deranged crape myrtle killer on the loose, a mad man who suffered some traumatic gardening accident as a child and now seeks revenge on innocent and unsuspecting plants. I thought it unlikely. Did a motorized vehicle lose control and smash into them? Lack of tire tracks in the lawn suggested otherwise. Could it have been children indulging in what they felt was a harmless prank? I felt that this was quite possible. I grew up in a rough area where children routinely engaged in behavior of this type, and although it was not very commendable for the youngsters in question, the children looked upon it as normal entertainment. It was certainly true that this part of town was not such a depraved socioeconomic region as the one where I was raised, but I believe that kids will be kids wherever they live. So here then at last was a plausible explanation.

Over the course of the next day or so I made a point of talking to my neighbors about this serious problem. If there were a group of recalcitrant youngsters engaged in garden vandalism wandering around the neighborhood we all needed to be vigilant. But my hypothesis was met with suspicion and doubt and I was assured by the area inhabitants that no such children existed nearby.

This problem tormented my for almost a week, until one day I happened to look out of the window and caught the perpetrator red handed, or should I say red hoofed! A large deer was casually chewing the leaves off the last of the crape myrtles. In an instant my anger rose up and my opinion of these animals changed completely from charming visitors to garden pests, destroyer of ornamental shrubbery and masters of landscape demolition. I ran outside but by the time I arrived at the crime scene, breathless and furious the culprit was long gone leaving only a trail of broken half chewed crape myrtle branches in its wake.

Looking around I began to notice subtle clues that I had previously missed. The occasional clump of lariope that had been eaten away or the indentations in the soft earth which now I realized could only be deer hoof prints. The mystery had been solved but the problem had not been by any means resolved and I knew that I had to take action.

I was beginning to understand why there were warning signs on the highways cautioning people about the deer, it was obviously to advise would be gardeners not to invest too much time trying to plant colorful and decorative garden elements, because they would most assuredly be eaten by these annoying animals.

What makes the habits of these bothersome beasts particularly annoying is that they are not happy just to eat something. If all they did was to select a branch, eat it, and leave they would perhaps be tolerable, but their dining habits are so appalling that they take delight in causing as much damage to this commandeered food supply as they possibly can. What they don’t eat they just break up and destroy. That’s just malicious. It’s deplorable and unforgivable and I was going to stop it!

While browsing the shelves of my local gardening store and nursery, a location where I seemed to spend increasingly large slices of my life, I noticed that there were some plants for sale that proudly displayed the unmistakable symbol of a deer contained within a red circle with a similarly colored bar diagonally across the image. Beneath the logo were the words deer resistant. ‘Resistant’ is an interesting word, and if you have ever experienced a tiny film of moisture on the inside face of a water resistant watch you will know that the word has little relevance. In my limited experience with these matters I have reached the opinion that a deer will eat anything if it is hungry enough.

So the game was a-hoof as they say, and I realized that the principle adage when about to engage in a battle of this kind was “Know thine enemy”

Stephen R. Drage
Author: MUD LANE

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Deer Spotting

Prior to taking up residence in Atlanta several of my friends had commented on the amount of wildlife in the area, of especial interest to me was the talk of deer, and I became quite excited at the notion of seeing one of these magnificent creatures in the wild. The day we moved in to the new house I expected to see an entire herd, assembled at the end of the driveway to form an impromptu welcoming committee, but there were none to be seen. I anxiously ran to the side yard – the only area with an unobstructed view of the property but still nothing. In the days that followed my wife and I dedicated considerable time and energy in recognizance work designed to spot one of these elusive beasts, but the time went by with no sign of any of the antlered animals. I arrived at the inevitable conclusion that all the talk of deer was simply a ruse, nothing more that a harmless fib in order to perhaps attract tourists to the area.

But on the fifth day after our arrival while driving down a quiet tree lined road I finally saw one. It was reared up on its hind legs with its front hoofs high in the air in one of those classic high-ho silver type poses. It was in perfect silhouette and its impressive antlers bore testament to its maturity and dominance. The only disappointment was that it was an image painted on a road sign. The bold black and yellow depiction was on a diamond shaped metal plate attached to a steel pole.

Now I have been driving long enough to know that a diamond shaped road sign means warning, but why I wondered was such an advisory necessary. My first thought was one of panic as I considered that perhaps these animals would attack without warning, springing from the cover of roadside bushes to assault pedestrians, but sanity regained its grip on me as I realized I was safe inside my car. I completed my journey without being molested by any wild animals which did nothing to allay my suspicion as to their existence, but on reflection had to admit that the road sign supported the argument made by the deer advocates.

I consulted my brother in law about the problem. He has seen many deer, usually from the vantage point of looking down a gun barrel at them, and although I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to kill such a beautiful animal I valued his opinion about these elusive nature dwelling species. He actually told me more about deer that I really wanted or needed to know. I learned of their habits, the best time to see them, their sleeping patterns and their diet. He told me that the best way to see them was to place something called a salt lick in my garden.

I did some research. A salt lick, as the name might indicate is a large block of salt that the animals lick. They weigh about 4 lbs, which is enough to provide flavor for about six trillion bags of potato chips. They provide sodium, calcium, iron, phosphorous and zinc, all being essential elements for animal bone and muscle growth. But there is a most serious downside to the use of these saline deposits. According to their labeling they also attract cattle, sheep, woodchucks, mountain goats, sheep, squirrels moose and elephants. I desperately wanted to see a deer, but the idea of such an exotic menagerie parading through my garden was far too much of a price to pay.

A few days later during one of my morning garden surveys I finally saw my first deer, a real one this time. There were actually three of them standing next to some overhanging trees. Disappointingly none of them exhibited the pose represented on the road sign, that classic rampant prancing position that you so often see on Christmas cards when they are pulling a gravity defying sleigh. Instead the large buck nibbled aimlessly on a tuft of grass as another walked slowly away from me surveying the ground with a ‘hey, where did they put the salt lick?” kind of expression on his face. The third one was motionless, statuesque, attempting invisibility through lack of movement. Deer are remarkably difficult to spot unless they are moving. They are well camouflaged in the surrounding growth, but once spotted they are a sight that charms the heart and delights the senses. Over the next couple of weeks we had several opportunities to see these magnificent animals and each time the experience was one of delight and wonder.

Stephen R. Drage
Author: MUD LANE