Monthly Gardening Tips with Kris Garnier
September 2024
For me, autumn kind of started in mid-August. Remember that blue moon and the chilly week in the mid-70s? And while it did get hot again for a spell later in the month, here we are in the first weeks of September, and we’ve already dipped into the high 40s on some nights. It has been super dry out there, but all those trees with yellow leaves in early September?!
This prompted me to have a look at my garden observations notebook and share my casual gardening almanac over the past 8 years.
2016: 10/01 trees turn golden
2018: 10/21 full on autumn color!
2019: 09/23 trees start turning yellow
2020: 09/22 trees start turning yellow
2022: 10/14 peak yellow glow!
In 2024, trees have started turning yellow on September 10! That is at least a half a month earlier than most years of late!
So what is happening in the gardens? I am chomping at the bit to make some transplants to give some overgrown plants new spaces to spread their roots. Early autumn is a great time for this; however, even with the cool nights and dewy mornings, I find that the daytime sun is still too hot. Without a good soaking rainstorm in the forecast, I am holding back on these. I’ve put some markers next to the plants that I want to move so I won’t forget ‘em.
Over the years, I have noticed that people often feel like they failed because something doesn’t work in their garden. Please don’t fret. Consider that nature is dynamic, always transitioning or shifting... Something in a garden is always changing! For example, a once shady garden may have way more sun after a large limb from a nearby tree cracks and falls during a heavy rainstorm.
As anyone who reads this column knows, I love to get lost in my garden. I become deeply focused and connected to the moment. All of this is more important than all the rules we make for ourselves when gardening.
So far, in this new month of September, I am in awe of the bright yellow, black, and white, striped goldfinches who land on the faded pink Echinacea seed heads and eat the seeds gingerly, like a botanical snack bar. The stems bend and sway with their weight, light as it is. When I approach the beds, they quickly fly off to a nearby oak tree, watching and waiting till I leave to resume their meal.
Mosaic winged monarchs flutter, hover, and land onto bright, orange Mexican sunflowers. Golden honey bees are adamant about holding court on magenta New England asters. All are drinking up the late-season nectar in preparation for their big migration south or hibernation.
And so….
One thing that I really hope for those of you that are dipping your toes into gardening is that you enjoy being in your garden, for there is always something fascinating to observe, a texture to revel over, a fresh smell, something to learn about, to ponder over, and to connect with.
Be Flowerful,
Kris Garnier, the Flower Therapist
August 2024
Like clockwork, on the first of August, I was thrilled to hear the mass choir of millions of katydids and crickets that began their annual, nightly performances of their hit, white noise. They always help me transition from AC to open windows. I also revel in the slightly different tilt of the sun, setting just a bit earlier each day, giving us a hint of autumn.
The rain last week was a welcome change (at least in our neck of the woods), from the 93 degree, feels-like-98-degrees, days of July. I am relieved to get out the door just a little later, not rushing to beat the oppressive heat. Thankfully, here in Saugerties, nature has given us ample rain so far this season so we weren't attached to our hoses and wells like a ball and chain.
And what am I doing now? Other than weeding, which I prefer to call conscience curating (because some plants are more enthusiastic than others), I am plotting and planning for transplanting in the cooler fall weather, by scouting new homes for the joyous plants that have overgrown their current spots.
What I always find the most fascinating about gardening is that even though I diligently prepare, I always bow to the conditions Nature–our capricious, yet glorious goddess–offers. I accept.
Be Flowerful,
Kris Garnier, the Flower Therapist
July 2024
Hydrangea Highlights
Thanks to a rainy Fourth of July, my gardening books, and the internet, I decided to take a dive into hydrangeas, and I can't wait to share! A little background: Sometimes known as Hortenisa, or by their scientific name, Hydrangea, which breaks down to hydro, Greek for water and angeion for vessel. When walking the rows of a nursery, you realize that there are a lot of different kinds of hydrangea—over 70 species worldwide—including hundreds of cultivars and, oh, so many varieties. On White Feather Farm, we have four different species growing.
Many hydrangeas originate from East Asia. In Japan, leaves of the species Hydrangea serrata are used to make a sweet tea and are a highlighted ingredient of an annual Buddha bathing ceremony each April.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that there are a few hydrangea species that are native to the United States. H. arborescens, or smooth hydrangea, is native to Virginia, and H. quercifolia, commonly known as oakleaf hydrangea, is native to Georgia. They too have a long history of use and, later, flourishing cultivation.
Native Americans, notably the Cherokee Nation, used the bark, leaves, and roots of H. arborescens for various medicinal applications. Later, in the 1700s, these two species were ‘discovered’ by colonialists and plant hunters. They were considered floral treasures in the gardens of well-to-do estate owners, including Bowling Green in Mt. Vernon and Monticello in Virginia. They were widely cultivated and adored throughout America and Europe.
All cultivated species of hydrangea look beautiful fresh in bouquets, and some, like Hydrangea paniculata, look beautiful even when they are dried. Interestingly, some species can be rehydrated by placing their stems in boiling water. These flowers are reminiscent of the Victorian and Edwardian eras, as they were the darlings in many opulent floral arrangements. Think Bridgerton.
In 2024, the species that is really a superstar this gardening season is Hydrangea macrophylla, or big leaf hydrangea, and its two popular cultivars, mophead and lacecap. These came to the US from Japan via European plant hunters near the turn of the 19th century and are commonly found in ornamental gardens and nurseries. They are having an unusually stunning season this year, blooming in all shades of purple, pink, and the coveted blue (if your soil is a bit acidic). On lacecap flower heads, the showy outer ring of the florets is composed of colorful, sterile sepals (showy leaves). The tiny, subtle florets found in the center are the fertile flowers.
I had been perplexed by my two H. macrophylla until this season. I’ve had a mophead hydrangea growing in my garden for 18 years but never got a bloom. I carefully planted it in a spot where it gets morning sun, on a slight slope, and watered it meticulously. I pruned it carefully in late winter. No blooms. Then, for several years, I let it grow, got in the way, and didn’t prune it—still no blooms. But this year was different! Even without pruning, I have hundreds of blooms that turn from white to pink to a deep shade of indigo purple as they bloom. They are like fireworks!
Likewise, I planted a lacecap about 8 years ago. Better luck there; maybe two flowers a season, but still unimpressive on the flower front. Its leaves, on the other hand, have always captivated me—their deep venation, how the tips and edges turn a beautiful shade of raspberry milk chocolate and morph into a vibrant, green color like moss after a rainstorm.
So, what is it about this season? Everywhere we look, these shrubs are in full botanical fashion! Perhaps we’ve had that perfect combination of dry, sunny days, cooler evenings, and well-spaced rain storms, peppered with a few hot, bright, and humid days. I believe this is the climate combo that makes for a great year of flowers! It seems that ornamental gardening, with all of our hard work and planning, is sometimes as simple as a well-paced season of weather. I’ll take it! Go hydrangeas!
Be Flowerful,
Kris Garnier, the Flower Therapist
June 2024
The munching sound coming from high in the tree crowns! The mess that they leave on walkways, patios, and driveways! I am hoping that, at the very least, their droppings will be beneficial as nutritious compost! It's hard to hear and even sadder to watch as your favorite oak or willow is being eaten by thousands of Lymantria dispar dispar, or more known generally as the caterpillars.
Some suggest that healthy, affected trees should rebound and can take about three years of this seasonal defoliation. We are in year two. I wince as my mostly oak-lined property looks so barren this June!
The Lymantria dispar dispar caterpillars are quite visible and abundant. On the lower trunk, you will notice hundreds. On the upper limbs, branches and crown, three are more and more dense clumps of them, especially where the limb meets the trunk. Then, nets of them encase leaves throughout the crown. Ugh, it feels like a losing battle.
There are some strategies such as tree banding tape that can be placed around the trunks to divert them from climbing further up the trunk. This is best done in the early spring, but unfortunately it is mid-June and my tree is c o v e r e d , completely. Just the same, I tried this over a 24-hour period (6/15–6/16) with double-stick carpet tape.
After a few hours, I followed one caterpillar, about eye level, slink and scoot around the very thick trunk of our very mature oak. This is what I would call a determined caterpillar, and an agile one too. This caterpillar would quickly touch, then retreat from the edge of the tape, briskly moving back down the trunk a few inches. Then it continued its journey around the trunk. It did this repeatedly, making at least 7 tries at the tape edge while I observed its movement for about 15 minutes. A successful deterrent, but probably too late for this year. Frustrated, I ended up blasting them away by pressure washing several trees. While it was satisfying, it is probably not recommended.
For more detailed info on Lymantria dispar dispar caterpillars and organic methods to control them, head to NYC DEC.
Another topic that has come up a lot for me lately is mulching. In a shrubby-type garden bed, I think that mulch is appropriate. It keeps the large roots damp and protected. However, if you are growing flowers, which are herbaceous, they have non-woody, pliant stems and have to battle with the chunky, hard mulch to grow and spread. So using mulch actually inhibits the growth and spread of herbaceous perennial, biennial, and annual flowers that you want in your garden. Also, for reseeding plants, mulch creates a barrier and makes it harder for the seed to find the looser soil beneath, which is crucial for its development. Think about it: weeds too are herbaceous plants, and some of them are pretty darn cute; some are just a little too enthusiastic. Consider weeding as editing, or working with a large, living canvas and creating flow and space here and there. Find a cool evening or morning, let go of your worries, feel the earth, and really look closely at the intricacy of the flowers you are growing, the insects that live in the soil and find the peace and calm that being with plants brings.
Flower on!
Kris Garnier, Flower Therapist
May 2024
How many weeks did the ground freeze in our area this winter? Hmm... a week, or two? Windy, cloudy, sunny, rainy, cold, warm, repeat. With the exception of an unusually spring-like February and March, daffodils blooming about three weeks sooner than last year, and another snowless winter, April and May have been right on track to be a kind of normal, whacky, mercurial spring. In my own garden beds, I so wanted to be outside on the beautiful, upside-down, late winter days of March that I broke down and experimented with dividing some things earlier than usual. I cut out large chunks of ornamental grasses, sawed them into smaller ones, transplanted them to new spots, and a heavy watering.
At the farm, we needed to find a new home for a few hundred daffodil bulbs, so I dug them up—boy, they sure needed dividing! I made several new trenches, plunked them in place, added some of last year’s compost and soil from the freshly dug hole, and watered. While the bulbs will not flower this year, they will settle into their new spot and dazzle us with hope next spring. Now, a month and a half later, I can attest that everything else that I divided at the end of March is now flourishing!
One other note, for those that are interested: I am way into No Mow May because not only is it a gorgeous sight, I also enjoy observing the bumble and honey bees that browse the sea of purple Ajuga and ground ivy, ivory strawberry flowers, yellow cinquefoil, and light blue forget-me-nots and bluets on my lawn. Although cutting wide and logical paths is essential to keeping tick exposure to a minimum.
This time of year, I check the weather with the voracity of a tent caterpillar. This has been the perfect spring for gardening chores like dividing, seeding, and transplanting to grow and transform your garden. Rain is predicted for Friday? Yay! Seed, transplant, or divide on Thursday! We are having one of those wonderful months where nature helps us along with just the right amount of sun and rain just when you need it!
Flower on!
-Kris Garnier, the Flower Therapist
January 2024
I have been thinking a lot about our winters here in the Mid-Hudson Valley and how odd they have become over the past few years. While we had nice little snow on Tuesday, with below freezing temperatures that feels very January appropriate, the snow on the 7th, was followed by lots of rain, making everything a mucky, slushy mess with swollen brooks, streams, and flooding, more like the results of an early spring snow.
I have always been a lover of the pause that a snowy winter day can offer—quietude. I long for a thick layer of fluffy snow on top of the frozen ground, the inky blue cast of tree shadows onto an endless, snow-covered field, pines and hemlocks draped and bowing in the snow. I love the excitement of a coming storm—rushing to the store to stock up on supplies, and back in the day, plenty of good videos to watch!
It is waaaay damper during our winters now. High-mud boots are in demand almost year-round to navigate gardens, fields, wooded paths, and terrain. We have 40-degree days that thaw the ground quickly. The swollen ground pools up in spots, producing longer-lasting little ponds and puddles. The soil is saturated, trees uproot, and the limbs are heavy and crack. When we do have snow, it contains more water and is denser and heavier. It seems that we are morphing into a temperate band climate-wise, where nor’easters, blizzards, and a thick snow pack from November through March may be a thing of the past.
Well, we can be all doom and gloom or make lemonade out of lemons, so let’s bring light to what is positive about the changing future of our region's climate. Perhaps we will have a longer growing season for food production on local farms and the flowers growing in our gardens; that’s a plus for our region. If the trend is more temperate, we can stretch some gardening chores longer into the winter; transplant heartier shrubs; sow seeds that need cold stratification longer into the season; and experiment with perennials that are slightly out of our growing zone.
I hope after this goes out in our newsletter that we have a few awesome, blustery snowstorms to prove me wrong. Still, may we learn to live with gratitude and flexibility, always taking a cue from whatever nature has to offer us.
Flower on,
Kris Garnier