Tear down the wall...and rebuild it

A rare jewel in the crown of life is being surprised, right? It's especially nice when that surprise exceeds expectations.

Let me elaborate. I've lived in my house for twenty years, so I figured I knew just about everything there was to know about the place. The good: its turn-of-the-century charm and generations-old plantings (I like to think someone's loving great-grandmother christened the place with the rose bushes on the property's perimeter). The bad: the constant upkeep and idiosyncrasies, like the poor drainage in the back and side yards, no matter how many pipes we maze around the house, and the way water finds its way around our chimney regardless of the extensive mortar pointing my husband has layered around the bricks. The ugly: unfortunate renovations by previous owners, like the linoleum kitchen floor and house addition that neglected to incorporate a front door (these have long since been corrected, thank goodness!). Through it all, I've developed a bond with my property--a decades-long friendship, you could say.

Last week, my "old friend" surprised me with a fantastic, unexpected gift: a rock wall that I never knew existed. While digging along the back corner of the property, trying to level the ground around the forsythia hedge in order to incorporate a nice, tidy place to stack wood, I hit a large rock. Then I hit another one. And another. The rocks were a nice, flat, rectangular shape. By rock number six I was pretty sure I'd struck a gardener's version of buried treasure. By day's end I had dozens of beautiful, stackable rocks. They were not all easy to extract from the earth, since they were about 8 inches down, and many tree roots had actually grown on top of them, but the effort was well worth it.

Time to build myself a new wall. But how to stack up the stones so they'll last through the next few generations? Time to go "old school" via a bit of high-tech help: YouTube. After viewing half a dozen how-to videos, I got the gist of it, and tried it out myself. Here's how:

I separated the stones into four groups: large base stones, medium-sized flat and chunky stones, small rocks, and mid-sized flat, smooth-sided stones to use on top of the wall as capstones. I then set to work, laying out all the boulders and other large stones along the perimeter of my driveway. Next, I created a corner by "weaving" flat stones on top of each other (one stone with the pointed end facing east and the next stone's point facing north, then repeating the process).

Next came the flat and chunky stones, moving each piece around over and over again until it "locked" into place (making sure nothing wobbled). It reminded me of fitting puzzle pieces together. I was careful to ensure there was no shifting of stones as I placed them. If I couldn't get a rock to lock in, I temporarily discarded it. This part took a long time to complete. When I finally finished this step, I took handfuls of the small rocks and pebbles and stuffed the into cracks between the larger rocks. The stones acted as a sort of an organic glue, keeping uneven edges supported.

Finally, I finished the wall with the slim, smooth-edged capstones. Then I stood back and admired the fruit of my effort, and smiled, with the oft-quoted line from Frost's most famous poem running through my mind: Something there is that doesn't love a wall....

Pet peeves

There's a certain sound that signals Spring in my yard...well, actually, it's a buzz. The pieris off the front porch (also known as Japanese Andromeda), bursts forth with it's tiny bell-shaped blossoms (which look strikingly like lily-of-the-valley flowers), and the bees head to it in droves. I'm not kidding, so many bumbles stumble around it's branches, drunk on sweet nectar, it makes the whole tree hum. I call that pieris The Bee Tree.

Yesterday morning I walked the front yard accompanied by the strains of that continuous hum, and I too, made a bee line (couldn't resist the bad pun) to The Bee Tree to take a few shots. The photo above is a close-up of one industrious nectar-gatherer, though all the bees let me get within a few inches of them. When the pieres is in bud, little else matters to my tiny striped friends. We enjoy nature's bounty together.

That got me thinking about the other inhabitants of my yard. I've often joked that our little plot of land is like a wild kingdom, with all manner of untamed insect, amphibian, reptile and mammal eventually making its way inside my house, but the truth is, I enjoy them immensely when they are just where they need to be: outside my four walls.

I've always had an abiding affection and respect for animals, but I've seldom longed to own them--unlike my daughter who at one point or another has seriously checked into getting herself an assortment of critters that would rival Noah's ark. Among the candidates for her personal pet search: pot-bellied pig, lop-eared rabbit, hedgehog, de-skunked skunk, baby goat, angora cat, just about every type of dog breed, chicken (two of them, she would name Chick and Dick), hamster, exotic bird, guinea pig...you get the picture. And her quest DID land a few furry inhabitants within my home. I can now claim, or have claimed in the past, two miniature hamsters, three shih tzu pups, a lhaso apso, two domestic shorthair cats and that too-cute-to-pass-up lop-eared rabbit (okay, so I am not totally immune to the lure of pet ownership).

Here's the thing: I think that we humans just can't help our need to control things. Of course this can be a good thing. We guide our careers, pay our bills and keep our homes tidy, ensuring our world is not ruled by chaos. But we just can't help ourselves, can we? We have to be the masters of our--and everyone else's--fate. We take on pets because we truly do believe that we can do a better job than Mother Nature. And often we discover, too late, that we can't. That's why pythons are set into the U.S. woods to fend for themselves in unfamiliar territory, turtles and fish from other areas of the world are dropped into local waterways to decimate the natives, and shelters are full of unwanted animals of every size, shape, color and species. Conversely, animals that offer no value as pets are promptly sent away, sometimes violently. I've heard tales of squirrels, raccoons and bears being shot at with BB guns--and worse.

There's a better way. A simpler way. Share the world with animals rather than trying to own them. You wouldn't try to tame a flock of birds landing on your back deck, or a skunk snooping around your back yard stream. But you shouldn't try to chase them off, either. If we all switched up our thinking a bit, and realized that the natural world all around us is good enough to share its magnificence, what an honor for us to accept the gift.

We can do our part. Buy a few bird feeders and fill them up each week; create a pond for local creatures of all kinds to drink from and frolic in (and don't clear away all the algae since fish and tadpoles nourish themselves with it); adopt a stray cat or dog at the local shelter if you need a closer tie to the animal world than wildlife offers. And for goodness sake, don't chase away the opossum who just wants to get a drink from the puddle in your driveway, or the squirrel gathering nuts for the winter. Keep your trash cans secured in a covered shed or your garage to discourage the influx of raccoons or bears; don't squash the errant bee who happens to fly by. He's got important pollination activities on tap, and we reap the benefits of his hard work. Most of all, realize that the most important thing to control is your own frame of mind. Start small. Adopt a "citizen of the world" approach to pet ownership, sitting back (with your shelter pet by your side!) and enjoying nature's "pets". They all belong to you, and you belong to them.

As for my destiny, I hope one day to be through with cleaning cages and litter boxes, waking up at the crack of dawn to walk the dogs, and being able to book a vacation without worrying about who's going to watch all the pets--but I'll always fill the birdfeeder.

Gift yourself a garden

I'm not one for sayings. My husband will tell you it's because I always get them wrong. I do like this one: Never leave a stone unturned. It's a revved-up version of Where there's a will there's a way, but with a decidedly horticultural twist. After all, we gardeners have to turn over a lot of stones to get to the deep, rich soil underneath.

A friend recently asked my advice about planting a flowerbed along a barren side of her house. I asked her all the pertinent questions, like: How much sun does the spot get? What's the soil and drainage situation in that area? What amount of maintenance are you willing to do? Do you get a lot of critters in your yard? What colors do you like? After patiently answering all those questions and more, and then waiting for me to ponder for a bit, I made a number of plant suggestions. My friend politely thanked me...then decided to do nothing.

Okay, you could say it's my ego that was hurt. I went back to school for horticultural design. I came up with solutions to her multifaceted yard situation. Had it been another person--one who wasn't one of my dearest friends for more years than I'd like to recall--you may be correct. Fortunately our deeply forged friendship transcends such pettiness. But her reaction to my suggestions did make me curious about her life.

Divorcing a few years back and launching herself into a full-time job has been exciting for her--and exhausting. Her kids are amazing--and challenging at times, like all kids can be. She claimed to have neither the desire, spare cash nor know-how to transcend her outdoor spaces. She explained that she plans on selling her house in a few years, so why bother making it really nice now?

On a practical level her words make sense, but on a spiritual level, I find my soul clenching. To me, that's like saying, Why bother living life to the fullest since I'm only going to die eventually? Perhaps that was a bit dramatic, but look, we all know that we can't control what our boss will demand, what our kids will try to get away with or what the weather will be like on any particular day of our lives, but we can control what we get to surround ourselves with in our own personal spaces. That's where my favorite saying comes in: Never leave a stone unturned. If you want a nice yard, then demand it of yourself! Do what you must to surround yourself in beauty. Got a tight budget? Check out the net for plant exchanges and wholesalers. I found my favorite local grower on Craigslist, and he gives me a discount when I buy in bulk. Need some "lawn jewelry?" I snagged the wrought iron birdbath in the photo, above, for $14.98 at Pier 1. This retailer, like most others, puts just about every item in their store on sale at some point. Create a watch list of your most-desired items and swing by on a weekly or monthly basis to keep tabs on the items.

As we all know, this life isn't a dress rehearsal; it's the real deal and we're on center stage. Remember this: We get to write the storyline. And home is where our tale begins. I am writing an epic, flipping every pebble, stone and boulder in my way. Planting catmint, yarrow, roses and spruce trees with abandon. Decorating my yard with the same gusto that I showered on my living room walls, dining and sleeping spaces.

All the great thinkers through the ages have offered some form of the same advice: live in the present. Eat drink and be merry for tomorrow we die, right? Maudlin as that seems, the advice is sound. From the sages of the ancient past to modern-day thinkers like Eckhart Tolle and the late Joseph Murphy, the message is the same: Don't put off doing the things that you want to do now because you won't be rewarded in the future. The thrill of today's activity IS the reward. Think on that while you stroll through your garden today. And enjoy every minute of it.

Ice follies

Just when I started to think my garden had made it through another winter, Spring hit with a vengeance. Unlike our warmer-than-usual winter months, April ushered in snow, ice and bitter temperatures. These conditions become problematic during this time of year because the magnolia has already bloomed, the crocus have popped, and the hyacinth and daffodils are in full bloom. Now I have a spring garden sprawled out like roadkill in my yard.

So, what to do? Sadly, there's not too much we can do to make the floral flatliners do a Lazarus impression, and rise again. Fortunately the bulb plants are used to this kind of weather, so they won't completely die off. If there's still snow on the ground, it will act as an insulator and actually protect them. If not, don't panic. Realize that while the edges of the leaves may take a bit of a nip from the low temps, it shouldn't stop them from blooming--even if the growth habit is more horizontal than vertical.

Okay, the structure of the plants have been compromised, so what can we do to make flowerbeds look better? Time to implement a few botanical beauty tips. Back in the day, I was a beauty editor for a woman's magazine; every photo shoot had some sort of issue: models showing up with bags under their eyes, the stylist's clothing samples not fitting correctly, a photographer's backlight blowing out. I discovered then that any problem can be solved with a bit of manipulation. And just like those ill-fitting gowns that often needed pinning, you can prop up droopy daffodils with a few artfully placed stakes and some decorative edging. Just be careful not to spear the bulbs when you place the stakes in the ground. And remember, the bulbs themselves aren't damaged, so next year's crop still holds the promise of a glorious bloom!

The daffodils below are the same sad shoots from the photo above. These bolstered narcissus are much more apt to live up to the root of their name: narcissism, which means admiration of one's own attributes. Let these sunny yellow daffs show off a bit. We all enjoy a good performance!