Another Side of Gardening: Loss, Solutions, Moving On

How does it go? If you're not killing plants you're not stretching your garden muscles? At least the old adage makes me feel better when I inevitably lose plants. The truth of the matter is that I lose a lot, probably more than I realize because certainly I have forgotten where I planted some fancy plant along the way, one that just never came back. Loss is part of the deal, in fact, and the sooner I make peace with that the more balanced is the whole experiment.

The last year has been one of plant loss as well as acute observation prompted by weather extremes on both ends of the spectrum (we just hit the record for the longest stretch of 95-plus degree days), and I would like to lessen the heartache that extreme weather brings. That means paying attention to what will survive both ends and repeat. Still, it stings. Sometimes, however, a loss is an opportunity for a new experiment or strategy. Here then is a snapshot of some of the downs and (hopefully) ups at Chickadee Gardens this past year. 

This madrone or Arbutus menziesii tree on the left was a self-sown welcome addition to the garden. It is a native tree to this area, is evergreen, gorgeous and hard as hell to grow in cultivation so we considered ourselves lucky to have one show up and thrive.

Literally one day last week it did this and pretty much looks the same. I don't water it; it doesn't like summer water. The only "event" that happened recently was about 15 minutes of hard rain on August 1, quite unusual. But would that do this? We are leaving it for now to see if recovery is in the cards.

My creeping thyme field, Thymus 'Pink Ripple' has been fabulous since I planted it in the beginning (2016). Bees love it and it is a no-fuss, drought-tolerant ground cover.

This winter/spring it did this. What? This is a pretty steep slope, although difficult to tell in this photo, so it probably wasn't rot. Plus, the same thyme at the bottom of this little slope that is relatively flat looks fantastic still. I thought it might rebound so I left it like this for a few months then finally cut out all the dead material.

I then mulched with gravel in between to help keep weeds down. It is rebounding and will likely eventually fill in. It's a mystery to me still but I'm sure somehow related to the weather.

Phormium tenax 'Rubra' got a haircut. It was one of the first things planted when we arrived and has survived all kinds of weather. This past April snow nearly did it in and I won't lie, it looked atrocious. But I had a feeling the roots were good so I left it intact, whatever bits of live leaf material left would help to photosynthesize light and help it grow. I don't have a "before" pic, but it did grow through its ugly phase to reveal fresh new leaves. I sat on the ground for about 45 minutes, skootching on my bum around and around cutting off dead bits. 

You'll just have to trust me that it looks incredibly better. I didn't want to cut it all the way to the ground when it was mostly dead, I wanted rather to give it a chance to recover on its own terms.

Atriplex halimus, salt bush, an evergreen, super-drought-tolerant-sun-loving-heat-loving miracle plant.

This one hurt the most. This is in February, it up and died overnight. Really. We had some light 2 inches of snow or something and then it did this. I don't think the snow itself did it in, I mean it has survived a lot worse than that for six years and looked gorgeous throughout. 

We cut it back to this, observing some tiny growth breaking at its base, hoping it might grow from the roots. Was the soil too wet this winter? Were there mole tunnels deep underground that disturbed the roots? We don't know.

The grow-back from the roots never happened. I eventually cut the whole thing back even harder to the ground. Heartbreaking - and look at the amount of empty space it leaves behind. I have since planted a few small plants that will handle reflected south-facing heat (a yucca and more Dorycnium hirsutum), but I do plan to replant one here and try again, I loved it so much. So did the little brown birds.

One fine spring day the Salix gracilistyla 'Melanostachys' or black pussy willow turned brown. It just died. I suspect borers of some kind as its growing conditions were ideal.

The hole in the center is left by the now dead salix. Truth be told, this area was overplanted and the salix was getting huge. Now the Rosa 'Mutabilis' will have room to spread, so not a total loss.

The freak snow we had in April weighed down many evergreen sun-loving shrubs such as this Ceanothus cuneatus ‘Adair Villiage.' It consequently pulled out of the ground in this case, others were flattened. I righted it as much as possible and gave it a good pruning, a first for me and this ceanothus. I took a chance, not knowing if it would take to pruning or not.

It did great, actually, and is much happier. It has nearly completely grown back to its original size in just a few months.

Food production is so off this year, and frankly makes me a bit panicked. This cherry tree surprised-died while the rest of the orchard is pathetic. The snow in April wiped out most of the blossoms on apples, plums, pears, etc., so we basically have zero fruit save for a small amount of apples that, by the way, are small and spotty.

Our 40 or so feet of raspberries also died, rotting in the ground. I've heard the same from other gardeners, i.e., they also lost their raspberries to our record-setting wet spring. FM was so clever to reuse old lumber to build these raised beds for what will be a new raspberry patch. We have yet to obtain new plants. They are expensive, and we need several that will handle our wet winters, although these raised beds will now aid the drainage issue.

The rest of the veggie garden is not only behind schedule but not all together successful. This is actually a shot of some of the hundreds of onions and shallots I grew last year, I wish it were from this year.

This is that same garden bed at roughly the same time of the year as the above photo (two weeks earlier). It is indeed planted with all kinds of squash, cucumber, fennel, dill and gourd seeds as well as hundreds of onion and shallot starts. Nothing is up but the corn on the far left.

This is the other tilled veggie area with beets, leeks, cabbage, cauliflower, beans and broccoli on July 17 of this year, far behind schedule (it looks more like it usually does in May). We are just this week harvesting the first of the broccoli and a handful of green beans. This time last year we were done with our broccoli crop having harvested, blanched and froze batches in June and July. The cabbages were going strong (FM had been making the first batches of sauerkraut this time last year) as were the beans but you can see in the back of this bed the fence that we are growing beans on is empty. Cabbages and cauliflower are still small. I had to in fact replant cabbage, broccoli and cauliflower twice from starts grown in the greenhouse because this spring we didn't have enough sun but had too much rain. The slugs didn't help either. 

This is the onion and shallot area this year, late July. Very sad. At least 3/4 of the hundreds of onions and shallots I started from seed did not grow.

This blank area had been planted with hundreds of onion and shallot starts, but nothing exists today. They just didn't grow. It's important for us to take note of all of this because we depend on the food we grow, although we do have the option of going to the store. Imagine if we didn't. Many people don't have that luxury and many more don't have a clue where food comes from, sadly. 

Small farms work their asses off, so when you buy from your local farmer or farmer's market, or local produce from your grocery store, you are supporting a critical part of the food chain and helping to make sure they can keep going. With crazy weather like this past year we'll need to adapt quickly if we want to be successful food growers, something to which we all need to pay attention.

Moving on from growing food challenges, this Baccharis pilularis or coyote brush grew too tall and branches broke off in the heavy April snow. I pruned it back hard knowing it's a tough native shrub.

I am pleased to say this has filled in rather nicely.

This one shot of a mole mound represents the 10 to 15 new mounds we see daily. I give up.

This sad looking cistus up and did this overnight. Upon close inspection it turned out to be a huge mole hole right next to the trunk. We filled it in, I cut back most of the dead bits and it is rebounding, miraculously. I'm not certain it will survive the year but I'm willing to wait it out. That's the worst thing about the moles, they leave caverns next to root systems and plants die. Yes, I know they aerate the soil, blah blah blah, but I would rather have a mole-free garden, personally. 

Salvia officinalis and I have pretty much broken up.

This was taken a few years ago when this Salvia o. 'Purpurascens' was huge. I was afraid it would die off and it did, in large part.

Here it is now. We have lost many in other parts of the garden, only a few survive. The wet spring was not to their liking is what I believe happened.

Branches kept dying this spring and I kept cutting them back. It is alive but much smaller.

Daphne 'Eternal Fragrance' had a few decent sized branches snap off from heavy snow in April. 

It has filled in rather quickly, I can't really detect the damage.

Rhamnus alternatus 'Variegata', variegated Italian buckthorn, after the April snowstorm. I was livid, actually. Not sure why but this really pissed me off. I found some rebar and tied some branches vertically to them to help correct the growing direction of the branches.

Here it is today, upright, gorgeous and happy to be in the sun.

This is not anything related to extreme weather, rather a thorn in my side visually speaking. This rather large area is clover, which is fine, but it dies completely every year by July, sometimes by May if it's rather warm. It's a dead zone. To my delight, FM suggested that we extend the labyrinth garden to this area and plant super drought-tolerant low growing plants, primarily natives. I mean why not? I propagate a lot and have them on hand, so that will be a fun project this autumn. Thank you, FM! Great idea.

The heaviest loss of all is that a few of our hens are gone. This is Gandy, she was taken by a bird of prey in the middle of the day.

This is one of the five Carmens (we obtained a handful who all look the same from a lovely woman named Carmen). We've lost two to predation by birds of prey. One just disappeared, the other we found evidence of feathers hundreds of feet away.

The most difficult of all is Frida. She was my favorite and our mascot. She was the best. Loved to follow me around, providing advice, helping me to dig holes (looking for worms). Frida was taken by a raccoon one night when the hen door was accidentally left open. She's buried in our garden.

Curious Frida.

On a happier day, the inaugural sign day. I wanted to take the sign down but FM wants to leave it. We'll see. My heart is heaviest for the loss of our hens. I know there are predators out there, and we take every precaution to protect them (their coop is like Fort Knox) but hawks and eagles during the day are a new threat for us. We shall continue to care for them the best that we can, keeping a keen eye. 

It's not economical to enclose a third of an acre with chicken wire (they are fenced in, I'm talking overhead wire). I'm kind of at a loss and still very sad. I know, it's just chickens but when they become your buddies, you cross a line and are in serious danger of heartbreak. 

I suppose I'd rather feel the heartbreak than be cold to it, but this year has been a doozy. We shall carry on, taking notes, feeding hens, gardening, watering, digging, raking, pruning, harvesting, filling birdbaths, filling bird feeders, planting and all that comes with our little slice of bliss. Oh, and stretching our gardening muscles happens by default. They are quite sore truth be told. I hope that Mother Nature takes mercy on us next year and we're able once again to have a bountiful harvest and continue to grow much of our own food. I hope that others experience the joys of growing and eating ripe raspberries right off of the vine. That's how summers are designed. That's the joy of it all.

There it is, a snapshot of some of our loss, some minor solutions and since there is still a lot to do in the garden, we're moving on from our loss. Carry on.

That's a wrap for this week at Chickadee Gardens. Thank you for reading and commenting, we do love connecting with you all. Happy gardening, everyone!