08/19/2007

The View from Sunnybank

The garden party's not over yet

By Dee Blair
Local columnist
dblair@
voyager.net

Read Dee's past columns here
Read Dee's Good Dirt blog

It's sad saying goodbye to lovely old plant friends whose schedules don't permit staying late in the season. Knowing they'll return next year doesn't help much.

Four big Aruncus plop, plumeless, on the sidelines; younger plants look past these formerly glorious "goats' beards.” They're still useful as a fop for the fairy fountain and big bench, but fat, round and tired is a far cry from center stage, and famous. Aging can be hard to accept.

The once gaily-dressed daylilies are bowing out, too. Their graceful greenery, limp now like abandoned paper cups, are empty of the long-stemmed, nectar-packed flowers that bees and guests drank in. I offer fish and kelp canapés, plus invigorating horse-manure drinks and chopped, rotting banana peels as treats, and plunk down baskets of late-blooming annuals to camouflage embarrassing bald spots — anything to perk up these partied-out, deflowered has-beens.

Sadly, the cat's rejected the catmint. The poor, faded things droop, disconsolate. I, too, have cut them down, but new basal leaves hint of a second wind, soon. (Please, hurry up!) I mope too, and mop up the dregs.

Shasta "Alaska” daisies, once the life of the party (but now much diminished), remain optimistic; some promise a quick return. Fat buds halfway down headless stems support that declaration, but Drought's dry finger wags. I hover, hoping.

Alas, the pussywillow tree's too sunburned to party on; I doubt she'll come back.

But, while some posh revelers sag, marigolds and geraniums, ordinary folks, show off their crisp, vivid, multicolored outfits. They make nearby plant favorites look smashing, like the graceful, purple-plumed pennisetum grass, and sturdy middle-class sedum (who's getting pink-in-the-face from partying).

Amazingly, the cheerfully self-inflated balloon flower, "Chettle Charm,” continues to produce pale blue party balloons in the front garden. Her energy draws admiring smiles from guests.

Old Professor Kippenberg is harrumphing. Those aster-blue eyes threaten to open, soon. Madame Rosa "Grus An Achen” fans her perfume his way. A true aristocrat, she's perky after partying all summer; the bloom's still on this rose.

Impertinent Impatiens, still fresh and vibrant, gossip under the weeping birch's protective canopy.

The Irish moss, always lush and cheerful, blooms anew.

Sir Dogwood Tree, suffering considerable heat-stress, gulps spiked drinks, trying to develop the big, flame-red balls that make him famous.

Hotshot Lantana, oh, so confident, is busy groping neighboring plants, weaving through beds with a brazen, insouciant, multicolored smile and long, touchy-feel-y fingers; there are no bugs on him. And nobody minds his schmoozing. He cheers up former beauties, like lilies, emphasizing their less obvious attributes. ("One can never be too slim,” he whispers, admiring.) Flattered plants forget they've lost their finery and now stand front-and-center, with nothing on. Only tolerated initially, he's now a welcome party-crasher.

Huge Miscanthus grasses are poised to turn red/orange and don showy plumes, and testosterone-pumped Cannas tower, deep purple-faced, in the background; outrageous orangey-red flower spikes poke skyward, like Ollie's cowlick, atop their huge heads. (They do look silly, and slightly bug-eaten, but honestly, this garden party needs 8-foot tall, overweight comedians right now.)

Sweet autumn Clematis drapes her long, leafy green arms over fences and arches, promising perfumed, snowy-white flowers soon to Sunnybank's summer-drunk guests. She'll ease us into endings, making rakish autumn, the ultimate party pooper, palatable.

Black-eyed Susans waltz happily through the garden, their dress colors a vibrant honey-gold on rich green, their timing perfect. Tall, slim, lavender-clad Thalictrums sway to the water music, joined by the lowly, blushing "pig squeak” and blowsy pink, fall-blooming Anemones.

No fat lady's tuning up, so the party ain't over, yet, folks!

Dee Blair's private Traverse City secret garden at Sunnybank (325 Sixth Street) is often open to visitors daily from around 9 a.m. to around early evening, with extended hours possible by appointment. It's best to check the sign to be sure, or if planning a group visit, call ahead (231-929-4351) to avoid disappointment. She can be reached care of the Record Eagle, or via e-mail at dblair@voyager.net. Also, see her blog, which often elaborates on columns, at http://blogs.record-eagle.com.