Protecting the Garden from a Freeze

My heart sank when I saw it. The forecast two Tuesdays ago showed 35 °F seven days out.

The day before, Magnolia and I had planted beans and squash because when I looked at the two week forecast, there was nothing below freezing. But models update overnight, and my worries that the early spring we'd been experiencing would be nipped before the last frost date appeared to be coming true.

Throughout the week I continued to monitor the temperature, and after a couple of days, Time and Date was saying that we were going to have a low of around 21°F Tuesday morning. Talk about gut wrenching. Other weather apps and websites weren't claiming that yet, but their forecasts would drop over the coming days until we received an official freeze warning.

I had felt this pain already a few years ago in 2023 when Pam Penick was coming to shoot our garden for her book Gardens of Texas. We had two days of 26 °F after several weeks of warm weather. The Baptisia (wild indigo) had already emerged, the persimmons had flushed out, and my azaleas were in full bloom. All of them and more got burned. The Baptisia failed to flower correctly that year, and I even lost most of my blueberries. I can weather these events if they happen once every 10 years, but after having this just happen three years ago, I was ready to take matters more into my own hands instead of waiting and seeing.

Protecting plants isn’t new to me. Season extension has been an interest of mine since my teenage years. As a gardener in Tennessee where the season was shorter, I played around with covers, double covers, and other strategies to protect plants. I was mainly focused on trying to extend the end of the season into the winter (one year I got spinach to survive 9 °F!), but we can also extend the season by protecting plants in the spring. And, it’s not just limited to the vegetable garden or seedlings. There are other methods we can use to protect plants from cold weather.

So after catching the red eye back from speaking in Seattle and getting home around 8:00 AM last Sunday morning, I went outside to set about protecting what I could after a short nap. I got everything in place so that I’d be ready Monday night. Three forecasts I looked at Monday evening showed 29 °F, 27°F, and 21°F. My guess was we would be 24 °F.

I awoke Tuesday morning to find that we were 24.6 °F. Boom! While it felt great to know our area well enough that I could guess the temperature, I dreaded what I might find outside.

However, I was delighted that my season extension efforts mostly paid off. Here’s the different approaches I used this week along with if I would repeat them.

Covering vegetables with frost cloth and Christmas lights (absolutely yes!). It’s funny. In a bit of fleeting optimism, I had put my floating row cover up just before I saw the first hint of a coming cold front. I dragged it back out, and put the frost cloth back up over my luscious potatoes (seriously, the best crop I’ve ever had!) and the beans and zucchini that we had just planted. But, this time I added five strings of Christmas lights around the tender plants. Years ago when we had a late frost, it was enough to protect my tomatoes, and I figured it would work again. I have to give credit to Lindsay Kerr, who gave me the idea of using the Christmas lights years ago. One of the issues we have in Texas is if we wait until we’re frost free we run the risk that we will have a hot summer that will slow plant growth.

The success of this method with the beans and zucchini also has me rethinking when to plant my warm-season crops during the yearly tug of war between winter and spring. Usually I try to wait to plant warm-season crops until the last absolute frost date, maybe even two weeks past that. It was what I practiced in Tennessee to optimize plant growth based on weather. But in Texas, we are racing to get plants to grow and yield before we get so hot in the summer. I'm now considering jumping the gun and extending the season in the other direction—starting earlier in the spring under cover to help get crops going before the heat arrives.

I might also look at attaching the Christmas lights directly to the hoops to keep them suspended up off the ground. I just have to watch to make sure wherever I put them doesn't risk ripping the fabric.

Potatoes are still alive the morning of the freeze with the floating row cover and Christmas lights.

Zucchini seedlings made it with the Christmas lights.

A few days later, bush beans have emerged well.

A few days after the freeze, the potatoes look healthy. Note a few brown leaves where the foliage touched the frost cloth.

Covering blueberries with blankets and Christmas lights (absolutely yes!). I threw two strands of Christmas lights on two blueberry shrubs, and then covered them with old blankets. The recommendation with blankets or other coverings is that it has to cover the plant all the way to the ground. However, the blankets weren’t that big, which meant they were suspended on the plants with a gap at the base. The Christmas lights were able to produce enough warmth that it protected them! The two blueberries I lit and covered are still in flower now a few days later, and the fruit appear just fine. There’s another blueberry bush that I did not cover as a control a few feet away, and the fruit have turned brown on them.

After removing the blankets, the blueberries looked fine with the Christmas lights.

A few days after the freeze, bees are still working the blueberry flowers.

Running an overnight sprinkler on the persimmons (maybe, but probably yes). Water can be an effective means to prevent plants from freezing. As water goes from a liquid to a solid, it releases latent heat, and that heat is enough to protect plant tissue. It’s not just large scale farmers who use this method. My great-grandfather would go out in the middle of the night and run a sprinkler on his strawberry patch to protect the flower buds from a late freeze. Around 10:00 PM, I saw the temperature had already dropped to 32.4°F, so I went outside and turned the water on. To my dismay, the water in the hose had already frozen. I turned it on and noticed a slow trickle out of the sprinkler. There was enough water moving through the hose that it was able to melt the ice, and after about two minutes or so the sprinkler was running. In the future, I'll probably try to start it a little bit earlier.

The next morning the tree was covered in ice (header image). Would I do this approach again? Most likely. It sure is nice a few days later to see verdant leaves and emerging flower buds on the persimmons. The one issue, though—and it hit me around 2:00 AM lying in bed—is that the weight of the ice on the plants could be catastrophic. I actually lost a couple of small branches on one tree. The loss didn't disfigure it in any meaningful way because I've been pruning them healthily over the years, but it's something to consider. Am I willing to lose a portion of the tree due to ice load just to save a year’s crop?

A few days later, the persimmon trees I sprayed are still green with minimal leaf damage…

…while the one I didn’t spray water on looks rough. It should rebound like they did a few years ago.

A gash on the persimmon tree from the ice load. This damage makes me question if I would spray them with water again.

Protecting Baptisia with autumn leaves (no). Baptisia alba (white wild indigo) is a crucial primary plant in our spring garden. After the 2023 freeze, the blooms failed to form right, and it’s absence in the upper layer in our garden was quite apparent. So, I built chicken-wire cages about 19 inches wide (5 ft round) and filled them with leaves. I was inspired by colleagues further north that encage their bananas and other tropicals with autumn leaves, but I would not do the leaf cylinders again. They were too thin. I don't think there was enough insulation, and some of the Baptisia were already emerged 12-to-18 inches. I'll go back and inspect each Baptisia clump. I'll cut off anything I think was frost damaged, because I already know the inflorescences that had emerged are gone. That will help to encourage the plants to direct their energy into the buds that were more protected down near the base. In some cases, I may actually have to cut the entire plant back and hopefully force some lower dormant flowering buds out.

The Baptisia shoot on the left is damaged and blackened from the freeze while the right one looks ok.

Covering Baptisia with a tub and Christmas lights (absolutely yes!). There was one Baptisia plant that was too tall to cover with a cylinder at all. For that one, I got a leaf collection tub, put twinkle lights underneath it, and that plant made it through just fine. So in the future, instead of doing the leaf cylinders, I'm going to get 5 gallon buckets or some type of tarp teepees. I can put stakes in the ground around the Baptisia, drape the covering over them, put Christmas lights underneath, and run extension cords through the garden connecting everything. I know it sounds complex, but it makes buying those 20 strands of Christmas lights on clearance the day after Christmas worth it!

Covering the nursery plants with tarps (absolutely yes!). I do this already, but I wanted to mention it for those of you unaware. Even when we have steep dips in temperature during the winter, I’ll cover my seedlings with a tarp. They made it through just fine.

Bringing tender plants inside (absolutely yes!). I also brought tender plants like tomato and basil seedlings and my Sanseveria inside the garage overnight. No question I would do this again.

If we continue to have warming springs with sudden eruptions of cold further south, season extension will be crucial to protect plants. One night can ruin so much, but it still amazes me that plants can make it through with no damage.

Weeks like this one are a reminder that gardening is always a delicate dance with nature. You can cover, wrap, water, and light your way through a hard freeze, and sometimes it works beautifully. But the plants that worried me least were the ones I'd chosen well in the first place. Take these Lupinus subcarnosus (sandy-land bluebonnets) below. Sure, they looked rough Tuesday morning, but now they look fine.

That's the quiet power of plant selection.

If you want to go deeper on that idea, I'd love for you to join me Monday, March 23 2026 at 6:00 PM Central for my next Botanic Bootcamp session—The Power of Plant Selection. Click below to learn more and to access a discount code.

Lupinus subcarnosus (sandy-land bluebonnet) shrugged the freeze off.

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Keep Growing

Considering Narcissus

There are few things that feel as good in life as that first warm stretch after a cold winter.  

That’s what we enjoyed this past weekend here at Ephemera Farm.  I finished the great cutback, and the garden is cleaned of last year’s growth.  In the areas I cleared a few weeks ago, the early foliage of Arnoglossum plantagineum (prairie Indian plantain) and Rudbeckia maxima (giant coneflower) are already making a strong presence at ground level.

And, the plantings are beaming with Narcissus (daffodil).  They are one of the non-native species I use to fill an empty gap at the beginning of the season.  My naturalistic plantings can look quite devoid of plants until early March when the first wave of color from Phlox (phlox), Glandularia (rose vervain), and Lupinus (bluebonnets) start.  The Narcissus glow on both the bright and solemn days we have in February.  

It’s taken me a few years to figure out which species will grow well here in east Texas where we have less cold than further north.  I now have a handful of varieties that have proven to bloom well.  

Last weekend was a good time to pause and admire their attributes.  I was reminded of how important the process of plant selection is from my friend Molly Hendry when we spoke together a few weekends ago in South Carolina.  She shared while she was at Great Dixter, Fergus Garrett had grown 10 different types of Muscari (grape hyacinths) in pots and then had the interns evaluate which of them were the best.  They were asked to consider flower, form, foliage, how they would fade, and more, and they were then to tell Fergus which were the best.  I admired that great attention to detail. It clicked with me how simple this approach was for us gardeners to examine a plant's attributes, and it's something I've been thinking about as I prepare for the next Botanic Bootcamp on the power of plant selection. So, I walked the garden collecting flowers and foliage to compare.   

Narcissus pseudonarcissus (Lent lily) has been the dominant daffodil I’ve used in my beds.  The light yellow flowers are not too overpowering for the space.  And, after they finish flowering the thin blue leaves echo well with Rudbeckia maxima and Eryngium yuccifolium (rattlesnake master).  I make sure I go through and remove the seed pods so that they don’t seed around and that redirects energy back into the bulb.  

In the core beds near the house, Narcissus pseudonarcissus blooms with a soft yellow.

I have debated over the years if I have one or two different types of Narcissus tazetta (tazettas), but after amassing this collection, I can see the differences.  Both were nameless backroad rescues. One has a darker cup and thinner foliage, which could be ‘Grand Primo’.  The other has a much larger presence in the garden with its flowers and larger leaves. Greg Grant suspects it is an old timey cultivar called ‘Grandiflora’.  On this one, I noticed a bit of damage in the middle of the thick blades where they bend. My guess is that spot is where the sun shines on the freezing mornings, and the tissue burned a bit.  Because the foliage can show winter damage and the volume of blades produced, I’ve decided to not plant them in any beds. They can start looking too flimsy after flowering. Instead I hoard them under my blackberries.  I love using them here to smother the weeds out. 

Narcissus tazetta ‘Grandiflora’ cover the ground under our blackberries with their thick foliage.

Most of the rest of my Narcissus have been in trial beds waiting to see where I can use them most effectively.  ‘February Gold’ is a new one I bought a few years ago, and I am ready to commit to planting them into beds on the western side of the garden where I have more warm colors from Salix ‘Flame’ (willow) and Cornus amomum ‘Cayenne’ (silky dogwood).  Over the period of a few years, I watched as other bulbs planted at the same time like ‘Tête-à-Tête’ and ‘Jetfire’ melted away, but ‘February Gold’ continued to weave more golden flowers.  For us it’s early and started blooming February 5 this year, even beating Narcissus pseudonarcissus that opened on February 9. The green verdant leaves are different than the many others I have with a bluish cast.  For me the leaf color is the driving factor of putting them on that side of the garden.  The green foliage pairs better with the warm colors.

I have bulked up hundreds of Narcissus × odorus (campernelle), and I’m eyeing putting them on a hillside on the eastern part of our property where it stays wetter just down from our ‘Ann’ Magnolia (hybrid magnolia).  The flowers are a strong yellow, and they have these thin green leaves that aren’t as strappy as others.  Perhaps this year I’ll be able to check that off my list.  

Another perspective of the flowers so you can enjoy the insides of the coronas.

I love ‘Carlton’, but the large flowers are a bit overpowering, and they are also an intense yellow.  I haven’t quite decided where I want them to go yet, but I’m leaning toward mixing them in with the campernelles so that they can play a bit off the same color with just different shapes.  

I have two Narcissus that feature a color shift between the petals and the corona.  I love ‘Ceylon’.  The orange cups are so striking on this Narcissus against the yellow petals, and it is one of the only orange cup types I’ve had success with so far.  And I’m delighted that ‘Ice Follies’ is growing well for me.  I have seen it here and there in east Texas and finally decided to give it a try.  It was one that I grew back in Tennessee, and I love how the petals fade from a creamy yellow to almost white while the cup holds a buttery yellow color.  I still haven’t decided where to place then, and that’s ok.  I can enjoy them in the patch for now in their holding beds.  

Foliage and flowers to consider mixing with Narcissus left to right: Rudbeckia maxima, Eryngium yuccifolium, Ipheion uniflorum (starflower), Arnoglossum plantagineum, and Leucojum aestivum ‘Gravetye Giant’ (summer snowflake).

Before I gathered them into a bundle for taking inside, I walked the garden and collected foliage and flowers from other plants that they will share space with in the coming weeks before going dormant.  I focused on plants that have hints of blues and greens to see if there are combinations that I should further consider.

Many solo planted bulbs have bulked up over the years, and I’m keen on dividing some clumps this spring and moving them around. And, after I put them in their new spots, I imagine the joy they will bring in future springs. But for now, I’ll enjoy this one.

Reflections from Winter Storm Fern

In the south, winter weather has a duality. Yes, it is beautiful and lovely to see the landscape. But, it can wreak havoc on infrastructure and interrupt life.

That was the position we found ourselves in yet again three weeks ago when Winter Storm Fern hit. Fortunately, because we have been through these situations before, we were prepared with firewood, gas, food cooked, and a generator.

Sure, I don’t like when winter weather impacts life, but I love to see how it interacts with our gardens.

We got just enough for Magnolia to sled on a back hillside and just enough to make some magic in the garden as ice and snow fell on and around our plants.

Snow and ice events can tell us much about our gardens—what plants will stand upright, collapse, or bend and bounce back afterward. I realize that most people don’t design gardens with ice storms in mind, but it’s worth noting what happens during these extreme events to learn for the future.

I grabbed my camera and went out to explore, and I wanted to share my observations with you.

The core garden beds near the house fared well through the storm. Lilium formosanum (Formosan lily), which I use as a strong upright, mostly bent downward from the weight of the ice. You can see their stems going every whichaway.

I chuckled after seeing my Panicum virgatum ‘Northwind’ (switchgrass).  They looked like a comb over.  Amazingly, they would right themselves after the ice melted.

The bejeweled panicles of Panicum virgatum ‘Northwind’

Another grass that looked pretty entombed in ice was Andropogon virginicus (broomsedge).

Eragrostis spectabilis (purple lovegrass) always gets a decent coating of ice with their abundant panicles.

Isn’t this odd?  The left stem of Helianthus angustifolius (swamp sunflower) barely covered with ice while Eutrochium fistulosum (hollow Joe Pye weed) clearly has a thick layer. It left me wondering why the difference?

Another hollow joe pye weed plant with the dazzling inflorescence. Every joe pye weed in the garden appeared the same with their ice coatings. My suspicion is the pedicels were horizontal, which allowed them to capture more water to then become ice.

You can also see these horizontal branches of Salix nigra are loaded with ice as well. The trees glowed against the sky with their icy coating.

I was very impressed to see the Silphium perfoliatum (cup plant) remain standing after the ice storm. If they can stand after this storm, I believe they can be strong elements throughout winter.

I saw the same thing with Silphium laciniatum (compass plant).  The culms remained up right.

Boltonia diffusa (southern doll’s daisy) is really growing on me for its low growth habit, fall flowers, and dark stems in the winter. Here we see the stems and spent flowers coated in ice.

One last thing I noticed as I walked outside was that any herbaceous plant I brushed past would break off.  Stems, twigs, and even leaves like you see here on this weedy rye.  For some it was the weight of the ice, but for others it was the frozen foliage that shattered apart. 

The golden orbs of Ilex decidua ‘Finch’s Golden’ (possumhaw) pop with a coating of ice.

I love the fiery twigs of Cornus amomum ‘Cayenne’ (silky dogwood, header image). The color is even more intense with some ice or rain on them.

The last blooms on my Hamamelis vernalis (Ozark witch hazel) were coated with a bit of ice.  The petals tolerate freezing well and will often curl to help offset the issue. 

One of my favorite plants to look at during ice storms is Ludwigia alternifolia (seedbox).  The box-shaped seed capsules always get a good coating of ice.

I figured that Coreopsis tripteris would collapse with the ice, but it also stood upright well.  

The split seed pods of Oenothera rhombipetala (four-point evening primrose) offer a unique texture after an ice storm against the blades of broomsedge.

I went for a walk in the woods beyond our house to enjoy the winter scene, and I noticed that the marcescent leaves of Acer floridanum (southern sugar maple) barely held any ice at all.

It helps to pay attention to where ice and snow settle and where it melts, and how long it stays.  Such observations can tell you where warmer and cooler parts of your property are.  

Site Inventory and Analysis

Want to Learn More?

I’m hosting a live Botanic Bootcamp session, Reading the Land for Smarter Planting, on Monday, February 2 at 6 pm CST. You’ll learn how to read a site before you ever pick a plant. We’ll discuss seeing visual and experiential aspects, understanding light, soil, and water, and more so your plantings are more resilient, intentional, and purposeful. This session will give you the framework to make better planting decisions from the start.

What does it mean to read the land?  To me it starts with taking account of everything that is present and to imagine what the site can become.  

Reading the land requires us to have two ways of seeing the landscape, what does the landscape offer and what potential does it have.  We call these two mental modes inventory and analysis.  

Sure, this process isn’t as glamorous as picking what plants to grow and how to arrange them.  Often we want to rush into design, but doing inventory and analysis first can save you so much headache later on. We can prevent plant death and replanting, blocked views, flooded beds, wasted money, constant maintenance, and much more.  And it doesn’t have to be a new garden that you are assessing.  It could be one that you’ve lived in for twenty years.  

Thrash Early

Inventory and analysis are part of the process that Seth Godin calls thrashing, where we get things right early in a project.  We take stock of what we have and what direction we want it to head. We bring everyone in on a discussion to make decisions early.  For some, it may be a husband-wife team.  For others, it’s multiple stakeholders and people from the public.  However, it is better to thrash early than wait until the project is 95% finished to realize we missed something.  

Site Inventory

With inventory, we are asking what is present.  It is objective, descriptive, and observational.  We are making no judgments yet.  Just the facts, ma'am.  

For me, site inventory breaks down into six categories:

• Physical — buildings, hardscape, utilities, topography, geology

• Biological — flora and even fauna on site, where types of plants congregate, plant communities

• Soil — soil texture, soil drainage, soil nutrient levels and pH

• Weather and climate — temperature, rainfall and where water pools, wind movement across a site, microclimates, where things feel warmer or cooler

• Light — how it shifts over the day and over the season, sun angle and reflection

• Visual and experiential — vistas and long views, the mood of the site, the spirit of place, and natural movement paths

Site Analysis

With the inventory complete, we begin the analysis to consider what this place can be.  What can I do with this space? Analysis is interpretive, evaluative, and creative.  We begin to introduce goals and priorities, and we begin to see the site through human desires and wishes.   We start considering constraints and opportunities and can we work with things or will we need to move against what we see.  

I should stress that analysis is not design yet.  There are no plant lists, layouts, or styles decided on yet.  You are just trying to see what you can do with the possibilities and constraints of the site.  

So, just a few ideas for the same six categories

• Physical — Do you hide or accent the house?  Are there places for more entertaining options? What does the lay of the land dictate about movement or erosion?

• Biological — Should trees stay or go?  Does the vegetation have a natural tendency toward an archetype? Should it be allowed to progress or interrupted? Are there plant communities, animals, or ecological processes that need to be accounted for?

• Soil — How can soil fertility and texture influence what plants grow?  What can we do with high fertility or low fertility? Does soil drain well or is it mucky?

• Weather and climate — What does it mean that this microclimate is warmer or cooler? Should we plant species that will move with the wind, or do we need a wind break to calm the air?

• Light — How can you play with light?  Do you want more light or less light?

• Visual and experiential — Are there potential views you can create or enhance?  What can you do to create feelings of prospect and refuge? What are the landscape preferences that we can embrace and enhance in the space?

Analysis isn’t limited to one idea.  It may be worthwhile iterating through options to consider what all possibilities exist. For example, when we bought our property, we had a large open space beside our house that could have become anything.  I could have planted a vegetable garden, more trees for shade, or an orchard. 

I noted the space’s proximity to the house, the sandy soil, how water moved across it, and how it wasn’t saturated like other parts of the property.  It was mostly turf, which meant that it was ripe for planting.  Light would interact with it throughout the seasons and for most of the day. Being in an elevated spot, it offered good views of other parts of the property, and I didn’t want to interrupt that.  I knew I wanted a naturalistic planting, and inventory and analysis helped me reach the conclusion that this spot was perfect. Even when I consider any changes to the garden, I keep these initial observations and ideas in mind.  

Our blank slate of a yard in 2017. It took me time to read the land, to inventory what we had, and to analyze and think about what I wanted this space to become.

Several years later, here’s what I get to look at. It all starts with inventory and analysis.

Conducting Your Inventory and Analysis

Doing your own inventory and analysis is easy. You can easily take some blank paper and sketch what you see.  Or, find the place on Google Maps, capture a screen shot, paste it into PowerPoint, and make the image 50% transparent.  Then you can print off a few copies and walk around the site writing or drawing what you see. 

You also don’t have to do inventory and analysis just once.  You can repeat the process over the course of a year.  I know that most designers are under the constraints to only visit once or twice, but it can be hard to truly know a site until you’ve experienced it for a trip around the sun.  You don’t know yet where the last light lingers on the winter solstice.  Or, how the water moves across the property during a deluge. Time and a few tricks that I’ll discuss in Reading the Land for Smarter Planting will help you.

Remember, inventory describes and analysis decides. And, once you’re done, the magic can begin as you start to create the garden of your dreams.  

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KEEP GROWING

The Case for Bare-Root Plants

One of the joys of winter is getting bare root plants in the mail. They may have been ordered weeks or months ago, but to open the door and see the box sitting there is always a fun surprise.

I think some people forget about the advantages of bare root plants. They are usually cheaper because they are younger plants not being sold with potting soil. The absence of substrate also makes it easy to ship, and the roots can be easily inspected to confirm there are no defects like circling or J-roots that might be hidden in a rootball.

However, there are a few disadvantages. Bare-root plants need to be planted as soon as possible upon receiving. The roots can dry out quickly since they aren’t exposed to soil. And, since bare-root plants need to be dormant because having leaves would lead to much water stress, there is a limited window for planting from late fall through early spring. But, that’s when I try to do most of my woody planting, so it’s no problem for me.

My first shipment this winter included a collection of five muscadines and four blueberries. I have long wanted a muscadine trellis to complete my double fence around our patch where we grow vegetables and cut flowers. The goal was to make it doubly functional—protect plants from deer and produce delicious fruit.

Like many projects in fatherhood, the muscadine trellis has taken longer than I anticipated. I treated myself to the eastern redcedar posts two Christmases ago from a local sawmill, I rented an auger and sunk them in the ground this past August as a birthday gift, and I ordered the plants around Thanksgiving for an early Christmas gift.

Bare-root plants can be easily assessed for any root defects. Vitis rotundifolia ‘Summit’ (muscadine) looks good to me.

I like using scrap pieces of eastern redcedar for plant labels as seen here with Vaccinium virgatum ‘Premier’ (rabbit-eye blueberry). They can be stuck in the ground or hung from a trellis or plant for easy identification.

I spent a few hours this weekend getting them in the ground. Before planting, I made labels using scraps of eastern redcedar that last a long time in our soil. I determined plant spacing between posts with a tape measure and marked where I want each to go. Muscadines take some planning for siting due to their flowering habit. Some are self-fertile, which can produce fruit on their own, while others are female, which need a self-fertile plant nearby for fruit set. So, I alternated self-fertile and female plants to encourage fruit set.

Prepping for planting bare-root muscadines

I know people say don’t directly amend the hole for woodies, but in our very acidic soils I’ve gotten in the habit of sprinkling a little bit of granular lime into the hole and in the surrounding area unless the soil test indicates otherwise or it’s an acid loving plant like blueberry. I then use my gloved hand to mix it lightly into the soil. I make sure as I plant I flare the roots out and keep the point where roots and shoots meet at ground level. I then firm the soil around the base, level the soil, and check once more that the highest root is just under the soil.

I like to make sure I flare roots out before planting.

I then mulch the plants with a nice layer of leaf mold or compost, and I top that off with four pitchforks full of hardwood mulch (header image). I make a donut ring so that the water will be directed toward the base of the plant. And then I water well, usually passing back and forth a few times across all the plants.

I’ll wait for spring to fertilize them. There’s no point putting fertilizer down when they aren’t actively growing.

How do I know how much to apply? I did soil tests back in the fall for where the muscadines are going and other spots around the garden that I want to plant this year. Soil tests are crucial for reading your site to understand how to plant better, and if you struggle to understand soil tests, I’ll be talking more about them in my upcoming Botanic Bootcamp session Reading the Land for Smarter Planting. I like having multiple tests to have a snapshot of my soil in the garden. And, I like to have a base original soil for comparison.

My soil test results to better understand what my site needs for fertility. M (medium) is optimum, while VL (very low) and L (low) indicate too low levels and H (high) and VH (very high) indicate that the nutrients are too high.

I can see that lime worked on areas I had already applied it, namely the north muscadine bed and the east and west fence areas where I’m working on developing naturalistic plantings this year. But, other areas that have pH values in the mid-to-low 5s will need more. For most of my naturalistic plantings, I want nitrogen to be low, but for areas where I have fruits and vegetables it needs to be higher. Across the board, for the rest of the nutrients, I am concerned by the very low levels of potassium, calcium, magnesium, and sulfate in the beds, and I will be rectifying that this spring. I prefer to use slower release sources like rock phosphate and greensand, and I’ve found a mineral called langbeinite that can provide potassium, magnesium, and sulfur to raise those levels.

My hope is that with the attention and care I give my bare-root muscadines and blueberries we’ll have a healthy crop in a few years. Yes, patience is required, but it is well worth it to pick fruit in my own garden warmed by the summer sun.

‘Summit’ muscadine well watered in

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Keep Growing

Shades of Brown

It hasn’t felt like winter here at Ephemera Farm.  We have had a handful of days pushing 80°F since the new year.  

But, it looks like winter.  We’ve had enough frosts that there are more browns than greens in the landscape, and the deciduous trees and shrubs have mostly lost their leaves.  

Designing with winter in mind is one of my first principles of gardening.  Two months in the spring can manifest a world of difference in my plantings, but from late December through late February, what you see is what you get.  What I see is the culmination of all the decisions I’ve made this past year and the many years prior. It is crucial to think about what the garden will look like at this time because a few months of bland is boring.  

I love to take stock of the garden in winter.  I find myself asking what do I like?  What do I not like?  And, how can I make what I have better?  

My winter garden is not like others filled with evergreens and conifers.   Being dominantly composed of herbaceous perennials, it features a variety of shades of brown in the winter.   I have always enjoyed the winter silhouettes of plants, but it’s nice to be in the vogue now thanks to Piet Oudolf.  He has changed the discussion of the browns of winter, saying, “You accept death. You don’t take the plants out, because they still look good. And brown is also a color.”

It fascinates me that plants that sport nearly the same color of green after frost can be various colors of brown.  Eragrostis spectabilis (purple lovegrass) fades to an off-white, Panicum virgatum ‘Northwind’ (switchgrass) becomes a khaki color (header image), Andropogon virginicus (broomsedge) turns a soft tangerine, and Silphium perfoliatum (cup plant) crisps to almost black.  

There is opportunity to think about the faded color in designing winter gardens.  If you’ve taken my class The Preference Matrix for Naturalistic Design, you know that I love playing off coherence and contrast.  With the monochromatic landscape, there are plenty of shades of brown to make the garden cohesive.  But, these various colors and the textures they occupy provide contrast to make things a bit more interesting.  

As I survey my garden, I see tans and sands are pretty common colors in the garden.  So, I’ve been focusing over the past few years in increasing the darker browns.  

I’ve learned that some Silphium are good at holding their presence through the wintertime.  Silphium perfoliatum stands stolid during the winter and appears as a dark tower with its leaves still clinging.  I divided this plant last spring to increase its presence in the garden, so I hope in another year or two to have a few more of these shadowy sentinels in the garden.  I also admire Silphium laciniatum (compass plant) for the taupe, claw-like leaves.  The foliage is lower on the plant but still stands out. 

Silphium perfoliatum (cup plant)

Silphium laciniatum (compass plant)

This past spring, I planted Helianthus giganteus ‘Sheila’s Sunshine’ (giant sunflower) in a spot where it could really take over, and I’ve been impressed with how well the umber stems and seedheads have held up so far this winter.  I have issues with Helianthus angustifolius (swamp sunflower) flopping over in winter.  Granted I did cut ‘Sheila’s Sunshine’ back early in the season to limit its growth (but it’s still over my head!), and I did stake it at one point this fall when it started to flop.  But, those actions then give me a four-foot wide clump of dark stems to contrast with lighter colors in the landscape.  And, the seedheads that dot the sky are another plus.  

Helianthus giganteus ‘Sheila’s Sunshine’ (giant sunflower)

Coreopsis tripteris (tall coreopsis) also holds its leaves well into winter.  Like ‘Sheila’s Sunshine’, cutting it back earlier in the year helped make it a more manageable height.  I also love the little dark buttons that hover above.  

Coreopsis tripteris (tall coreopsis)

Another plant that I’ve been surprised with having a staying presence is Physostegia virginiana (obedient plant).  You would figure that with such rubbery leaves and succulent stems the plant would collapse at the end of the growing season.  But, my clumps still stand upright, and a 2 × 2 foot area of chocolate-colored stems contrasts well.  I just have to keep an eye on their spreading rhizomes that are emerging a verdant green from the soil.  

Physostegia virginiana (obedient plant)

As we approach spring, I stagger my cut back and selectively begin removing the plants of last year.  This weekend, I’ll start cleaning out where bulbs are emerging.  The refuse I put at the back of our property so that fauna overwintering can still emerge. Then, I’ll start taking out the plants that have collapsed from the winter.  But, I love to leave these dark stalwarts that emerge late  and cut them at the last possible moment in early March.  That way we can enjoy their presence as long as possible.  

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KEEP GROWING

Halesia diptera var. magniflora

Silver bells, silver bells, it’s Christmas time in the city.  

I doubt that Dean Martin was singing about a plant in the Styraxaceae, but I catch myself humming the song’s chorus when I’m near my silverbells outside. We’ve been decorating for the holidays, and the two Halesia diptera var. magniflora (large-flowered silverbell) near our house are finally big enough to hold a few of our Christmas lighted balls (header image). 

Large-flowered silverbell has become one of my favorite native trees for their four-season interest.  In late March through early April they are covered with white, four-petaled flowers that appear as silver bells. After they flower, they are then cloaked with large leaves that form a dense canopy. 

A close up of the lovely flowers of large-flowered silverbell

The fall foliage is also stunning in the deep South.  Around the middle of November, the whole tree turns popcorn butter yellow. I should note that friends further north say that they don’t see this color change.  Once the leaves drop, the sea-slug-looking, two-winged seeds are visible dangling on the tree.  The winged projections likely help the seeds travel a short distance from the parent plant.  Even in the winter I enjoy the bare tree outside the kitchen window as it has become a favorite perch for birds near our bird feeders.

The buttery yellow fall color on Halesia diptera var. magniflora is brilliant. It’s even echoing the Amsonia hubrichtii (Arkansas bluestar) in the beds near the house.

I first learned of this tree during my time in grad school visiting the JC Raulston Arboretum. There was a large one outside the visitor’s center, and it was tall enough for the flowers to be easily visible from the rooftop garden.

At the JC Raulston Arboretum Halesia diptera var. magniflora

I’m not alone in my admiration for this plant. Dan Hinkley wrote of its attributes almost 20 years ago. He also shared about its unique provenance. Halesia diptera var. diptera (two-winged silverbell) is native to moist, shady streamsides, and I saw it growing in situ last spring in Louisiana on either side of a creek.  But, the large-flowered variety grows on drier slopes in Florida.  This adaptation is key as their drought-tolerance and surprising sun tolerance led me to site them in the drier spots around our house.

The dry soils around our house have been a challenge with other species. I planted some young Acer floridanum (southern sugar maple) on the southwest corner last year since their bright yellow fall color would echo the silverbells and connect with the trees in the forest beyond.  But, they burned in the sun and defoliated early.  I’m going to relocate them somewhere shadier this winter and replace them with what I know will work—three more large-flowered silverbells. It will appear as though there’s a small forest of them around the house.

Large-flowered silverbell seed ready to harvest and be sown.

I’ve grown all my plants from scratch, but they require patience for germination as silverbells have a long dormancy.  My previous approach was to collect and mass sow seed late in the year in a gallon pot, and put it on my nursery pad.  One seed germinated the following autumn, and the rest germinated the following spring some 16 months from sowing.  I then potted them into separate containers.

While they take a while to germinate, they grow quickly. Foot-tall trees in one-gallon pots planted in 2022 are now well over ten feet tall and flowered for the first time this year.

I don’t think one can have too many silverbells, and as part of Sowvember, I’ve collected my first crop of seed from my trees to propagate more.  Sowing seed around Christmas is truly the gift that keeps on giving, and in a couple of years I know I’ll be humming Silver Bells as I open the earth and find new spots for my young silverbell trees.

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KEEP GROWING

Epic Visit to Epic Campus: Part 2

THIS IS PART 2 OF 2 OF MY VISIT TO EPIC CAMPUS. FOR PART 1, CLICK HERE.

As promised in Part 1, here are the images from the rest of my visit. I appreciate the emails that people sent me after the last blog post. The one comment I got the most was about details on visiting Epic on your own. Here’s a handy link I found for those close enough to go see this amazing place. I’ve copied and pasted the same intro from part 1 below for those who may not have read Part 1 yet.

A few weeks ago, I shared that during my trip to Wisconsin to speak to the Wisconsin Hardy Plant Society I was fortunate enough to have Jeff Epping tour me around for the day.

Of all the places he promised to take me, I was most excited to see the Epic campus where he has been instrumental in developing their plantings. To be honest, the 1,670 acre campus has to be seen to be believed. And, as you’ll see from the photos below, much of it is fantastical. I asked Jeff why all this effort to make Epic HQ look amazing. He said that the founder Judy Faulkner knew she would be competing for talent with big coastal cities, and she wanted to make Epic an epic place to work.

While much of what you’ll see from these photos is really out of this world, there are still ideas and inspiration to be gleaned. And, the biggest inspiration I took away from seeing the plants and building designs was that we can think differently.

I should note for clarity the buildings have unusual names. I’ve capitalized them to help distinguish their identities, so if you see a random word like Oz, Heaven, Sci-Fi, or Alice, just know that’s the building’s name.

After lunch, we walked out of the King’s Cross cafeteria to find beautiful herbaceous plantings. The Calamintha nepeta subsp. nepeta (calamint) was in heavy bloom (also header image).

We next visited Alice, a garden and building themed after Alice in Wonderland. Card soldiers protect the entrance to the Alice building amongst an lovely planting of perennials.

Out front of Alice was a really thick stand of Ceratostigma plumbaginoides (hardy plumbago). I love the cobalt-blue flowers.

Have you gone mad? Nah, because inside Alice, one of the staircases was designed to make it look upside down.

And, how fun is this! A slide that connects floors in Alice. You can literally go down the rabbit hole.

Our next stop was the emerald Oz based on The Wizard of Oz. Out front a plethora of metal poppies adorned the landscape, and various plants played off the red theme.

I loved the repetition of the red metal poppies across the landscape. Also, notice the field of broomcorn in the upper right.

This long shot shows the repetition of the fine-textured Amsonia hubrichtii (Arkansas bluestar) with Persicaria (knotweeds), Canna (canna lily), and Echinacea (coneflower) seed heads for contrast.

A close up of the metal poppies with Solidago (goldenrod), Schizachyrium scoparium (little bluestem), and Amsonia hubrichtii. A combination that won’t put you to sleep!

We’re not in Kansas anymore. Near Oz, Jeff said they had struggled to grow corn so they had turned to broom corn instead.

One of my favorite areas was the gumdrop meadow in front of the Chocolate Factory based on Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory. This planting showed a creative approach to spruce up a perennial garden. Planting annuals like zinnias and marigolds can add some needed color during a lull in the season or early in a planting’s life.

Blue was the color woven through the landscape near Jules Verne. You can see the sea monster in the center of the faux fountain alluding to 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

After we visited Jules Verne, we headed toward Sci-Fi, and again, the design was very much on point. Jeff commented that most of the asters were seedlings that had come in from soil used in the project. And, while they were beautiful, he said they required some maintenance to make sure they didn’t overtake the planting.

Solidago drummondii (cliff goldenrod) and Sanguisorba ‘Plum Drops’ (burnet) made a great combination in another section that had filled in more.

A few shots from the outside of Sci Fi. This canyon resembles outposts from Star Wars Episode 1.

And this giant robot resembles something from War of the Worlds.

The inside of Sci-Fi looked, well, sci-fi! Like in the images I shared from Part 1, it’s amazing to see the level of detail that they invest on the inside of these buildings to cultivate the theme.

From the inside of Sci-Fi, we looked out toward Castaway. Jeff said that every plant on the island was planted as a plug to help it establish quickly.

As we climbed to the roof over Cafeteria 42, we looked back to see the naturalistic planting in front of Castaway.

Here is another photograph showing the same planting between Cafeteria 42 and Oz. In naturalistic planting, repetition is key, and you can easily see the repeating pattern of asters along the pathway. Immature trees will help to frame the planting once they mature more.

Right above Restaurant 42 was this long perennial planting that featured an eclectic mix of perennials and evergreens.

Jeff had said that these Solidago 'Goldkind' GOLDEN BABY had done really well. I love their short height, and you’ll see them along the front of beds in the above and below photos.

Oenothera lindheimeri (gaura) and calamint were in good bloom to add some froth to the planting.

On the rooftop of I really liked the color echo between Symphoricarpos ‘Sofie’ PROUD BERRY and Origanum ‘Rosenkuppel’.

One of my favorite combinations from the whole trip was this shady pairing of Eurybia divaricata (white wood aster) and Heuchera villosa ‘Autumn Bride’ (hairy alumroot) with an unknown fern.

As we headed back to the car past Heaven, we walked down this pathway featuring a number of white-flowering annuals.

And, as we left I had to snap a photo of the solar panels over the car park. Shade for cars and energy generation!

One of the last images I’ll leave you with is something I found fascinating at Epic. In every bathroom was hung on the wall their 10 Commandments, their principles, and the principles of their community. As someone who loves systems and processes, I loved seeing their beliefs hung in a place that would provide a constant reminder.

The Season of Sowvember

I’ve deemed this time of the year Sowvember. It’s like the Dog Days or Inktober, but this season is for propagating all those seed you want for next year. What I love about Sowvember is that it asks very little of you. You spend a few minutes with a tray, a handful of seed you’ve collected, and the willingness to work with the season.

Sowvember is when I sow most of my perennials so they can stratify as needed over the winter. It has no official beginning or end, but usually it runs from first frost through the middle of January when the garden rests. It differs from spring sowing where we are gearing up for the coming gardening season. With spring we are worried about warmth.

With the season of Sowvember, we relish the darker side of the calendar and take advantage of the natural cool and moist conditions needed for stratification. Sure, I augment from the hose as necessary. But, following the natural tendency of the season makes life easier.

My goal with sowing seeds is to grow as many of the best plants I can using simple methods.  I have a full-time job, and I’m a dad.  Complicated schedules and tedious details don’t work for me.  So, I find myself optimizing for efficiency. I can check on my seedlings every few days instead of the intensive watch I have to keep on plants during the spring and summer. While I could wait until later to sow the seed and use the fridge, I’ve learned for us in the South some species will germinate in the winter to begin their growth, and already I’m seeing cotyledons on some species I started earlier this month.

There’s also an abundance of seed at this time of the year. Sure, some of that abundance comes from the backlog of bags, envelopes, bowls, boxes, and old medicine bottles that litter my office with seeds collected from this year. Those I try to sow first, especially any ruderal or short-lived species that germinate during the winter. But, Sowvember is also the last chance I have of getting seed before they fall to the ground, fly on the wind, or vanish for a bird’s or a mouse’s meal. I’ve learned the sooner the better on collecting seed, and if the thought crosses my mind that I’ll collect those seed tomorrow, it’s probably best to do it right then.

My garden is a continual source once I get a species established.  I’m trying to be better about keeping brown lunch bags in the garage so they are ready to capture plant progeny at a moment’s notice. Often, I’ll cut a stem off and flip it upside down in a bag to finish dislodging the seed over a few days. And, then I’ll give the bag a good shake. Any remaining stems I’ll beat over the garden for seed to come up wild. I’m sure the neighbors think I’m doing a séance over my beds.

It’s a conundrum in the garden. How long do I leave the Liatris aspera (rough blazing star) seed on the plant to enjoy before harvesting?

Sometimes during Sowvember I go into the wild to glean. I went out the other afternoon and collected seed on some back roads for more native grasses at Ephemera Farm.  I was mainly hunting Tridens flavus (purpletop) and Andropogon ternarius (split-beard bluestem, header image), and I had already filed away a few spots that the mower had missed.  I sat a cardboard box down beside me, grabbed the culm just below the seed, ran my gloved hand up, and released the seed into the container.  After a few minutes I had a decent handful or two of seed for sowing.  I try not to be too greedy, and like manna in the wilderness, I collect just enough for me.

The frilly pappi of Andropogon ternarius (split-beard bluestem) glow in the late afternoon light.

Once I’m ready to sow seed, I am thoughtful as decisions now can make the process much smoother. I consider what plants I need for the coming growing season. What projects do I have where I need to grow my own? What plants have been in decline that I need more of?

It is also worth considering what type of tray or pot to use. Reliable germinators like Penstemon tenuis (Gulf Coast beardtongue), Streptanthus maculatus (clasping jewelflower), and Echinacea purpurea (purple coneflower) I do in 50-cell Winstrip trays. I bought them initially for their durability, but in the off season, they also are great for starting perennials. Other than my Winstrip trays, all other trays are recycled from plants I’ve gotten. My favorites are the deeper 50-, 38-, or 32-cell trays. Smaller cell trays like 72’s or 144’s work, too, but having that extra substrate volume gives me a little more flexibility on catching plants before they dry out too much. I also use community flats that have no cells for species that have staggered germination like Carex cherokeensis (Cherokee sedge). I tease them out once they get to a certain size.

An intersection of Winstrip trays on the nursery bench. Clockwise from the top left: Streptanthus maculatus (clasping jewelflower) already have true leaves; they just need a bit of thinning. Recently collected Helianthus radula (rayless sunflower) are dusted with vermiculite to aid germination. And, the tiniest seedlings of Penstemon tenuis (Gulf Coast beardtongue) are just sprouting.

If a species is new to me, I’ll usually sow it in a small pot and tease the seedlings out later. I’d rather have a small amount of substrate invested if I only have one seedling germinate. However, if it is a deeper rooted species like Asclepias (milkweed), I will go ahead and sow seed in a gallon pot. That way the roots don’t rot in the shallow cell. I don’t use milk jugs like friends further north do.  We have too many warm days in winter for them to be able to vent the heat well.  And, I’ll hit seedlings with a weaker fertilizer every so often. I find that rain during the winter can leach nutrients out.

Arnoglossum plantagineum (prairie Indian plantain) sown in a larger pot. Once the seedlings germinate, I can tease them apart and pot them into larger containers.

The last thing I watch with seed is the temperature because it’s as likely to be 8°F as it is to be 80°F in December. If conditions get too cold, I’ll throw a tarp or blanket over them to make sure they stay warm enough. I used to bring them in the garage; however, I’ve learned our native perennial seedlings are tough. Most can easily tolerate a light freeze.

I hope you’ll celebrate Sowvember, too. You’ll love how small, steady efforts now will pay off big when you (and I!) have plenty of seedlings come spring. If you need more help, my class Success with Seed Sowing will get you growing in the right direction.

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KEEP GROWING

The Now of November

It looks like fall, but it doesn’t feel like it. Days in the 80s will do that to you I suppose.

But, minus the hardy crops, the growing season has unofficially ended here at Ephemera Farm. We had our first frost last week. The basil is toast, and the trees are shedding their leaves in earnest. The hardy crops still hang on, though.

I find first frost a demarcation that separates the growing season from the coming pause of winter. The forecast had called for 24°F, and I spent a good chunk of the weekend readying everything for some serious temperatures just in case. Disconnecting hoses, putting row cover up, and bringing tender plants inside are all small tasks but they accumulate to make a busy afternoon. Fortunately, it didn’t get quite that cold, but we had a night just below freezing. 29°F wasn’t enough to fully zap plants, but it is enough to say it’s closing time.

In the midst of scurrying around, I found myself pulled to plants to enjoy the last bits of color of the season in the garden. Out of all the months here that the garden shines, April is first, but November is a close second. Sure, spring has its blooms, but with autumn we have the benefit of fall foliage as the leaves change to sensational colors as they say their last hurrah before falling to the ground.

I love Hamamelis virginiana (American witch hazel) for the winter flowers but also the autumn golden fall foliage.

I was just thinking the other day that I wish I had some Parthenocissus quinquefolia (Virginia creeper) for fall color, and lo and behold I found some on a fence post in the patch.

Amsonia hubrichtii BUTTERSCOTCH (Arkansas bluestar) is finally getting big enough to show some good fall color.

I try to pay attention to the reds, yellows, and oranges in the forests of our borrowed landscape around us and ask how can I bring these colors into our garden. For example, in our orchard, our persimmons have their best crop they’ve ever had on them. They are maturing into nice small trees, and their orange orbs hang like the trees grabbed the sunset sun right out of the sky and held it in their branches.

And, the orange combines nicely with the nearby fall color on Taxodium distichum (bald cypress), Prunus persica ‘Junegold’ (peach), and Andropogon virginicus (broomsedge) that we have. There are late flowers on Oenothera rhombipetala (four-point evening primrose), which I just welcomed to the garden this year. And, with the split seed capsules, it appears I’ll have plenty next year. Even a little Acalypha virginica‍ (copperleaf) weed is growing on me as it too is getting in on the fall color action.

I have other plants in holding that can play off this warm color scheme. I have Cuphea micropetala (candy corn cuphea), Gladiolus × dalenii ‘Halloweenie’ (sword lily, header image), and Solidago stricta (header image). They will be moving to some of the orchard beds next year.

The orange orbs of Diospyros NIKITA’S GIFT begin turning ripe. The leaves have just begun to fall, and with first frost leaves will drop and better reveal the fruit.

A few candy corn flowers hang on Cuphea micropetala (candy corn cuphea).

A few late flowers still remain on Oenothera rhombipetala (four-point evening primrose) amongst their already split capsules.

Over the past few years I noticed this weed Acalypha virginica‍ ‍(Virginia copperleaf) has good fall color in the orchard, and I have to say it’s growing on me.

I was surprised by the fall color in our orchard on Prunus persica ‘Junegold’.

There are other flowers still in bloom around the garden, and the insects have no trouble finding the last flowers of the season. Symphyotrichum lanceolatum (panicled aster) is one of my latest asters to flower, and it is swarmed with pollinators. The Monarchs that have come through the past several weeks flock to its pale pink blooms. And, there are others that are sporting blooms—the last blue spikes on Salvia farinacea ‘Henry Duelberg’ (mealycup sage), a late Echinacea purpurea (purple coneflower), and out of season blooms on a juvenile Silphium perfoliatum (cup plant).

I also enjoy the fruit that are ripening at the close of the season. There’s a haze of seed heads from Clematis virginiana (virgin’s bower) hanging on the fence, and for the first time my Ilex decidua ‘Finch’s Golden’ (possumhaw) has gotten large enough to have a decent crop of fruit. I can’t wait to see it much taller and glowing gold as it ages.

I saved this Symphyotrichum lanceolatum (panicled aster) from the bulldozer down the road, and it has become one of my favorites for November. It blooms for weeks, and is flocked by pollinators.

A Huron Skipper enjoys a late bloom on Echinacea purpurea

A seedling Silphium perfoliatum (cup plant) still blooms, and I’ve watched Gulf Fritillaries work them over the past few days.

The cobalt blue flowers on Salvia farinacea ‘Henry Duelberg’ are brilliantly colored against dying vegetation.

The haze of Clematis virginiana (virgin’s bower) still provides interest at the close of the season.

The fruit on Ilex decidua ‘Finch’s Golden’ is just starting to color up. This yellow-fruited selection is a nice alternative as a possumhaw.

With first frost, I find myself looking back. Behind me was a really decent growing season with regular rain and only a handful of days above 100°F. While there was much to celebrate in the garden with flowers and food, I still had my fair share of plant problems. I haven’t seen so much fungal disease I think ever here. Soil issues maybe have contributed as the results from samples I submitted have shown some low pH in certain areas and very low nutrients in others. So, I’ll have to apply amendments to see if that rectifies issues in the coming season.

With first frost, I’m also looking forward, perhaps even more so than at the start of the new year. I pay attention to what the garden will offer for the next few months. I’ve learned it is well worth assessing plantings at this sweet spot before winter collapses plants to the ground leaving only the most rugged still standing. Am I happy with what I see or not, because it will be the dominant presence in the garden for winter.

The next few months are also ripe for making changes in the garden. I have trees and shrubs I want to plant and a number of fruits on my wish list for next season. I installed new muscadine posts this summer that need to just have the wires and plants added. I’m also looking at pawpaw and mayhaw varieties that would do well here. Oh, and strawberries—I’ll attempt to keep them alive again.

But, with much on the to-do list for winter, I can’t forget the now of November. As I sit here and write, even though the asters have finished, the flowers have collapsed, and the leaves have fallen off the persimmons, there’s still much to enjoy in the garden.