Fall, Glorious Fall

IT’S BEEN REALLY HARD to tear myself away from the country these mid-autumn days, but return to the big city I must, sometimes. Even though my woodsy part of eastern Long Island, being mostly oaks, is not known for blazing fall color, and though my perennial garden disappointed me in late summer with a paucity of flowers, I’m ending the garden season on a satisfied note.

I’m pleased with the slightly staggered arrangement of my six new boxwoods, top, which I supplemented with a conical, five-foot Alberta spruce, named Alberta ($75 on sale and well worth it). It fills a gap and brings in some textural variety. The seven new shrubs are already effective in screening my exquisitely sensitive eyes from the sight of my neighbors’ car and propane tank, even though they’re not full-grown. I’ve been coddling them with compost, mulch, and water, and they’ll get a dose of Holly-tone on my next visit.

The miscanthus, which my garden-designer friend Lula says is invasive, is indeed rather taking over the sunny bed near my front door, but I’m loving its red plumes. There are two of them there; I’ll move one out in the spring.

Three cheers for chocolate eupatorium, a Brooklyn stoop sale purchase last spring. Very late-blooming (I thought it might never happen), and such a welcome sight right off the front deck.

The wet summer did well by the lawn. It’s full of stuff other than turfgrass, but I don’t care — it’s green. The free-form island bed, which a couple of people suggested I lose in favor of a sweep of lawn, remains. I have planted it up with 54 liriope (yes, ML, the deer nibble it, but they don’t devour it entirely — I have it growing elsewhere — and it’s well-sprayed). My inspiration there is a bed in front of the central branch of the Brooklyn Public Library — nothing but liriope, tidy and impressive.

An inexpensive and successful solution to the contorted pine, which I never really liked: moving the three old scraggly azaleas that were situated to its left. They are now in another part of the yard and will be wrapped in burlap to keep the deer from eating them this winter. Meanwhile, the contorta is silhouetted nicely and you can see the newly planted bed of ornamental grasses beyond. I like it much better now.

And the rhodies — lookin’ good! They are reveling in the increased air and light they’re receiving since their radical rejuvenation pruning in July, sending up lots of new growth. I’m going to give the overgrown pieris, which I’m guessing could be 40 years old, the same invigorating treatment next spring.

So gardening must come to an end soon, but next year promises to be even better. If that isn’t a raison d’etre, or at least a reason to get through the winter, I don’t know what is.

To Lawn or Not to Lawn?

THAT IS THE QUESTION uppermost in my landscaping mind right now. Last year my thinking was anti-lawn, pro-groundcover and other plantings. I’ve tried to minimize turfgrass up to now (I don’t own a mower, or want to), but found that, in many cases, sprinkling grass seed was the cheapest, quickest way to get green. But now, the second of two garden-professional friends (one a writer/editor, one a designer) has nixed the notion of an island bed in the middle of the yard. They’re both in favor of a continuous greensward with plantings around it.

A wider view of the yard as it looked in mid-April. The existing free-form island bed is an accidental central feature. The other brownish areas are where I’ve sprinkled wood chips to hold weeds down while I decide what else to do.

True, the existing island bed has virtually nothing growing in it at the moment. The spot is not as sunny as I originally thought and I haven’t focused on planting there. And design-wise, it never did make much sense. The free-form island bed in the center of my ‘shy’ half-acre is there only because previous occupants of my house, a cottage in Springs, Long Island, which I bought in May ’09, had created a huge compost heap in the middle of the yard for reasons known only to themselves.

That first fall, it seemed easier to re-shape it and re-conceive it as a flower bed than to move it entirely. The raised bed also served the purpose of concealing a concrete octagon about 3 feet wide — the cap over my septic tank — which is several inches above ground level.

This concrete octagon, which covers the opening to the septic tank, is now buried under a few inches of soil in the existing island bed.

My garden-designer friend suggested re-grading the property, so that the level of the entire lawn would match the level of the septic tank cover, which as it stands is not a desirable design feature. That would involve a truck with some cubic yards of topsoil, men with rakes and perhaps power tools, a proper re-seeding of the area, and money. It’s not a bad solution; I just wasn’t thinking of doing any significant earth-moving back there this season.

Then my neighbor from across the road, who has lived in this arty, woodsy hamlet full-time for 30+ years, came by and, as we sipped tea on the back deck, gave me her take on the re-grading idea. “That’s very south of the highway,” she said, the big, high-maintenance lawn being a feature of prime Hamptons real estate, which this is not.

I told her I had realized I could shovel and/or rake out the soil in the existing bed and deposit it along the western property line, above, an open, sunny area in which nothing is presently growing except some mullein, below. I could plant herbs there, and flowers (deer-resistant, of course). Maybe even tomatoes. But that leaves the problem of the concrete cap.

Perhaps the cap could be re-set to sit on level with the present lawn? If not, said my across-the-road, neighbor, how about using it as a pedestal for a birdbath, or a tub of annuals. That, she pointed out, would be “very Springs.”

Thoughts?

Sculpting the Earth

THAT’S A POETIC way of saying “moving dirt around,” which is what my daughter Zoë and I have been doing these past two mild afternoons.

This property came with a compost heap, misguidedly located smack in the middle of the backyard: a rectangular pile of dirt and twigs, 20 feet long, 6 feet wide, and 3 feet high, cutting the yard in half for no good reason.

My friend Nancy came up with the idea of turning the pile into a flower bed, as it’s (a) presumably decent soil, and (b) in an open, fairly sunny area, where it should be easy enough to grow catmint, ladies mantel, lamb’s ear, and other (deer-resistant) cottage garden favorites. But it was the wrong shape and in the wrong place (though not far from the ‘right’ place).

There was also the matter of an exposed septic-tank cover nearby — a concrete octagon, above, that sat about 8″ above ground on cinder blocks, through the holes of which unpleasant odors would occasionally waft.

Eric Ernst, who cut down several large trees for me in September, suggested burying the septic cover with soil and having that be the highest elevation point, then gently tapering the soil down from there.

I liked the idea of covering the smell-emitting holes. But the prospect of shoveling all that dirt into a different, more graceful shape seemed back-breaking, and I kept putting it off. However, once begun, like so many things dreaded and long postponed, it was easier and went much faster than anticipated.

First, I used a hose to suggest the desired shape, very roughly, as the hose wouldn’t bend the way I wanted it to and kept shifting around. Then, with two shovels, we started removing dirt from where we didn’t want it and throwing it (or wheeling it in a wheelbarrow, which wasn’t necessarily easier) where we did, pulling out the roots of wild rose and wisteria vine as we went.

Zoë took some logs that had been stacked for firewood and used them to outline the new bed. Now we have the makings of a free-form, vaguely peanut-shaped island bed, at least 25′ long at its longest point and perhaps 8′ at its narrowest, with the suggestions of paths around it on either side.

Then we smoothed the mounds of dirt, which are slightly undulating rather than flat within the free-form shape, with a metal rake. The final step was a dozen or so trips to my pile of chopped leaves in the woods. We tossed armfuls of leaves on top of the soil, where it will decompose further over the winter and and help create a ready-for-planting bed by spring.

It’s all still very preliminary. I don’t know what kind of paving material will surround it, or perhaps it will be groundcover. But it’s another step toward creating a gardenscape where once was chaos.

Below: A few seasons from now, perhaps?