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.