Guilty Gardening

ProfessorRoush is embarrassed, embarrassed I say, by his own recent display of poor taste.  I blame it on perfect product positioning, I blame it on a weakness for impulse purchases, I see it as a culmination of  poor life choices.  No, forget those, it is surely all due to the coronavirus quarantine.  Wants have replaced needs and frivolities have replaced necessity in the service of boredom.

For whatever reason, I have twice recently succumbed to the wiles of blatant consumerism.  The first was when I spied this plastic Zen Flamingo during a grocery run for milk and eggs.  I did not ask myself why a large grocery would be selling garden statues in the middle of a pandemic.  I did not ask myself where I would place it in the garden or more importantly WHY I wanted it.  I did not remind myself that I hate fake flamingos in the garden and in the past have poked fun at every pink plastic abomination I've seen.   I simply looked for the price and, of course, found it on sale, marked down to acceptably-priced luxury from its original fictitious retail level.

And then, later, there was this over-adorned solar garden lantern that I came upon while dodging the gauntlet of coronavirus-ridden zombies at Walmart.  I picked it up and put it back thrice before my weakened soul surrendered to its siren song and I came back to my senses as it was being placed into the back of the Jeep.  It is rather unique and a focal point in the garden for those moments when I choose to admire the garden while stumbling around in pitch darkness, but its rechargeable solar nature does not outweigh its garish construction, nor that I suspect it will barely last a season before disintegrating into worthless rust and plastic.  I apologize in advance to the Seventh Generation.

The worst part of these narcissistic indulgences is that my guilt for breaking every self-imposed rule of tasteful garden practice has not yet caught up with the internal endorphin release from their purchases.  Fresh from the damage of late spring freezes and snowfalls, a dispirited gardener has no apparent limit to shame.  I would argue that the garden lantern is, after all, quite pretty in a faux-Vegas-glitter sort of way.  Moreover, the Zen Flamingo makes a fitting partner to my long beloved Totally Zen Frog, don't you think?  Two small echoed passages joining in the symphony of my garden?

Alternatively, I could just own up to a complete collapse of any sense of decent garden style and refinement and place all the blame on COVID-19.  Surely, that sounds much better than "I lost my mind during quarantine."

Lily Confederacies

ProfessorRoush has enjoyed a bountiful season of Asiatic lilies this year.  It is currently at its peak and I have been taking and collecting photographs of all the individual blooms to share the beauty on Garden Musings.  I may do that later, but right now, I thought I'd share a few of the accidental, but still stunning scenes that the lilies and I have created together.

There is, for instance, this photo of my Totally Zen Frog, sitting now among the lilies, resting among the color.  I once thought of placing a similar stone throne opposite the frog so that I could meditate along with him, but I know I never sit down long enough to make that worthwhile.  Still, if I had surrounded it with similar lilies, would it have enticed me to slow down and enjoy a moment?

And here, on the right, tall and stiff 'Karl Foerster' stands as a backdrop to these white and blood salmon lilies.  If you've read through this blog, you know that I'm not a fan of the overused 'Karl Foerster', but here, in this moment, he adds some nice airiness to the sold and stiff Asiatic lily blooms, white smiling boldly up, blood salmon shyly down.

At left, bright red rugosa hybrid 'Linda Campbell' compliments these orangish and pink Asiatic lilies nicely.  I love how the pink Asiatic is folding a stem down over the 'Linda Campbell' bloom, as if to cuddle with it.





Sometimes, it's a combination of different perennials or grasses with the lilies that add up to create a delicious photo of the whole.  Here, pink and orange Asiatic lilies combine with a creamy aging Yucca filamentosa bloom and some dark purple daylilies.












And at left, Phalaris arundinacea ‘Strawberries and Cream’ provides stripes to tie together the composition of the three different Asiatic lilies around it.  



Other times, it's the lilies themselves that just make a pretty production.  At right, the cream and pink Asiatic lilies stand out well against the aging prairie hay mulch and the healthy lilac foliage behind them.  And below, this group of pink, white and yellow Asiatic lilies trail off into the smaller yellow of 'Happy Returns' daylilies to the lower left of the photo, seemingly shrinking to infinity beyond the frame, evolving, if you will, into another species right before our eyes.

I'll end with my "Gentleman Rabbit", a small statue that usually guards the path into my lower garden.  Today, he's holding a bouquet for your pleasure, an invitation to come and enjoy the garden whenever you find the time.  In my garden, Asiatic lilies have held center stage for the past 2 weeks, and they're making way for the Orientpets and Oriental lilies to come.

Zen Frog In Winter

Amidst the snow and ice of this ceaseless winter, ProfessorRoush needs to calm down and take a lesson from his Totally Zen Frog statue.  I took this picture standing in a snow drift up to my waist, at the end of a long afternoon digging the rest of our driveway clean from the storm that blasted us earlier this week.  Here, only a few feet away from the roses buried in snow, sits the contemplative frog, floating above the snow, untouched by the cold.   He doesn't care about Winter's fury.  He's imagining Spring, full-blown, golden with daffodils, glowing with sunshine.







In my garden, however, Zen Frog seems to be the only one who doesn't care about winter.  Even the ornamental grasses have lost their regal stature, bowed and broken in places from the heavy snow.  Those that remain standing seem mass-less now, shrunken from their previous Fall glory.  They struggle to keep their heads above the snow, straining to survive for winter's swan song.









The annuals and herbaceous perennials have long given up their ghosts.  This Prickly Poppy (Argemone polyanthemos) left only a dessicated and hollow carcass to serve as a grave marker, a spiny brown contrast to the white snow at its waist.   Isn't it an odd contrast that these lifeless remains represent also the hope of the next season, the missing seed from the pods spewed yon and hither to find earth and moisture?


I tried today, in a moment of fancy, to levitate above the snow drift and meditate with the Zen Frog, but I fell back to earth and snow with a crash of reality.  Encased in layers of clothing and caps, water-proofed to the ankles but wet at the knees, I must instead await warmth and sunshine with an impatient heart, for I cannot become stone and wait out the winter.  My lot now is to shovel, swear, and scowl out the windows until Winter fades back and Spring surges forth.

Peaceful Polliwog Placement

Those readers who have followed my blog for some time will recognize the whimsical Totally Zen Frog that I purchased covertly last January and snuck into the garden without the prior approval of Mrs. ProfessorRoush.  

Mr. Frog spent the winter perched on the cement bench in my rose garden, as I had originally placed him, but he has always looked slightly out of place there; perhaps  he was a little chagrined to be in such a raucous floral setting.  That placement also made him a bit stealthy since it was easy for the observers eye to view him a part of the cement bench and focus instead on the roses around him, hiding him in plain sight, as it were.  In that fashion, it took Mrs. ProfessorRoush several weeks to notice that he hadn't previously been part of the scenery, so it accomplished my purpose.

But I've always felt that he deserved a more center stage spot, so recently I made him a prominent spot especially in the center of a long border, slightly elevated above ground level and sitting on his own stone throne.  Here, in a central position at the "front" of the garden, he is at once more noticeable and also seems to set the quiet tone I desire for the rest of the garden.  Here, I can almost visualize him humming a quiet meditative tune or opening his eyes in slight anger that my garden activites are disturbing him. I had thoughts of creating a larger, similar natural seat for myself, facing him, from which I could sit and enjoy the garden and commune with him.  Alas, however, I'm afraid to brave the ridicule and questioning that will follow the creation of another stone throne, so I decided to leave the frog alone in his meditation time for now. 

If Mr. Frog has anything profound to pass on about gardening or life, I'll be sure to let you know.

Totally Zen Insanity

During this time of year in the nation's heartland, every garden store and nursery should be required to display a large and inherently noticeable warning sign, saying something to the effect of "Beware!  Winter Ennui Helps Us Empty Your Pockets!"

Like other Flint Hill and Midwestern gardeners, I've taken to browsing local centers regularly, drawn irresistibly to find those early seed-starting supplies, house plants, and bird-feeding supplies that allow me to pretend I'm doing something for the garden in the dead of winter. And of course, also like other gardeners, I have the ulterior motive of needing to make sure that others don't beat me to those first few packets of seeds that arrive in the stores, lest some rare and treasured find disappear before I can purchase it.  

At such times, I'm unfortunately at extreme risk of impulse purchases, a realization that was reinforced recently when, on a trip to Omaha, I visited what has become my prime source of statuary.  There, I simply was unable to resist the Totally Zen Frog pictured to the right. Although this errant-Methodist youth does not practice meditation or Zen, I've always had some admiration for those who do, as well as a soft spot for the quiet calm of the philosophy.  Therefore, forgetting that my garden really does not have any other whimsical focuses, nor that I really don't appreciate of whimsy in any form, garden or otherwise, I was sure that this Zen Frog was meant specifically to live in my garden.  That belief was hardly weakened when I found that this particular identical statue sells all over the Internet and probably lives in thousands of other gardens. 

If you sense I'm a bit disappointed in myself, you would be correct.  Until now, I've successfully resisted adding pink flamingos, TraveloCity Gnomes, and other cliches to my garden.  Okay, there is one of my rabbit statues that is dressed in a suit like a gentlemen caller, but I swear that all the other rabbits are strictly natural in form.  Then along comes the Zen Frog and I fall, hook, link, and sinker.  The webbed feet got me.  Please don't tell Mrs. ProfessorRoush because I slipped it into the garden with all the furtiveness of a philandering husband.  The Frog has been in my garden over a week and she hasn't asked about it yet.  By now she probably thinks of these hunks of concrete collectively as "his statues," perhaps with a slight indulgent smile, and she has hopefully stopped counting the statues and the money spent on them, so there is a chance she'll glance over it.  And if a little more time goes by before she sees it and a few bird droppings adorn it, I might be able to successfully convince her that it has been in the garden for years.   

For now, I've placed it on the bench in the center of my "formal" rose garden on a bench, surrounded by the melting snows, but I doubt this will be a permanent spot for the creature.  I've got a vision of it placed on a pedestal across from a meditation seat made for myself from two large flat stones (one for the seat and one for the back).  A sort of a mirror meditation spot in my garden where I will perhaps be enticed to sit, relax, and enjoy the garden, hidden from the neighbors who'll think I've gone senile.  Sitting is about all I'll do, however, since I'm getting to old to make it into the Lotus position and further experential enlightment is probably a hopeless quest for me.  Besides, I'm not sure that the smug smile on the frog's face is conducive to my inner tranquility, especially since I'm also not convinced that the frog isn't giving each passersby, or me, "the finger."