Monthly Gardening Tips with Kris Garnier
March 2025
March. It’s like ping pong between late winter and almost spring. Cold to warm, freezing to melting, losing jackets, gloves, and beanie hats. Even though the days are getting longer, I still feel like the hours between dawn an dusk are gone in a blink of an eye. For me, every day feels like it's an hour before sunset, and I barely got anything done!
This time of year, I can almost hear my houseplants saying,
“Come on already, more light now pleeeeeease!!!!”
They are feeling a bit frail after the short winter days, especially the light lovers!
Speaking of light lovers…I am a proud caretaker of three 15-year-old Meyer lemon trees. Over the past few years, they’ve produced h u n d r e d s of knock-your-socks-off, intoxicatingly fragrant white flowers arranged in clusters. Months later, they faithfully produce dozens of the most dee-licious, juicy lemons. They’ve also caused my knickers to twist because keeping them healthy, especially in the Northeast, has been a BIG learning curve!
The biggest kink in the curve has been dealing with.... drumroll please… The minute but mighty, sap-sucking plant pest… SCALE!!!!
I mean, I get it, scale bugs … Lemons are yummy, right? But, geez, you are tiny, sticky, and generally very YUCK to deal with, not to mention that you have a mutualistic relationship with ants that eagerly and militantly collect the honeydew produced by you guys !!! I mean, what could be more pleasant??? Eyes rolling.
Scale insects have been super well-researched, as some species have wreaked havoc worldwide on citrus production. Those have successfully spread globally from their native home in Southeast Asia, embedding themselves within imported plants and gaining their entry into the US in the mid to late 1800s.
While it takes a microscope and an entomology PhD to correctly identify which species of scale insect is plaguing a plant, they have some commonalities. Many of the females have a protective, waxy-like shield, some harder than others, hence armored and soft scale, and mouthparts, eeeeeew, that inject themselves into plants to suck out the sap. The males are often short-lived; hang around long enough to reproduce, and then good riddance! Unfortunately, their progeny are prolific and minuscule.
Thankfully, most of us do not have groves of citrus, and scale is controllable on our houseplants. Ready for the effective, non-toxic ways of keeping them at bay?
Get your headphones on, find a compelling podcast, gather Q-tips, a bag of cotton balls, 70% alcohol, and a spray bottle with dish soap mixed with warm water, and you are ready! Oh, don’t forget the vinyl gloves and an apron!
Scale insects congregate within crevices where emerging buds, leaf shoots, and fruit are attached to the twig. They also lurk on the undersides of the leaves, or along the mid-vein, or in a crook where the branch meets the trunk pretty much everywhere you don’t think to look!
First, evaluate your plant. For super-infested flower clusters, leaves or twigs, as in the picture, it's best to clip them off and trash them.
Next step: Try a spray bottle with a few squirts of liquid dishwashing soap and warm water. Be sure to put the sprayer to a hard stream. The strong stream of soapy water can disrupt them. Then, with a vinyl-gloved hand, rub, the stems and leaves, especially the midvein, removing what you can with the aid of slick, soapy water. Oh, P.S. They stick to the gloves, so I suggest that you rinse them off or just change them frequently. Ialso strongly suggest that you roll up your sleeves and wear an apron because they are really gross, and even if they are dead, who wants one floating around on your favorite shirt!
Sometimes, you'll need to pull out the bigger guns like rubbing alcohol, Q-tips, and cotton balls. Especially after the lovely little ones appear. Now, armed with alcohol-soaked cotton balls, Q-tips, and yes please… vinyl gloves, you are on the warpath! Mission: total destruction of the armored and soft scale armies that have infiltrated your precious plants! It takes patience and repetition. Go at it systematically and as thoroughly as possible, and then, as the reproductive cycle continues, repeat it in ten days. After, I like to spray a plant with Neem oil onto the treated plant, as I believe that it can finish the job of removing or at least annoying any scale that I may have missed. Anyway, fingers crossed.
Over the next 10 days, I like to mist my plants with clean, fresh water to open their stomata or pores. It just feels right. After all, they’ve had insects gnawing on them, drying alcohol wiped onto their leaves and stems, and oily neem sprayed onto them.
While this all may feel daunting… You can do this. Your plants will be so, so ever–so happy and thankful and will grace you with what they do best: pushing their roots into the soil, stretching their limbs and leaves towards the sun, gleefully accepting rain, watering, and a good mist, all the while growing beautiful, new green shoots, stems, leaves, and fruit.
You are flowerful.
Kris Garnier
Sources: UC Riverside Center for Invasive Species Research and Wikipedia
February 2025
Think about it: we take wild plants and make them captives in constricted plastic or clay pots.
It’s soooo unnatural, like saying…
“Hey plant, live inside, you outdoor-occurring being! Never again will you connect to the earth, feel the rain on your leaves, or absorb sunlight without a barrier of glass! But we will offer you a regulated and mostly timely watering, feeding, and spritzing schedule! Deal?”
Granted, most houseplants have been bred by nursery folks, but still, I believe that there is a wild child within every plant’s DNA.
We do our best to meet our houseplants' needs; we really do, so let’s take it one step further and better understand our houseplants' native surroundings and use that as a part of our strategy, guiding us with our indoor plant's care and location…
This month, we are going to understand just a bit more about a couple of common houseplants that do their best to please us, even when we do not truly understand their preferred growth patterns and needs. How can we best replicate their natural environments within the unnatural limits of our homes?
Let’s have a look at Tradescantia pallida, or purple heart, and Epipremnum aureum, known to many as Pothos and sometimes confused with its distant cousin, heartleaf philodendron.
The common thread between these plants is that we often want them to drape from a plant stand or hanging basket. While they will do this for us, not only does the downward weight become quite heavy to support, but it just isn’t in their nature. Read on to find out more!
First, Tradescantia. It is the second-largest genus in the Commelinaceae or spiderwort family. They are mostly succulents and ground covers. While we have a few native to the US, the ones from the tropics are bred as houseplants. They dwell, creep, and crawl along tropical forest floors. With that in mind, we can begin to understand why they are not really into hanging from a basket.
A common houseplant within the genus Tradescantia and one that I love is known as purple heart or Tradescantia pallida ‘Purpurea’ (‘Purpurea’ being the nursery-bred cultivar name).
What is a cultivar? A cultivar is bred in a nursery to have specific traits that make it stronger and more attractive in some way. They can also use grafting techniques, tissue cultures, etc., to achieve an improvement. When a plant's name is listed somewhere, like on a nursery tag, the cultivar name follows the plant's scientific name and is surrounded by single quotes and not italicized.
Tradescantia pallida ‘Purpurea’/purple heart has leaves and stems that are a deep, plum-purple color, slightly hairy, and a tiny, three-petaled, magenta flower that blooms from the tip of the plant. The leaves and stems tend to fade to a green color depending on how much or little light they get.
It was formerly known as Setcreasea purpurea, so you may have known it by that name too.
T. pallida originates from the tropical coastal forests near the Gulf of Mexico. It happens to be a limestone lover, probably enjoying the heat and minerals offered by the rocks. In some Southern states, it is used as a ground cover as they love to sprawl and hug the earth.
Tradescantia species, including T. pallida, have been used in traditional medicine for their anti-inflammatory, antioxidant, antibacterial, and antiarrhythmic properties, using the roots, leaves, and flowers and often topically. But before you use your houseplant for these purposes, consider that they are nursery-bred and may not have the same medicinal compounds as those plants found in the wild.
Additionally, the sap of some Tradescantia species can be a bit toxic to some humans and pets and can cause a slight skin rash due to the presence of calcium oxalate crystals. It is always wise to know the source and species of a plant before using it medicinally.
Enthusiastic and seemingly boundless, some Tradescantia species have become very invasive in certain parts of the world and can be a pain to remove. One person's trash, another’s treasure?
Tradescantias want to slowly slither along the ground, making contact with the earth to root occasionally, meander over a boulder, towards a river edge, or climb to grab moments of dappled light. While we cannot replicate a tropical forest floor or boulder within our homes (although that could be kind of a cool indoor installation)…we can offer them a long counter, plant them in a wide, shallowish container, or set them on a short plant stand close to the floor to laterally creep along.
On the other hand, Epipremnum aureum (try Ep-pee–prem-num r–ree-um) is a member of the Araceae or Arum family. This family includes plants that are epiphytic, meaning that they grow onto a sturdier plant like a tree, wrapping their aerial roots around limbs, vines, and lianas, which are woody vines that root in the ground and attach themselves to a tree so they can climb up in search of light.
Offer E. aureum a corner spot or a rough piece of bark near a window with low light. It will be delighted! With thin brown aerial roots with fleshy interiors, they will adhere to a surface and happily scale it!
They are climbers, and here we are trying to get them to drape and trail as hanging plants!!!
E. aureum, also commonly known to some as devil's ivy or vine, can get to be over 60 feet high! This plant is native to a small Polynesian island called Mo’orea, smack dab in the South Pacific. It has a mix of volcanic mountains, sandy beaches, and a rainforest. So, rainforest is the key here, too. This plant loves moisture!
Some sources have also listed as native to the Solomon Islands, so hmmm. More research is needed there.
I was excited to learn that E. Aureum's flower will rarely bloom in cultivation unless it is supplemented with hormones.
E. aureum has had a few name changes, too, since it was first “discovered” in the 1880s as Pothos. Later, in the early 1960s, with the “discovery” of its somewhat reticent flower, scientists decided to rename it Rhaphidophora. Then, years later, with even closer examination of the flower, it had yet another genus name change, landing on Epipremnum. Head spinning yet?
They often get confused with Philodendron hederaceum or heartleaf philodendrons.
Note that E. aureum’s leaves are shinier, larger, less heart-shaped, and have a brown-edged split along its leaf petiole, which is like a little stem.
P.Hederaceum are more wiry and have darker green leaves at maturity. Both are in the same family, so they are cousins and have some similar traits.
Within a dense, multi-layered tropical forest, where the soil quality is questionable, and there is oh so much competition for resources like light, water, soil, and nutrients, plants living in this setting must be alert and ready to engage with invaders, friends, nesters, hitchhikers, vagabonds, and colonists—it’s all there, from the treetops to the boscage to the underground.
In our homes, they become people pleasers. I am impressed by both their tenacity to survive in the wild and their ease of adapting to our home decor whims despite their true nature.
Plantize,
Kris Garnier
Sources: IMR Press, Wikipedia, KEW, Missouri Botanical Gardens, AI and verify, Indoor Plants by Jane Courtier and Graham Clarke, The Complete Houseplant Survival Manual by Barbara Pleasant.
January 2025
Houseplants are my jam this time of year. I have about 50, and I work hard to meet their diverse climate and watering needs. For strong, healthy houseplants, it's a lot about location, location, location! Over the next few months, I will focus on a few common houseplants, interesting facts about them, finding the best indoor locations, and how to propagate.
Houseplants serve as home decoration for many, yet for them to thrive, it’s important to remember that they are living entities and have specific light, water, and climate requirements. For some houseplants, those requirements can be stretched a bit, but you’ll have better results if you offer them something close to their natural habitat. I’ve also noticed that when plants are comfortable, they flower. All the more reason to treat them with respect.
So first we’ll start with the handsome snake plant. I knew this plant as Sansevieria trifasciata; however, in 2014 the plant was reclassified. Genetic research revealed that it was in the genus Dracaena, and it was officially renamed Dracaena trifasciata in 2017. The specific epithet, or second descriptor name, trifasciata, breaks down like this in Latin: tri for three and fasciat or fasci meaning banded or bundle. Take a look, and you'll see that these plants often emerge as three strong leaves in a bundle.
Their native location is in the tropics of Central and West African countries. They thrive in dry, rocky locations and are evergreens. They are succulents, so they store water in their leaves and stems like cacti and aloe. They are in the Asparagaceae plant family, which includes relatives like lily-of-the-valley, spider plants, hostas, and yes, asparagus.
This common houseplant, with its strong, sword-like leaves, deep green color, and variegated, wavy-striped pattern, has many helpful uses: it can clean the air and remove chemicals like formaldehyde that are found lurking in anything from pressed wood, paints, hair products, clothing, tobacco, or cannabis smoke. This plant also offers many ethnobotanical uses: its strong fibers have been used to make rope and bowstring, and the leaf latex, a fluid stored within the leaf, is traditionally used for wound healing, skin conditions, and more. The leaves and roots contain loads of bioactive compounds, including alkaloids, terpenoids, and tannins, to name a few. Based on its numerous traditional uses, D. trifasciata warrants more research to assess its short- and long-term toxicity and deeper investigation into its many encouraging pharmacological possibilities.
In my home, I always do my best to replicate the climate that my houseplants thrive in naturally. Because D. trifasciata LOVES dry, hot temps, find a spot with a floor vent that is pushing out hot air—these guys may be able to support that kind of climate, whereas a begonia would quickly wilt! But don’t forget the light! While snake plants are troopers and can take some low-light conditions, they are often stuck in dark corners because of their striking, upright structural look; they will suffer if they don’t receive some regular light. Also, snake plants tend to get crowded in their planters and can dry out more rapidly with all of the root competition, so it’s important to find the ebb and flow of its watering needs. Once you get them into the right spot, they will delight you (often in the evenings) with a heady, jasmine-like scent, emitted from the clusters of their sticky, thin-petaled, white flowers with long thread-like stamens that turn into small, hard, orange fruits about the size of a blueberry.
Another fun thing about snake plants is that they are so easy to propagate. Have a leaf that is starting to bow? You can cut it with clean clippers or scissors to about an inch from the soil line. Next, cut it from the growing tip to about a 6-10 inch length, place it in a jar with water, and change the water weekly. After several weeks, short, thick roots will sprout from the base. When the roots are 1/4” long, remove it from the water, dust the roots with a bit of the rooting hormone auxin, and plunk it into a small clay pot with some nice, damp organic soil. It will take a while, but new shoots will eventually emerge, and you’ll have a new plant to add to your family!
While they don’t mind being crowded, snake plants can also benefit from division when they get super tall and wide. To do this, lay out a clean tarp and lift the plant out of its container by tugging upward at its base. If a plant doesn’t budge, I use a bagel/spreader knife to loosen the roots as they are wide, long, and unserrated. Insert the knife around the outer circumference of your plant. It is so okay if roots get cut off here and there. Place it on a tarp. You'll notice a somewhat shallow, compact root system. With a firm, lateral tug, you can usually separate large sections of the plant. They often separate into three clumps. Sometimes, if a plant is super compacted, I will use a hand saw to divide them up. Again, don’t worry about losing some root or plant material; they will be ok.
Find pots that can support the height and weight of each new plant. Add organic, bagged houseplant soil. Most commercial, organic houseplant soils are made to accommodate the diverse needs of different plant species. Add soil into the planter, leaving space at the top for the roots to fit, then add soil to the base of the plant and pat it down so it is firm, leaving about an inch of space from the top of the planter to easily water without it spilling over the edge. More new plants…YAY!!!!!
All this said, if your plants are thriving and happy, you are being an observant plant parent!
Any questions? Feel free to email me at kris@whitefeatherfarm.org, and I’ll do my best to guide you through.
Until the next time, be flowerful.
Kris Garnier
Sources
Dewatisari, Whika Febria, and Nelsiani To'bungan. 2024. "Review: Phytochemistry and ethnopharmacology of Dracaena trifasciata." Nusantara Bioscience 16 (2): 169-184. https://doi.org/10.13057/nusbiosci/n160203
December 2024
T- shirt weather in November was pleasant, still I am happy for this recent stretch of seasonally appropriate weather with a little snow to keep it real, now that we are fully into December.
When I walk the woods, I see deer, rabbit and racoon tracks in the fresh fallen snow. Birds now resort to foraging for the seeds that lie frozen below.
Can the feeders go up? Or, will this week’s warm-up keep the bears from hibernating?
When the leaves are gone from the deciduous trees, we can better see the growing clearings around us. More and more sites are being carved-out by our fellow humans leaving an empty stubble of cut tree stumps that were once a wooded home to diverse plant life and all of those creatures that hover on the edge, beneath and within. They have fewer places to find refuge with our encroaching expansion.
As the darkest days of the year approach, I bring myself inward and reflect.
I really make the effort to go outside, even when it is bitter-bone cold and I am soooo comfy indoors. I get so many sensory gifts that outweigh my uncomfortableness in the winter chill. I find my warmest pair of boots with a sturdy tread, a toasty, long down coat, a thick, knit cap and mitten. In my cozy armor I am ready to appreciate what an ice-cold winter day has to offer. I breathe in the fresh air and fill my lungs with the pristine pine and oak scent. I am always blown away by how perfect and still everything is and I find calm in the stark, frozen tones that winter offers.
Each night, I take a moment to step outdoors and my eyes open wide with wonder over the delicate, glistening, sliver of a crescent moon, rising reliably and growing a little bit brighter each time. The early evening stars radiate hope, sparkling within the deep, dark inky sky.
Soon, the light of the full, cold moon will almost merge with the onset of longer days to come marked by the winter solstice. We who live here are so very lucky to be in the middle of these woods.I take my rest during these last few short days of the year. My gardens come to me in colorful cell photo glimpses and hazy daydreams of this past summer.We are just a few months away from spring and it will come faster than we think.
Be Flowerful,
Kris Garnier
November 2024
What a wild month, October.
First, the unexpected gifts from the heavens, starting with a clear, star-filled sky and the other-worldly, purple-red glow of the aurora borealis followed, and a few weeks later, a burning bright orange, gibbous waning moon, rising from the eastern horizon. This elongated, lingering, late-summer-to-autumn, jacket weather has made for a pleasant season.
Still, it is hard to tell what is really happening with this weather roller coaster.
I wonder if it's time to start some fall chores.
I wrapped up hoses and soakers, collected all the sprinklers, splits, and nozzles, and carefully stored them.
I opted not to transplant anything this autumn because I depend on a little watering help from nature, but during this late summer-to-autumn transition, rain hasn’t been in our forecast.
While a dry, late August through early November, makes for a pleasant, e x t e n d e d and colorful autumn, I worry about my plant and animal neighbors who all live in the woods around me. They are trying to survive this longer, drought-ier season.
Over the past few weeks, I have seen too many garter and black snakes, voles and moles, dead on the side of the road. Seems that they are in search of moisture. Underground where they live must also be bone dry and they may be confused by the very warm, dry days.
Everything must adapt but I am sure it's not without a struggle. For me, it’s ok if deer and groundhogs munch on the plants and shrubs that still have their leaves. They are thirsty. I have been filling up buckets, vessels, and bird baths with water for everyone too, as all of the smaller waterways are desiccated.
Still, everyone is preparing for the winter, taking the cue from the shorter days.
There is always so much going on around us.
On the last Thursday in October, just before dawn, I woke to the distant yips and howls of a traveling coyote pack.
Then all that day long…
I tried to memorize the intense autumn colors; the deep, rusty reds of the maple leaf viburnum, the lemon-lime edged, plate-sized Catalpa leaves, the dark, brassy golds of oak, and pumpkin-orange, mitten-shaped, sassafras leaves that float languorously to the crunchy ground… I acknowledged the hopeful, yellow, spidery-looking witch-hazel flowers (pictured to the left) that just can’t wait for you to notice them.
I heard the steady, snare taps of a pileated woodpecker on a hollow pine that was once dressed in vibrant, green-tasseled needles. This pine, even as a silhouette of its former self, is still providing perches, homes and food for so many.
Over the first weekend in November, I spotted a fox about 20 yards ahead, darting across my dead-end road, then disappearing deeper into the woods. Not long after dusk, the end-of-season trill of one last, lone cricket captured my attention.
I find peace that I am surrounded by these random, yet integral beings and life forms that share the woods with me. Welcome November.
Be Flowerful,
Kris Garnier, the Flower Therapist
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