Over the weekend, we managed to finish the herb garden. I say “managed” because as I’ve mentioned before, the sod in this place is brutal. The grass is old and the roots well-established, and the soil contains just enough clay that separating the two is a feat worthy of a strongman competition. And the vegetable gardens will be bigger. I asked the neighbor to borrow his tiller but it’s currently on loan to his son. Maybe I’ll acquire an ox instead.
Anyway, after two days of hacking and cursing, the sod was removed. The soil, now exposed, was begging for vegetation, to which I obliged before it started enlisting local volunteers.
But first, we discussed raising the bed. Despite our valiant efforts of minimizing soil loss, a large quantity still accompanied the sod in its journey to the pile of discarded grass on the side of the house. That, and the benefits of drainage from a raised bed are obvious. Visions of logs sticking out the back of the inadequate Honda dampened my spirits, but then I remembered the leftover 2x4s from the fencing installation. With a little help from the reciprocating saw and sledgehammer, I secured a border with wooden stakes.
15 cubic feet of soil in that little car
A lot of fancy dirt later, and raised bed we had. Lowe’s also had a sale on herbs, which was awfully considerate of them to time that with the weekend of our herb garden project. And, complementing what I had started under the grow lights, we now have a proper garden of fragrance and seasoning–a symbolic requirement to having an established homestead.
Well, a drainage ditch anyway. If you’ve talked to me about the house at all, then you’ve most definitely heard about the drainage issues, or rather, the complete lack of basic drainage. See the Get Off My Lawn! series. The former owner, in her battle against a flooding basement, paid to have it trenched and a sump installed. After purchasing the house, I’ve since extended downspout drainage, and the sump has remained dry ever since.
Until recently. We had a very dry summer last year, and it didn’t give me a good baseline with which to predict future water problems. This spring has seen a lot of water, and now the sump is running. This in itself of course isn’t a problem–the water is being handled dutifully by the pump. Outside, however…
Someone had retrofitted a vacuum hose to the outlet. Again, effective, but incredibly ugly. And then the kid played with it and cracked it, rendering it useless anyway. Now, with water pooling against the foundation, my hand was forced. It was time to finally address this eyesore.
This is the ENE side of the house, under a pine tree. These factors limit my planting options, but it does make a good candidate for a shade garden. First though, I needed to trench. Re-purposing a concrete downspout extender, I could immediately channel the water about 4 feet.
But, this was still rather industrial and ugly, and tended to back up (the sump pump probably spits out about 3 gallons whenever it clicks on). I needed a longer trench and ornamentation. Mattock, shovel, axe, and reciprocating saw all contributed to the project (damn roots). I then buried the pipe, planted the hosta which we saved from the apartment (split apart), added some ferns, purchased more hostas, and voila:
I now have the beginnings of a respectable shade garden, and effective sump drainage. Plus, the mason bees really like it. I like those bees, they’re cute.
Over the weekend, Liz decided to begin her front garden project. The edge of the narrow front yard, terminating in a mailbox and pipeline marker, looked very inelegant. And I agreed with her assessment. I hate that ugly marker.
But, there isn’t much I can do about its mere existence. I imagine removing it would be in violation of some statute regarding the easement, and since the BP contractors have so far been very reasonable with us, I’m opting to not jeopardize our tenuous non-aggression pact. So, the pole stays. Other than that, the only restriction was to not plant trees on the easement. But we got an official okay for anything bush size or smaller.
16 tons…
I’m no stranger to removing sod, but this was the hardest yet. I swear the roots were a foot deep. It may not have been virgin prairie, but I’m pretty sure this grass was here since the 60s. The soil also has just enough clay that the roots wouldn’t pull free–rather they had to be cut. Ultimately we had to dig up the sod with a shovel, then shear off the dirt and bottom roots with a stirrup hoe. An hour into the project, Liz rethought the garden’s size. It did give me an excuse to segue into a discussion about how pioneers on the Great Plains constructed houses out of sod though.
In the end, tenacity won out, and garden we had. Now filled with acquisitions from the perennial sale, and some annuals from the indoor grow light experiment, we have enhanced the aesthetics of the front yard, and hopefully, detracted from the glaring prominence of that stupid pole.
If I grew a vine on it, it might look like decoration
Henceforth, it shall be know as the Easter garden.
Work continues on the rain garden–a project whose purpose is ever-more apparent with the recent downpour. With the ugly gravel pit juxtaposed to the greening lawn, and the last frost date looming, I completed some preliminary additions.
I’m assuming that the garden’s flood/drought cycle will make it perfect for succulents, and as they were already bursting at the seams of their peat pots, I indulged their eagerness and buried the pots in the stone. Also, I relocated some volunteer tiger lilies, which were wedged against the house’s foundation, predicting that they were hardy candidates for repeated flood cycles. Now, again I wait.
When we moved out of the rental and bought a house, I compiled a list. In anticipation of the chores to come, I knew I’d need a reminder as to why we left (and gave up free maintenance). One of the entries on this list pertained to the garden. A garden is a very personal project–it betrays much about its creator, being infinitely customizable. And it is because of this customization that no two people can agree on a garden’s layout.
But it’s a comparatively minor issue to have marital bickering over a layout. When the property is a rental, however, the owner, and by extension the management, gets final say. And often, they exercise this executive power by giving a hired landscaping company carte blanche, without ever consulting the tenants. My first experience with this involved the empty pot of dirt by the front door. Our unit shared the walkway to the model (the unit that’s way nicer than anything they rent out), so it was maintained better than the collapsing structures which comprised the rest of the compound. But for whatever reason, this pot sat unused. I let it remain this way for the entire first year.
On year two, however, it was impossible to overlook the eyesore, and I invoked eminent domain. Its location was on the south side of the building, upon concrete and brick–it was a hot and dry pot of dirt. I concluded that this would make an excellent herb garden. When early spring came the following year, I started seed in anticipation. After last frost, I topped the pot off with a good potting soil (the pot’s contents had long since compacted to a crusty and barren dust), and planted my seedlings.
The landscapers promptly came through, ripped out my herbs, and planted petunias. Enraged, I grabbed a bucket and retrieved from the pot the potting soil I had purchased, and re-used it in the back garden. The petunias, not only uprooted but now exposed to the unrelenting sun, and going without water because apparently management didn’t assign garden watering duties to anyone, withered and died, leaving a fallow vessel of dirt once again for the remainder of the year.
A couple years later, I had a similar non-verbal disagreement with the landscapers when I planted morning glories along the back fence. I constructed a zigzag trellis of fishing line so that the plants could make a pretty cover as they grew up the invisible wire. Then, as the plants were nearing the top, the landscapers reached over the fence and ripped out the plants, along with the fishing line. I stewed over this transgression for a long time thereafter.
For years I grew morning glories in a pot in the center of the patio–far away from the murderous hands of hired thugs. Then one year, I noticed that I started getting volunteers. I let them grow, and they turned out to be far more invasive than store-purchased seed. Ultimately I concluded that they had cross-pollinated with bindweed, as they bore similar characteristics. I dubbed these “Evil Morning Glories”, as their voracity rivaled kudzu.
Ipomea Diaboli
Bitterly remembering the cruelty of prior years, when this batch of morning glories went to seed, I saved some. But this would turn out to be unnecessary, as once upon the earth, these plants would prove to be ruthless. The following year, they exploded upon the fence with unholy fervor. And despite their physical removal and chemical applications (once again at the hands of the landscapers), they could not be eradicated. This is my gift to the apartment complex–the ultimate landscaping nemesis, a reminder for all eternity!
But when you dance with the devil…okay that’s a little dramatic. I took seed with me, and against better judgement, planted it at the house. Come spring, the devil’s progeny will once again plague the land, yet evil always accompanies beauty.
But when you dance with the devil…okay that’s a little dramatic. I took seed with me, and against better judgement, planted it at the house. Come spring, the devil’s progeny will once again plague the land, yet evil always accompanies beauty.