Concrete Jungle

The other day, a colleague and I went to grab lunch at Terra Breads cafe, which is in an industrial area close to the 2010 Vancouver Olympic Village. I typically go there for lunch once a week, but it had been a while since my last visit. Usually I park out front, but this time we parked a couple of blocks away. As we were walking, I noticed that a number of the businesses have planted some shrubs and plants in front of their offices and shops—a nice touch in this concrete jungle. Then I saw that morning glory (also known as hedge bindweed) was wrapping itself around some of this greenery.

I remarked to my colleague, Tristan, that the morning glory was really taking over. He commented that its large white trumpet flowers are really pretty - it's true, they are quite attractive. Then I explained that this is the stuff I've been battling in my back garden - it winds itself around other plants and it's fiddly to remove it from its victims, especially ferns. Also, it's difficult to get rid of it entirely - new plants are constantly popping up. "This stuff is invasive," I said. With every step, we saw more and more of it. In fact, it had crept into the green spaces in front of every business we passed. On the way back to the car, we couldn't help but notice a carpet of it that stretched the entire length of a building. When we lifted the leaves, we saw that there was no dirt underneath - the multiple thick, ropey twine of vines were resting on the concrete below! This stuff is invincible, I thought.

Just a week earlier, my friend told me that morning had completely taken over a tree on her parent's farm. Walking and driving around the city, I have started to notice it everywhere: ambling up the fence by Mountain View Cemetery, taking hold of shrubs in the boulevard near Superstore SE Marine Drive, climbing shrubs in people's front yards, dotting the hillside across from my office.

According to BC Forests, hedge bindweed can twine, trail or climb to 3 metres. It is part of the Convolvulaceae family of plants, which always twine from right to left, opposite the course of the sun. The Greater Vancouver Invasive Plant Council considers hedge bindweed an established invasive, meaning that is widespread and abundant throughout this region. Management is focused on reducing the impact of morning glory and controlling its spread because successful eradication is unlikely.

In my own garden, I have seen how bindweed can quickly grip and begin smothering plants in a really short period of time. Since encountering the jungle of morning glory in the industrial area down on West 5th Avenue, I’m even more compelled to chop it down to the ground as soon as I see it. Check out a video on how to eliminate morning glory from Steve Whysall, garden columnist at the Vancouver Sun.

Bunny Paradise

We have two large gray pet rabbits. They’re indoors most of the time, but they like to go outside too. Mostly what they seem to enjoy doing outside is eating grass and lounging under a shady shrub or tree.

At our previous place, we’d let them run around in the backyard because it was fully fenced and mostly grass. At our new house, we had trouble figuring out an outdoor space for them. They couldn’t just go in the backyard because they could easily climb under the aging fence or between some of the dilapidated boards. Also, rabbits will eat almost anything that’s a plant, and I didn’t want them freely chewing the established perennials and shrubs in our backyard.

We finally decided on a spot that would become the dedicated bunny area. It was a raspberry patch when we arrived. Although I love eating raspberries, I didn’t want them in my garden because they run everywhere and little raspberry plants were popping up all over the backyard.

At the end of May, I started digging up the raspberry canes. The wasps and bees didn’t like it one bit and soon they were buzzing around me angrily. So rather than digging up the roots, I cut the canes (I would get the roots later), thinking the buzzy critters would be less annoyed. I was stung anyway!

I stopped removing the raspberries en masse and instead took a piecemeal approach. While doing other garden chores, I’d check the area for wasps when I passed by. If I didn’t see any, which wasn’t often, I’d gingerly cut a cane or two. I hoped for rainy days when the wasps stayed away. The rain gods responded and eventually, there were no more raspberry canes.

What remained were random raspberry stumps dotting a lumpy, somewhat weedy patch of barren earth. There was an old car wheel rim (including hub cap) that looked like it was used as a planter. There was a mound of semi-decomposed compost. And there were little bits of old plastic—candy and other food wrappers, tomato plant tags, and ratty shreds of plastic bags. I cleaned it up, but it was still an eyesore.

We put a couple of x-pens around the space and fixed up the bottom of the fence and then let the bunnies loose. They liked digging in the soft earth and lying on it too. They nibbled on the raspberry remnants, which surprised me because they’re thorny—perhaps I should have left the canes intact and let the rabbits go to town)! But seeing the bunnies in this backyard wasteland didn’t make us happy. I was determined to make a better place for them, but I wasn’t sure what to do, especially because the rabbits eat everything. I also didn’t want create something too permanent because the garden might change when we renovate the house.

Last week, I couldn’t bear looking at this pathetic area any longer. I had to do something. I started digging out the raspberry stumps, which took a couple of days. The first day, I hit something very hard. A few minutes later, I unearthed a patterned concrete block used in the front yard walls! Next, I hauled out the pickaxe and chopped away at the copious roots. There plenty of other roots tangled in, including bindweed. Finally the earth was workable and level.

I bought some plants—mostly herbs, a few annuals, and some grasses—at an end-of-season sale at Home Depot and at Superstore. I knew that I couldn’t get attached to any of these plants because the rabbits would probably devour them. I selected things rabbits like, such as several varieties of mint, and some things they reputedly don’t like (for example, black mondo grass). I decided to move a couple of large clumps of lady’s mantle and cranesbill geraniums from another overcrowded section of the back garden. If the rabbits ate them (interestingly, I read that rabbits don’t like lady’s mantle, but ours had eaten some previously), I wouldn’t be crushed. In fact, the lady’s mantle was becoming invasive, so I could always move more.

I wanted to give the space structure, but instead of starting with a design plan, I started with observation. I noticed the bunnies’ wicker “house,” which serves dual purpose as their sun parasol and rain umbrella, was sitting in one corner. Establishing this as their shelter spot was a good place to start. I also wanted to move the paving stones already in the space to create a new path from the x-pen door inwards, but I wasn’t sure where this path would lead. Then it dawned on me—the path needed to go to the wicker house! This path would divide the site into a nice pie-shaped plot for the plants I bought, and the lady’s mantle and geraniums would go on the other side of the path beside the fence. I also wanted to put some edible plants close to the wicker house, so I decided to relocate a significant carpet of what could be lemon thyme (or another lemony herb) from a neglected back corner at the property’s end.

I’d never moved perennials before and perhaps it was the wrong time of year to do it, so I wasn’t sure how this would turn out. Getting all the roots seemed to be the key. The first clump was difficult to remove because it was right against an azalea and rhododendron. I lifted a 1’ x 1’ chunk successfully, but didn’t get the whole clump, so I dug the rest out in pieces. Unfortunately, looked a bit sad after the transplant.

Removing the second clump was a lot smoother. Using my garden fork, I carefully dug around and under the clump, loosening it from the earth. When I lifted the mass, I was surprised to find that I’d freed the entire clump. It was over 2’ x 1’ in size and, with a bit of muscle, I picked it up and carried it to the bunny area. After this, removing the smaller, low-growing lemon thyme carpet was a piece of cake. I divided the carpet in two, putting each piece either side of the wicker house.

I placed two pots of mint by the wicker house entrance and filled an old strawberry pot left in the yard with chocolate and ginger mint. I even found a way to incorporate the chunk of concrete wall I unearthed as a design feature. Next I planted the grasses, herbs, and annuals in the pie-shaped area. I couldn’t stop smiling because this petite garden was shaping up really well. What earlier in the week was barren and neglected had become “bunny paradise.

The next day, I put the finishing touches on bunny paradise—I added a few more herbs, set some small paving stones along the x-pen to keep it in place, and spread bark mulch around the new plants.

Finally bunny paradise was ready for the rabbits. I knew they would mow down some if not all of the plants, and I was curious to find out which ones they liked best.

As it turned out they loved the golden Hakone grass, and they took two of the pretty light-pink fragrant stocks right down to the ground. Much of the mint was trimmed as was the fennel, and they did nibble the lady’s mantle. To my surprise, they didn’t touch the purple wave petunias. Ironically, they also spent considerable time lying around in the dirt next to bunny paradise (this still-to-be-developed patch will become bunny paradise “phase two”)!

Building bunny paradise was a learning experience for me. I wanted to build something attractive that was fun and playful. It was an opportunity to be creative—to make something out of nothing, incorporate existing plants, and reuse “found” materials. Normally, after completing a project like this, I would want to admire my work and watch it grow and prosper. But, I knew this project wasn’t going to be like that and I built it anyway. The bunnies attacked the plants, but I don’t see it as paradise lost. It was paradise found for the bunnies.

Transformations

Since we moved into our house in April, I’ve watched the garden go through multiple transformations. When we arrived, the magnolias had just finished blooming, the camellia was still flowering, and the tulips were putting on a colourful display. Everything was a lot smaller—well, everything that I haven’t removed or trimmed that is!

The annual show for a number of the perennials and shrubs has already come and gone: rhododendrons, azaleas, oriental poppies, mock orange, irises. Some are now in mid-bloom: peonies, campanulas, and wild geraniums. Yesterday, the tiger lilies debuted and I can’t wait to see what is going to flower next.

Most of the time, gardening is about physical work. And, like your day job, some tasks are more enjoyable than others—after spending two evenings at it, I can definitely say definitely say pulling out St. John’s-wort is not something I enjoy.

But while I feel if I’m out in the garden I should be doing something, I’m making a conscious effort to stop and just observe every once in a while, to do a walkabout of my garden to see what’s new, what’s changed, and what’s disappeared. Sure it’s cliché, but the fleetingness of nature adds a dimension to its sense of beauty.

Knowing that flowers will wither, wilt, and die in a few days or weeks makes the moments that they bud and bloom even more special. When I first noticed my veggies and sunflowers had sprouted, the sense of gratification put a smile on my face.

Taking time to reflect on nature’s magic is something that really struck me during our visit to Japan last spring. Tokyo is one of the most frenetic, futurist metropolises in the world—the metro, Akihabara (Electric Town), the ubiquitous vending machines that sell most anything. Even late on a Sunday night, the streets were alive. Yet, within the hustle and bustle, we saw people stopping to admire a blooming cherry tree in the middle of the day. These weren’t cursory glances. People—young and old—would pause for several minutes to marvel at the delicate pink blossoms. Tomorrow, this tree may not look the same.

I found myself marveling at nature this weekend. I was looking at the mock orange shrub I wrote about last time to see if the ladybug nymphs were still around. Much to my surprise, I saw more of them and they were a lot bigger. Instead of looking like teeny black alligators, many now had two bright red stripes on their alligator backs. Then I spotted one that looked like it was transforming into a ladybug – it had a soft, matte ladybug-like that was a pale orange. I was so excited about the changes to the nymphs that I had to show my boyfriend. By the time I showed him the transforming critter, its shell had become a much brighter orangey red. I noticed a few others were in the transformation process too.

After doing some online research, I learned that the larvae weren’t becoming adult ladybugs just yet—they were transforming into pupae, which happens after three to six weeks. Pupae look like adult ladybugs, but their bodies are softer and they have tiny, pad-like wings. Apparently they will continue to grow and eventually shed their pupae bodies, becoming adult ladybugs.

In the last three months, I have learned a lot about gardening and there’s so much more that I want and need to learn. But what I’ve learned through this journey so far is not just about plants, soil, and tools. It’s about how the simple, recurring things in nature are still amazing despite the dizzying changes that characterize 21st century life, and remembering to savour them while we can.

Ladybug Luck

I have two lovely mock orange shrubs in my garden. One is in the front yard, and the other is in the back. They produce gorgeous cream-coloured flowers that smell slightly sweet. A couple of weekends ago, my boyfriend pointed out that the top of the mock orange shrub in the backyard was covered with pin-sized bugs. I then noticed some of the leaves on the ends of the branches were curling and starting to shrivel. Ugh, I’d seen that before. About 10 years ago, I planted a summer container garden on the balcony of the apartment I rented at the time. I went on a European vacation for a couple of weeks and when I returned, aphids had devastated the once-thriving garden. It never fully recovered.

I checked the mock orange in the front yard and lo and behold, the aphids had taken over the tips of its uppermost branches too. There were so many of them that some branches looked almost completely black. I bought some Safer’s insecticidal soap and sprayed the mock orange in the backyard, hitting the pesky aphids directly. It didn’t seem to help and I ended up getting a soapy shower. So, I decided to take a “harmony in nature” approach: I was going to use ladybugs. When I was little, my Mom always told me ladybugs were good luck. I was hoping that would be the case here with the aphid infestation.

While surfing on local gardening shop websites, I learned that the Natural Gardener on Vancouver’s westside carries them. I phoned to ensure they had some in stock and went over after work to pick some up. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Would they be live ladybugs? Eggs that would hatch? Would they come in a container?

Bob, the owner of the Natural Gardener, was very helpful. He grabbed a small, brown paper bag out of the back and told me the ladybugs were sleeping since they’d been in the fridge. I looked inside the bag through its small, clear window. There they were, cute little round red beetles with black spots, nestled on some fine wood shavings.

Then he explained the procedure. What I needed to do was keep the bag in the fridge until I was ready to release the ladybugs, and the time to release them was at dusk. First I should spray the shrubs with a hose to moisten the leaves, although rain was predicted that evening so could possibly skip this step. Then I was to open the bag and release the ladybugs directly onto the shrub. I asked if I needed two bags since I had two shrubs. Bob said no, because there are 250 ladybugs in the bag, so I could just divide them evenly between the two mock oranges. So homeward I went.

By the time I reached the house 20 minutes later, the ladybugs seemed livelier and some of them appeared to be getting frisky with each other. I put them in the fridge right away. I noticed on the bag the ladybugs come from The Bug Lady, a supplier of good bugs that eat bad bugs in the garden, and the expiry date for this batch was June 17!

I waited until dusk. It had started to rain and was getting dark rapidly. When I peeked outside, I discovered it was raining heavily. So I donned a Gore-Tex jacket and headed over to the mock orange in the backyard. I opened the bag and grabbed the wood shavings, expecting the ladybugs to come with it. When I looked back in the bag, there was still a ladybug colony left. So, I quickly grabbed a portion of the shavings from a branch and put them back in the bag, feebly attempting to get more ladybugs to cling to it. I wasn’t sure if I should place them all on one spot or not. The shrub is about eight feet high and five or six feet in diameter—would they spread themselves out instinctively? I decided to release them on two sides just in case

It was pouring and the paper bag was quickly becoming soggy. I ran to the front yard and it was easier to reach the infested area on this mock orange because it’s smaller and the yard is stepped with the shrub on the lowest level. By now, the clump of wood shavings was reduced to single strands, so I just stuck my hand in the bag hoping the ladybugs would climb on so I could place them on the leaves directly. Slowly the numbers in the bottom of the waterlogged bag diminished until there none.

I hurried inside with drenched hair and Gore-Tex jacket dripping. I went into the bathroom to dry off and felt a tickle on my back. I shook my shirt and out came a ladybug! I looked down and there was another one on the floor. Like me, they seemed to prefer a roof overhead.

I waited four days and checked for eggs and nymphs (larvae). The nymphs are what you want to see because they’re hungry and they’ll eat plenty of aphids. I looked at both trees. I didn’t see any eggs or nymphs. I did notice a couple of ladybugs hanging out on the leaves. I also saw a couple on my peonies and irises below the mock oranges. Maybe they fled for cover in the deluge too?

I waited a week, and after seeing no results, I went back to the Natural Gardener. Bob said to give it until the after weekend and see. So I did. It’s now Tuesday. Last night the weather was crazy with hail and lightening, so I wasn’t going out to investigate. I went out this evening and, at first glance, the mock orange in the backyard looked a bit less “sooty” on top. Maybe the hail blasted the aphids off? As I got closer, I saw what appeared to be a little nymph (they look a bit like teeny black alligators)! The more I looked, the more of them I saw! I’m curious to discover how hungry they are in the next few days.

Think versus do

I am a thinker in my approach to many things. I research, analyze, and ponder. Then when I feel I understand, I take action. I started to get this way about my garden. The first month we lived here, I hardly did anything hands on. I bought a bunch of books that looked suitable for beginner gardeners and began studying them. I bought copies of Canadian Gardening and Gardens West and admired the spectacular gardens featured in beautiful, full-colour, multi-page spreads. I Googled topics such as deadheading bulbs and companion planting. I visited Rona and Home Depot—both of which are nearby—regularly to check out the gardening sections. I became engrossed in the Lee Valley Tools website.

Eventually, I had to stop myself. I needed to just get outside and get my hands dirty in the earth. I needed to start learning by doing. What was the worst that could happen?

I found out last week. I had to do some trickier work than I would have if I’d done a wee bit more thinking and research before planting my veggie patch. This challenge had nothing to do with the vegetables in the patch. Rather, it stemmed from what was around the patch.

The length of my vegetable garden is beside a fence, and right against the fence was a narrow tangle of vines and plants that I didn’t pay that much attention to before I put the veggies in. I thought they were just plants used to cover up the fact the fence is falling apart and will need replacing one day soon.

After planting the veggies, I learned that these plants were periwinkle (vinca minor) and St. John’s-wort (hypericum perforatum). Above, climbing up the fence was a tangle of three different vines that had roots and suckers winding up and down within the periwinkle and St. John’s. The only creeping vine I’ve identified so far is winter jasmine, and it seems too be all over my front and back garden.

I had three concerns about this situation:

1. Everything along the fence was getting bigger. The periwinkle and St. John’s were starting to creep into the veggie patch, and the vines were getting so thick that I expected they would soon start creeping into the veggies too. Not only that, the whole area seemed a good deal shadier than it had been a few weeks before.

2. Although it looks rather attractive with its dark, shiny evergreen leaves and small purplish pinwheel-shaped flowers, periwinkle is considered an invasive plant in Greater Vancouver. It certainly had lived up to its invasive reputation in my garden. I had ripped out a stretch beside the fence in another part of the backyard, but I hadn’t gotten to the area on the other side of the fence. Slowly but surely it started creeping back inside the fence. I wanted to get rid of as much of it as I could sooner rather than later. St. John’s-wort is considered a noxious weed in British Columbia and it too was proving to be a pain, sprouting up here and there in the backyard.

3. If I didn’t act fast, it would be harder and harder to do something about these plants. I didn’t have stepping stones in the veggie patch, so, once the vegetables grew bigger, stepping around them wouldn’t be so easy.

If the veggie garden wasn’t planted, getting rid of this mess would have been easier. But the tender sprouts and a row of marigolds right beside meant I had to tread carefully to avoid squishing anything. Consequently, I was basically pinned against the rickety old fence for nearly three hours while cutting vines and shoots and hand-pulling periwinkle and St. John’s!

First, I cleared out the vines. They were thick and overgrown—shooting up, down, and across. As I cut away at the creepers, I discovered a large piece of wire mesh about 3’ x 5’ wide leaning against the fence. It looked like it had being used to train the vines, but now it was bulging out from the fence, seemingly because the vines were getting so thick and weighty they were now pulling the top of the mesh horizontally with them.

Initially, I was going to just leave the mesh in place and get rid of everything around it. After a while, reaching in and trying to pull stalks through it became frustrating, not only because it was awkward, but also because I didn’t feel like I was making progress—I was only grasping a couple of stalks and so things looked the same after a half hour of pulling. The mesh and the vines tangled in it had to go. I snipped away until I freed the mesh and I tossed it, along with the swirl of vines still wrapped around it, over the fence onto the driveway. Phew. Finally, a sense of accomplishment! Next, I had to work around a fennel plant that I wanted to keep. It seemed like I’d be there all afternoon. But I just kept pulling and pulling, focusing on how good it would feel to be rid of the plants. Suddenly, voila! I was at the end of the veggie patch.

When I look at this little section of my garden now, I feel happy. It’s not perfect—the fact the fence is falling down is more evident for sure, and maybe I shouldn’t have been so brutal about hacking back the vines. But instead of getting stuck in a book, I got my hands dirty and finished a project.

Behind a pretty face

We moved into our first house at the beginning of April 2010. One of the selling features was its mature perennial garden. At the open house, I noticed the backyard had no lawn, which was fine with me – I’m allergic to grass and maintenance can take a toll on the environment. The front had a beautiful, petite magnolia tree. Other than that, I didn't really notice the garden, and since we were buying in Vancouver when there was hardly a house for sale, there was no opportunity for a second look before making an offer.

We learned the previous owner had recorded a seasonal diary of the garden through the years. She kindly offered to stop by and give a guided garden tour. Over 30-plus years, she’d assembled an amazing collection of perennial plants, trees, and shrubs. A number of them came from other people’s gardens she said—a quilt in nature I thought. I should have taken notes. There were so many different and unfamiliar plants. Living in apartments and condos until now, I was limited to container gardening with herbs and annuals.

One of the first things I wanted to do was create a veggie patch in the backyard. How rewarding it would be to enjoy fresh greens, young beets, and sweet ripe tomatoes throughout the summer! There was a patch back there but it looked unloved. So I purchased organic soil mix that I worked into the existing earth. Three old tires lay in the patch and I was told they are great for growing squash because they get really hot in the sun. Marvelous, I thought, I’ve never grown squash but I love eating it, so why not? I poured some fresh soil into the tire holes and mixed it around.

I was planning to plant the veggie patch the first weekend of May, but we were having a house warming party on the Saturday. I foolishly thought I could squeeze planting in on Friday night, but we got busy with party preparation. It turned out to be a blessing—I happened to leaf through the local free paper (the one that’s mostly flyers) that night and stumbled on article advising against using old tires in your veggie patch. When the rubber in the tires starts breaking down, toxins may be released into the soil, contaminating your crop. Bummer. I’d have to get rid of the tires before planting anything.

The garden looked pretty good for the party although I hadn’t done much except work on the veggie patch. The tulips and hyacinths were putting on a wonderful show in the front yard. I was lucky that some guests at our party were gardeners. They were quick to notice the wonderful trees and shrubs in the back, including rhododendrons, azaleas, pear trees, mock orange. But they also pointed out that our garden is home to several invasive plants and noxious weeds. Nightshade. St. John’s-Wort. Creeping Buttercup. Periwinkle. Plus comfrey which is quite toxic.

I took in all the advice and thoughts. First though, I needed to get rid of the tires. It was tough to remove them because they were full of earth and plenty of old roots were tangled inside. I think one came from a truck or tractor it was so large. All was going well until under the second tire I uncovered an ant colony. It was difficult to pick them out initially, but as I peered closer, I could see the earth moving.

What should have been an extra day to get rid of the tires turned into a multi-day effort to eliminate the ants naturally since I’d be growing veggies right over them. Pouring boiling water on the area seem the best option. Ideally I would find the queen and pour the water on her. However, digging below the crawling surface wasn’t easy since there was a tangle of roots and runners down there, I suspected from the raspberry bushes and the creeping vines concealing the worn out wooden fence beside the veggie patch. After two days of pouring boiling water, coffee laced with cinnamon, and ground up organic orange peels on the pesky ants, I was throwing in the towel. If they crawled all over my zucchini plants, so be it. Besides, I was going to plant some mint close by—I read ants hate it.

Meanwhile, I had started Googling invasive plants to learn more and find photos. I took pictures of the plants in our garden to compare and help with identification. Although not considered an invasive, comfrey was high on my “going” list—it is furry and unattractive.

Then I noticed that the plant suspected to be nightshade was starting to wrap itself around a large garlic plant near the veggie patch. This didn’t sound like nightshade. The creeping didn’t seem too bad at first, but after a couple of days, it looked like it was downright strangling the innocent stalk, trying to pin its outside leaves to the ground like a wrestler. After looking more closely at other areas of the back garden, much to my dismay, I discovered the strangler plant was everywhere, including attacking the rhododendrons! So much for eliminating the comfrey, I needed to save rhodos and ferns from the strangler. I believe it is bindweed, a relative of morning glory. Bindweed sounded difficult to get rid of, and the jungle-y backyard would no doubt add to the complexity.

While all this was going on, the neighbours commented on the beautiful show the tulips were putting on in the front yard. If only they knew what was happening behind that pretty façade.