After Memorial Day

     Memorial Day on the garden calendar marks the time for planting annuals, filling pots and baskets, setting up barbecues and lawn chairs, watching parades, visiting cemeteries, showing the flag.  Alas, not much of that this year.

Rhinebeck Memorial Day Parade 2019

We did not assemble as we had in the past. The corona virus death toll was reaching 100,000, falling heavily on communities of color, and we are still cautious.  Reading the sobering front page of the New York Times, listing 1,000 of the dead with a single sentence about how they are remembered, occupied most of my Sunday. 

On Monday, missing the parade, I kept the radio on all morning, listening to the songs of the wars.  As a child during World War II patriotism was universal; we were all on the same side.  It doesn’t seem that way now.  I had my first garden then, in 1942, a Victory Garden, vegetables grown in the backyard to aid the war effort.  Yet in the midst of this great pandemic we are a divided nation with the wearing of masks a subset of the culture wars.  We won’t have a parade today in Rhinebeck, but I will stop at the cemetery to pay my respects to the veterans.

Curbside Garden In Rhinebeck 

Gardens may be a small consolation, but we must continue to cultivate them.  Our local actions may be on the smallest possible scale, but at least we are doing something for more than just ourselves. We can continue to divide, propagate, and plant knowing that we have unfinished business in  our gardens and our communities.  They will both need help with the work that lies ahead. 

As for my own garden, all the plants wintered over, struggling to survive indoors are now moved outside, re-potted, expected to leap forward.  When I can get back to nurseries I plan to buy a few tropicals to add to the mix – cannas, bougainvillea, jacaranda – if I can find them. On an early venture I came across a stash of enkianthus, a favorite plant of mine, bought three out of greed and have no appropriate place for them.  I’ll plant them out in big boxes against the back of the house and hope for the best.   

Wintered-over Flowering Plants 2019

I’ve heard the nurseries are packed, some operating safely and efficiently, while others are careless, crowded and unmasked.   Caveat emptor.  I’m not quite ready to join the experiment, but I’m working up to it.  In the meantime I’m gardening vigorously, with much resting in between.  More resting than working.  

I circle the block every day in the early evening, nodding hello to the neighborhood gardens, their gardeners, and other walkers out and about at the same time.  My plan for a curbside garden disappeared as the village finished paving Livingston Street, filled the remaining disruptions with soil and set out grass seed, obliterating my prospective garden for this season. I’ve added a few photographs of curbside gardens, so as you walk around the village keep your sightlines low.

Another Curbside Garden in Rhinebeck 

Early this spring I ordered white cinquefoil which arrived bare-root while I was between gardeners.  They were eventually planted and appear dead to everyone except me, who continues to water them, expectantly.  Defeats are minor in the grand scheme of things.  You will have noticed by now that gardens are impervious to everything except weather.  Even neglect doesn’t matter in the long run; survival of the fittest prevails.  An unfinished garden is one of the best guarantees of longevity. 

Curbside Garden in Jerusalem

Early May, 2020

The garden takes no notice of the pandemic; it only registers light, temperature and moisture.  The apple tree blooms on time, woodland phlox shows its colors, Celandine poppy opens unexpectedly in deep shade.  I should take pleasure in this, but it feels out of tune with the world. I worry like a Russian during a bitter winter of war, but not yet cutting down the trees for firewood, or turning the garden into a potato patch.

The Apple Tree

I came back to Rhinebeck in mid-March, guiltily fleeing the city, barely closing up the apartment, grabbing what I needed, changing my mailing address with the post office, my delivery address with the New York Times.  I have -- I had -- a choice:  An apartment in the city with a few windows on the street, or a house in Rhinebeck with windows and light on all four sides, and a garden in which to watch and wait out the pandemic.  Everyone who could decamped, but I feel more of a deserter each day.

Through late March and early April it rained and rained, or so it seemed.  My garden was hopelessly dreary, puzzling, until I remembered I was not supposed to be here so early or for so long; the garden was planned to emerge in late April, early May.  And right on time the early scillas appeared in the back of the garden, a sea of deep blue.  No matter how often their beds are disturbed and replanted the scillas return, advancing further into the lawn.  Every year at this time I imagine a bulb meadow in the lawn, only the earliest, so that their foliage like that of the scillas, would be cut down with the first mowing.

Scilla siberica

The garden pattern, for better or worse, is beginning to emerge.  Trees and shrubs provide the structure while the herbaceous materials are the fine-tuning.  This is true in my garden, dominated by the dappled shade of Black walnuts and the deep shade of  Norway maples.

In my mind’s eye I saw a tapestry of color weaving through a sea of green.  The woody plants would bear white blossoms while blue would be the dominant color of the herbaceous material throughout the season… except when it is isn’t.  The Bleeding heart, a lovely deep pink, is spectacular and deserves more room than I have given it.  The earliest blue to work it’s way through the garden is Phlox divaricata.  I mistakenly thought it was a creeping phlox but it mounds instead.  Very beautiful, but the not the creeper I had expected. 

Blue Phlox

It is almost time to move the plants wintered-over indoors back outdoors.  They do not look very promising this year, or maybe I’m viewing them through the lens of the general malaise of these days. Moving them outdoors is back-breaking work, so they have to earn their keep.  I’ll add fresh soil to their pots, but I suspect the indoors/outdoors routine is only good for a few years and then the plants are spent. 

Tender Plants, Outdoors

During this cold Spring the length of Livingston Street has been repaved, encouraging renewed skateboarding among homebound teenagers.  I finally removed the huge ailing street tree, leaving a gaping span that is waiting to be filled with new soil.  The custom is to plant grass on these verges so that people stepping out of cars have a soft landing, but I doubt that there will be many cars parking out front this year.  Instead I’m planting annuals for a flower garden on the verge, something for passersby on foot. Sunflowers, zinnias, cosmos, cleome. There are a few of these curbside gardens in the village.

Curbside Garden

I rarely leave the house these days, and the same can be said for some of my scattered childen.  My daughter Liz and her family are in lockdown in Jerusalem.  My son Micah and his family in lockdown in Queens, the children attending school online.  In Jerusalem, Liz’s Aquarium is closed to the public but she is permitted to drive across the city to care for the fish.  My daughter-in-law Sibernie goes from their home in Queens to her job at the VA Hospital in Manhattan every day.  My daughter Pam (formerly and formally my step-daughter but we have dropped all that), a retired physician, is renewing her credentials in Arizona to serve on the front lines in Tucson when needed.

Around here, tempers are short.  Profound differences emerge.  Resolute mask-refuseniks remain resolute.  Arguments that should not happen, happen.  Among the Covid-19 obituaries, ever expanding in the New York Times, appears the not-unexpected death of an old friend in poor health who had lived a long and fruitful life.  No funeral, no memorial service, but nonetheless, we stop for a moment, sit quietly, and remember.

Weathering the Storm

     When on the water and a storm comes up you take directions from the skipper: batten down the hatches, furl the sails, clip your safety belt to the rails, and keep non-essential deckhands down below where they will be safe.

It’s not a bad lesson to follow in these parlous times.  Those of us living in New York City apartments see no one except the building staff (scrupulously sanitizing every surface, every package, every piece of mail).  A friend in the same zip code as I, having abandoned restaurants, dinners with friends and almost all grocery stores, took a daily walk with me in Riverside Park.  

In the city in earlier times of crisis to reassure ourselves that beauty and learning would endure, we went to the museums, libraries, and concert halls -- our secular churches.  They are closed now, but we still have our parks.  Open air, flowering trees, new growth on old plants – these will keep our spirits up until the world settles down again.

The importance of a park in your neighborhood cannot be overstated.  There you see life at its happiest, people strolling alone or with friend and families, kids playing ball, dog walkers.  The Trust for Public Land thinks everyone should have no more than a 10-minute walk to a park.  At New Yorkers for Parks (full disclosure; I am a board member) we believe city budgets for the maintenance for all our parks should be increasingly generous.  

The city’s small parks and public spaces are as valuable as the flagship parks and serve a critical population with little or difficult access to the flagships.  All the parks, large and small, will need support so pick your park and stick with it.

As isolation increased, those who could left the city, with hope isolating themselves first so as not to carry risk.  After a few weeks of mind-numbing isolation, I joined the exodus fleeing north and left for Rhinebeck, where I plan to stay for the duration.  I am blessed to have a small house in a village with sidewalks, streetlights and neighbors.  We meet in the street, my neighbors and I, six feet apart to exchange war stories and news of our families.  There is so little traffic now we could probably bring our lawn chairs to the street. 

My grandfather did this during World War II.  He dragged his Adirondack chair to the edge of the front walk, close to the sidewalk, so neighbors passing by could visit and bring the latest news of sons and nephews serving on the fronts.  Every neighbor had, as we did, a flag in the window with one or more blue stars for each member of the family overseas so there was a lot of news to share.

Soon it will be warm enough for my neighbors to sit in each other’s backyards. I am pushing the days. Trees and shrubs are showing buds.  Witchhazel is still blooming.  Forsythia almost. Daffodils and iris are beginning to emerge.  Birds are at the feeders and the ones who left for warmer climates are on their way back.  Soon the farmers will bring vegetables to market along with the earliest strawberries. Till then we are being cautious in supermarkets and using up our foodstuffs carefully.

For the moment we are making do, and there is some satisfaction in that.  Growing up in the 40’s we all worked together for the war effort, for what we knew in our core was the common good.  As children we understood rationing, that the black market was bad, that it was our job to sell defense stamps door to door, and to grow our own vegetables in our backyard Victory Gardens.  So today take care of yourselves and your family and go about cultivating your own garden, whether it is real or only a metaphor. 

The Garden

Historic District Streetscapes

Rhinebeck’s historic district has always had a pleasing mix of small, modest houses and larger grand ones.  The grandest of them often occupy only the corners, with the exception of one or two streets with stately houses and very deep setbacks.  Buildings are about the same height.  Sidewalk materials start out consistently bluestone until heaved out of place and replaced with concrete.  Trees are spaced regularly down the length of the street and remain there until the end of their lifespan.  On the best of streets there is a sense of regularity and order.  

When you walk through the village, round a corner and turn down a street, it either feels good immediately, or it doesn’t. There ought to be a sense of “rightness” in the spaces between one house and the next, and if there isn’t the absence can leave you a bit unmoored.  This has nothing to do with “taste;” it is about order and context.  

This was tested recently on a quiet day in June as cars slowed and walkers stopped in their tracks to watch the planting of a three-story tall Norway Spruce in a previously unadorned front yard.  This was just the beginning of the wholesale transformation of a dignified 1900 house sitting squarely on its lot, always slightly unapproachable but still putting its best face forward to its neighbors. 

Deemed “an excellent example of the mature Colonial Revival style in Rhinebeck – the best example in this particular area” by the Rhinebeck Historical Society, it languished on the market for several years before being purchased by a man who had already transformed part of a grand estate on the river.  

As the planting continued, consternation in the village grew.  Iron fences and gates were installed.  A few village houses have gated front walks, more ornamental than forbidding, but a gated driveway with a coded entry is not exactly neighborly.  Elaborate security systems are more often found on large properties set well away from the road and often unoccupied.  One of the best reasons for living on a village street is that you don’t need any of this.  Neighbors look out for one another.    

Inside the gate to the front walk is a bench and an arbor festooned with what appears to be plastic roses.  Live roses have been planted at the base and with hope will live to replace the plastic ones.  A few bronze plaques hang from the iron fence, one with the address, two asking for “please no pee-pee,” and one announcing video surveillance, the last perhaps designed to capture dog owners not in compliance.  

A large screen of artificial foliage provides privacy to one side of the front porch.  That same side of the porch blocks out its neighbors with a screen of several more mature Norway spruce.  The property is ringed with about 60 boxwoods, give or take a few, but I couldn’t stand there long enough to count before being told to leave. 

At some point this dark and sober house was painted white.  The combination of the new brightness, the gated walkway and driveway, the security code, the notices on the fence, and the dense plantings closing the house off from its neighbors can be intimidating.  

The only other house on the street that has turned its back on the character and traditions of historic districts happens to be directly across the street, so one house has the company of the other. The rest of the street will probably continue along its quiet way.

In fairness to the homeowner, a planting plan was submitted to the Planning Board and approved.  But even if he had chosen to plant in harmony with the street there is not much guidance available on historic district landscapes.  There are a few photographs of the house on file in the Rhinebeck Historical Society and as much documentation on the house itself as was available at the time of the photographs.

In the absence of specific guidelines, a good rule to follow is to respect your neighbors and the neighborhood.  You will not have to consider this if you own a very large property or are in the middle of a forest.  But in a village with sidewalks and neighbors whatever you do should at least bear some relationship to whatever is going on next door and down the block. You may not like it, but deal with it kindly.  

Harmony should be the underlying effect of a fine streetscape; the parts should fit together as a whole.  When historic districts are designated, the preservation and landmark ordinances tend to be entirely focused on the structures themselves and as a result bypass and do not curate the landscape of the front yards, trees, walks and streets that connect them.  Memorable landscapes are made when multiple properties share basic guiding principles that are enhanced and inspired by the origins that created the historic district.   

This of course occurs only in the best of all possible worlds.  To codify this risks a municipality becoming the Design Police, but without laying out guidelines it is easy to lose the very character of the streets that drew families and visitors and businesses to Rhinebeck in the first place.  

The Village Board of Trustees is well aware of these concerns and is in the process of forming a Streetscape Issues Committee to address the multiplicity of concerns that factor into maintaining a memorable historic district.  So please -- all of you to whom this matters, stay tuned.

Woody Plants In My Garden

In the historic district of Rhinebeck, the location of my garden, the property lines are often defined by large shade trees planted 100 years ago, limiting the amount of light coming into the garden. Mine is definitely a shade garden, penetrated by occasional shafts of light, loose in its design, softer in its effect than sunny borders, its plants spreading out and multiplying in a somewhat haphazard fashion.

The first decision in planning a garden is the amount of privacy you need.  I chose an open aspect so as to see a bit of the neighboring houses, the upper floors and rooflines, retaining the sense of a village. 

View to the West Before We Began

To the West, I kept open the pleasing view into my neighbor’s garden and beyond.  But my neighbor to the East has a large raised deck, a trampoline and a tent, so each year I increase the density of that border while trying not to appear unfriendly.  In the rear of the garden towards the North a large crabapple softens the mass of the house behind.  The Southern border is the rear wall of my house, the terrace, arbor and garden gates.

The second decision is coming to terms with your light limitations.  Shade patterns vary, and plants respond to subtle differences.  Partial shade is only two hours of mid-day sun; a few hours of early morning or late afternoon light constitutes light shade; horizontally branching trees provide filtered light while light coming through pinnate leaves of the Black walnut is best described as dappled.

The third decision is whether you plan to fight the limitations of your site, or ride with them.  My garden has significant restrictions on what survives. The West border is lined with Black walnuts, known for toxicity to a large range of plants.  If you are faced with this problem, there are a number of postings from agricultural colleges and arboretums listing plants both susceptible and resistant to Black walnut toxicity.  As limiting as it may seem to be, the beautiful dappled light cast by Black walnuts more than compensates for the toxicity limitations.

The East border is under deep shade from both Silver and Norway maples.  Their root systems are rambling and close to the surface creating a struggle for plants looking for room to expand.  My solution was to use established plants of a decent size, so at least if they did not flourish they would grow slowly and steadily.  

Across the East Border

Most of the plants you are likely to buy will come from a nursery and be ready to plant.  It’s another story if you are looking for mature or specimen plants. Then you should visit a large nursery, select your plants in the field and have them tagged for a future move.  Since I planned my garden late in life and do not expect to be around to see the woody plants reach maturity, I tend to use large plants whenever possible.

Moving a large tree is a complicated process and may take place over several growing seasons.  It is routinely root pruned to encourage the roots to grow to the center.  The crown is pruned to encourage more compact growth, making the plant easier to move through several transport stages.  If done at the right time of year (when the tree is dormant) and watered well for the first two years, the tree will hardly know it has been moved.

The Apple Tree: First Year After Installation

There were only three shrubs in my garden when I arrived in 2011 – two Forsythia and a glorious Winged euonymus. – and they are still with me.  Otherwise the backyard was a dedicated dog run, bordered by hog-wire fencing to keep the dogs in and everyone else out.  It was a blank slate.

The plant palette was the result of the close working relationship with Gail Witter-Laird, the landscape architect who was the visionary for the best of this garden. Given the constraints of deep shade and Black walnut toxicity, this is our list for woody plants:

6 Japanese maples (Acer palmatum japonica) that are (or were) cornerstones for the design

2 Shadblow (Amelanchier canadensis)

3 Bottlebrush buckeye (Aesculus parviflora)

3 Fringetree (Chionanthus virginicus)

Various hydrangea (arborescens, tardiva, petiolaris)

Black tupelo (Nyssa sylvatica)

3 Witchhazel (Hamamelis Arnold’s Promise, Jelena, virginiana)

17 Sumac (Rhus aromatica low grow), 

5 Privet (Ligustrum), languishing from lack of sun

2 Mockorange (Philadelphus), yet to bloom

1 Stewartia (S. pseudocamellia) 

1 Japanese lilac (Syringa reticulata)

1 Red-vein enkianthus (Enkianthus campanulatis) 

11 Red Chokeberry (Aronia arbutifolia brlliantissima)

7 American wintergreen (Gaultheria procumbens)

4 Siberian cypress (Macrobiota decussata)

1 Crabapple (Malus floribunda)

All the above were vetted carefully for Black walnut toxicity except a truckload of aronia that somehow slipped through the cracks.  They did not survive, and I lost some of even the carefully vetted.  The Siberian cypress did not make it through the winter. Neither did the wintergreen. Nyssa sylvatica, notoriously difficult to transplant, did not survive.  The others behaved more or less as expected.

Japanese Maple After Planting

And then we were hit with an unexpected disaster.  One by one five of the 6 key Japanese maples succumbed to verticillium wilt, a soil-borne pathogen.  The diagnosis is not difficult to make.  The tree dies back in large segments within a very short time period.  When a branch is removed and sent off to a lab for analysis the entire vascular system of the plant is observed to be clogged; no water or nutrients are able to pass up through the soil and into the plant.

The Death of the Japanese Maples

So now another constraint has been added to the plant palette.  When you vet for Black walnut toxicity, and then add a screen for verticillium wilt, you are left with only a small handful of possible choices.  Four of the Japanese maples have been replaced with Sweetgum (Liquidambar styraciflua), a totally different look.  The Japanese maples were low and full, very gardenesque.  The Sweetgums are tall and narrow, more park-like than garden. They produce prickly nuts that fall to the ground and are painful to tread on and collect, but I’m used to years of picking up after the Black walnuts. 

I’ve added a few oakleaf hydrangea, taking seriously an off-hand comment of Michael Dirr’s that the only plants you can depend on to bloom in deep shade are Bottlebrush buckeye and Oakleaf hydrangea. As to the buckeye, you could not find plants more ungainly and less interesting for much of the year, but when they bloom it is heart-stopping.  For a plant bible you cannot do better than the delightfully opinionated Michael Dirr’s Hardy Trees and Shrubs, the gold standard of amateur and professional alike for plant identification and selection.

Bottlebrush Buckeye in Bloom

While it may seem discouraging at first, recognize that if you begin with a blank slate your garden will take about 20 years to approach maturity. Give it a good start by testing your soil (a subject for a later newsletter).  Whatever you choose to plant, remember to water, water, water.  The soil must never dry out and should be slightly damp to the touch at all times.

The best advice I can give is to read as much as you can.  Garden books (and gardeners) can be divided into two categories.  The plants collectors, those who hardly met a plant they didn’t like, and the aesthetes, those who focus on design and harmony. You can learn from both.  And visit gardens, always carrying a camera and a notebook.  You will want notes on not only the plants, but on structural details, paving patterns and gardening practices.

During these formative years, a reliable contractor will be your truest garden friend.  All my initial plants came from Twin Farms in Millbrook and they did the installation as well.  Watching the several days-long preparation of the beds was a lesson in itself.  They have been utterly dependable, standing by all the fatalities and replacing plants when necessary.

Allow enough time for your plants to establish themselves.  When you think you’ve made a mistake, remember that plants don’t read the books, and they often settle down happily in locations where they were expected to sulk. Keep in mind that a garden is a process, and there is always next season.