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Digging Deeper: Gardening, Art and Life at Bedrock
Bamboo Gleanings
The latent bloom of a renegade bamboo.
ALMOST UNEQUIVOCALLY, Spring brings rebirth, regeneration, renewal. So it was pretty peculiar for Jill Nooney to walk among the emerging shade plantings around the Tea House last week and see her 70-foot-long stand of bamboo blooming. You see, for many of the weird and wonderful bamboo species, blooming signals the end of life.
Bamboo is a fascinating horticultural oddity. Not a tree, it's the largest member of the grass family, with some varieties growing nearly 120 feet high. It can do this at an astonishingly fast rate (up to three feet in a day, or 1.5 inches an hour for the taller species), reaching full height in its first three to four months of growth. It does this because bamboo shoots are divided into segments that each expand, or elongate (think telescope).
Does this mean that bamboos live fast and die young? Not at all. Most bamboos will outlive you and me.
Normally, bamboos propagate by rhizomes, producing new shoots (a.k.a., culms) each year. Eventually, a whole stand or forest will be cloned from a single mother plant. But whether a culm was spawned one year or fifty years after the mother plant, all related plants will bloom at roughly the same time (they're "monocarpic," blooming only once), according to each species' own "clock. In some species, this could mean at 20 years; others, at 120 years. ​
Early Spring by the Tea House with Fargesia murieliae.
Here's the really wacky part: We humans have yet to discover how and why, but when genetically related plants are shipped around the world and grown in varying climates, growing conditions, even altitudes, they will still all bloom in the time frame.
These "gregarious," or mass, flowerings can take several years to unfold. And like so much in nature that subscribes to the "in death there is life" mantra, the flowering produces fruit, which produces seed, which starts the long process over again.
"Can plants communicate?" asks Jill. "Is there a secret signal between members that lets all their brethren know across continents that this is the time to bloom?"
The deer-resistant and cold-hardy Fargesia rufa.
Native to five mostly southern continents, few bamboo fare well in New England's climate. Bedrock's stand, leftover from a Boston Flower and Garden Show exhibit Jill designed some ten years ago ("The Amazing Grass Family"), is Fargesia marieliae. It's a clumping, non-invasive, bright-shade loving variety that's cold-hardy to -20F and can reach heights up to 12 feet.
"It requires no care and makes a lovely, filtered screen," says Jill. "[Though an evergreen, it acts] deciduous in our climate, losing its leaves in winter, which is something to bear in mind if you're using it as a screen."
Curiously, a neighboring stand of F. murieliae at Bedrock bloomed five years ago, in keeping with the outer time frame of a worldwide flowering that was taking place. The stand blooming now seemingly missed that beat, or else is a renegade -- a teenager perhaps, denying the will of the mother plant.
​Another equally beautiful and hardy variety at Bedrock, Fargesia rufa, grows into large clumps (6-8 ft wide and 10 feet tall) with arching, umbrella-like stems. It tolerates cold to -15F, and prefers afternoon shade. Though deer resistant, both varieties are a favorite food of the China native, the giant panda.
When Fargesia rufa blooms...
We humans have been cultivating bamboo for thousands of years, and as a result, its practical, aesthetic and spiritual significance is deeply entrenched in many cultures. It is featured in several creation stories, and is often considered a symbol of longevity.
In northeast India, however, bamboo blooming actually brings famine and death. Known as Mautam, the flowering of the species Melocanna baccifera every 45 to 50 years is followed by a plague of rats that gorge on the abundant fruit and quickly reproduce. Once the bamboos' offerings are exhausted, the rats leave the forests to forage on nearby maize and rice fields, as well as stored grain, resulting in heavy food loss and famine. This is not just the stuff of stories: The most recent flowering began in May 2004.
Melocanna baccifera aside, bamboo is highly life-affirming. Humans have been using it for centuries to make food and wine, medicine, building materials, furniture, cloth, paper, traditional Chinese instruments, basketwork, bowls, and other everyday necessities. In Japan, it's associated with laughter and playfulness, possibly due to the sound that its leaves make on windy days, and its uses in traditional kite, toy, and craft making.
Like its gregarious bloom time and death, there is much about the plant that is both fascinating and ironic. It's also endangered, with more than half of the world's 1,200 woody species threatened with extinction. I encourage you learn more about it, starting here, and perhaps even invite this wild and ancient specimen into your garden...and life. Either way, come see it at Bedrock Gardens before it's gone.
Welcome back to what is certain to be an amazing year at Bedrock Gardens! I'm Lisa Peters O'Brien, a.k.a., the Bedrock blogger, and I'm back for the season. I hope you'll stop in to "Digging Deeper" often, or subscribe here, for behind-the-scenes looks of what makes Bedrock Gardens rock and grow. Is there something you'd like to know? Ideas, comments, and questions are welcome. If you like what you read, please share!
Digging Deeper: Gardening, Art and Life at Bedrock
Taking Care of the Little Things
BY THE CALENDAR DATE, Spring has sprung. But this being New England, bright sunlight and stark tree shadows are still dancing across blankets of snow. So while you (impatiently!) await optimal soil temperatures and the last frost date, check in with the nature lover and steward within you. An increasingly important question to ask is: Is my garden (or yard or landscape) designed to support the flora and fauna that sustains life in New England?
It's no secret that humans have severely disrupted the continuous wildlife feeding and habitat opportunities that were in place long before European settlers spread across this area. Between cities, suburbs, and intensive agriculture, we "have taken 95 percent of nature and made in unnatural," says Douglas W. Tallamy, Ph.D., Professor and Chair of Entomology and Wildlife Ecology at the University of Delaware.
In his books Bringing Nature Home and The Living Landscape, Tallamy argues that plant and animal species essential to life are disappearing by the moment, and many that remain are so few in number, they are "...too rare to perform their role in their ecosystem … [and are] considered functionally extinct."
Lucky for us, Dr. Tallamy will give a talk on behalf of Bedrock Gardens on October 1 at the University of New Hampshire, called "Making Insects: a Guide to Restoring the Little Things that Run the World." His engaging and optimistic message is that with just a little effort and the smallest of gardens, every nature lover can provide nurturing refuge and habitat, simply by growing native species of trees, shrubs, and plants. Well beyond the "butterfly gardens" of the past (which in their original design provided only nectar for mature butterflies), Tallamy and others advocate "nativescapes," which take all pollinators (and all stages in their lifecycles) in mind.
Some of Bedrock's Natives:
Acer rubrum - Red maple
Acer saccharum - Sugar maple
Acer spicatum - Mountain maple
Pinus banksiana - Jack pine
Pinus strobus - White pine
Ilex verticillata - Winterberry
Myrica pensylvanica - Northern bayberry
Vaccinium corymbosum - Highbush blueberry
Viburnum acerifolium - Mapleleaf viburnum
Viburnum lentago - Nannyberry
Arisaema triphyllum - Jack-in-the-pulpit
Aster novae-angliae - New England aster
Caulophyllum thalictroides - Blue cohosh
Erythronium americanum - Yellow trout lily or
dog-tooth violet
Eutrochium purpureum - Joe Pye Weed
Iris versicolor - Northern blue flag
Sanguinaria canadensis - Bloodroot
Tiarella cordifolia - Foam flower
Uvularia sessilifolia - Wild oats
"If you are not seeing life in a garden, something is not right." ~Jill Nooney
There are some very dedicated nonprofit agencies putting out this call-to-arms for gardeners, farmers, and lovers of the natural world. One online source that is chock full of tips and handy information, such as charts of native plants, their bloom periods, and the pollinators they attract for 32 different "ecoregions" of the country, is the Pollinator Partnership. Bedrock Gardens (along with Seacoast NH and ME) falls in its Eastern Broadleaf Forest, Oceanic Province zone.
Below are several more sources for you to explore during Spring's thaw and beyond. All will help you implement even minor changes to your garden this year. In April, I will address the variety of pollinators out there, and offer some tips for attracting and supporting them. For as our very own Jill Nooney says, "If you are not seeing life in a garden, something is not right."
Late summer blooms of Eutrochium purpureum, Joe Pye Weed, at Bedrock.
More Nativescaping Resources
(Warning, these websites are habit-forming):
Native Seed Network Based in Oregon, the Native Seed Network promotes the use of native plants in ways that support the ecological integrity of both natural and manipulated ecosystems.
The Massachusetts-based New England Wildflower Society (NEWFS), with thorough New England native plant information, how-tos, and even a native plant sale.*** Other NEWFS website offerings I like include:
GoBotany Offers very helpful online keys to identifying NE native plants, as well as resources for everyone from professors of botany to beginning botanists.
Learn A self-paced online course on designing with native plants.
The Xerces Society for Invertebrate Conservation has been advocating for and educating about pollinators, aquatic invertebrates, and endangered wildlife for nearly 50 years. If it's website is still down for maintenance, check out its facebook page.
Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center at the University of Texas offers a native plant database and image gallery.
*** If you live in the Seacoast area and are interested, as I am, in ordering native plants from the NE Wildflower Society, leave a comment with your contact info below (contact info will not be published). I'd be happy to pick up a group order at the NEWFS sites in MA, and meet you at Bedrock for distribution.
PIXIES AND PUCKS ALL
"MAGICAL" IS A WORD I'd use to describe Bedrock Gardens on any ordinary day, but a special kind of magic descended on us this past weekend, and it flew in on gossamer wings. For three days, the forest abutting the gardens opened up and welcomed the kind of imagination, playfulness and outpouring of creativity that only fairies can bring.
We hosted our first ever Fairy and Hobbit House Festival and Fundraiser that featured more than 40 fairy houses designed off-site and installed for the weekend. The delightful creations ranged in tone from a driftwood lighthouse keeper's cottage to a Tolkien-esque hobbit tower made from the "knee" of a swamp cedar, to what designer Mary Liz Lancaster called her "ancient abandoned cottage from the old country of faerie."
These exhibits provided the whimsical foundation (is that an oxymoron?) upon which fairies of all sizes and ages could flit and flutter. Along came families whose fairy wings and tulle festooned the fall forest with pinks and blues. There was a young knight in chain mall. "We had lots of boys," says Bedrock's Program Manager Kate Bashline. "Two small boys were observed lugging a log together with an air of strength, age and lumberjack expertise."
Grandparents and kids crawled on their knees to peek in gnome-home windows. Couples young and not-so-young circled and examined each creation, marveling at the intricate details with which the artists infused their works.
There were dragonflies made from maple "helicopter" seedlings, cinnamon-stick ladders, miniature stone walls, glass waterfalls, siding made from honey locust bean pod or birch bark, and tansy- and sedum-bedecked woodland cottages. Gnarly Harry Lauder's Walking Stick branches made several appearances: Labrie Landscape Designer Wicki Rowland brought a whole tree to her life-sized design of a fairy's garden patio; other houses used the branches as wisps of smoke emerging from chimneys. Any everywhere, children scampered, with the delight and wonder, curiosity and energy that only they can bring.
At last stroll, I counted nearly 100 additional structures built in-the-moment by our visitors: fairy, gnome and hobbit homes with woodland materials hidden in the flora or blatantly adorning the trail, some by a single child, others by group design. And when the children weren't exploring or creating, they were rapt in their attention to Tracy Kane, author of The Fairy House series, reading from her books, or storyteller Michael Lang and his cohort, Coyote, telling fables and folktales from around the world.
And then there were the magical volunteer folk. We had giggling teenage fairies in the barn during the rain teaching hand claps, a fairy fiddler strolling the trail, hobbit ladies at our Gnome Depot, two lady fairies, and the most magical senior fairy. One volunteer, Skye Tomasyan, installed herself on the trail for three whole days (yes, she was there with umbrella, spreading happiness during Sunday's rain, along with other wonderful volunteers and visitors). Skye's enthusiasm was infectious, and she spread it as she and her wand floated among the visitors, making things merry and offering to take photos of families.
​When Skye alighted upon two pixies building a fairy house, she told them, "This house is so pretty, I could move right in." One of the little ones looked up at her and said, " Oh, I am afraid our house is going to be too small. We didn't know you would be so big!"
More than anything, the Fairy and Hobbit House Festival was about community: people coming together to share a common (and joyful) experience. Huge thanks to our sponsors, all of the artists and designers who contributed fairy houses, the wonderful Friends of Bedrock members who made it happen, and the dozens of volunteers who magically appeared each day, for helping to make this event a success. And, of course, we want to thank all of the wonderful folk who came out to share in the whimsy and beauty that is Bedrock.
​ We are now closed for the season. See you next year!
Welcome! I'm Lisa Peters O'Brien, a.k.a. The Bedrock Blogger. While Bedrock Gardens has been around for 30 years, this blog is new, and it needs your support in the way of readership. If you like what you read and would like more of it, click here to subscribe!
Spirit Beings
LIKE FAMILY: The only remaining wooden totem at Bedrock is this family heirloom and "spiritual marker." Images on one side represent the four seasons and on the other, the four elements (earth, air, fire and water). The family mandala and date appear at the base. Jill carved it in her living room one winter out of a slab of mahogany laid on two sawhorses. She called the project "hack and vac."
AUTUMN IS SETTLING IN at Bedrock. The plants, some already spent, some making a graceful exit with a last flush of softly hued seed heads, are starting to recede. What they leave behind is the opportunity for us to more fully experience the art installations that inhabit this landscape.
Almost all of the art -- sculptures large and small, wall hangings, planters, containers -- has been made by owner Jill Nooney. There are somewhere in the vicinity of 250 works spread around the grounds. She calls it the garden's "jewelry," and was inspired to create it when she felt the plantings had reached "middle age." "It needed adornment," she says.
ANASTAZI: This ancient tribe (precursor to the Pueblo) was known for its transition from hunter-gatherers to farmers. Combine that knowledge with Jill's penchant for blades, and this collection of farm saws and deeply toothed equipment came together to mimic the geometric patterns found in Southwestern Native American art. Jill's grandson especially likes the drill bits coming out of the top.
And create Jill did: There are totems and circles, arches and animals, and always, humor. Since there is so much to write about (and plenty of non-gardening months to cover it all), I'll start with her totems:
"Totems are meaning-markers," says Jill. They are a nod to the intrinsic environmentalism of Native American culture, with its respect for the sacredness and the interconnectivity of all living things.
Totems are also just plain handy from a design sense. They're a "shape that is very easy to use in a garden," she says. "I'm always looking for a vertical accent: They stick up, out of the plants. They are a way of drawing your eye to a space: They can mark a sight line, or be a focal point or even a destination."
​Traditional Native American totems were made from a material Pacific Northwest
FIRE AND WATER: A tribute to the valiance of those who fight fires. It includes parts of an antique fire hose, a water meter, logging peavey and cutter bars.
tribes found plentiful: Western Red Cedar. Similarly, much of Jill's art is made from a local and abundant resource that is deeply connected with her land: discarded and forgotten farm equipment. (Bedrock was a dairy farm from 1845 to 1957.) As Jill says on her Fine Garden Art website, "It feels fitting that objects that have worked the land, return to grace a garden and remind us of our history."
​I hope you enjoy this glimpse of some of Bedrock's totems, and use it as a starting point to further discover and delight in the sacred and profane that resides in Jill's Fine Garden Art. One wonderful way to begin this journey would be with a free garden art tour with Wendie Adam on Saturday, October 8 at 1 p.m. at October's Fairy House Festival weekend.
JOHNSON BAR: With its spine a rigid Johnson bar (a lever used in farming and transportation that is a miracle of simplicity and strength) this totem references Archimedes' saying, "Give me a place to stand, and a lever long enough, and I will move the world."
THUNDERBIRD: More than nine feet tall, this stately sculpture evokes the Native American Thunderbird in all its legendary supernatural power and strength.
August Celebrities
With Labor Day fast approaching, Jill Nooney and I strolled around the gardens to capture a few of our favorite late-summer stars. We hope you find them as entertaining as we do.
Solenostemon 'UF0646', Redhead coleus (far back); Brassica oleracea, 'Winterbor' kale (center); and Emilia coccinea, or tassel flower.
Baptisia australis, Blue false indigo (left); Verbena bonariensis, a self-seeding annual (front right) and Vernonia noveboracensis, or Ironweed, a native, late-blooming perennial (back right)
Taking Center Stage: We love the interplay of airy stems and boldly colored blooms against the backdrop of dense, bushy foliage. The flower colors pop smartly against the gray-green foil.
Chorus of White: Galtonia candicans, or summer hyacinth (a hardy, late-blooming bulb); Cleome hassleriana, 'Sparkler White'; Nicotiana sylvestris 'Only the Lonely' and N. langsdorffii ; Gaura lindheimeri (a naturalizing perennial); Ammi majus, or Bishop's weed; Callicarpa dichotoma f. Albifructa, or Beauty berry (which produces stunning clusters of white berries); Buddleja davidii 'White Profusion', or Butterfly bush; Eupatorium perfoliatum, or Boneset, among others
Back-Up Singers, All: Jill's been trying to create a white palette in the Parterre Garden for more than six years. "It's very hard to find white-flowering plants that will bulk up," she explains. This spring, in a last-ditch effort, she scattered annual seed heads from the past two years' growth among the perennials. The effect is very different from that of the previous photos in that no one plant or flower stands out. Instead, it is delightfully meadow-like. Kudos to the lichen adorning the bench for lending their complimentary silver-gray-green coloring.
Hakonechloa macra 'Aureola' (foreground); Sedum 'Autumn Joy'; Solenostemon scutellarioides, Coleus 'Wasabi'
Co-Stars: Contrasting shapes and textures are woven together in these groupings by repeating color, however subtle. The chartreuse coleus is picked up by the stripes in the Hakone (smaller photo). Sunlight joins the soft, bright greens of nasturtium, foxtail millet, and scented geranium in the larger photo.
"One plant I will never be without," says Jill, is Pelargonium tomentosum, Peppermint-scented geranium (foreground). An annual, it grows quickly from seed into a three-foot-high bush. Behind it shine Setaria italica, 'Lime Light Spray' millet; Ligularia dentata 'Othello'; and Tropaeolum majus, Climbing nasturtium
Our Healing Gardens
I BORE WITNESS to a family's sorrow recently, and so, went to Bedrock to find solace. As I stood on the expansive lawn looking out at Grass Acre, the slightest breeze whispered among the grasses, creating a mosaic of moving color. Behind that, the stately trees of the Swaleway offered a multitude soothing greens and blues, while the sunlit hayfields of the neighbor's horse farm lay beyond.
Despite myself, I began to feel peace. I could breathe deeply again. The mid-afternoon colors were soft and muted, as if to say, 'Now is not our time, but we are here for you.' Bird song was drifting down from the treetops, and a new hatching of brown moths flitted erratically around us, careening into things, seemingly without any control over the direction of their short lives.
"I lay down weeping on the grass just now and was thankful for the quiet and the finches and the sky."
​~ Anonymous
How does nature soothe and heal? Physically, at first. Being outside embraced by fresh air, with beautiful sights, smells and sounds engaging all of our senses, we can't help but be "in the moment." The gardens at Bedrock make this easy for us: Jill and Bob designed them to draw us in, bit by bit, to move us away from the surrounding roads (and civilization) and toward our inner selves. Even the physical act of moving through the gardens is meditative, says Jill. "Walking is calming. It's the pace of a heartbeat."
There are long, serene vistas here. (Gardens teach us patience.) There is water. (Gardens allow for reflection). And all along the way, there are places to sit, "to come to a full halt," explains Jill. "It is an immersive experience where you can lose your bearings, and not mind."
As a good friend reminded me, "We are nature." When we allow ourselves time to truly be in her presence, we open ourselves up to her gift of healing. Our gardens are open-air houses of worship, offering us easy, daily access to a mental and spiritual life. The key, explains Peter Cock in Gardening: Good for Our Soul, is to humble ourselves before her rhythms and to accept that we are in partnership with nature--interdependent--not lords and ladies over her.
​Call it "faith," if you will, but it is in these spaces that nature shows us there is a meaning to and purpose for everything. The little brown moths? Scientists tell us that such lepidopterans detect currents of scent in the air and veer toward them, constantly readjusting their course. Their ultimate destination is a flower, for its nectar; their ultimate purpose for nature, pollination. In that certainty, there is solace.
Sparkling ocean vistas, the warm hues of a New England sunset, or the earthy, mossy scent of a pine forest: These natural experiences of a grander scale certainly engage our senses and fill us with harmony. But it is in our gardens that we can truly see ourselves in the mix: "Gardening attunes us to life's struggles for renewal, richness and balance," says Cock.
Life can be messy, unpredictable, and unfair, our plant scapes say. Flowers blossom when the sun is shining, and tilt (and sometimes fall) when the storms come. But life will go on, in one way or another. When we partner up with nature in our gardens, she enables us to persevere through it all--not just doggedly but with beauty and art and music.
Hot, Hot, Hot
Crocosmia 'Lucifer' vies with Delphinium exaltatum for center stage
Delicate Crocosmia 'Lucifer' flower buds
FLANKING THE WIGGLE WAGGLE water feature at Bedrock Gardens is the Garish Garden, a 100-foot-long bed of bold, showy sculptures, plants, shrubs and trees. This is the garden in which plants, whether through foliage or flower, vie and clash, and ultimately rise up in front of you to demand attention. Here, throughout the seasons, you'll find giant, elephant-ear-like ligularia with its spiky yellow flowers (Ligularia dentata 'Othello'), tall purple delphiniums (Delphinium exaltatum), coneflowers both white and purple (E. purpurea 'Alba' and E. purpurea), a golden smoke tree (Cotinus coggygria 'Golden Spirit'), masses of yarrow that change color from yellow to burnt orange (Achillea 'Terracotta'), and a variegated maple (Acer Platanoides Drummondii) that fractures the sunlight and sends it shooting off in a thousand directions.
Not to be outdone by these is Crocosmia 'Lucifer', with its spiky, sword-shaped leaves and vaguely tropical scarlet flowers. The crocosmia both grounds and exalts the Garish Garden. The leaves form a steady march of upright soldiers that offer structure and steadfastness throughout the seasons. Early summer brings delicate, red-tinged, feather-like buds waving on tall, stiffly arching stems. Fireworks arrive in mid-July, with the buds exploding into flaming red, trumpet-shaped flowers that float above the foliage and tease onlookers (including hoverflies, butterflies and hummingbirds) to come closer. Finally, if your growing season is long enough (it's not, here) long sprays of yellowish, chestnut-shaped seed heads appear in fall, along the flowering spine, which eventually open to reveal complex, wine-colored seeds.
A member of the Iridaceae family that is native to eastern South Africa, crocosmia (common name, montbretia) can't help but be flashy, as its siblings include gladioli, lilies, irises and crocuses. C. 'Lucifer' is a hybrid developed by the late, great English plantsman, Alan Bloom, at his Bressingham Nurseries in the late 1960s. It is a clump-forming plant that propagates by corms and seeds. New England's climate limits its spread each year, but in places like California's Pacific Coast and England, it has outworn its welcome by spreading like a weed.
Alternatively, in NE, it can be slow to establish, sometimes taking two to three years. Nurseries recommend digging up the corms like gladioli, or heavily mulching around the plants for winter. Jill does neither: "I used to dig them up but left them one year, and they did fine," she says. She hasn't dug them up since.
​To allow C. 'Lucifer' its greatest glory (and height, up to four feet tall), plant it in moist but well-drained soil in a sunny location. Let it show off in broad swathes, or ribbons that allow it to wend its way among (and lord its way over) its neighbors. If you have less space, plant it in a clump of at least a dozen corms for greatest visual impact. Folks in warmer climes will want to cut off the seed heads each fall (they're terrific in dried flower arrangements) to check its spread. Other maintenance includes springtime division every three to four years to discard the old corms and replant the new, though again, this may depend on where you live. After seven years of growing them without crowding, Jill divided hers for the first time last year, in order to donate some to the Mastway School Garden in Lee.
There are many crocosmia hybrids on the market now, some with earlier bloom times (you can have a whole summer of crocosmia blooms!), and others better suited to smaller gardens. C. 'Fire King', for example, blooms from early to midsummer, and grows to just two feet. C. 'Carmine Brilliant' also reaches two feet tall with reddish-orange blossoms with yellow centers. Both adapt well to planters. If red is just too garish for your garden, try C. 'Citronella' with its bright green leaves and soft yellow luminous flowers.
Dabble and play with your garden's palette. Let a section of your garden give way to bold colors, textures and shapes. You may be inspired to tap into that "little bit of devil" inside you, and let C 'Lucifer" out. ~ Lisa Peters O'Brien
Dry Year
DESPITE THE THUNDERSTORMS that graced us last night, 2016 is proving to be a very dry year. Temperatures over the next two weeks are forecasted to park in the high 80s and 90s. In June, Bedrock's hometown of Lee, New Hampshire, saw 1.3 inches of rain out of an average of 3.9, according to Weather.com. Spring's seemingly never-ending winds didn't help. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration says Southern New England is in a "moderate drought."
Our gardens are suffering. Seeds haven't germinated.​ Annuals, whose root systems haven't the time to develop fully, suffer. The grass crisps up, especially in shallow soil areas: "Drought is an X-ray," says Jill. "You can see where the rock ledge on our property is: It's where the grass dies first."
On a recent walk through Bedrock, I heard the Zipper tootling along the Sugar Bush, tools clattering and jostling in the back of it. It pulled up to the slope below the Tea House, and out hopped Jill with a beat up old five-gallon bucket. She dipped it in the Petit Pond, and used the liquid to water the mayapples, Podophyllum 'Spotty Dotty' and P. delavayi.
​Really? The keeper of 20 acres of gardens spot waters?
"I don't water in any thorough way," she explains. "The plants need to tough it out for the most part. After 30 years of soil amendment, the gardens are pretty good at retaining moisture."
Jill uses manure and compost to amend, the organic matter of which improves soil structure and fertility, and increases its ability to retain moisture. Watering infrastructure --water hookups, pipe access and miles of hose--exists at Bedrock, but it is only used on an as-needed basis. She tries to spot-water newly planted perennials and shrubs and some precious plants.
Dry times aren't all bad. They offer gardeners a chance to raise a critical brow and assess which of their plants can tolerant drought. These may be ones that you want to use more of in future garden endeavors. Typically, plants that conserve moisture or are frugal with its use are those covered with tiny hairs, or trichomes, which limit evaporation from the leaves (Salvias; Stachys). Other defenses include waxy surfaces, thick, fleshy leaves (Sedums; Baptisias; Euphorbias), and root systems that reach both wide and deep (Asclepias tuberosa or butterfly weed; Liatris). Many ornamental grasses survive by having thick roots and narrow leaves (Sporobolus heterolepis, or prairie dropseed).
Watch them at different times of day, advises Jill. "Lots of plants wilt in mid-day but by the next morning are perked up, like Cimicifuga [black snakeroot and bugbane], Ligularia and bronze fennel." Not many will die in drought, she says, they just don't thrive.
Droughts also prompt us to reassess our watering practices: Are we watering plants that don't need to be, or not watering enough? One thorough watering a week is all that is needed, according to the Texas A&M Agrilife Extension (those folks have a bit more experience with dry spells than we do): Light watering "only settles the dust and does little to alleviate drought stress of plants...Instead...allow the soil to become wet to a depth of 5 to 6 inches."
Echinacea 'Purpurea" stands hardy during drought. Jill's sculpture, Ring Toss, circles around the drought.
Droughts certainly stress plants, some more than others. Walking through parts of Bedrock I see parched grass and a bleached palette. The pine needle floor around the Petit Pond isn't spongy; it crunches. Does it stress Jill? She smiles and shrugs her shoulders. Such problems used to keep her up at night, but not anymore.
"As you get older, you roll with the punches," she says. So, too, does her garden.
~ Lisa Peters O'Brien
Look for It:
In June's Out of the Ordinary post, I described Jill's stand of Pineapple Lily, Eucomis 'Sparkling Burgundy', by the back door of the house with its curly parsley (Petroselinum crispum) ground cover. Wisdom has it that in order to keep the plants bushy, they shouldn't be allowed to flower, but sometimes it's the plants right under your nose get overlooked with the pruning shears.
"I am loving it," says Jill. "The umbels are the BEST."
Along with the Allium 'Hair' that's mixed in, we all agree it looks fetching.
Seeing the Future
Captive audience: Jill gives esteemed guests a tour of Bedrock.
GARDENERS ARE A SHARING LOT. Think seed swaps, Master Gardeners (who exist to volunteer their expertise and time), or the crazy-about-daylilies coworker who brings in potted divisions. Community garden members donate their extra produce, families volunteer for school gardens, and the creators of magnificent gardens open their spaces for charity tours--or in the case of Jill and Bob, simply to spread the love their gardens engender. In large part, gardeners are a passionate and committed group eager to share knowledge and resources.
This notion was driven home this past weekend for Bedrock's owners, who after years of being on the giving end, were the recipients of garden do-good-ism. On Saturday, six nationally-recognized horticulture professionals converged at Bedrock on Jill and Bob's behalf. They included Lee Buttala, Emmy Award-winning TV producer (Martha Stewart Living and PBS's Cultivating Life) and current Director of Communications and Marketing for the Berkshire Botanical Garden; Cultural Resources Program Director for Naumkeag in Stockbridge, MA, Cindy Brockway; Executive Director for Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens in Boothbay, Bill Cullina; Michael Dosmann, the Curator of Living Collections at Harvard's Arnold Arboretum; Joann Vieira, Horticulture Director at Tower Hill Botanical Garden in Boylston, MA; and Jeff Lynch, Horticulture and Grounds Manager for Chanticleer Garden in Wayne, PA.
Generosity, in the form of a grant from the The Gladys L. Smith Fund of the New Hampshire Charitable Foundation, made it possible to bring these folks together. They came to look and listen to Jill and Bob, to the Friends of Bedrock Gardens (FBG) board, and to community members. They offered their thoughts, expertise, and precise instructions on how to turn Bedrock into a public garden and cultural center for those interested in horticulture, sculpture, landscape design, and the arts.
The owners were awed. "They shared their weekend at high garden time," Jill says, appreciating that they left their respective busy gardens in order to see Bedrock at its most bold and beautiful.
Thankfully, the weather cooperated and the days went by seamlessly. Highlights included a tour by Jill, an al fresco dinner behind the barn around Bob's handmade table, and highly positive comments about the gardens and art: "Everyone had helpful feedback from raising my mower height to ways to market the garden we never would have thought of," says Jill. "They talked about how important a sense of magic is in this over-processed world."
There was even some horticultural repartee. "I stumped them on two plants," smiles Jill. "The [southeast U.S.] native, Croomia pauciflora, in the Swaleway," and the Asian member of the sunflower family, Atractylodes japonica. "They, in turn, pointed out plants I didn't even know I had!" (or thought were something else), including a black ash (Fraxinus nigra) and a maleberry (Lyonia ligustrina).
It started with Jill and Bob opening their home and hearts and sharing the bounty of their private acres with visitors for more than a decade now. It continues with the Friends of Bedrock Gardens, folks so touched by the peace, beauty, artistry--and yes, magic--of Bedrock, that they've joined Jill and Bob in wanting to see it remain in perpetuity for others to experience. And it will take a community to bring it to fruition. Thanks to the generosity of spirit that gardeners share, they now have a road map. ~ Lisa Peters O'Brien
Bob repairs Petit Pond with the help of his Kubota
BEDROCK'S JILL NOONEY HAD A CHANCE to champion her favorite garden tools in this May post, so it is only fitting that her co-conspirator Bob has his say, too. Bob Munger is the behind-the-scenes guy, the inventor, creator and builder of the landscapes in which Jill plays. Transforming 30 acres of neglected farmland--poison ivy and scrub growth--into garden beds and GrassAcre, ponds and parterre, took more than all the manpower he could muster. It required Machines.
First came the beloved "Zipper." A 50th birthday present for Bob, the speedy little motorized utility cart "opened up the back 40," says Jill. Suddenly, projects in the far reaches of their sprawling 30 acres seem much less daunting. The Zipper made it easy to transport equipment, tools, supplies, lunch--or to return to the house for the forgotten bug spray. "Every place in the garden is only as far as the Zipper," quips Bob. By extension, then, every place in the Seacoast (New England?) must be as far as Bob's car, because its license plate reads, "Zipity." (Jill's is Do-Dah.)
Zippity goes the privet hedge trimming
After the Zipper came the backhoe tractor with an interchangeable forklift and bucket. Together, it and Bob have cleared fields, created water features, moved tree stumps, made pathways, carved out beds, built hillocks, and much more. "It hasn't quite replaced the shovel, but it helps a lot," says Bob. "It's a much more powerful means to an end."
Heavy equipment satisfies Bob's inclination to transform ideas into actuality, and allows him to be involved from beginning to end. It extends to him a certain superhuman power, enabling him to leap tall buildings with a single bound: "Sitting in a cab, the machine becomes an extension of yourself," he muses. "With the lift of a finger, you can reach out and pick up a rock. You have so much control."
Secondly, finicky creatures that they are, power tools repeatedly afford Bob the chance to take things apart and put them back together again. "Bob is the fixer," says Jill. "He loves machines, even when they break."
Tractor envy got tree stumps to the Dark Woods
Take, for example, the time Jill was mounting an exhibit called "Got You Stumped" for the Boston Flower Show. They borrowed a 40-year-old, 24-inch chainsaw from a neighbor to carve up tree stumps left on the sides of roads by utility crews. The revered chainsaw broke during their watch.
"Bob dismantled it and found that a tiny part had snapped," marvels Jill. "He just fabricated a replacement piece from a little scrap of metal and installed it." Problem solved, neighbor happy.
Being Mr. Fix-It is doable with small machines, but as Bob was to find out, it's not so easy with the Big Boys. Fifteen years ago a contractor friend parked a huge old excavator on the property for the weekend and told Bob to go ahead and use it. "In a morning I'd made a road!," says an incredulous Bob. "I was excavating stumps with the flick of a finger. Sitting up there in the cab, I felt like a giant spider."
The next time their friend left the excavator, Bob got into trouble. "I was way out in the middle of the woods," he remembers. "It broke down, and it was very difficult for the truck carrying the repair equipment to reach it. I learned then not to borrow other people's expensive equipment."
Does Bob the builder now stick to backhoes, Zippers and the like, whose parts you don't have to be Superman to fix? Why, yes he does. ~ Lisa O'Brien
Bedrock Gardens
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Bedrock Gardens • 19 High Road (physical address), 45 High Road (mailing address) • Lee, NH 03861-6202 •
603-659-2993 • hello@bedrockgardens.org
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