Taming the big, bad bougainvillea ... again [With a homemade arbor made in a day]

Posted May 3, 2011 by Kim Franke-Folstad

Updated May 3, 2011 at 06:51 PM

Some gardeners probably read gardening magazines to ooh and aah over the pictures. Not me. I’m always hoping to steal an idea or find a solution to a problem I’m having.

And the other day, I was thrilled to finally find a picture in Southern Living magazine of an easy-to-build arbor that would fill a need I had in my garden.

Sorry – it’s a little crumpled!

Here’s the long story written in the shortest version I can manage: A few years ago, we built a very basic pergola with the idea of letting a bougainvillea that’s planted close to the house grow over the top of it. The branches kept going over the roof of our house, and I wanted to redirect them to this new space.

Before:

After:

It worked great that first year because the bougainvillea was already overgrown and top heavy, so all we had to do was pull the branches away from the house and over the pergola.

And then (insert shudder here), we had the freeze of 2010, and it took that poor bougie down – not to the ground, like so many of our plants, but far short of the pergola.

It came back slowly, and was just reaching over the top once more last winter when the cold took it back a bit again.

Ever since then, I’ve been looking for something that would help boost the bougainvillea over the pergola when the branches are full and heavy, but that would also serve as a sort of way-station when the branches have to be trimmed back.

I’ve been considering ready-made arbors for a while but, well, they’re not cheap, and I couldn’t find a good fit aesthetically, either.

Then I spotted the photo on page 71 of the May issue of Southern Living! There it was – a homemade arbor that was as rustic and basic as our pergola. It would be small enough to fit between the house and the pergola, and its angled top would be just the right thing to hoist the bougainvillea branches up and over.

And I managed to talk my husband into building it for me on one of the hottest days we’ve had so far this spring.

Here’s our high-tech way of getting those thorny branches out of our way: We used rakes, brooms and a squeegee to push them back, then tied them with twine. And it worked!

Now, he’s no carpenter, but Rick managed to copy the arbor in the picture to my satisfaction. We attached a metal butterfly I got for a birthday gift years ago at the peak, and I love it. Here’s a side view, so you can see how it fits behind the pergola:

And yet another view from the front. The shelf is actually part of the pergola; from this view you only see the top half of the new arbor:

The whole thing works exactly the way I’d hoped, and I think it’s adorable. And it cost about $20!

 

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Ode to blanketflower – I heart Gaillardia

Posted Apr 29, 2011 by Penny Carnathan

Updated Jun 28, 2011 at 10:03 AM

I got my first blanketflower (Gaillardia) at a USF plant fair three years ago. It was a bedraggled little mess that the vendor gave me for free – “It’ll never sell,” he said.

Lesson 1: Bedraggled blanketflower can almost always be brought back to life.

That plant spawned so many new ones – with bright flowers that actually loved sun, sand and lack of water – I knew they were a must-have for my garden.

I think the two in these photos are variations of the cultivar Arizona Sun. It’s hard to tell – these plants love trading spit (er, pollen), so you never know what’s going to pop up.

I’m guessing that people who don’t know Gaillardia think I’m growing all kinds of flowers in my zero maintenance (keyword – zero!) front beds.

Once I discovered how easy Gaillardia are, I went in search of seeds for more exotic varieties. Can’t show you pictures of the bicolor globes because they never showed their faces after the first season. But Yellow Queen, from seeds planted around the same time, have staying power.

Yup, that’s an egg behind that flower. I try to think of it as yard art. We have way too many Muscovy ducks in our little ‘hood.

Other varieties are almost pure red. This one attracted lots of cuckoo wasps. (New to me. I’ve learned they lay their eggs in other bugs’ nests—hornets, aphids, bees. Some eat the other bugs’ larvae as soon as they hatch; others just eat the larval food supplied by the parents. Either way, they ensure the babies die. I have wasps and hornets. I think I like these guys.)

A little history on my fav plant: It’s named for Gaillard de Charentonneau, a French 18th-century “botanical patron.” In the United States, it was first spotted in 1825 in the Rocky Mountains (which amazes me—a flower that loves Forida also loves the Rockies?)

Downsides for Gaillardia are, once it goes to seed for good, it looks pretty bad. Bite the bullet and pull it up. But shake those seedheads out and they’ll weather the coldest winter (in Forida, anyway) and give you a new bed in the spring.

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Most transformations don’t happen in a day – even in Pumpkin’s garden

Posted Apr 24, 2011 by Penny Carnathan

Updated Jun 28, 2011 at 10:04 AM

Every time I visit Janis “Pumpkin” Vogt’s graceful cottage garden in Tampa’s old Seminole Heights neighborhood, I walk away inspired – and intimidated. I would love to have the cascades of blossoms (that’s Prosperity, above, tumbling over the arbor at Pumpkin’s front gate), the beautiful stone pathways and rustic yard art, but I’ve always been pretty sure Pumpkin’s got a magic wand.

My climbing rose pops out one bloom at a time. And my “wand” has a shovel blade on one end and a plastic grip on the other. When I wave it over the garden, it’s most likely because I’m chasing a peahen or a lubber.

Pumpkin sent me some photos last week that prove I’m wrong.

“I found these really ugly photos of my backyard that should show there is hope for anyone,” she wrote.

While I don’t agree these are ugly (with the possible exception of Evil Pig, which looks like a fat rat), Pumpkin’s photos show all the labor is just the start. The next job is being patient while nature gets down to business. Check out a view of the pond several years later.

Pumpkin’s stone paths look like they’ve been there forever, which is just the look she wanted. But like all good things, she had to wait for it. Getting the stones laid (about 11 years ago) was just the beginning.

That path eventually led to beautiful things. (Like that old-fashioned street lamp. Wherever did you find that, Pumpkin?)

Not every gardening decision was a good one, Pumpkin says. Like Evil Pig.

“I worked in Zephyrhills for 10 years in a nursing home,” Pumpkin writes. “One night one of the CNA’s asked me if I wanted a baby pot-belly pig. I thought it would be cool and stay little. That pig tore the whole yard up.”

 

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Every garden has a back-story—here’s mine

Posted Apr 17, 2011 by Penny Carnathan

Updated Jun 28, 2011 at 10:04 AM

This week at work, two co-workers – both young women, one with an infant son – told me they were overwhelmed by their big, empty yards.

The one with the baby has a front yard in need of—something. The other is a twenty-something, Daniela, who’s living with her boyfriend and a big, empty backyard. Both of them said, “I don’t even know where to start!”

Which got me to thinking about my garden and how it got started. It’s all about where you are in your life, I told Daniela. My garden evolved as my life evolved, and it’s always worked around what’s going on with me and my family.

Bless her heart, Daniela listened to my story so attentively, I thought it might be worth sharing here. (I hope that look was rapt and not glazed, Daniela!)

The Swingset Years

We moved into our house 20 years ago this summer. My son was 2, my daughter was 1. My husband had just gone into business for himself as a plumbing contractor. I was 28 years old and this was our first house. Everything about my life was brand new. (Almost—the dog and the job I’d had for 10 years.)

We had a pretty good-sized back yard, for a subdivision. In my memory, the backyard was all about our two toddlers. The swingset (built by my stepdad – thank you, Poppa!) was the focal point. I could look out the kitchen window and see it. We had the plastic Playskool playhouse, the kid-sized Playskool picnic table. If you’ve had toddlers, you know our backyard.

The photo above was taken in 1992, my son’s 4th birthday. It was an Army party, which explains all the camouflage. (Note the dummy in the tree, which we lobbed with water balloons that looked like hand grenades.)

That tree, by the way, and some kind of lily in the back far right corner (still there, still unidentified, barely visible behind the swingset) were the only plants existing when we moved in. My husband took out the tree the one and only time I let him loose with a chainsaw.

Here’s the frightening photo, so scary I’ve apparently repressed the memory. The other side of the yard.

I do remember toilets. Rows of toilets. A garden of toilets. But I didn’t remember this until I found this photo last week. Repression can be a good and healthy thing. (My husband brought home a black toilet tank a couple years ago, thinking I’d like it for a planter. “NOOO!” )

Here’s the view of that area today. (I could have cheated and given you last summer’s view, which is SO much better, but I’m trying to have some integrity.)

The Learning Years

As the kids got a little older, I planted small, kid-friendly gardens – something different every season. A sunflower-morning glory “cabin,” then a green bean-morning glory teepee to get my picky eater to eat some veggies – “Crawl into the teepee, sweet child, and pluck your own snacks!” (It worked. Trent is 21 now and, last I checked, still eats her green beans raw.)

This teepee is surrounded by tomatoes and other veggies. (Note the unidentified lily thing still back in the corner, now surrounded by wax begonias.)

And the view from the kitchen window. That view has always been important to me. I spend, what seems to me, an ungodly number of hours in the kitchen, considering I don’t cook. At all. I’ve always found it helpful to look out at the back yard as I’m scrubbing pots or emptying the dishwasher. Though this view looks rather bizarre to me now – a monolithic plant thing jutting up from the middle of my treeless backyard—I loved it at the time.

The Growing Years

When the kids entered those wonderful elementary school years, I helped them plant their own gardens. Cody had a veggie garden and really seemed to enjoy taking care of it. (He went on to take agriculture classes for a couple years in high school, but I think it’s only because the teacher let him drive the tractor.)

Cody’s first carrot!

Daughter Trent planted zinnias and cosmos in a flowerbed, which she enjoyed – for about two years. Then she announced, emphatically, that she would never again pull weeds or do anything more than walk through a garden to get somewhere else.

She has since come around, thank goodness.

The Hoop Years

As the kids got to be about 10 and 11 years old, my husband bought a basketball hoop for the patio. This proved to be a real kid – and adult - magnet. I enjoyed the view from the kitchen, watching Cody, Trent, and their neighborhood friends playing basketball for hours in the evenings. I put all my plants in containers so I could move them away from the threat of flying balls (and kids.)

It was wonderful to watch kids active and happy while I scrubbed the never-ending pots, so I was fine (mostly) with my container gardens. In this photo, my husband and our nephews happily engaged—like I said, a kid and adult magnet.

The Teen Years

The kids get older and they don’t spend so much time in the back yard. Soooo … my turn! When they were about 12 and 13, I started planting a perennial garden, one that didn’t have to make way for swingsets and basketballs.

My garden started with an old friend who, with Cody, installed a tiny pond and a couple plants in front of that unidentified plant in the corner. A year later, garden writer Pamela Crawford came out with her first, wonderful book, “Easy Color Gardens for South Florida.”

Following her instructions and plant suggestions, I started building. Here’s what my garden looked like in September 2002.

And here it is a year later.

And today.

The garden became a place for photographing milestones—proms, graduations. Here’s Cody’s 2006 high school graduation, the only photo where you can actually see the garden because we shot him with every possible combination of friends and family.

As I told Daniela, when my now grown kids are home and I head out to the garden to read and relax in the swing, pretty soon, they’re out there, too. Cody will come ambling out with his banjo or guitar, settling into the swing and picking songs.

Then Trent comes out with her paints and canvasses. She sets up at the table on the patio and creates.

Each of us does what we love. I wish I had a picture of that!  But the best thing is, my kids love being in the garden. With me. And I love that.

 

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In my garden, it’s DIY or IDGD (It Don’t Get Done) … this weekend’s DIYs

Posted Apr 10, 2011 by Penny Carnathan

Updated Jun 28, 2011 at 10:05 AM

I am STILL in spring garden recovery mode. And I started in February! On Saturday, I did a mud, wet and shears marathon. And I’m pretty happy now.

It started in the morning when I went out back to putter and putz. I’ve been moaning and groaning about all the dirt I track into the house every time I go in the backyard, and on Saturday, I’d had enough. I had one sandy, well-worn path that’s been deviling me. I really, really wanted to pay someone to lay a beautiful cobblestone-style path there and throughout the garden but … yeah, priorities.

Gardendipity had sent photos of the paths and patios she and her husband put in, to give me some ideas. They spent $600 (not much, considering how much they did). One of their very good ideas – incorporating mini-patios, little expanded areas, along the path for sitting, stopping to chat, or working.)

No way can I do the hog-wild Dip extravaganza (no one’s snuggling up next to me with pavers—for me, DIY is literal). But I was inspired.

So, with Dip’s paths in mind, I shed my fantasies of cobblestone walkways installed by sweaty men and headed to Home Depot to see what I might accomplish myself. The result isn’t my ideal, but it’s a heck of a lot better than what I had.

Next up, I coveted Betty Morris’s compost-sifting table a few months ago when I visited her garden. It solves so many problems! She wheels her barrow underneath, shovels her stuff onto the screened tabletop, and sifts all the good stuff for her garden. The big chunks go back onto the compost pile.

Here’s Betty’s table.

I told my oh-so-sweet, handy-dandy stepdad about it, and he made one for me!

My stepdad added a cool new feature. I can lift out the screen to dump the big chunks back into my compost bin.

And, lastly, I finally got the rain barrel relocated to a hidden location – under a rain gutter! I can’t give the solar-powered rain barrel pump a good workout if I’m not using the barrel. Thank God for great neighbors! They allowed me to put my barrel in a hidden corner of their yard, which is right next to my yard.

I still have work to do. Gotta get the Nolo Bait out to slay the lubbers. And I have a great big empty bed that SO wants planting, but I am trying to be patient and wait for the plants I want—red porterweed and purple lantana.

Waiting is hard. I’ll give it till next weekend.

 

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