I've been trying and failing to make myself sit down and blog for 3 months now, and the reason for the struggle is that I am disconnected from my garden.

My family is looking for a home on the eastside and, as the home search intensified, I began emotionally detaching myself from my garden in preparation for the eventual move. The unintended consequence of our home search is that I haven't had much to say or much inclination to ruminate on my garden of late.

I apologize to Sound Gardens blog readers who have checked back for updates only to be disappointed. With your indulgence, I will resume garden blogging once we've moved; I'm sure to have a lot of fodder when I have the good fortune of taking what I've learned in my Seward Park yard and starting anew, perhaps with less folly and more knowledge. I hope it will be with equal passion.

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We're in the thick of summer now, having nearly hit a hundred degrees last week -- fry time for unwatered garden plants.

The Case For Watering
Plants sweat, transpiring water through their leaves as part of their normal functioning, and hot weather increases the rate of water loss. If plants are losing more water than they're able to replace they become stressed and will wilt, their leaves will curl, and they may become vulnerable to disease and infestation. Neglected long enough in hot weather, plants will die of thirst.

If you're skimping out of concern about your water bill or the environmental impact of summer water use, remember these points:

1) You spent a lot more money on plant material than you will be spending on your water bill, and if you don't water you'll be spending that much again to replace what dies this summer.

2) Those replacement plants will use more water next summer while their root systems are getting established, while plants watered this summer will need less in the future.

3) The lush green of your yard is cooling your property, cleaning the air and groundwater and providing drainage to mitigate the runoff created by roof and paving.

Unless they are well established and designed with native or drought resistant plants, all northwest gardens require supplemental summer water. As we must water, we should water effectively. This means deep, infrequent applications.

Watering Frequency
I'm too lazy to water often, but when I do I water deeply. That's good for my plants, my wallet and the environment. Here's my personal rule of thumb for watering my fairly well established garden:
• Water everything every 2 – 5 days in scorching weather (the 90's and above)
• Water everything every 10 – 14 days in moderate summer weather (the 70's and 80's)
• Drip the hose on fruit trees when their leaves curl or begin turning prematurely yellow, and
• Spot water seeds, annuals and new plants during dry spells in spring

Except for this spot watering, I don't water at all mid-September through late spring--our climate provides plenty of moisture the rest of the year.

Annuals and new plants require more water because their root systems aren't well established. Plants in pots will always need supplemental water, 3 seasons of the year. They require water at least once a day in hot weather, which is why mine are all dead.

Watering deeply promotes deep root growth, which enables plants to take advantage of water stored in the ground. Frequent, light watering encourages many small roots to grow close to the surface, basically creating an addiction to frequent watering and making root systems vulnerable to activity above the surface such as foot traffic.

How Much Water It Takes
It can be hard to generalize about how much or how long to water for a variety of reasons. Your sprinkler or watering system may deliver a different amount of water than mine. My soil might drain more quickly. Or your yard could be in sun and mine in shade. All these factors should be included in your garden watering calculus.

One way to develop your own watering formula is to water the amount of time that seems reasonable, wait an hour or so, then dig a hole. How deep does the moisture go? If it's only a few inches deep you probably need to water longer. If it's a foot deep you've provided plenty of water. If water is pooling on the dirt or running off onto paved surfaces, you're delivering water faster then the soil can absorb it.

Water-Maximizing Strategies
Clay soils are slow to absorb water and slow to let it drain out again. They can become water logged up top and parched below. Sandy soils drain so fast that no amount of watering will keep them moist. For both, the addition of organic matter such as compost can improve their structure and water management capacity.

There is a hierarchy in terms of the best and worst times of day to water. Morning is best because water has a chance to soak in before the sun's heat evaporates most of it. Evening is OK, good from the evaporation standpoint, but plants need time to dry out before disease spores become active at night. Mid-day is worst due to evaporation. It is great to water at the optimal time when possible, but if it's a matter of watering at a sub-optimal time or not watering at all in scortching weather, get the water to the plants.

Your utility dollar will stretch farther iif you use mulch to help the soil retain the water you add by slowing evaporation. Mulch can also reduce water run-off and the growth of weeds that rob more desirable plants of water.

Water well, water wisely.

I don't know what possessed me to plant a sea holly (Eryngium) at the front gate. It's a barbarian, stabbing anyone who dares enter. I'm surprised we're still getting mail and UPS deliveries.

Clearly it wasn't blooming when I planted it (or I might not have survived the encounter). Had I been thinking about the sea holly flower's resemblance to ninja throwing stars, surely I would have put it in a safer, less traveled location.

Sea holly's glossy, bright green leaves with their pronounced white veins must have looked fresh and welcoming when I first thought to place it at the entrance to our home. Or perhaps by the gatepost was the only spot left open when plant lust for this spiky beauty struck. However it got there, it wasn't by virtue of clear thinking or good garden planning.

With its lavendar hued blooms and substantial foliage, Eryngium is a lovely plant, but best viewed from a distance. Often called sea holly, it's also known as Miss Wilmott's Ghost. Apparently the mischievous Miss Wilmott carried Eryngium seeds in her pockets and distributed them whenever she judged a garden too pedestrian (or perhaps too pedestrian friendly).

I'm not sure Miss Wilmott's efforts were necessary. Sea Holly is alive as can be and spreading throughout my yard. She lives near the arbor in the back and is haunting a flagstone landing by the back gate in case any guests arrived there unscathed from her parent out front.

You'd think I would just rip the darn thing out, but when it's blooming it's too dangerous and when it's not it looks so great I can't bear to kill it. I hope my homeowner's insurance will cover me when the postman sues.

For more on Eryngium, see the Colorado State University's Cooperative Extension web page.

The crows have managed to strip our cherry tree bare, which is fine -- we can only eat so many cherries in the short time they're ripe. But the darn birds haven't quieted down since the finished the fruit. They continue screaming at us when we're in the yard.

Here are two perched in the birch behind us, yelling into our yard; it's not a pretty sight.

It went a little far today when one flew up to the front porch as my husband approached after work and pooped on the porch while looking over its shoulder, making eye contact with my hubby. Clearly they're sending us a message, and the news is NOT good.

What did we do? Plant a tree, eat a little fruit...apparently it doesn't take much for these garden thugs to claim our turf.

The other day my daughter and I decided to pick some ripe cherries from our backyard tree. If we don't get them right when they ripen, birds take one bite out of them and leave them hanging – looking enticing from one angle but revealing a gaping hole in their flesh when picked.

Out we went as soon as the beautiful fruit took on its characteristic ruby glow, she on my shoulders, plastic bag over my arm, to harvest what we could. Our presence was not welcomed by our local crows. As soon as they noticed our activity, one perched in the neighboring birch tree screaming while the other sat above us dropping leaves and twigs on our heads. Their complaints were so loud I couldn't hear my daughter speak.

The cherry (a variety whose name I didn't record upon purchase, so it's now forgotten), was supposed to grow to 10 feet but either through neglect of proper pruning or mislabeling, is now about 20 feet. This means the majority of the cherries aren't even accessible to us mere humans on the ground. I think it's a really fair deal if we eat what we can reach and the birds keep the rest. Apparently the crows disagree.

Our snow peas are growing about as fast as we can pick them. There are lots of ways to make use of the seasonal bounty; below are a few of my favorites.

In each case, I snap-off the top end of the pod to see if there's a tough string running down the side of the pod. If there is, I peel it off.

Pick and eat
The smaller, tender peas are very pleasing raw, and it's loads of fun for adults and kids to stand in the garden eating directly from the bush.

Toss 'em
Cut 'em up and and add to a green salad. Again, the smaller and more tender ones are tastier raw.

Liven-up the leftovers
Stir fry snow peas with yesterday's leftover rice and meat. I cut mine on the diagonal. They only need about two minutes of heat – they're best slightly crunchy, not soggy.

Sauteed
Slice and sautee those tasty pods in a little bit of oil and lemon juice for a fresh-from-the-garden side dish. Finish with a large-grain specialty salt after cooking – sea salt or fleur de sel will add a flavorful crunch that compliments the smooth texture of the peas.

Eat the vines
Stir fried pea vines with butter are a tender, delicious treat that goes well with spicy foods. Cut off just the top 6 – 8 inches of vine. If that dish is too plain for your taste, check out one of these pea vine recipes from the web: Pea vines and garlic (this web page also has nutrition information about pea vines),and Pea vine and spring onion salad (it's part of the Copper River salmon recipe about 2/3 of the way down the page).

Compliment pasta
Add sliced pods to a pasta salad or include in a pasta primavera dish

Spread the love
Like zucchini, peas tend to come in all at once, especially if, like me, you planted all your peas at the same time instead of putting them in in groups a few weeks apart. When the bounty from your vines becomes overwhelming, get out the Ziploc bags and visit your neighbors - they'll be glad you did.

Eat up and enjoy!

Another reason to suspect summer has arrived (in addition to what had been our warm weather -- see previous post) is the number of butterflies I saw during our sunny last week. Last Friday at Mt. Baker Beach I was cruised by a Western Tiger Swallowtail. With it's size, bright coloration and the several passes it made, it was impossible to miss.

Also last Friday, in my backyard, I saw the tiniest butterfly I've seen in the lowlands. It appeared to my uneducated eye to have wings of less than ½ inch wide, yet it flew as far, fast and crazily as any large butterfly. It was a bright copper brown color.

About a decade ago, my girlfriend, Julie, and I hiked the backcountry at Glacier National Park and came across a high altitude meadow full of tiny flowers being visited by multitudes of miniature butterflies. Last Friday's little friend reminded me of that magic moment, and I was delighted to think these tiny creatures might call my backyard home. After trying to identify it on the Butterflies of King County website, I am guessing it may have been a Copper or a Skipper, but not knowing much about butterflies I can't say for sure or narrow it down further -- a pretty broad guess. What I can say is I do hope to see more of this little friend and to get a better chance to observe it.

For a couple weeks now I've been seeing cabbage white butterflies in my garden. They seem agreeable to perching for a moment or two on white flowers with their greenish white wings closed so I can really see them. According to Butterflies of King County, the cabbage white is in the butterfly family of Sulphers and Whites. The green on the underside (visible when they close their wings) is actually composed of a combination of yellow and black scales.

What I like about this website, which is run by the Northern Prairie Wildlife Research Center, a part of the National Biological Information Institute (whatever they are!), is that it gives some information about the butterflies' behavior. The cabbage white, for example, requires mustard family plants to lay its eggs and feed its caterpillars, but the butterfly itself will seek nectar from a wide variety of plants. With this type of information I can make sure I'm creating a habitat that will attract adults to feed and lay eggs and will also keep the caterpillars around long enough to transform into another generation of adult butterflies. The more, the better!

Every couple has a favorite bone to pick with each other, an argument that isn't so much a fight as a beast that requires a certain minimum amount of exercise. A topic upon which my husband and I like to pull each other's chains a bit is the official start date of summer.

I am all for the American Way, which states that summer officially begins on the solstice – June 21st. It says so on the calendar, that's how I know. I feel pretty adamant about this, doggoneit!

My husband was raised in the former Soviet Union and cannot shake the dogmatic Communist Party claim that summer begins June 1st "because we said so." Well, they did print their own calendars, so I understand how that could be persuasive.

Most years the fact of solid precipitation through the July 4th holiday works in my favor (for purposes of the argument only, I should add). All I have to do is point out the window and say, "you call this summer?" with an evil sneer to win my point. Alas, every dog has its day. It's June 2nd and four of the past five days have been in the 80''s. With global warming in full effect here in the Northwest, maybe I've been barking up the wrong tree.

I am convinced it's summer today, but I won't admit it to my hubby lest I have to slink off with my tail between my legs next week when the cool rains return.

If you'd like to know what Wikipedia has to say about the official start date of summer, click away. I'll be here licking my wounds.

It's time of year when fuzzy white puffs of cottony seedpods blow thickly in the breeze. I've often wondered what type of tree unleashes that fluffy army, and whether it mustn't be "cottonwoods." Now I've learned that poplars are the culprits, and cottonwoods are one type of poplar.

Poplars are a fast-growing, deciduous softwood tree sometimes used in paper-making or for lumber. The Lombary poplar is often planted in tall hedges for windbreaks or privacy screens as it can grow up to 5 feet a year. The poplar's columnar habit, with branches beginning at ground level, can create an effective screen from neighbors or unwanted views.

Poplars are part of the willow family and, like willows, will grow in areas too wet for other tree species. Aspens are a variety of poplar. Some poplar species are colloquially known as cottonwoods because their seedpods are tufted with cottony threads. Poplar trees' seeds come from catkins. The trees disperse their seeds like fluffy parachutes. The largest American poplar variety, Poplar trichocarpa, is the largest broad leaf tree native to Northwest forests.

Cicely Mary Barker, who painted flower fairies and wrote poems for each plant's fairy, reportedly wrote the following song of the poplar fairy, although I do not find it listed at the official flower fairy website:

White fluff is drifting like snow round our feet;
Puff! it goes blowing
Away down the street.

Where does it come from? Look and see!
There, from the Poplar!
Yes from that tree!

Tassels of silky white fluffiness there
Hang among the leaves
All a-shake in the air.

Fairies, you well may guess, use it to stuff
Pillows and cushions,
And play with it – puff!

Dear reader:

I have been remiss in my blogging of late. Somehow, like exercise, it seems tough to resume writing after a hiatus. I apologize if you have visited this site and been disappointed to see no new posts for so long. I resolve to blog about twice a week to keep you interested in returning to this site in the future.

Sincerely,

Colleen