The Romance of Possibility

In his garden every man may be his own artist without apology or explanation. Here is one spot where each may experience the "romance of possibility."                                                                                                                                                                  Louise Beebe Wilder

 My body is not so young any more, but when I walk outside and breathe in the fresh spring air and let my eyes wander across the garden, my mind rolls with possibilities. It is a new beginning, and it doesn't matter that a rabbit ate all the pansies in the lady garden last fall or that I have two dead dogwood trees in the woodlands. I am dreaming of new projects, some immediate and some far into the future, wishes only, but who knows what can happen with time and effort and an unexpected influx of cash!

I am fortunate to have lived in the same place for over a quarter of a century. I have worked my land less than it has worked me, but while a lot of changes are inside the psyche of who I am, the garden is visible to the world. Old dreams fulfilled. The garden still has plenty of wild, rough edges, but there is so much potential!

 From the patio, here is today's view across the front garden:

And this is what one sees standing on the front lawn, looking back toward the patio:

Another part of the front garden near the patio:

If one stands on the road and looks into the main part of the front garden, one has a good view of some of the Japanese maples:

It's hard to get myself inside the house, when the world is so wondrous outside. Is that a good enough excuse for not doing housework?

While most of the daffodils finished blooming a few weeks ago, a few late comers are flowering here and there. I can't tell you the names of any of my daffodils! The daffodil in the top photo was here when we moved in. It is lovely but the stems can't hold its floppy head up. I purchased all the others as  part of a group for naturalizing, and they were not individually identified:

There are lots of other flowers blooming:Top: A species tulip, the only survivor of several dozen I planted years ago. It blooms reliably every spring; Snowflake, Lucojum vernum. 2nd row: Rosa mutabilis; Rosa 'Zephirine Drouhin'. 3nd row: Loropetalum; Viburnum burkwoodii. 4th row:Grape hyacinth and woodland phlox; Flowering quince.

And spring couldn't be spring without the birds and the bees. Isn't that what it's all about?

Lots of people comment on how beautiful the garden is, but, of course, they see only the results. They don't see all the dead stuff. I hope that when people get to know me, they see something lovely, too, not the rotten junk that happened along the way. I want people to see the good results and know that, if they notice some rough edges, there are still lots of possibilities. No matter how old I am!

Happy Spring!   Deborah

Alabama Croton, a Rare Native

I found it! My own, very rare Croton alabamensis is now planted in Deb's Garden.

I became attracted to this plant earlier in the year while researching Alabama native shrubs. The Alabama croton grows wild in only a few counties of Alabama and possibly one in Tennessee. A similar plant also grows in Texas. In the Euphorbiacea family, it's a quirky shrub that looks good in natural woodlands, but it also has appeal to the plant collector as a specimen. Don't we always want what is hard to get?

It's not for sale in most nurseries, and I couldn't find it on the internet, either. But I was like a bloodhound, sniffing out its apple scented leaves (when crushed) when I discovered a stand of them only a few miles from my house. More than a dozen grow in an undisturbed part of Aldridge Gardens, where I sometimes volunteer as a docent/tour guide. It may be one of the largest groupings in the state, and thus the world! I was delighted the plant would be offered at a shrub sale to benefit the Gardens.

I think it would be easy to walk past the plant and not appreciate it, but there is a lot to like about Alabama croton, if one happens to look. It grows four to eight feet high and wide in a loose, open habit similar to native azaleas, and it takes on a broadly rounded shape with age. From about February to April, clusters of yellow-green flowers bloom on the end of twigs. They are odd little flowers that remind me of sea anemones. Though a young plant, my Alabama croton had a few blooms on it when I purchased it.The most distinctive thing about Alabama croton is the silvery scales that cover the leaves and twigs. Lustrous new leaves are deep green on top, but the undersides look like they have been spray-painted silver. Semi-evergreen, older leaves turn rich orange in the fall, providing an amazing contrast to the metallic undersides. The following photos demonstrates the form, as well as the leaves of my Alabama croton. (By the way, the stumps in the background of the photo on the left are old oak stumps from giant trees brought down by a tornado in 1990. After all these years, the stumps still provide shelter and food for countless organisms.)The following photos were taken of more mature specimens at Aldridge Gardens:

Alabama croton grows naturally on limestone bluffs and will tolerate dry, poor soil, though it will also prosper in well drained, organic soil. It likes some shade but is heat and draught tolerant and will grow in zones 6-8. While rare in the wild, Alabama croton deserves to be planted in more gardens and is worth the effort to find one.