Where the Lilies Bloom

It's a big, tough world out there, and I honestly don't know how I got so lucky as to live comfortably, have enough to eat, health care, and the age of fifty-plus. There are so many dangers without and within. Ah, but rest assured my time will come. I don't know anyone who has escaped the Reaper.

In the meantime, here's a little bit of mundane happiness. My lilies have bloomed.

The plant lady who came over to help me make a meadow says that these are the only native American lily. All the others are imported. I got the seeds for these lilies from my dad, out in Appalachia. They have grown in my back yard, under pretty plant-unfriendly conditions, for 27 years.

I have more of these than usual this year because I took an axe to my butterfly bush. There's more light in lily-land. And that's the way it's going to be.

The broad leaf in front is not lily, but milkweed. It is having a good year too. As long as I stay here in Snobville, the native fauna will prevail on my little patch of heaven.

Milkweed

When I was a kid, I loved playing with milkweed. At the end of the summer, when everything was getting boring, the milkweed pods would dry out and break open, and you could blow the little puffy white seed parachutes around and watch them take to the sky.

This is a picture of common milkweed, requested by one of my three readers:

Trust me, even the most clueless gardener can get these to grow. All you have to do is drop the seeds into some dirt. After a year or two, you'll have a good stand of it.

When my milkweed blooms, I'll post a picture of the blossoms. They smell really good.

I didn't know until lately that monarch butterflies love milkweed. Considering the pressures facing monarchs, I do suggest you plant some milkweed in your yard, if you don't already have it. To grow well it needs full sun, but mine is in part shade. It gets over-tall and falls over, but not until it has produced seed pods.

If you want some certified common milkweed seeds from Johnson Nurseries of Snobville, just let me know now and remind me in the fall. I will mail you some seeds. You can scatter them in the fall or the spring. I've done both.

And remember, a weed is any plant that is growing where you don't want it to grow. So in this case, milkWEED is a misnomer. I want it.

Not Just Another Garden Blog Post

I sometimes think that gardening is a competitive sport. Maybe it's just me. I'm a competitive type person, easily made jealous (like the busy god). Long story short, today a sweet spirit breezed into my garden and made me look at it a whole new way.

The spirit is one of The Spare's professors from college. For years I have been trying to find someone who would help me make a little mini-meadow in my yard with native American perennials. This professor was the first ever to offer her help, and she arrived today with a tray of seedlings and a great, big, beautiful smile.

She brought me asters, and goldenrod, and black-eyed susans, and sawgrass from the shore. She also brought this little charmer. Oh my goodness! I've seen big stands of prickly pear in the cemetery at Lawnside, but I'd never have guessed that they were native to New Jersey. And yes, master gardener, I do know what I just planted -- a spiny cactus that will get stingers on it and spread. Never mind. It belongs here. A cactus in New Jersey!

This story gets better, because it's not all about the plants she gave to me.

Turns out this fabulous woman has been looking all over the place for North America's only native lily plant. You won't believe this, reader, but I swear by all the bored gods that I have that lily growing in my yard. I took some seeds from my parents' garden back in Appalachia, a long time ago, and those lilies have been coming up every year in my yard, literally since 1988. So I was able to promise lily seeds. The professor also does not have the same kind of milkweed I have in my yard. I've got (better than ever this year) a big stand of common milkweed. So she'll get some of that, too.

We dug up a tulip poplar for her, and an autumn-leaf fern, and I even offered the most precious plant in my yard, the bloodroot.

Spare just got home from the beach. When I told her I dug up a bloodroot for her professor, Spare said, "Gosh. You must have liked her.  No one ever dares mess with your bloodroot!

Basically, the kindly professor left with as many plants, and promises of plants, as she arrived with. To me, this is an awesome thing. The tangled mess outside my back door is full of gems!

Now this sermon takes a deeper step yet.

I'm a fan of the blogger Hecate Demeter, who writes frequently about loving the land you're in. It's very difficult for me to bond with New Jersey, and it always has been. But today, as I reviewed the plant life in my  back yard and noted where it came from, I realized something. My garden is chock-a-block with plants from Appalachia. It's a green oasis from home! I brought the milkweed seeds from there, and the lily seeds. The bloodroot grows there, although my particular specimens didn't come from those parts.

I planted Polish Mountain in my yard, and it's growing. I made a shrine of rocks from Polish Mountain, and it's beautiful.

It only took one kindly professor asking me where my milkweed came from to figure it out. I moved a mountain. My plants and I, we have sturdy Appalachian roots. We'll see this through together.

What Did I Do with the Money?

In case you were wondering, here are the Route 70 kittens, named for the highway where they were found. They have survived a fit of something that nearly carried them away, due to my diligence (should have said no).

But this sermon is not about kittens. It's about saving money.

Mr. J and I have always had trouble keeping up with the expenses of owning a home in Sunny Snobville. One place where we've never had money to spare is the outdoors. Around here people pay big bucks (or sweat away long hours) composing perfect front lawns and putting-green back yards.

When I was young I put a lot of hard work into making my house look like the other ones in Snobville. I bought begonias and New Guinea impatiens and marigolds and tomato plants. Nothing ever took. The only year I had a good tomato crop was the year my neighbor had a pony party, and I offered to clean up his yard. I don't like Miracle Gro, and I don't often get near enough to a pony to get good fertilizer.

By and by I got busy, had kids, had more work to do. More recently I've gotten even busier. My back yard has grown up in stuff I only half know. I've got jewel weed and milkweed, but I also have a ground cover that I call "creeping crud" that I think must be native to New Jersey. I also have wild strawberries, which I'm fairly sure are native as well.

Today I took stock of the Johnson landmass in preparation for creating a wildlife-friendly back yard full of native species. Seems like I'm already well on the way. It's not like the place is barren. It's quite brimming with the green stuff.

Tomorrow a kind lady is coming over with seedlings from a variety of native species. I have unearthed all the dirt I could get from my compost pile, and I'm really hoping I will be creating a self-sustaining environment.

The seedlings are free.

I've never spent any money on Chateau Johnson's lawn (except for mowing expenses). I've only minimally invested in annuals and tomato plants. Compared to the rest of Snobville, I've hardly cracked the safe for the green environs.

Wonder what I did with all that saved cash? Maybe I spent it on cats.

Green Adventures

"Hate" is a strong word, but when it comes to lawn grass and ivy, I hate. I seethe. Putting greens infuriate me. Ivy-bedecked cottages make me nauseous. If it were up to me, every blade of lawn grass and every leaf of ivy would be plucked from the face of North America, and native plants put back into place.

This is one of those things that an individual doesn't have much control over. I can only do what I can do.

This summer I will be creating a micro-meadow in my back yard. Some damn lawn grass must remain, just so Mr. J can walk to his garage. Otherwise (neighbors are not being asked for feedback), I will be turning my yard over to native plants. I will be helped in this endeavor by a partner in crime lovely professor that The Spare had in college this past year. Turns out the professor is something of a specialist in native species, and she's going to get me seedlings. ..... *evil grin*

I love how many of the local flora that belong here have "weed" in their names: butterfly weed, milkweed, joe pye weed. I told the nice professor that I don't care how high these plants grow or how thick they get, or even if they take over my whole yard. We're going to plant them, and hopefully they'll know the terrain enough to wisely take root and multiply.

Guess who's going to be the most popular gardener in Snobville! Yeah, I know. Not Anne.

So that's my green adventure in the tiny plot of back yard that the Fates have allowed me.

The other green adventure is getting to and from work.

I've been rising at 5:30 a.m. and popping on The Spare's cruiser, and riding it to school. This takes guts, reader. This is New Jersey. The morning commute isn't bad, but in the afternoons, oh golly. I am even challenged on the bike path! I'm so wobbly that a puff of breeze could blow me over (and has). Furthermore, having grown up on a bike without ever wearing a helmet, I have trouble remembering to put one on now. Some mornings I get halfway to work before thinking, "Oh, this breeze feels so good on my hair!" only to realize that I'm missing the essential head protection that all wobbly biking women-of-a-certain-age ought to wear.

Biking to work is only an option in these few spring months when the days are at their longest. But I can always walk home. It's 4.5 miles, one way. I feel blessed to be so close to my place of employment.

Speaking of blessings, today is Walt Whitman's birthday. If my students learned anything this year, it was that an icon who heard America singing now sleeps in their community. May he filter and fibre our blood!