Visitors are Welcome in my Garden

Build it and they will come, and did they ever, everything from a wild turkey to an opossum, and all kinds of creepers and flyers. Thirty-five years ago, my current garden was a typical suburban lawn. Lawns are perfect for kids to play on and dogs to run, and mine accommodated both at times, but it wasn’t long before the vegetable garden and a couple of flowerbeds went in. Those flowerbeds became a floral amoeba, bulging out, expanding and encircling the lawn until today there’s barely enough to keep a rabbit fed for a week. If they’d stick to the lawn, they’d be welcome.

I filled the flowerbeds with all manner of plants that thrived or died over the years as I experimented. I made my share of mistakes, planting things that behaved as though they owned the place. And then wildlife arrived that thought the same way.

I receive a lot of visitors, most of whom I welcome. I don’t much care for the slugs and snails, aphids, and mosquitos, but even they have a role to play, if only as a link in the food chain. I’ve had herons, groundhogs, raccoons, and recently an opossum that surprised me in the vegetable garden. I froze and it played dead until we both decided to go our separate ways.

Because my garden has never seen pesticides, I like to think all my critters are healthy. Only a few years ago it was the norm to spray everything that creeped or crawled without a thought to the importance of these creatures. However, most are beneficial in some way, as food for another or as a pollinator of plants. Some might not be so welcome, such as plant eating aphids, and yet even they’re food for ladybugs. The caterpillar or other insect that devours leaves is often a source of food for birds, especially when they’re also feeding bugs to their chicks. We might not like the less desirables, but without them we won’t have the ones we love to see, the colourful birds and butterflies.

My garden might be primarily for plants, but there’s a whole other world within it. There are hoards of essential creatures that dwell in the soil, at the bottom of the food chain that eventually links to us. It’s the bigger, visible ones that intrigue me. I often see something that is as interesting as the plants I grow. There are curious beetles that scurry beneath the leaf litter, unusual spiders, hoverflies, lacewings, butterflies, and some of the four hundred species of bees found in Ontario. All are feeding on plants and on each other, each one filling an important role in the ecosystem that is my garden.

My garden might be an oasis for me, but today I like to think it’s a haven for wildlife, too, and I’m happy with that. I might step out to inspect a flower only to discover a rare bug or an unusual bee or be startled by hummingbirds zooming in. Sometimes I’ll catch a glimpse of something furry and remember that it’s probably keeping the slug and snail population under control. In the pond are three frogs that help, keeping an eye on the water beetles and dragonflies during the day before going out on night patrol.

With a greater knowledge of the importance of wildlife in all forms, especially the ones that inhabit a garden, gardeners are now taking a different approach by adding more native plants to support beneficial insects. With a wide range of plants, a water feature, and an acceptance of the essential creatures that occupy a garden it is possible to create a balance where one group keeps a nervous watch on the other groups, with neither getting the upper hand. Nature was designed this way, to be in a state of equilibrium.

Yes, build it and they will come, but I really wasn’t expecting that opossum.

Winter Sowing

I’m going to sow seeds outdoors, this week — really. If you’re imagining me pushing a snow shovel across the veggie garden to get to the soil, forget it. I won’t be in the garden as most of the process takes place indoors.

I’ll be winter sowing, and compared to growing seedlings indoors or under lights, it’s less finicky and costs almost nothing. Winter sowing produces tough, sturdy plants, unlike the weak-kneed specimens grown on a windowsill. You can start tomorrow or anytime over the next couple of months.

Most annuals and familiar perennials, and cool season vegetables can be winter sown, but you won’t have any luck with tender plants or exotic species. A good choice are plants that are referred to as hardy, or come with instructions to direct sow outside in fall or in early spring. These are plants that would normally cast their seed in fall, and then sprout up the moment conditions are right. Sure, many may be considered weeds in the garden, however in my garden they’re more likely to be popular garden plants that I grew the previous year. I look on these as free plants — or grandchildren.

When we grow plants indoors, some seeds come with instructions for special treatment that simulates what they typically experience in their normal outdoor environment. They have to be soaked for a time or scarified, that is, nicking or using sandpaper to wear down the hard husk. 

Others have to be given a spell in the freezer for the purpose of cold stratification. This freezing and thawing or cool dampness outdoors is what breaks down the tough husk of the seed, allowing it to germinate. To reproduce the same process indoors can be tedious and not always reliable.  Winter sowing takes care of this naturally.

You’ll be pleased to hear there’s no need to go tramping through the snow, but simply plant seeds in jugs and set them on the deck or patio. All you need are a few clear or opaque containers, soil and seeds. Gallon jugs are perfect, and all those windshield washer jugs are fine, just rinse well. Some gardeners use two litre water bottles. I really like the large water dispenser bottles.

First, drill or cut a few small holes in the bottom of the container. This is to allow excess water to drain but not so large that the soil could fall out. If the container has only a very narrow opening, make a couple of extra holes or cuts near the top to allow for air circulation. Next step is to slice open the container about two thirds up on three sides, leaving one side (or a small section if the container is round) to act as a hinge.

Now place soil in the container. Garden soil is fine, but you don’t want to be out digging in the garden at the moment. Most any potting soil will do. Moisten the soil then sow your seed. Cover them as per packet instructions, or if unsure, about the same as the diameter of the seed. Close up the container and tape it shut along the sides but leave the screw cap off. Now all you have to do is set them outdoors.

If snow buries them, don’t worry. A little snow will fall in and that’s okay too, however, check occasionally to be sure the soil hasn’t dried out or become waterlogged. If the weather is especially warm in early spring, remove the tape and open the containers for a while during the day. As the seeds sprout in early spring, you can open them up and leave them open. When the seedlings are large enough they can be planted in the garden.

There, you’re almost gardening already. What a great start to the new year.

A Very Prickly Christmas

Maybe it was the six poinsettias I had to stare at for two hours and thirty-three minutes while sitting in a greasy waiting room as my car had its annual oil change, or the Vegas style Christmas lights that can now be seen from space. This must be why I've been feeling nostalgic for a time when decorating for the season was a simpler, heartwarming experience.

Every year at this time, when I was a little sprout, my dad would take us holly gathering. It was such an exciting event, gathering berry laden sprigs to brighten the house at Christmas. Of course, in those days we were blithely ignorant of the times ahead when Christmas decorating would be raised to a unique art form with plastic penguins, inflatable Santas, and flashing flamingos.

Each December we’d make the trek to our secret wood where the holly trees grew, hoping to discover a bounty of berries. We weren’t always lucky; some years there would be a good crop, with lush clumps clinging to each twig on the tree, while other years there would be hardly a speck of red to be seen. My dad always blamed the berry vultures — I don’t know if he meant birds or the people who’d been there before us.

Even in the best of years, only half the trees would bear any berries at all. Having only a limited understanding of procreation, we didn’t realize that only the female holly bears berries while, as usual, the male hangs around taking up useful space. Now that I’m older and wiser, I realize the lack of berries was likely due to SOMEONE not in the mood.

Nonetheless, collecting was never easy. Holly has wicked prickles, and you could be sure the best sprigs were always at the top of the tree, at the outer limits, barely within reach. Since we had no concept of a limb lopper, someone had to climb the tree.

“Go ahead, Dad,” I’d say, after yet another prickly plunge from the tree, “Show me one more time. Maybe next year I’ll be able to do it.” In this way the ancient tradition of holly gathering was slowly passed down through our family.

Yes, holly gathering was a challenge, but it was worth the struggle. At Christmas, friends and family would visit our home simply to admire our lovely sprig of holly, burdened with two, maybe three berries. Meanwhile, Mum would serve mince pies and Dad would lie on the couch, groaning, band-aids stuck to his face, a mustard plaster taped to his back.

Ah, yes, the good old days. I often wonder what Dad would have thought of inflatable Santas.

The Secret Superpower of Geraniums

The tiresome Japanese beetle has been busy doing its thing again, tormenting gardeners. The first time I encountered them in my garden I tried to look upon the Boston ivy as a greenish lace curtain draped over the fence. It didn’t work. There was no avoiding the realization that the leaves had been shredded by Japanese beetles.

Last year it was the hazel and by the time I noticed it was too late and the poor tree suffered the same treatment. There were just too many to deal with, and besides, they were out of reach. Other times these shiny brown and green beetles with locust-like appetites have appeared on my roses where at least they’re easy to spot and it’s easy to shake them off into a pail of soapy water. That’s about the most effective way to dispatch them. Sadly, for some gardeners, so many show up to feast they’d need to set up a dishwasher in the back yard and herd them in. So far this year I’ve only seen two and used the quick and simple squishing technique — ugh.

Maybe the winter was hard on the grubs, or enough lovely starlings fed well when on lawn patrol. That’s where the beetles begin their life cycle. After they’ve done eating, they mate, then the female lays eggs in a handy lawn, especially one where the where soil is moist. The following spring, eggs develop into grubs that feed on grass roots, pupate, then emerge as hungry adults in July and take off to the nearest food source, but only when conditions are right. They prefer to take flight when the air is clear, calm, humidity is high, and the temperature between 29 C and 35 C.

It’s at the grub stage in lawns where some control can be achieved by an application of nematodes, but to be effective, correct time of application, weather, and specific soil temperature must all coincide. Even then, it’s of little help if yours is the only lawn in the area to be treated.

You might be wondering why these voracious pests haven’t defoliated their homeland by now. In Japan they’re seen only as a minor pest, simply because of a difference in gardening culture. The country isn’t blanketed with lawns the way North America is, and that means far fewer places accommodate the lifecycle of the grubs.

There are traps available to limit damage, and they work extremely well, or sort of. They attract the beetles with two types of baits or pheromones, a sex one to attract the males and a flowery one to tempt both male and female. The drawback is they can attract thousands of beetles and as they pass over your garden on their incoming flight path, enough of them will stop off for a quick feed and anything else they might have in mind. No harm in trying with traps. Better still, convince all your neighbours to install a few.

The most effective solution, though not the easiest, is to gradually replace any plants and trees that the beetles are attracted to, and there are over 300 species. There are even more that they’ll never bother, and if that’s the route you choose to take, a quick search online will provide lists of both.

One
more possible way to limit the damage the beetles do, is to plant geraniums, lots of them. Research by a couple of scientists confirmed anecdotal reports that geraniums (pelargoniums) are toxic to these pests. After feeding on the flowers, the study showed the beetles became paralysed for up to 16 hours, however, it didn’t finish them off. When they recovered, they went back for more. Made them easier to pick off, I suppose, but it might take a lawn full of geraniums to provide any relief. Other anecdotal reports suggested the same effect occurred when beetles fed on flowers of bottlebrush buckeye (Aesculus parviflora), but when tested, no adverse effects were observed.

Nature does have a way of challenging us, so for now it looks like I’ll continue picking and squishing, at least until balance is restored.