Tornado!

My garden, in its present form, was birthed at 2:30 AM on February 10, 1990. It was a violent birth, and it has taken twenty years to grow to what it is now.

Before that night our home was surrounded by a forest of oak trees which towered into the heavens, with an understory of dogwoods, redbuds, and a host of native shrubs. There was a little Japanese maple, our marriage tree. After years in a pot, I had planted it out front when we moved here. It liked the new environment and had grown to about five feet. I had also planted azaleas, hostas, and daffodils, but the great trees spoke for themselves.

I loved my trees. I was inordinately proud of them, though I had nothing to do with their planting or growth. They were stretching skyward many years before we moved here in 1985. They sheltered our home from the hot summer sun and provided a break against harsh storms. The forest was a place for exploration and contemplation for both children and adults. It was a place you could go when you needed to be alone or when you needed to share secrets with a friend. I liked to stand beneath my trees and listen to them speak, sighing and rustling in the breeze, with bird call and squirrel chatter echoing response.

That night twenty years ago, Lou and I were wakened by hail hitting the house. We could hear a terrible howl outside and behind that, a roar. 

"I think it's a tornado," I said, not really believing it.

Lou headed for the other side of the house, where our three young boys were sleeping, and I quickly followed. As I passed the large windows in the living room, my trees were bending half-way to the ground under the push of hurricane force winds. A steady strobe of lightening lit the sky behind them. It looked like a scene from a disaster movie.

Within moments we were huddling in the hallway. We covered our children's bodies with our own and prayed for our lives as our home was taken by force. Powerful thumps pounded the walls.

"It's the trees," Lou said, "They're hitting the house."

The entire structure groaned and vibrated, and we heard wood snapping and popping. It was over within five minutes, and our home stayed strong and we were safe. The next morning, I stood on the front steps and counted seventy-five trees on the ground, their root systems ripped from the earth. Many of them had succumbed to the straight line winds that preceded the tornado. Some of those trees leaned against the house, embracing it as though to protect it, even as we had bent over our children during the storm. A contractor later told us that the big trees lying over our house had actually sheltered us from the force of the tornado itself. We had twelve feet of windows across the living room, and not one pane was broken.

The following two photos show a small portion of the damage to our yard that day.

My son Sam was nine years old in this photo.

Both of these shots were taken in the general area of today's front garden.Repairs and remodeling of our house took nearly a year. The yard took much longer.We went through a brutally hot summer without air conditioning and without shade trees. One day I worked with Lou in the yard. Dark smoke rose as piles of brush burned along our drive, and raw craters pockmarked the land.

"It looks like we've been bombed," I said. I was very sad. The house had to come first, and our budget for landscaping was approximately zero.

Then something caught my eye. It was a sunflower, it's cheerful face lifting to the sun. It was near our marriage tree, which had survived the storm without a single broken branch, though giant tree trunks had come down all around it. I looked at the sunflower and smiled. It was a promise. I bought a packet of zinnia seeds and planted them.

Today I have a garden featuring Japanese maples and many flowering trees and shrubs. I have an herb bed and a vegetable plot, and a woodland garden with ferns and mosses and native plants. I stroll through my gardens along paths bordered by flowers and ground covers, and I plan new projects. It is a beautiful place. The following images of the front garden were taken spring, 2009. One hundred percent of everything seen, except the marriage tree in the lower right photo, was planted after the tornado.

My garden teaches me that change will come to push and stretch us, whether through careful planning or through the natural ebb and flow of life, with our permission or not, even through a tornado. It will come. And it can be a very good thing.

Where in the world is this?

I would like to call this Spectacular Sunset Sunday. Because of my irregular working days and my inability to count on posting on any give day, I don't usually do memes. I'll probably never do another one, but I like the alliteration.

These photos were taken by my son Mark, in another time, another place. He is kind to allow me to post them on my blog. Can any of you guess where in the world they were taken? Hint: It is very far from Alabama."The heavens declare the glory of God. The skies proclaim the work of his hands."

Day's End

Did you guess Australia? Mark took these shots in the Tangalooma region of Moreton's Island, southeast of Queensland, Australia when he visited there as a student ambassador in 2002. He stepped out of his hotel room just as this incredible sunset was occurring and just as the kayaker was coming in toward the beach. These are about my favorite sunset photos of all time, and I am happy to share them with you.

Was it worth it?

To celebrate my friend Janet's recent birthday, a few of us had lunch today at the Garden Cafe at Birmingham Botanical Gardens. I planned to wander around afterwards, taking photos for my blog. I was sure there would be many great photo opportunities, even in early February. The camellias would be blooming! I am running out of subjects in my own garden. There are only so many interesting ways to photograph bare limbs and dried leaves.

It rained.

Although I had hoped the weather would clear and I could get some good photographs, the rain was still coming down when our luncheon ended. It wasn't too bad, however, and Janet and I walked to the conservatory after the others had departed. She was carrying a bulky box with a birthday present in it, her purse, an umbrella, and some small plants inside plastic bags. I was carrying my purse, my camera, and an umbrella.

"I only want to get a few shots of the camellias. That's all," I said.

We admired the tropical plants in the main conservatory as we headed for the camellia house. I paused briefly to take photos of some of them.

A large pot of colorful crotons, codiaeum variegatum, was near the entrance of the conservatory.

We admired the powder puff plant, calliandra haematocephale, a vine that is native to Brazil and other parts of South America. It attracts hummingbirds and butterflies.

The largest herb in the world grows in the conservatory of the BBG. What is that? The banana tree! The bananas are used to feed animals at the nearby Birmingham zoo.

At last we opened the door to the camellia house. My own camellias are not quite blooming yet, but in the heated camellia house many were in full bloom and their wonderful colors greeted us.

As beautiful as the greenhouse camellias were, what I really wanted to see was the camellia walk outside.

"Just a few shots, " I promised Janet as we headed out into the rain.

The camellias were lovely, and I took some photographs from the shelter of my umbrella.

I spied an arch.

"Oh, how pretty," I cried. "Lets go up there!"

The view from the arch was the most beautiful we had seen so far. "Just a couple more," I told Janet.

I composed a photo in the view finder, then depressed the button to take the shot. Nothing happened! My camera batteries had chosen that moment to die. I bemoaned the lost photos, but I am sure Janet was secretly rejoicing. We were both wet as we started back.

We came to a large puddle, and the only way around it was by walking along a ledge. We balanced ourselves like a couple of schoolgirls. The maneuver took grace and agility, of which neither of us had much. We clutched our belongings and hoped for the best.

We made it!

We were well on the way to our cars when disaster struck. Somehow the lid to Janet's birthday box popped open, and her new terra cotta candle holders threatened to fall out. I grabbed them to prevent that from happening, and a million white styrofoam packing peanuts spilled out and started bouncing and blowing in the breeze. Janet handed me her stuff and began chasing the peanuts. Meanwhile, the handle of my umbrella came off, and my umbrella tilted and threatened to poke me in the eye as I stood with purse and camera and birthday box and little plants in plastic sacks. 

And the rain kept coming down.

We were laughing or crying, I'm not sure which, when a young man named Jeff Colvin came to our rescue. He scooped handfuls of of packing peanuts and returned them to the birthday box and helped us rearrange ourselves. He then carried the birthday box all the way to Janet's car. He was so kind and helpful I think the whole world should know.

I plan to return to BBG on a better day. Today was only a tiny taste of what this sixty-six acre botanical garden offers. Was it worth it?

I think so, if not for the photographs, then for the chance to meet a nice man like Jeff Colvin.

Confessions of a perfectionist

I like to be in control, at least as far as my garden goes. And I am a perfectionist. This is not to be confused with being perfect.

We have two dwarf apple trees. One is a red delicious and another is a golden delicious. These are not the best apple trees for our hot climate. Their flavor is mediocre, and they tend to be sickly and need more attention than I want to give. I have threatened to cut them down. However, last year they produced bushels of healthy, large fruit from which we made lots of yummy pies. So for now, they live.

Today I pruned them, cutting their tips back to about nine feet and cleaning up the interior to let in more sunlight. Lou offered to do this for me, but I initially delegated him to clean-up crew. I use some good Felco loppers, and with them I can almost reach as high as I need to cut. Almost.

Lou watched as I stretched and maneuvered between the branches.

"I could do that," he said. "I'm taller than you are." 

This made sense. I would supervise, and he would make the cuts.

"OK. Reach up there. No, not that one! Up a little. You need to cut above an outward facing bud. There. No, don't cut the bud! Above it! A clean cut! Don't rip it! " 

By the time he had made one cut, I was clinching my teeth. "You better let me do it," I said. 

"Yeah, I can see this is like plastic surgery. I'll get the ladder."

After that, we worked smoothly, with Lou picking up and hauling off the fallen branches and moving the ladder around the tree for me as I made the cuts. The trees look great now. Tomorrow I will spray them with dormant oil to protect against insects and diseases.

I wonder if there are any co-chief gardens out there, with two people equally and happily planning, planting, and maintaining their plot. I think it would be hard if Lou said too me, "No, I think this plant would be better," or if he said, "I think we should design it this way."

Fortunately, he is happy to be the garden helper, and I do ask his input and advice. Our team works well that way.

Just don't let me go near a car engine; I wouldn't want to do that anyway!

Other things I did in my garden today:

1. Fertilized emerging bulb shoots with a natural bulb-booster.

2. Embedded some flat stones and concrete blocks on a slope to make a secondary access to the woodland garden easier. Someday I may pay someone to build real steps. For now these work fine.

3. Transplanted an osmanthus fragrans about eighteen inches over to the right. Its position just looked a little off. I said I was a perfectionist.

4. Found flowers on my hellebores!

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Waiting for Spring

Today there was no wow in winter. 

There was only dullness and brownness, crunchy leaves, drab and gray, stale leftovers from another season before the winter sleep.

I worked hard in the Lady Garden, raking away a foot of leaves, planting a few plants, pulling weeds, and there was still no wow, nothing to show. I didn't feel satisfied. But then I saw promise that spring is coming. Yes, it's coming. The signs are subtle, a few young shoots, tiny buds swelling, telling me the land is waking.

Soon the earth will come out of its slumber, cast away the rags and put on colorful new party clothes.

How much would we love spring if there were no winter?

So I am content for today, waiting for spring.