(via IMA Flickr 2004)

Bambi is a browser. This does not mean that deer tend to thumb through magazines at the newsstand instead of making a purchase. No, they browse in the sense of “chew off the buds and tender twigs of trees and shrubs.” Sure, deer eat grass and hostas and other herbaceous plants, but they have a fondness for woody plants enjoying the young stems and sweet buds of fruit trees and shrubs – I need those buds for next spring’s blossoms. And they like to take naps in the flower beds. So, if you see Odocoileus virginianus out in the gardens, please suggest they trot back over to 100 Acres or Crown Hill.

2009 was a great year to be gardening, because there was plenty of rain and it was not too hot. That also made for a great year for plant pathogenic fungi, which spread more readily during damp weather. In particular downy and powdery mildew defoliated my squash. Unless the plant is a cultivar with disease resistance, it is necessary to spray fungicide once or twice per week. That is NOT something I will be doing, so I may opt for newer varieties if I cannot find resistant heirlooms.

Us plant wonks got a little excited when a seldom seen parasitic plant showed up this past year. Dodder (one of several species in the genus Cuscuta ) probably arrived as a contaminant in some clover seed. Dodder is not a fungus, but a true flowering plant whose seed germinates in the soil, but it promptly attaches itself to another plant, in this case clover. The dodder then loses its roots in soil, and lacking chlorophyll of its own, sucks nutrients out of its host. The stem of the plant is thinner than a paperclip, with flowers about the size of this letter “o”.

Due to a lapse on my part, cabbage loopers (the larvae of a moth) wrecked havoc on my Brussels sprouts, cauliflower, and kale. Not much thicker that a pencil lead, they can quickly defoliate cole crops. Fortunately, there is a highly effective organic control, a naturally occurring bacteria called Bascillus thuringiensis (often sold under the brand name Dipel or BT) which only attacks larvae of moths and butterflies (collectively referred to as the order Lepidoptera). Unfortunately, Bt does not work if it is sitting in the bottle on the shelf.

The most diligent pest was the bushy-tailed marauder the fox squirrel (Sciurus niger).

"Dug the Dog"

The cute critters started the season by eating the few apples that “set” on the newly planted trees in the Tanner Orchard. Then they moved on to strawberries. And finished the season munching on sunflowers. Hrrr-rumph.

Sharing sometimes seems over-rated!

As Irvin so beautifully illustrated last week, winter has arrived. I have had to break out my heavy coat and glove liners for working in the gardens.  At home, I’ve had to light the furnace and there have been “three-cat-nights.”  But if I see one more Snuggie or Dreamie commercial , I’ll scream.

Dreamie (via buydreamie.com)

Particularly as I am a traditionalist when it comes to warmth, sticking with moth-eaten wool blankets, like the all purpose flannel of one of my childhood heroes, Linus van Pelt.

Linus, by Charles M. Schulz (via fanpop)

"It just needs a little love!" (via JKönig)

He is of course correct, our gardens just want to be shown a little loving care.

There are several versions of horticultural “blankets” in the vegetable garden of the Tanner Orchard this winter.  The one I am most pleased with is our “cover crop” or “green manure.”  In mid September, after all the squash, carrots, beets, and onions were harvested, I spaded over those areas to more deeply incorporate the horse manure and compost applied in autumn 2008.  Then spread and lightly tilled a thin layer of new compost and did a dense broadcast seeding a mix of Austrian field peas and barley (Pisum sativum and Hordeum vulgare).  The pea will add nitrogen to the soil, and both help smother fall and spring sprouting weeds. Neither plant is hardy below 20F and will die down and be easy to till under  in spring, adding organic matter.

Green manure cover crop

The strawberries get about two inches of straw as a blanket against damage to buds and crowns by drying winds and temps below 20F.  The straw will be raked off in March, when nighttime temps are consistently out of the mid-20s.

To help the asparagus and rhubarb beds get pumped up during 2010, so that they will be ready for cuttings to eat – finally – in 2011, I’m following a recommendation form the ag extension office at Texas A&M University and applying 2 inches of rotted horse manure.  Rain and snowmelt will carry nutrients into the soil, and act as an insulating mulch protecting the shallow crowns of the rhubarb.

Rotted horse manure on asparagus and rhubarb

Finally, the remainder of the beds have been deeply spaded, to bury crop and weed debris.  Then 3 to 4 inches of leaf compost are being added, too be incorporated in the spring of 2010.

aaaaaaah! mmmm! all snug and comfy.

For more on green manure, check out Johnny’s Selected Seeds. No endorsement by the IMA Environmental and Historic Preservation Dept is implied.

In the great green garden-room
There was an elephant ear alocasia
And some blue and white balloon flowers ….”

Brilliant red of the native sourwood tree with the clear yellow of Photinia in the background. IMA/Oldfields border garden near orchard.

Arisaema and sourwood leaves

It has been a long gentle slide through a beautiful autumn here in the gardens.  Cool sunny days and no heavy rain storms meant outstanding leaf color on trees and shrubs around the campus.  But the bright yellow has now fallen from the sugar maple outside the Deer-Zink Pavilion, the needles of the great pyramidal dawnredwoods around the Sutphin Fountain are going to russet orange, and the red maples on the mall above the parking garage are just past peak color.

Yesterday morning folks in my neighborhood were needing to really scrape frost from the car windows.  The last of the summer’s annual plantings are being pulled out.  Hostas are cut down, and autumn windflowers are spent.  Only some purple monkshood and blue tartarian asters have blossoms among the perennials.  And I have not been able to make myself dig this year’s surprise performer Canna ‘Ermine’ still pushing white bloom spikes 6 feet above the perennial border in the Tanner Orchard.

Canna Ermine

But it is, “Goodnight garden, and off to bed.”  The elephant ears from the Garden for Everyone are cut back and ready for their long winter nap in the hort office basement with their banana buddies.  I’m sure they are dreaming of the sunny tropics – or at least humid Hoosier July.

Bananas in the basement

A few more leaves to rake and compost, then a long winter trying to convince my colleagues to allow a few native black cherry seedlings to grow up in the gardens, “… but you heard Dr. Tallamy say black cherry supports vastly more Lepidoptera than redbud….”

Leaf pile

Post script for true plant nerds:
If Susan Sarandon can do the original version of Goodnight Moon on YouTube, is a horticultural version by Tracy DiSabato-Aust far behind for the next Perennial Plant Association conference?

Before I arrived at the IMA, I worked in the for-profit, residential landscaping trade.   During the period of  January through mid March when work would pause due to ice and cold, I sometimes worked as a substitute teacher.  I enjoyed the time in classrooms at Pike High School except for one problem:  more than half the classrooms had no windows.  I would arrive in the dark morning and leave in dusky afternoon.  I felt like a plant unable to photosynthesize.  Worse, I had no connection to the world, no sense of wind, rain, heat or cold, nor natural sound.  I felt like I had been numbed and wrapped in cotton balls.

Those sun-shiny memories are meant as preface, sympathizing with cubicle dwellers, retail and restaurant staff, and factory workers.  Rise up comrades!  And step outside.  Even in a place with as much asphalt and concrete as the IMA parking areas, you can meet natural wonders. Just slow down and look.

There is an asphalt roadway three lanes wide, in and out of the IMA’s underground parking garage.  The low shrubs on either side, caught between the curb and concrete retaining walls are fragrant sumac.  Being careful about traffic, reach down and rub a twig and leaves gently between your hands.  Now smell.  Spicy, refreshing?

If you do this in April or May, you could encounter a female mallard duck, sitting on a clutch of eggs.  Just there, 5 feet off the curb and the cars whizzing by.  Her dark, speckled color blends into the dappled shade.   I’ve found nests in the salvia, just inside the Michigan Road gate, and the 2 foot wide liriope bed along the patio at Garden Terrace.  She’ll sit for four weeks, then she and the ducklings will make the quarter mile plus hike to the canal.

Behind the Garden Terrace building there is a dumpster.  One day I was picking weeds and trash when on the stem of a coral bell flower, almost in the shad of the dumpster, I met a stealthy herbivore in the midst of enlarging its body.  A “walking stick,” once considered a relative of praying mantis, was just finishing molting.  Walking sticks (in the order Phasmatodea, this one probably a species of Diapheromera) look like, well, a twig.  They wait, very still, moving with a rocking motion that mimics that of a branch in a light breeze.  This insect, 3 to 5 inches long, sheds its hard outer shell when it grows to large, as a  snake sheds its skin.  It then inflates its body to a larger size before the new exoskeleton dries.  So delicate, so amazing such a small creature contains organs and structures to respire, move blood, eat and digest, move and sense its surroundings.

There are moths as big as sparrows and wrens, even in a temperate climate like Indiana.  Many moths hide during the day and are more active at night.  One afternoon a colleague walking past the vegetable garden, called out to me.  Hanging from under a squash leaf was a huge brown moth. I did not immediately recognize it, so I searched several image collections on the web.   The color patterns on the underside of the moth are very different than the patterns on the top which we use for identification.  Not wanting to disturb the creature, I could only get photos of the underside, though if I craned my neck I could see the top.  With a wingspread almost as long as my palm and extended fingers, was a one of the largest lepidoptera of the Midwest, an Imperial moth (Eacles imperiales), a member of the broader north American silk moth group.

So sneak out, and take a look.